After Ariel: It started as a game (33 page)

I am blessed, or some would say cursed, with a mane of thick curly fair hair, great ringlets of the stuff, which never seems to behave itself. Locked in mortal combat with my “crowning glory” I was less than pleased when the phone rang.

‘Pam, it’s Susan! Am I ringing at a bad time?’

‘No, not at all. I’ve got a date in about forty-five minutes, but there’s plenty of time for a chat!’

‘Yes, I know you’ve got a date. He confessed all to me a couple of hours ago!’ She laughed, and I relaxed a little.

‘Does this mean I’m not a suspect anymore?’

‘Well, I can’t discuss the case but no, you have a viable alibi, so unless you’re in cahoots with some nefarious individual, then you’re in the clear. So where’s Fudstuds taking you tonight?’

Giggling at the nickname for the assassin, we settled down for what should have been a comforting chat, but something was “off.” I’d known Susan for almost five years and she had become a good friend of Mum and me, so I was pretty much “up” with the tone of her voice. Something was wrong but she was “cracking hardy.”

‘I can tell from your voice that you’re worried about something. Is it the case? Is everything all right with David?’

‘I always worry about my cases, Pam, you know that. No, nothing’s wrong, David’s fine. I just thought I’d give you a call. I spoke to John and he reckons Ros is doing well and should be able to go home early next week. Have you seen her?’

Oh yeah, so nothing’s wrong, eh? Like hell.
‘Yes, I went to the hospital this morning and I’ll go tomorrow. She gets tired pretty quickly and she looks awful, but she’s insisting that she’s fine.’

We laughed. The women’s answer for everything!

‘How’s John holding up?’

‘Just the same, you know him. Quiet and strong.’

‘So, Anthony Hamilton? Exciting things happening there? Even the Superintendent knows about it.’ I could tell Susan was dying to find out how close Anthony and I were.

‘Is he going to get into trouble?’

‘No, Pam. Even we cops know that love will always find a way. It’s going well then?’

‘Well, this is only the first date, so I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you, but...I really like him.’

‘Yeah, you and most of the female squad! No, don’t get me wrong, he’s not showing any sign of even looking sideways at any of them. He goes red around the gills when your name’s mentioned though!’

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and gossip before she rang off. I spent the half hour before Anthony was due to arrive in a hysterical flutter.
 Just go with the flow and see where it takes you.

I pinned my hair on top of my head, leaving a bit hanging over the little dressing on my head, then took it down again, plaited it and then ripped that out. Fumbling to roll it into a bun at the base of my neck and still leave the dressing covered, I nearly leaped out of my skin when the doorbell rang.

Sporting a chocolate sports jacket, black T-shirt and jeans, boots and his normal stern expression, Anthony stepped across my threshold and before I could even greet him, took me in his arms, pressed me against the wall and kissed as though he wanted to eat me alive.
Yum
. His hands swept through my tangle of hair, sliding down my back over my derriere while I clung to his coat like a Cobbler’s Peg. His gorgeous, muscular body did all manner of things to me...including his extremely interesting package...

Breathless, we pulled apart, grinning at each other like mad things. ‘I’m pleased to see you had the chain on the door.’ He smoothed my hair back from my face.

Remembering my strenuous and noisy attempt to take it off and let him in, I giggled. ‘Well, I have to do what the cops tell me, don’t I?’
Pam, could you sound sillier if you tried?

He gently touched the dressing. ‘When are the stitches coming out?’

‘They want to keep them in for another week. They’re itchy already!’

He grinned. ‘That means the wound’s healing quickly! Are you ready?’

He jingled his keys in his pocket.
Is that programmed into men’s DNA, like toasting their bums in front of a roaring fire?

 As I grabbed my coat and bag and we swept out the door, something nagged at me. Somewhere today I’d seen something which should have been significant.

CHAPTER 36

A Little Break & Enter

Dingo

Tuesday, 7PM

Would she ever leave the damned place? He waited in the park opposite the block of flats, hunched up in his quilted parka, hood pulled well down over his face to hide from observers and ward off the chilly night air. He’d settled into position where he could watch the front of the unit block and Pamela’s balcony simultaneously, relieved to see that the branches of the tree were still close enough for him to get across to the balustrade. No one had thought to cut them back after his recon’ Sunday afternoon.

