Blood Sunset Part 5

I looked over my shoulder, as if the office had ears. I wasn't expecting the question, and wasn't sure I knew the answer.

'Like I said, there are some anomalies. I can't go into it yet, but if it turns out something untoward did happen, I'll let you know as soon as I can. How does that sound?'

He gave me a conspiratorial nod. 'Sure, and I'll do what I can to help.'

'Can you tell me the address?' I asked.

'I can do better than that.' Opening a drawer in his desk, he searched around and fished out a key with a yellow tag on it. 'As part of my agreement with the government, I go on the record for these kids when I get them a place to live,' he explained, tossing the key over. 'The government requires that I have a key to access the property if need be. More often than not, they're just useful for when they lock themselves out.'

Novak read out the address and I wrote it down. On the page I saw a notation about the mobile phone and it reminded me to ask whether he could confirm if Dallas Boyd had one.

'Sure. Everyone has a mobile these days, don't they?' he said.

'You have the number?'

'Of course.' He got up and opened a drawer in a filing cabinet, then removed a folder. 'Forgive my inquisitiveness,' he said, looking genuinely puzzled, 'but what benefit will having his number be?'

I looked up from my notes and considered the question.

'Well, he didn't have a phone on him when he ... when we found him. He probably left it in his flat. I'm sure it'll turn up.'

'Fair enough.'

He opened the folder, read out the number and I copied it down next to the address.

'One final thing,' I said. 'I'm trying to trace Boyd's final steps. When did you last see him?'

'A couple of days ago. We had lunch, actually.'

'And how was he?'

'Fine. I mean, he was a bit worked up.'

'How do you mean?' I asked.

'Well, he was in contact with Child Protection again, trying to have his sister removed so that she could live with him. The Child Protection Unit a.s.signed to the case had been out to the flat. They were investigating the stepfather, but, as I'm sure you're aware, the removal of a child from the family unit is a last resort. They don't make those decisions lightly and the wait was causing him a bit of stress.'

'Okay, so that was the last time you spoke to him?'

'Yes.'

I thought about how removing the girl might have resulted in charges against the stepfather, possibly even prison time. It would be enough to make anyone angry.

'The stepfather, what's his name?'

'Vincent Rowe. Look him up on your system. I'm sure he'll have a thousand hits.'

I scrawled the name down and underlined it as Novak slid two business cards across the desk, one his own and the other belonging to a woman named Sarah Harrigan from the Department of Human Services.

'It's past five on a Friday,' Novak said, 'so you won't get any joy at DHS now, but she's the Child Protection Unit manager for the southern metro region. I'll tell her you're a good guy, get her to call you.'

I thanked him and pa.s.sed my own card over. 'Just for the record, where were you around midnight last night?'

'Ah, you're asking me for an alibi?'

'For elimination.'

Novak looked out the window and exhaled slowly. 'I was helping out at the soup kitchen on Fitzroy Street.'

'At midnight?'

'Yes,' he said. 's.h.i.+t, I went into the 7-Eleven on the corner of Grey Street at one point and bought a packet of smokes to give out to the homeless. That's the only time I was away from the van.'

Glad the awkward moment was out of the way, I held out my hand. 'Sorry, Will. Part of the process.'

'Just let me know if you hear anything,' he said as we shook hands. 'Dall was a popular kid. If something happened to him, you'll have a lot of angry people around here. Could get ugly.'

I thought of the boy I'd seen outside and knew Novak wasn't exaggerating. Street kids were a tight bunch.

'Thanks, Will,' I said, sliding the keys to Dallas Boyd's apartment into my pocket. 'I'll be in touch.'

6.

