Donna Joy Usher - Chanel 01 - Cocoa and Chanel (7 page)

‘Just smile for the cameras.’

I entered the locker room and looked around. Cameras were located in the four corners of the room filming the two rows of lockers that ran back to back down the centre. I could see one with my name on it. A padlock with a key sticking out of it hung from the latch.

At the far end was the gun-loading machine. I put my hand in there with the gun, barrel facing away from me, and inserted the magazine. Then I pulled back on the top, chambering a round.

I was insanely nervous about holding the loaded weapon. I mean I know I’d done it before but this was different. There was no-one here to tell me if what I was doing was right. I carefully placed the loaded gun in the holster and went back out to where Roger was waiting.

‘So what are we doing?’ I asked, trying to make my voice sound nonchalant. I didn’t do a very good job and instead it was tinged with excitement.

Roger flashed a grin at me. ‘We’re going to drive around and play my favourite game.’

I was dying to know what his favourite game was. Was it at all possible that it was catch and kiss?

‘We’re going to play let’s imagine who’s breaking the law.’

Oh.
That
game.

We drove around for about an hour, taking turns to point out people and guess what they were up to. A man on his cell phone was suddenly a drug dealer calling in an order. A woman walking up the street in a short skirt was a lady of the night on an early shift. A girl fighting with a man was a victim of domestic abuse.

I hadn’t had so much fun in ages.

We worked our way down to the other end of King’s Cross – the seedy part, as Roger called it – and were heading back to the station when Roger said, ‘That’s weird.’

‘What’s weird?’

He pulled the car over next to the curb in a no standing zone (ahhh, the perks of being a policeman) and stopped.

‘The lane back there. There are normally some hookers hanging out near the entry.’

‘Even during the day?’

‘No rest for the wicked.’

‘Maybe they’ve gone for coffee.’

‘No. They guard their territory pretty well. They would have left at least one here.’ He hopped out of the car and I followed suit. ‘Check your weapon,’ he said.

I nodded nervously and felt for it at my waist. Check – one weapon.

The lane was narrow with a long line of properties backing onto it on either side. I followed him into it, looking around nervously for would-be muggers or drug dealers.

‘This was originally built as a dunny lane,’ Roger said in a low voice.

‘A dunny lane?’ I noticed he had drawn his gun and copied him.

‘Back in the day before sewerage systems, the waste was taken away up these lanes.’

It felt like a sewerage lane – oppressive and mucky, and scary to boot. My anxiety was increasing exponentially with the distance from the car; my heart beat wild, my breathing ragged. I wanted to ask him to return to the vehicle, but I couldn’t. Firstly because I didn’t want him to know I was scared and secondly because this was my job.

Eventually we could see the end in the distance and I felt Roger relax. ‘Stupid imagination,’ he said, starting to turn towards the car. But then he stopped and stiffened, staring towards the back corner of the lane.

A piece of pink chiffon fluttered in the breeze.

‘Not again,’ I heard Roger say, his voice a low moan of distress.

I followed him to the chiffon, my eyes travelling slowly down the bright slash of pink. My thinking was robotic as I documented that the material belonged to a blouse with pearl buttons and a sash waist and that the colour looked good against the soft crème of the short skirt. My eyes moved on, against my wishes, to a swan neck, a delicate angular cheek, before settling, finally, on the horror of her staring eyes.

She would have been pretty if she weren’t covered in blood. Even through the smudge of red on her face I could see the cheekbones, the curve of her lips. Her limbs lay in a jumble, her clothes askew. It looked as if she had been fighting: her fingers curled into claws, her legs bent for kicking. Fighting until the life had left her, leaking out through the wound at her throat.

I staggered away and threw up, heaving up my donuts as tears tracked freely down my face. The image of her body was burnt into my mind; even with my eyes closed I could see her clearly.

When I was finished with the puking, I wiped my mouth on a tissue and turned back towards the woman.

‘First dead body?’ Roger asked.

‘No, I see them all the time.’

He smiled wryly at me. ‘Sorry.’

‘All part of the job,’ I said, shrugging. I looked away from her. All of a sudden I wasn’t so sure I had finished being sick.

‘Why don’t you sit over there,’ he said, ‘while I call in backup.’

In the end I went back up the lane to wait for the rest of the crime squad. I wanted to watch them work, but I was loath to embarrass myself again, so I got a lift back to the station with one of the other detectives.

Daniel was still diligently reading his operational manual when I arrived. I quietly took a seat at my desk and flipped the book back open.

‘They found another body?’ Bob, Nathan and Mark clustered around my desk.

‘Ahuh.’ I saw Daniel look up from his book and push his glasses up his nose.

‘What do you mean
another
body?’ he asked.

‘Is that the fourth or the fifth?’ Bob said to the others.

