‘No one else has forgotten, Mum. No one has forgotten that he died here, or that I was the one who killed him. Or why. You can’t bake or tidy or flower-arrange your way out of that.’
Linda made a tiny, involuntary sound. It came from the back of her throat, and sounded more like the mew of a kitten than the voice of a sixty-five-year-old woman in the whole of her health.
* * *
Judith’s mood was murderous as she drove, too fast, back to the city. An anniversary mass. That was new. She’d probably hold it too, without Judith, and invite all her friends, and then ignore the fact that most of them made excuses to get out of it.
A call came in over the radio, just as the sun was setting and she was passing Albert Park:
‘Control to any units vicinity Port Melbourne docks. Units on scene require immediate assistance, multiple offenders may be armed. Urgent backup required.’
Judith flipped the button on her radio.
‘Control, this is Detective 598, responding to Port Melbourne call for assistance. ETA... uh... seven minutes.’
Feeling only desperate relief for the distraction and gratitude for the adrenaline that was washing away the lingering hangover of her mother’s presence, Judith turned on her siren and lights and for the next few minutes all of her attention was on navigating evening traffic at speed. By the time she crossed the railway line it was dark, and traffic was thinning out. She passed a truck, then another as she approached Port Melbourne. Soon she was surrounded by warehouses and stacked shipping containers. By the time she reached the Dock Road, there were no other vehicles in sight. Judith hit the radio again.
‘Control, can you confirm status of units at Port Melbourne scene?’
There was a slight lag before the answer came in: ‘Last known location four two one Dock Road. Units not responding.’
Judith swore under her breath.Units not respondingcould mean the officers were in trouble, or it could just mean radio issues. She turned off her siren and lights and slowed as she approached the location. There were no patrol units in sight. The warehouses loomed over her, either side of the narrow road. There was no sign of activity on the street—no side alleys, no open doors. Only one streetlight was working. Judith drove slowly past building 421. It was a warehouse, like all the others, with a steel roller door and a smaller security door off to the side. Still no sign of any activity.
Judith turned the car and came back. She parked. Checked all around. She got out of the car, took her gun from its holster, holding it by her side. Still checking all directions, she made her way to the steel door. It was locked.
‘Police,’ Judith called out. ‘Armed police.’
All around her there was silence, and darkness. Senses on high alert, she moved to the roller door and found it padlocked. All of the lights in the building were off. This made no sense. Something felt wrong. Where were the other units? Why had no one else responded to the callout?
Judith hit the steel door with her elbow, hard. ‘Police,’ she called again. ‘Open up.’ Her voice echoed in the silence.
There was no one in the building, she was almost sure of it. She could feel the emptiness of the place, but she couldn’t rely on a gut instinct. If there were officers inside, in trouble, she had to find a way in. Judith turned back to the car. The padlock was small and rusty and the patrol car would have a pry bar. She could try to force the lock.
Judith was almost at the car when the laughing started. Loud, distorted laughter echoing into the darkness; it sounded hyena-like, not human. The laughter stopped for a moment, and then came back, re-doubling on itself. The hair on the back of Judith’s neck went up. She raised her gun, turned back to the building, then turned again. There was no one to be seen.
What the fuck?
Part of her wanted to get out of there, just get back into the patrol car and drive away. But that was the craven Judith, the chickenshit part of her personality, and Judith hadn’t listened to anything that arsehole had to say since she was fifteen years old.
It took her five minutes to locate the source. Five minutes that felt like thirty, searching in the darkness, before she found it, tucked into the side of a skip half-filled with industrial rubble. An old phone plugged into a battered speaker. She pulled them apart. There was sudden silence. She threw the speaker into the skip, crushed the phone underfoot and walked away.
Chapter Seven
Judith met Rocky at Flagstaff Gardens the following morning, just after nine a.m. It was still very cold. The temperature had dropped to near freezing overnight, and the winter sun was doing little to warm things up. Judith had bought coffees and she handed one to Rocky as soon as they met.
‘Drink that before you start giving me shit, okay?’ She’d loaded his long black up with three sugars, just the way he liked it. Her coffee was her second of the day.
Rocky shook his head, but sipped the coffee all the same. They walked in the direction of King Street. He was silent, a bad sign.
‘It was a prank,’ she said, eventually.
‘Like your bike was a prank?’
They walked on.
‘They’re trying to get to me. This is the way it’s going to be for a few weeks. I just have to wait it out.’
‘Who made the callout?’ Rocky asked.