MAJESTIC VIEWS WAS THE NAME WAS THE NAME of the apartment block where Dallas Boyd had lived. It was squashed between two near-identical 1960s blocks on a narrow cul-de-sac and I wondered if it had been named as such because it had once been possible to glimpse water from the upper floors. If so, the growth of trees and urban development had put a stop to that. I drove past Majestic Views and parked a hundred metres down, watching the street through my rear-view mirror. of the apartment block where Dallas Boyd had lived. It was squashed between two near-identical 1960s blocks on a narrow cul-de-sac and I wondered if it had been named as such because it had once been possible to glimpse water from the upper floors. If so, the growth of trees and urban development had put a stop to that. I drove past Majestic Views and parked a hundred metres down, watching the street through my rear-view mirror.

A prost.i.tute leant against a telephone pole in the shade of a nearby tree. She was dressed in a pink bikini top and hotpants. I'd never seen her before and figured she was new to the stroll. She wasn't scrawny and undernourished like most of the girls I knew in St Kilda. Looking around for her spotter, I found him hidden behind a sun visor in a nearby Valiant.

Within minutes, a white HiAce van slowed and the girl bent to the driver-side window. A quick glance over her shoulder, a flash of headlights from her eyes in the Valiant, and she was gone. Before I started working St Kilda I'd never understood the male desire to pick up street girls, risking arrest, robbery or disease when you could easily go to any legal brothel and get a better service with virtually no risk. I'd since come to suspect it was the risk itself, as much as the s.e.x, that was the attraction for many men.

From the back seat I grabbed the white polo T-s.h.i.+rt I'd been wearing earlier and changed into it. It was too hot for a s.h.i.+rt and tie, and I didn't want to look like a cop for what I was about to do. I tore a blank page from my daybook and folded it into my pocket, then walked back to the apartment block, ignoring the suspicious glance from the spotter, still slouched in the Valiant. Just as I reached the entrance to the apartment block a loud bang reverberated down the street. I dropped to a squat, my shoulder tense and blood pounding in my ears. A few seconds went by before I realised it was just a car backfiring. I leant against a brick letterbox and drew a breath.

The spotter in the Valiant was laughing at me. I snarled abuse at him before going through a gate and walking up to the third floor. Finding Boyd's apartment, I slid on a pair of gloves and used the key Novak had given me to open the door.

A carpeted entranceway intersected with a door on the right and another ahead. I opened the door on the right the bedroom. It was warm and musty, the blinds closed, double bed unmade. Posters of black American rappers plastered the walls. I continued up the short pa.s.sage into the living room. It was also badly in need of airing. An old sofa faced a television and there was a stereo in the corner. Other than an ashtray on a gla.s.s coffee table and a few dishes near the sink, there was no mess.

Through the kitchenette, a sliding door led into a bathroom and laundry. This room wasn't so clean, old flecks of toothpaste and shave bristles around the basin and vanity. I found a packet of OxyContin in the cabinet and remembered fondly the floating relief the same pills had given me during my initial rehabilitation. I also remembered the constipation, stomach pains and flu-like withdrawal when I finally decided to give them up. I closed the cabinet and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The grey etchings and stress lines around my eyes betrayed my age. I was only thirty-nine but looked ten years older. Women used to say I was handsome. While I still had the chiselled jaw Ella had once fallen for, my skin now looked moist and pasty, like the junkies I saw roaming the streets every day.

Back in the kitchen, I opened the fridge and found it stocked with leftover takeaway cartons, soft drink and VB beer. No Amstel. Next I opened the cupboard beneath the sink and found the bin, but it was empty. Above it on the bench was an answering machine, digital and more expensive than my own at home. Both this and the designer clothes Boyd was wearing when we found him seemed at odds with his status as a welfare recipient and ward of the state. I pushed play on the machine, a flas.h.i.+ng light indicating he hadn't heard the message.

'Yeah, Dall, Sparks here Dall, Sparks here, mate. I've got what you wanted me to get. I went to the park last night like we said, but you weren't there, man. I've been ringing ya moby all night but no answer. What the f.u.c.k, man? Hanging on to this thing's freakin' me out, you better come get it soon or I'm gonna ditch it. That's it, man, I gotta run.' mate. I've got what you wanted me to get. I went to the park last night like we said, but you weren't there, man. I've been ringing ya moby all night but no answer. What the f.u.c.k, man? Hanging on to this thing's freakin' me out, you better come get it soon or I'm gonna ditch it. That's it, man, I gotta run.'