‘The fifth,’ Mark confirmed.

‘Were they all prostitutes?’ I asked. Roger had been sure she was one of the women who normally worked the area.

‘Yep.’

‘And they’re always killed the same way?’

‘Throat cut?’ Bob asked.

‘Yes.’ I shuddered at the memory. I had never realised how much blood was in the human body.

‘That’s our serial killer.’ Bob shook his head and went back to his desk.

‘It gets easier with time,’ Nathan said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

‘I hope so,’ I said, but privately I thought it would be a sadder world when I was not affected by the sight of a dead body.

***

I didn’t sleep well that night. Every time I managed to fall asleep the dead woman’s memory haunted me, asking me to help her. Of course, then I would wake straight up and the noise from the street would delay my return to slumber.

Daniel and I were still plugging our way through the manual the next day when Roger sauntered into work. Bob and Nathan, who were filling out some paperwork, gathered around his desk, asking him questions about the latest murder.

More for the want to do something, anything, rather than read that stupid manual, I hopped up, stretched and proceeded to make the coffee. Besides, it would give me an excuse to get closer to Roger without it looking obvious.

‘Just the same as the others,’ I heard him say. ‘Whoever the killer is…they’re good.’ His voice held a note of frustration.

‘So nothing for forensics?’

‘No skin under her nails, or hair. It will take a bit more time to get the results for saliva and semen.’

‘Nothing dropped at the scene?’ I asked.

Roger looked at me standing behind the others. ‘Hello Constable Bun,’ he said.

I blushed and handed him a coffee. ‘Milk and sugar?’ I asked.

‘I like ‘em white and sweet.’

I blushed even harder and scuttled back to the manual. Daniel was still sitting at his desk, but he was watching Roger and the others.

‘No,’ Roger said, answering my question, ‘nothing dropped at the scene.’

I buried my head in my book and pretended to be busy, but I was listening really hard; listening for details of the serial killer but also listening for any mention of a girlfriend, or worse yet, a wife.

They joked around for a while but there was no more talk of the serial killer. He drank his coffee, left his dirty cup on the edge of the sink, and then approached Daniel.

‘Coming?’ he said.

Daniel looked up through his glasses, goggling at Roger. ‘Yes sir,’ he said, standing up quickly.

‘Detective,’ Roger corrected him.

I tried to suppress my disappointment that he had taken Daniel and not me. I told myself it was only fair, seeing as how I had gotten to ride with him yesterday, but I was bored and – who am I kidding – already had a huge crush on Roger. I washed up his cup and then the rest of the day passed slowly until I got to pack up my things and go home.

I bought a paper on the way home and searched the ‘For Rent’ pages while I ate my dinner. Then I smuggled Cocoa outside in my back pack and we went for a walk.

Sydney in October has a tangible energy; a city waking up after a long, cold winter. It was contagious and I found myself smiling as I walked.

I took Cocoa down to the dog park and released him from the lead. He ran off, nose to the ground as he sought the best place to lay his golden egg. When he had finished, I picked it up in a bag, promising myself I was going to put him on a healthier diet, and threw it into a bin. Then I sat down on a park bench that provided a view out over the city below.

I had only been there for a minute when I heard a voice say, ‘Oooh, will you look at that. It’s love at first sight.’

A short man, wearing tight jeans and an even tighter black t-shirt which emphasised a sculpted chest, crossed the walkway and sat down next to me. He gestured with a hand to where Cocoa was running around with a black poodle.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘It’s nice to see him playing with a dog his own size.’ I still hadn’t gotten over the sight of him playing with the Alsatians.

‘I’m Bwuce,’ he said.

‘Bwuce?’

‘No… Bewuce.’

‘Oh Bruce,’ I said. ‘I’m Chanel.’

‘That’s Lancelot,’ he said, pointing towards the poodle.

‘Cocoa,’ I said.

He let out a high pitch giggle and fluttered his hands around. ‘Cocoa and Chanel, that’s a good one.’

I smiled. ‘Actually my ex-boyfriend named him.’

‘Ooh well, he had a sense of humour. Is he still single?’

I started to laugh and then realised he was serious. ‘Yes, but he doesn’t live in Sydney.’

Bruce sighed. ‘Shame, it’s hard to find a man with a good sense of humour.’

Lancelot and Cocoa ran past us, rubbing up against each other and gently biting each other’s muzzles.

‘If only it were that easy,’ Bruce said.

‘So, there aren’t a lot of gay men in King’s Cross?’

‘Oh nooo,’ he said, ‘there’s heaps of them, just not a lot looking for a relationship.’

