Burn Patterns (30 page)

No. He had ether left. He'd do … the church. He'd rework his plan so the failure at the school became a feint that lured even more to the funeral. All those firefighters. Televised. How could
an angry Zorro live up to his own image of himself, without trying for the church? As if he had planned the trap all along. As if destiny delivered the best option to him.

Iris poked her head out the door. The policewoman sat in a chair in the corridor, still guarding perhaps.

Iris said, ‘Can you contact Detective Stuart Pavlovic? Or Scanlon or Richards?'

‘What's wrong?'

‘I think he's going to try for the church.'

The policewoman opened an office, turning on the light. It could have been an office in any government department. It was not policey at all. She dialled on the landline. ‘Detective Pavlovic. Senior Constable Fergerson. It's … um the Fire Lady. She thinks it's the church.' She handed the phone to Iris.

‘The church has been swept,' said Pavlovic.

‘Lately?'

‘We have thought of this. Uniforms have been posted to watch the place. And Parliament, the zoo, every school in the state by the way.'

‘I think it's the church service. I think he'll make a try for it.'

‘We'll check it out again.'

Iris turned to see Senior Constable Ferguson holding out the damp green smock towards her. Iris realised she was standing in nothing but her bra and panties. ‘Oh, I haven't dressed yet.'

Iris returned to the anteroom, dressing for work not sleep. They'd brought her a dark skirt, a sombre blouse. She did her face quickly.

She walked past the policewoman who was back in her seat.

‘You're not supposed to leave.'

‘Are you kidding? I want to see what they find.'

‘I haven't any instructions.'

Iris stepped into the lift. She said, ‘Well, come on. Let's get some. Where's Pavlovic?'

The policewoman stepped in. She said, ‘He was in the taskforce office when I got him.' She pressed the lift button, they descended. She said, ‘You will get me into trouble.'

‘The only place to be, Senior Constable. I don't suppose there are any food dispensers on any of these floors?'

They found them in the room of detectives desks where Pavlovic had brought Iris earlier. Pavlovic and Charles were leaning towards a police radio scanner. Detective Scanlon and Minchin listened in at nearby desks.

Iris ate a muesli bar.

‘Can't raise him. You?'

Another voice came through. ‘Constable Ryan, report your position please. Ryan.'

There was no response.

‘Who is Ryan?' asked Iris.

Charles said, ‘Guard duty at the church.'

Pavlovic scowled his displeasure at Senior Constable Ferguson for bringing Iris but refocused on the radio.

‘We can't get the lights.'

‘Clarify can't get lights, Officer,' said a voice of authority from on the radio line. It sounded like Superintendent Richards.

‘GC220, reporting. We're in the front door of the church. We're flicking the light switches. Nothing. Can't see anyone.'

‘All right. Back out and return to your car, Constable.'

‘Ah, I can partly comply, sir. But, um, Dave, Constable Bradley has gone round the back.'

‘Get him out. Withdraw now. Both of you out and back, GC220. Wait for backup, do you understand?'

‘Sir.' The officer must have kept his finger on his intercom because they could hear him yelling, ‘Dave, we have to get out of here. Dave!' They heard an indistinct reply. The responding officer said, ‘Constable Duncan, report of an electrical van round the back sir. Are they fixing the power?'

Charles bawled at the scanner, ‘Do not touch the van. Do not touch the van.'

Scanlon pushed past them at a run.

Richards was already on it. He said, ‘Son, withdraw. The van could be booby trapped. Back out now.'

‘Withdrawing sir.'

Charles said, ‘See you at the church,' as he pushed past Iris.

‘I don't think that's a good idea, Chuck,' said Pavlovic.

‘I don't work for you, Stewie. I work for Fire and Emergency and the police Arson Squad. I'm not going to spectate this.'

Iris said, ‘Let's go. It's five minutes from here.'

‘You stay here,' ordered Pavlovic. He said to Minchin, ‘Chuck is right. We are better near the scene in case we have pertinent …'

‘No one is more pertinent than me. I gave you the church.'

‘Anybody could have done that. This could be a power failure, a cop helping to fix it.'