A mechanical voice stated the call had come through at nine fifteen that morning. I played the message again. The caller sounded agitated, his desire to see Boyd urgent. I checked the machine for other messages but there weren't any. I wrote the name 'Sparks' and the time of the call on the page I'd torn from my daybook and began a methodical search of the kitchen, starting in the corner, working my way through all the drawers, checking the oven and above each cupboard. I found little of value beyond a small stash of marijuana and ecstasy tablets in the freezer. The ecstasy pills had a different branding from what Anthony had shown me earlier and revived my unease about my brother's request. What was I supposed to do? Show Chloe pictures of dead people, tell her horror stories?

I left the drugs in place and moved back into the bedroom, where again I had the impression Boyd wasn't your average state ward. There were five pairs of runners in the wardrobe and maybe a hundred CDs in a vertical display stand. This kid had money. Pondering how, I noticed a Nokia phone charger plugged into a power socket and again wondered about the missing phone. Even Sparks, whoever he was, had said in his message that he'd been trying to call Dallas on his mobile phone. Had somebody removed the phone from his body? Wouldn't be the first time a deceased junkie was robbed by his own kind. But why not take his wallet and watch, even his runners?

I squatted down to search the bedside table. In a drawer with socks and underpants was a reminder letter from the YMCA in Prahran advising Boyd that his gym members.h.i.+p was due to expire. The letter was dated 1 December the previous year, less than three months ago. Clipped to the letter was a map of Surfers Paradise. I spread the map out on the bed and saw that someone had highlighted several streets in orange felt pen. Ella had family in Queensland and I'd been to the Gold Coast a number of times, so I immediately recognised the streets as popular tourist precincts. Cavill Avenue. Tedder Avenue. Orchard Avenue. In the top corner of the map was a name and address, obviously written by somebody with poor literacy skills: Derek Jardine Derek Jardine, 4/678 Sunset Cresant 4/678 Sunset Cresant, Mermade Worters Mermade Worters.

Who was Derek Jardine? And why was the map clipped to the YMCA reminder letter? Anthony worked at the Docklands YMCA and would have access to client names. I made a note to call him, then searched the rest of the room but still failed to find a mobile phone. There was a s...o...b..x under the bed with a collection of blank DVDs inside. The t.i.tle Die Hard With A Vengeance Die Hard With A Vengeance was scribbled on one of the cases. Underneath it were others like was scribbled on one of the cases. Underneath it were others like Goodfellas Goodfellas and and Scarface Scarface. I slid the box of pirated movies back and noticed a photo on a stand by the door. It was Dallas Boyd and a girl about the same age posing at St Kilda beach, white sand contrasting against the blue water and a burning red sunset behind them. The photo appeared recent, possibly taken this summer. Boyd even had on the same red baseball cap he'd been wearing when he died.

Who had taken the picture? I hadn't found a camera in the apartment anywhere. Maybe the camera belonged to the girl and they'd asked somebody to take it for them. But the photo looked so professional this was unlikely; nor was it likely that the picture had been taken with Dallas Boyd's missing phone, or any phone for that matter. While I was in rehab I'd bought myself a digital camera and done what I could to learn how to use it properly. It hadn't been nearly as easy as I'd expected. Whoever took this shot had experience. If taken by an amateur with a mobile phone or with a camera by somebody simply strolling past, the sunset in the background would leave the picture washed out with too much light. Instead the couple had been brought to the foreground by a keen eye and technical know-how.

I let some ideas roll around but nothing jogged. I focused on the girl. She was familiar, attractive but trashy, with a pink bikini top and a Celtic tattoo around her navel. Suddenly I recognised her. Replacing the picture, I locked the front door and ran down the concrete walkway to find the Valiant turning into Barkly Street. I chased after it, but was too late. As the Valiant took the corner, the hooker stared back at me from the pa.s.senger seat. The girl in the picture.