I mulled his words over and then sighed. ‘I know how you feel,’ I said. All of the men I had met in the last few years who had been interested in more than a roll in the hay had been dull. Thinking I was being fussy (okay, giving into Mum’s nagging that I was being fussy) I had given it a shot with Tommy. The only good thing that had come out of
that
had been Cocoa.

‘Why aren’t the bad boys interested in relationships?’ I said to Bruce.

‘Girlfriend,’ he said, waving his hands around, ‘if they were interested in a relationship then they wouldn’t be bad boys.’

I left Bruce there with a promise to meet him and Lancelot the next night, and wandered back to the apartment. It was starting to get dark and a woman in a short skirt had taken up residence on one of the street corners. Was she a prostitute? I couldn’t be sure. But I was dying to ask her if she knew anything about the woman’s body we had found yesterday.

I grasped my courage with both hands and walked towards her.

‘Sorry sister,’ she said, ‘I ain’t interested in that kind of action.’

Well, that answered
that
question.

‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘neither am I. I wanted to ask you about…’ I stopped, not sure how to frame the question.

‘About what?’ Suspicion coated her words.

‘The woman whose body was found yesterday.’

She stared at me for a few seconds before asking, ‘You a cop?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘I don’t talk to no cops,’ she said, turning her back on me.

‘Oh no, I’m not like that,’ I said, smiling.

She continued to ignore me.

‘I just want to help.’ Even to my ears it sounded lame.

‘You want to help?’ she said, swivelling her head to look at me again.

‘Yes.’ I nodded my head eagerly hoping to impress her with my sincerity.

‘Then go away pig. You’re scaring off my customers.’

If she had slapped me it would have stunned me less. Pig? I mean I was a cop but I wasn’t like …
Like what?
I asked myself. Like all the other cops?

I sighed and headed back towards the apartment. Of course I was like all the other cops. It didn’t matter that I wanted to be liked by everybody (not that
that
had ever worked out for me before), now there were going to be people that hated me because of what I stood for – the law – and I was just going to have to get used to it.

***

It wasn’t until the next day that I realised I could have arrested her for prostitution.
But
I was off duty
, I told myself. Plus, if I really wanted to get information over the dead woman the last thing I needed to do was alienate the prostitutes in the area. This brought me to the question. Why did I want information on the dead woman? What was I going to do with it? Find the serial killer?

Well why not?
A very small part of me asked.

Yeah right. There were experienced detectives working this case that were baffled, as if I could find anything useful. I slapped the small part of myself a few times till it shut up and then opened the manual.

I was nearly all the way through it and Bob had advised me as soon as I was finished I was going out on the beat with him. That news had given me much needed inspiration to keep reading. Daniel had finished his the day before and had disappeared that morning with Nathan. I had been green with envy, but Roger had turned up shortly afterwards and flirted with me which had placated me slightly, until I realised he’d dumped his dirty mug on my desk.

‘Good work man.’ Nathan’s voice woke me from my doze.

What had I been doing? Oh yeah, right – reading that stupid manual.

‘Thanks.’ Daniel’s voice sounded more embarrassed than normal.

I stood up and headed for the coffee machine. The sleepless nights were getting to me and I had high hopes for an apartment I was looking at after work today, but for right now, I needed caffeine.

Daniel and Nathan entered the muster room and sat down at their prospective desks to fill out paperwork. I made them both coffee and delivered it to them.

‘How’d it go?’ I asked Daniel, looking over his shoulder at the paperwork. It was an arrest report.

‘Good.’ He shrugged and smiled at me.

‘He made his first arrest,’ Nathan said.

‘He did?’ I felt the ugly green monster stirring inside me. ‘That’s great.’ I wrestled the monster to the ground, slammed a lid over it and stuffed it into the back corner of my mind.

‘Caught a shoplifter down at the 7-11.’

Damn, while I had been snoring, Daniel had been out arresting criminals. I really had to finish that manual.

I shuffled back to my desk and started reading again.

‘How much do you have to go?’ Bob asked me a few minutes later.

I showed him the book. ‘Close enough, you can finish the rest tonight. Let’s get out of here.’

I resisted the urge to throw my arms around his chubby frame as I jumped up from the desk and grabbed my things.

‘What are we doing?’ I asked him as we left the station.

‘We’re going to wander around and keep an eye on things.’

I was disappointed he hadn’t said, ‘We’re going to kick some criminal arse,’ or something to that effect. But truth be told, Bob didn’t look like the type of policeman who ever kicked criminal arse. If he accidentally fell on one he would be sure to pin him down but I couldn’t see him chasing anyone through the streets of King’s Cross, or vaulting over a table to tackle the perpetrator like Daniel had apparently done.

It was a pleasant day to be wandering around and the pace Bob set allowed me to stare at the shiny, expensive clothing in the shop windows, but after a while I started to get bored so I began to play Roger’s favourite game.