He would make his move once she’d gone out and the rest of the occupants of the block had settled down to watch TV. He had a small jemmy under his coat ready to prise the balcony door locks open. He stamped his feet, counting his steps, to keep the circulation working and contemplated going down to the shops for fish and chips – no not that – perhaps a pie. Ariel and Marigold had been blessedly quiet, but he didn’t want to wake them. They’d only nag him. Nearby a tree full of lorikeets screeched, preparatory to roosting for the night. They would have irritated him, but if they kept up their racket long enough, they would be blessed cover for any noise he might make entering the unit.

 A blue car sped by, then a green one.
Please God, no red ones
... a white one pulled up next to the flats and disgorged a couple of women before the driver turned the car into the underground parking area. Talking animatedly, the women went into the foyer. A group of revellers came out of the pub down the road. As they came closer he counted them: eight. Even numbers and he was safe. They passed, laughing and punching each other on the shoulders, too drunk to notice anything untoward around them.

He looked up at the glass doors leading onto Pam’s balcony, remembering how happy she’d been at lunch. Her face glowed, her eyes sparkled – only a man could bring that sort of glow to a woman’s face. He’d done it himself many times. He wondered who it could be. A musician?  At twenty-eight, rising twenty-nine, Pammie-girl was getting a bit long in the tooth for some men. He knew all about the hangers-on, the corporate types who thought if their company sponsored an orchestra they had “squatter’s rights” on the female musicians. He’d been the target of female “corporates” himself, thrusting, controlling women who expected and received the homage of men who relied on their patronage when it came to the arts. He didn’t mind the thrusting when they were in bed, but otherwise...he spat on the ground.

His prey’s head of wild curls came into view. She looked out of the window and then drew the curtains of what he was pretty sure was her bedroom. He hoped she kept the camera there, but the place was relatively small. He wondered if she kept it in her – no Marigold Humphries’ car, as she’d told him at lunch. That could be a problem but she’d also volunteered the information that she’d sold her car before she went overseas, and wasn’t it great that she had a car space allotted to her in the underground car park of her unit block. Unit 8. Wherever it was, she’d be taking care of the camera because it was a good Nikon, he knew that much. Perhaps after he got the SD card, he’d use it himself...no, better to get rid of it straight away.
Pity.

A sleek, low and extremely expensive car slid into a park at the front of the building.
Why did the rich always get a parking space when they needed it, like the heroes in movies?

He watched as a huge man got out, clicked the locking remote with nonchalant arrogance and bounded into the building. Testosterone to burn and Dingo’d bet everything he owned that this bloke had women coming out his ears.

Normally, Dingo was – in spite of his solitary upbringing – pretty level headed, especially in his work. All that changed after Ariel came into his life for such a brief time. It was as though, with Ariel’s death, his public persona was all he had left. The rage simmering inside blinded him to everything but the presence of Macho Man.

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneight...that’s a dark red car...no, it’s brown. It has to be brown. Teneleventwelve...red car danger, red car danger...breathe...breathe...that’s right.
The security light above the door to the foyer came on and lit up the area. It was dark, gleaming blue! 
You’re okay, it’s blue.

He wondered where the man mountain had gone, but it didn’t make any difference where he was headed, Dingo’s sole focus was the camera. Having overheard her telling Ally Mochrie she had a dinner date that night, all he had to do was be patient. He shielded his watch with his coat and clicked on the tiny light on the dial. 7.20pm. she’d surely go out soon and then he could spring into action, up the tree, over the balcony wall and into the bedroom. Ten minutes at the most.

 A couple passed him, oblivious to anyone but themselves, but he shrank farther into the bank of shrubs on the edge of the park. A stiff breeze had him shivering. He pulled the hood of his anorak over his head and thrust his gloved hands deep into his pockets.
Not long now.

The front door of the block swung open and the hulk stepped out, holding the door open for – Pamela! So this was the one she had the hots for. Dingo didn’t think much of her choice, but conceded that most women would fling their knickers into the ring for that one. He watched sourly as they got into the sleek, dark blue monster and drove off.