7.

WHEN I GOT HOME THE PHONE was ringing. I fumbled with the keys, trying to balance my briefcase in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. Inside, I tripped over Prince and d.a.m.n near fell over as I snapped up the handset. was ringing. I fumbled with the keys, trying to balance my briefcase in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. Inside, I tripped over Prince and d.a.m.n near fell over as I snapped up the handset.

'Yes.'

'What kind of way is that to answer the phone?'

I smiled. It was Ella.

'Ah, sorry, just got in and had to rush for it.'

'Right. Are you decent?'

'Indeed I am,' I said. 'Every week I make a donation of ten dollars to the tips jar at the Stokehouse. They have university students working there. My tips help pay for their study. I'd call that decent.'

'I'd call it bribery. You're just paying for quick service on busy nights. No long waits at the bar.'

'Oh, ye of little faith. You'll ruin my image, you pessimist.'

'Realist, more like it. And I won't ruin your image at all. You do a good enough job of that yourself. I bet at least one item of your clothing has a food or drink stain on it.'

I looked down at my clothes and felt embarra.s.sed. Sweat had soaked through my polo s.h.i.+rt and for a second I thought about stripping off just to prove her wrong.

'Am I right?' she prodded.

'Possibly.'

She laughed. 'Well, fair enough. Before we c.r.a.p on any longer, I'm standing out the front. We agreed to meet at seven o'clock. It's now seven. Should I come up or stay out here looking like a desperate woman?'

'I like the sound of desperate.'

'Not funny, Rubens. It's b.l.o.o.d.y hot out here.'

'Well, get up here then!'

Ideally I would've preferred time to prepare for her arrival, but the ma.s.sage and the search of Boyd's apartment had drained my afternoon. I stored the beer and groceries in the fridge, turned on the cooler and opened the blinds. In the bathroom, I wiped the toilet seat, washed my hands and sprayed on cologne.

Opening the front door, I saw Ella had dyed her hair a deep maroon since the last time we'd met, taking at least five years off her. I wanted to tell her she looked beautiful but decided against it.

'I like the hair,' I said instead. 'Come in.'

She stepped over the threshold, leaning in to kiss my cheek. 'Like the top,' she said cheekily, noticing my soiled s.h.i.+rt. 'Get that from the Salvo's on Grey Street?'

'Oh, lay off.'

She laughed, circled around the bench and put her handbag down on one of the stools. 'So, what's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?'

I opened the fridge, snapped out two bottles from the sixpack and slid one over. One of the things I loved about Ella was her appreciation of beer. While she only drank it in the summer, there'd been a number of times when she'd matched me round for round.

We clinked bottles. 'So where's the little one?' she said, looking around for Prince.

'Outside killing birds, hunting native wildlife, searching for a mate.'

'Stop it. You shouldn't let him out. It's dangerous.'

'He's a cat, El. He has needs.'

'Sounds like a typical male,' she said, dangling her arms and speaking like a caveman. 'Man like animal. Must search for food, mate women and sleep often.'

We both laughed.

'Look, here he is,' I said, pointing at the door.

Prince breezed through the cat flap and rubbed against her leg. She picked him up and cooed at him while I opened a bottle of pinot to let it breathe while we finished our beers.

'Still on for tomorrow night?' she asked, nodding towards my nephew's eighteenth-birthday invitation on the fridge.

'Sure, but only if you want to. I know it's going to be strange with all my family there. I mean, I spoke to Andy today, and it's fine if you don't want to go, but I kinda feel like I should. Haven't seen my folks since Christmas and I think I '

'It's okay,' she said. 'I'm looking forward to it.'

'Really?'

'Yeah, they're good kids. How are they, by the way?'

I didn't want to tell her about Chloe and the drugs, or my brother's request that I speak to her about it. I still wasn't sure how to approach it.

'Fine, I guess. Johnno's started year twelve and Chloe's back to uni next month. Everyone's growing up.'