‘I can help. I know this man.'

‘Which still bothers me.' He said to Ferguson. ‘Keep her here. If she tries anything, shoot her.'

‘I'm not armed.'

‘Use your initiative.'

He strode off with Minchin in tow.

Bradley had returned on the scanner. ‘Sir, we can hear sirens. Police and fire engines I think.'

‘All good son. Are your blues flashing on top?'

‘Roger sir.'

‘Good. Now the bomb squad are scrambling. Do you understand? No one is to enter the building before them. Do you understand? No matter how far they outrank you.'

Iris said, ‘I need to speak to Superintendent Richards.'

‘He's a bit busy.'

‘Senior Constable, you don't want to be the person who Superintendent Richards discovers prevented me from attending the scene. Let me see, whose orders were you following? Oh, a detective's. If Superintendent Richards orders I stay, I'll sit next to the radio … and knit.'

Iris picked up a phone from the desk, held it towards her. ‘Call Superintendent Richards' assistant's assistant. Tell him I need to go to the scene.'

Still she paused. She was good at following orders. She was
not a sergeant so she might be content to follow everyone's. She would not like to get into trouble.

Iris added, ‘You said you saw me in court. You know I'm one of the good guys.'

*

Ferguson drove her to the scene. Iris had argued with Richards too. Her only card was the potential negotiation with James, should it be him, should he be captured at the scene. Otherwise she would have to stand back as an observer, behind the perimeter. She'd still be listening on a radio, but one a lot closer to the potential bomb.

She said, ‘We girls should form our own squad. Like TRG, only for fires.'

‘I'm not stupid, Mrs Foster.'

‘What? What?'

‘Detective Pavlovic wanted you watched. Superintendent Richards said the same thing. I have booked out a firearm. Please don't think I'm stupid.'

‘No. Nor friendly. Got it.'

Ferguson drove in silence through the city streets that rippled with a variety of police, fire and ambulance vehicles. Iris had to admit she probably could contribute little. She wanted to be there. She wanted to see if he'd really target the church. If she had that right, then she was starting to know Zorro.

The church stood at the top of the hill. When it had been built two hundred years before, it would have been the highest building in the fledgling colony. The city had encroached and bypassed if not quite overwhelmed. City towers jutted the skyline. The major hospital of the city loomed adjacent, taller. A Catholic girls school spread into once church-owned land. Yet it kept its majesty and grace. Roses and bench seats dotted the ample grass grounds behind the wrought-iron fence. Which was where the perimeter had been set, where police, fire, rescue, assorted squads were gathered like a besieging army.

They parked a couple of blocks back where a cordon of street closure bollards and temporary fencing was erected. The media vans were coming in but only one crew had set up. ‘Iris, Iris, is it the school bomber?' Iris kept walking. Her chaperone tried
to shield her from the approaching camera on the shoulder of a t-shirted part-timer. Even the usually immaculate journalist looked dishevelled. Iris thought it might be around two am on a Sunday night. ‘Is it true you were at the zoo?' Iris kept walking. ‘Is this a serial bomber? Is the city under attack?'

Yes, thought Iris, heading up towards the packed cluster of vehicles winking blues, reds and orange lights up against the church walls. They found their way to the command post set up near the black van that usually ferried the bomb robot.

‘Hey Doc.'

Iris turned to see a firefighter waving. He was in full kit so she couldn't see his face. She stopped, peered at his name tag. ‘McDonald. Is that you, Jock, you old bastard?'

‘Can't complain.'

‘Bullshit, you're a great complainer.'

‘Only to effect the change, Doc.'

It was an old joke from years before. Another firey came up behind Jock, pointed at her.

Iris waved.

‘Let's get this thing, hey?' Jock said.

‘Pants on fire,' said Iris. Another old joke. It had been uncool to say be safe.

Iris spun away, getting the flash of the station officer who'd died at the school. Only now he had a face, the face she'd seen in the newspaper, on the television. Now she knew he'd come from another city looking for the better family life for which the city had once been famous.