It was while Bob was buying himself a hot dog that I saw it.

A man stood in the park, the hood of his grey jumper pulled up over his head. As I watched, another untrustworthy looking character passed close by. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like something passed from one to the other.

I thought about it as we continued our rounds, suspicious about a couple of things. Firstly, obviously, the exchange, and secondly I found myself wondering why he was wearing a jumper in this temperature, with the hood pulled up. I mean I had a short sleeve shirt on and was glad I had put on my sports deodorant that morning. So when Bob went back for his second hotdog I stopped and watched.

The man was tall and skinny and had dark tufts of hair sticking out from under the hood of his jumper. His jeans had seen better days, more patches and frays obvious than whole denim. Wires traversed up the front of his jumper to his ears and he bobbed up and down, presumably to the music he was listening to. Either that or he was impersonating a cockatiel.

As I watched, a short plump man with a baseball cap pulled low walked right by him. Close enough to bump into him. Close enough to take something from him. This time I saw it clearly, the two hands smoothly passing objects one to the other, and before I had even thought about what I was doing I took off.

The tall man saw me coming and bolted. I could hear Bob shrieking my name from behind and a vision of him running – hotdog clasped in one hand, belly wobbling – made me want to turn to look, but I didn’t. The man’s legs were longer than mine and I couldn’t afford to lose any ground.

We charged across the park and down the main street of King’s Cross, his hoodie trailing out behind him like a flag. I dodged around a pedestrian and darted across the road after him through a break in the cars. He ran back up the hill towards the park and I could feel my breath coming in short, sharp jerks. He was getting away from me. I couldn’t believe it, my first chase and he was going to get away.

Just as I was beginning to despair he raced around the corner back into the park and ran smack bang into Bob, who was bent over at the waist breathing heavily. The two of them went down, hard. I heard his head smack the pavement and winced. That was going to hurt later. Bob bounced and rolled, squishing his hotdog as he went.

I leapt over Bob, yanked my hand cuffs off my vest and secured the perpetrator’s hands behind his back. I flashed him my badge, gave him my name and then read him his rights. I could hear a spatter of applause coming from a group of Japanese tourists standing at the edge of the park and resisted the urge to bow. Truth be told though, I was pretty impressed with myself.

‘Blimey,’ Bob said as he climbed to his feet. There was tomato sauce smeared over the front of his shirt and the hot dog sausage was sticking out of his top pocket. ‘You showed him.’

‘That’s as far as you made it?’ I asked. The hotdog vendor was barely 100 metres away.

‘You seemed to have it covered.’ He pulled the sausage out of his pocket, looked at it for a second and then took a bite.

‘You’re making a big mistake,’ my captive said.

‘You have the right to remain silent,’ I reminded him.

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Holding onto the handcuffs firmly, I helped him to his feet. Bob and I shepherded him back to the police station.

Dave, who was currently the permanent front desk officer, nodded at us when we came through the front door. His eyebrows rose at the sight of our cuffed prisoner. ‘What’s he in for,’ he asked.

‘Drug dealing,’ I said.

‘I’ll go get Richardson.’

We dragged our arrestee to an interview room, where he lounged on one of the chairs. His legs stretched out, his arms behind his head; he appeared to be quite at home. I could only assume it wasn’t the first time he’d been brought in for questioning.

It wasn’t long before Roger turned up. Like a puppy with a new toy, I was itching to show off my captive.
Oh boy.
I had it bad.

‘Hey Trent,’ he said, ‘Dave said they’d brought you in. What were you thinking?’

‘She’s very perceptive,’ he said, standing up and shaking Roger’s hand.

‘I was guessing it wasn’t Bob,’ Roger said, smiling at me.

Bob had the same look on his face that I was guessing was on mine. Utter confusion. At least I didn’t have tomato sauce on mine.

‘Bun, Bob, this is Detective Inspector Trent Bailey. He’s working undercover here at the moment trying to bust a drug ring.’

Oh Fuck. I’d arrested an undercover police officer.

‘I did try to warn you,’ he said to me.

I seemed, for the first time in my life, to be unable to speak.

‘Is she normally this quiet?’ he asked Roger.

‘No, not at all.’

‘Her name’s Bun?’

‘That’s my pet name for her; you know, cause of the hair.’

‘Cute,’ Trent said, looking me up and down.

‘I
am
here,’ I finally spluttered.

Trent chuckled and winked at me.

We left the two of them and proceeded back to our desks to write up the paperwork. I was feeling pretty deflated that all my work had come to zip. Plus, I had risked exposing an undercover operation. Still I couldn’t help feeling mollified by the warm response Bob was getting to the story of my chasing Trent down. Nathan made him tell it twice, and then when Roger finally came back he got him to tell it again.