Now!

He slipped a pair of surgical gloves on, carefully tugging them up as far as he could without tearing them. He’d brought two pairs just in case; it paid to be thorough. Looking both ways, he stepped out of the shadows and started for the unit block. Being right at the front with one balcony overlooking the small park, it jutted over the narrow laneway. Just as he started across the gap, someone came around the corner. Slouched in a duffle coat with a tasselled beanie on his head, the young man walked toward him. By his side trotted a stocky, black dog. A Staffordshire bull terrier, it paused as it neared Dingo and growled. Its owner stopped and called it to heel. ‘He don’t like strangers, mate.’

‘Er, well I’m not going to hurt him.’ Dingo thrust his gloved hands into his pockets and stood perfectly still. He knew from his nights of roaming the streets of his home town that you never ran from dogs. He had a scar in the back of his leg to prove it.

A sneering laugh, accompanied a smoker’s cough. ‘Too right, you won’t mate. He’ll have ya as quick as look at ya.’ Eyes gleamed in the periphery of light from the front of the building. ‘If I want him to.’ After a moment’s intense scrutiny, he whistled the dog to heel and they walked off, the animal pausing to look over its shoulder as they reached the back of the units. It knew he was planning something – oh yes, it knew. The sneering youth had a pretty good idea that Dingo was where he shouldn’t be as well.

Breathing heavily, Dingo backed up and slid back into the bushes. He’d have to wait until things, namely his heartbeat, settled before trying again. He peered at his watch. 7.45 already! How long would Pam and the thug be out? If they had arrived at the restaurant, then they’d need an hour to eat and a bit of time to talk. If he was any judge of body language they’d be back to her place right after they’d eaten and bouncing around in the bed, but if he was lucky they’d go to her boyfriend’s place.

Something crackled behind him. He pressed further into the shadows and peered around. Someone was walking through the trees several metres away. He squinted as a tall woman walked out onto the footpath and into the streetlight. A jogger? She turned away from him and trotted off along the road leading to the river.
Whew.

He moved forward to re-check the approaches to the building. There was no one in sight, so he slithered across the road, and made a quick run to the tree –

‘Harley? Come on puss!’ A woman calling her blasted cat. She made clicking noises and banged what sounded like a spoon on a tin can. Dingo raced back across the lane and into the trees again. Something hissed at his feet. He jumped into the air and almost fell as a dark shape streaked out of the trees and across the road.

‘There you are Harley, you naughty boy. I wish you’d stay out of the park.’ She scooped up the cat and walked back into one of the ground-floor units. Dingo leaned back against the trunk of a rather substantial tree.
Fucking hell. Dogs and cats everywhere...

He glanced at his watch. He’d been trying to get to the tree for three quarters of an hour already. He glanced in each direction. Nothing coming in the way or cars or people...it was now or never! He pulled his hood further down to avoid security cameras, sprinted for the tree, swung up into the lower branches and quickly climbed to the height of the balcony. The unit next door to Pam’s was dark. He paused, waiting for the leaves to stop shaking and assessed the situation while he checked his gloves for damage. Nothing apparent, so no chance of leaving fingerprints. He really didn’t expect even the cops would look for prints in the tree, but you never knew.

Only a metre over to the balustrade. He leaned toward it, only to hear someone walking along the laneway. Shit, it was the man and his dog again. Hardly daring to breath, Dingo, froze as the man stopped to light a cigarette and looked up and down the laneway and then over at the park, appearing to consider his options. The dog sat beside him, grinning up at the tree.
Oh God, Jesus no...

Just as Dingo was sure he’d been sprung, the dog’s owner grunted something, clicked his fingers and the dog, with a final glare at Dingo, and sloped off with his master.

No more time to waste. He stretched across the short divide and grabbed the railing along the top of the wall. With a heave and a wriggle Dingo tumbled onto the balcony, landing with one foot in a pot plant. Cursing, he stepped out of the crushed plants and bent to try and revive them, but it wasn’t going to work. Pushing the pot into the corner of the balcony – maybe Pamela Miller would be too taken up with her man to notice it until morning – he touched the handle of the French doors.