Two paramedics carried a stretcher from the church. Iris supposed it was the missing officer who'd been guarding the church. The paramedics trotted, a policeman in helmet and bulletproof vest running backwards behind them, covering their retreat with a rifle aimed everywhere at nothing. Arc lights were set around the perimeter giving the grass the glow of a sports ground. Long shadows made crazy shapes as the paramedics neared an ambulance at the gates. A uniform tried to clear rescue vehicles and police cars to give it a path out. The fire services would not have allowed such a logjam on the fire-ground.

Iris heard someone reporting to Scanlon who stood in a
cluster of police. ‘He's in a bad way. Head wound. Blunt trauma.' Pavlovic turned, almost a silhouette against the arc lights.

Iris veered towards the bomb-squad cluster of men, where she noticed Charles Koch. A hand grabbed Iris, making her gasp at the sudden sharp pain in her shoulderblade.

Pavlovic.

‘Ow. My stitches.'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘Superintendent Richards countermanded your order.' Iris couldn't suppress her little triumph.

He glared at Ferguson, who confirmed the overrule.

When Iris started again towards Charles, Pavlovic pulled her back.

‘What is it with you?'

‘Search her,' he said to the policewoman.

Some nearby officers glanced at them but most found more of interest elsewhere. The stretcher was loaded in the ambulance. A marked police car backed out of the way. Up at the church a bomb disposal officer in full protective suit came down the steps. He gave a thumbs down. Iris watched him standing alone on the church steps, clearly listening to instructions on his radio. Two of his colleagues had died a week earlier in similar circumstances.

Iris was patted down. She'd left her handbag back at police headquarters. Iris said, ‘What is she looking for?'

‘Mobile phone. Television remote. Garage door opener. Any electronic device at all. A tiny torch. A battery. Anything electrical. Anything at all really. Chewing gum packet. Silver paper. A hair pin.'

It made sense. If Iris was working covertly with James she could conceivably be the trigger who chose the right time. She might have done it at the school, the truck another feint.

Senior Constable Ferguson found nothing. She didn't even have jewellery.

‘Her shoes too.'

Iris clutched Pavlovic by the shoulder, lifted her foot to take the shoe off and present it to the policewoman. Pavlovic remained steady if not entirely happy to be used by Iris as her support while Ferguson checked the shoe. Iris took it back, put
it on and repeated the procedure, still holding the detective's shoulder. Iris said, ‘Stuart Pavlovic, I think you have trust issues.'

Pavlovic said, ‘I always have an open mind, Mrs Foster. Your voice is higher. Your face is slightly flushed. Your pupils quite dilated. You're excited.'

Iris put her other shoe on, let go of Pavlovic's shoulder. ‘Always glad to see you, Stuart.'

He glared.

‘Yes I am. Always have been … at the scene.' Shoes on, Iris continued on towards the bomb team.

She heard Pavlovic order, ‘Watch her.'

Iris squeezed up at the back of the group controlling the robotic and human search. There were four monitors. A small camera was fixed to each man's helmet. The third monitor belonged to the robot.

One camera showed the crowd outside the main gates and the city behind. It was the man on the steps. He swivelled and reentered the main doors of the church. Another screen showed a search inside the confessional. It was a big, mostly stone church with ornate wood panelling. Occasionally a lead-lined glass panel twinkled or shone.

‘Don't lift anything. Don't move anything. Not even curtains.' Their team leader talked into a microphone. ‘Watch for trip-wires.' A name written on masking tape had been stuck to the front of each monitor. ‘Stevo, don't touch the van.'

‘Not touching.'

Stevo's camera showed a white van around the back of the church. The ladder and a conduit cylinder on top gave it the appearance of a contractor's van in spite of a lack of signage. Stevo panned to the church, to an open doorway down worn, stone steps. Stevo moved towards it. The door was green. The robot, running on its mini tank tracks, went through the door, its affixed light flaring. Stevo scanned back to the van. Iris caught sight of a fire crew standing ten metres from the van, their hoses ready. They would have been praying if they believed, standing so far inside the blast zone.

Whoever controlled the robot must have been in their own van parked amongst the others, with their own monitor no
doubt. The robot stopped at the top of more stone stairs. Iris watched the robot camera monitor intently.