Hell to Pay (35 page)

A twist of a smile, Wendy saying, “Joking aside, what if the enormity of it hits her one day?”

Hirsch took a chance and reached his hand out. Her hand was a warm claw under his. “All you can do,” he said, “is listen and watch and not make a big deal about it if she raises the issue.”

“Not make a big deal about it as in it’s okay to shoot people or not make a big deal about it as in don’t make her anxious and guilty?”

Hirsch was pretty sure she was smiling so he said, “Oh, the former.”

Now she grew serious. “At least she didn’t kill him. But what happens officially now?”

“She’ll have to answer questions: where the gun came from, why she’d had it, why she shot it, that kind of thing. You’ll be allowed to sit with her. Bring in a lawyer if you think things are straying into dangerous territory. But given her age and the fact the gun hadn’t been secured by the owner and the fact she saved my life, then I don’t think any action will be taken.” He paused. “Ray, on the other hand, may face some kind of firearms offense in addition to everything else.”

Katie wandered in. She stood close to Hirsch’s chair, bumping her shoulder against his in absentminded affection. Wendy smiled at her. “Okay, sweetie?”

“Peachy.”

And she wandered back to the TV.

Hirsch said, “You going ahead with the public meeting?”

“Sure. Superintendent Spurling won’t be there for obvious reasons.”

“They’ll send someone in his place.”

“The point is I want them to send someone in Sergeant Kropp’s place
—and
Constable Nicholson’s
and
Constable Andrewartha’s. Despite everything that’s happened, the situation in Redruth hasn’t altered.”

Hirsch nodded. Kropp had been strangely quiet. A few weeks ago—a few
days
ago—the sergeant would have been ranting on the phone for Hirsch to tell his girlfriend to back off. “Can I ask you something?”

Wendy Street tensed, slipped her hand out from under his, and Hirsch wondered, with sadness, if she were readying herself to rebuff him. He blushed. “I met you on a Monday, the second week of the September school holidays.”

She still looked tense. “That sounds about right.”

“Alison was with you.”

“Yes. Where are you going with this?”

“Bear with me. On the
Saturday
—in other words, two days before that—she’d followed her husband to a house just on the other side of Redruth where several men, including her husband and father-in-law, were having sex with Melia Donovan and Gemma Pitcher and possibly others we don’t know about.”

“Yes …?”

“As we understand it, she accosted Ray. He probably told his father, who told the others, and it was agreed she had to go.”

“Didn’t have anything to do with the inheritance after all,” Wendy said.

“Icing on the cake, though,” Hirsch said. “The thing is, I have a witness who saw Melia Donovan running from the house in distress, naked, carrying her clothes and shoes.”

The tension hadn’t ebbed. “And …?”

“This witness said that David Coulter chased Melia in his car and knocked her down.”

Wendy tightened against the air between them. “You think Allie should have said something?”

Hirsch said, “It’s just that I’m surprised she didn’t. Was she that browbeaten, or that single-minded about leaving her husband, that she’d fail to mention something like that?”

“How do you know she saw it? It was nighttime, she might not have had a clear view, she might already have left.”

“True.”

“All I know is, she was upbeat about leaving Ray and getting a divorce.”

“She didn’t mention that she’d followed Ray, had her suspicions confirmed, nothing like that?”

“No.”

“She looked tense the day I met her. Scared.”

“Wouldn’t you be? She assumed you were a mate of Kropp’s. We all did.”

Hirsch winced.

“Maybe,” Wendy said, placing her hand over his this time, “she did follow Ray, saw all the cars there, heard music or whatever and assumed he’d gone to a party. He’d always flaunted his other life, this was just more of the same, she felt ashamed and embarrassed and didn’t tell me about it.”

“You’re probably right.”

“What’s Coulter saying? Did he admit to running over Melia?”

“Dunno, it’s out of my hands.”

“Gemma will know.”

“If I can find her,” Hirsch said, thinking of those mine shafts dotting the country behind the Razorback.

A
ND THEN ONE DAY
Gemma Pitcher was seen in town. When word got through to Hirsch it was a Sunday, his day off. Wearing his board shorts and a T-shirt, he came knocking.

Gemma’s mother answered with her sullen face, as if life was a disappointment, including her daughter’s return.

Or maybe it’s me
, Hirsch thought. “Is Gemma in?”

“Are you taking her out?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The woman looked him up and down. “She’s too upset to go out.”

Hirsch shook his head, thinking that he should have worn his uniform.
Men, including policemen, came knocking on this door from time to time, asking for Gemma, so why should I be any different?
“It’s a work matter, Mrs. Pitcher.”

“I need her to help with dinner,” grumbled the woman.

But she took Hirsch through to the sitting room, where Gemma was watching one of the Twilight movies, DVD discs and covers strewn around the TV set and across the carpet.

“Hello, Gemma,” he said. “Movie marathon?”

Gemma was staring dazedly at the screen, as if she’d been doing it for half of her life.
Possibly she has
, Hirsch thought. Her mouth hung open, and she lolled rather than sat, dressed in a short top and tights, the fabric stretched to within a millimeter of tolerance and revealing her soft white belly.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hirsch said, watching the mother, who flashed him a look of bitterness and defiance before backing out of the room. Presently she could be heard in the kitchen, smacking dishes about in lieu of love or regard. Hirsch said, “Gemma, I need to ask you some questions.”

“What for?”

Hirsch stared at her. “I have a better question: How come you’re surprised I want to ask you some questions?”

Gemma looked at him blankly, as if astonished. “But it’s all over, it was on the news.”

Hirsch wondered how her mind worked. He sat beside her, sinking into the sofa cushions and against over-soft, over-round teenage flesh. He edged away hastily. “Gemma, obviously we have questions to ask you. You might have to give evidence in court. You might face charges yourself.”

Beside him the girl was suddenly no longer soft but a dense, tight shape. She swallowed convulsively.

“Gemma?”

Full of tidal anxieties, her face sulky and damp, she said, “I done nothing.”

“Gemma, I need to know who introduced Melia to this thing you had going with those men who have been charged, Coulter and Venn and Logan and the others. Was it you?”

“I didn’t want her there. Who do you think they all preferred?”

The fifteen-year-old beauty, not the plain, bovine eighteen-year-old. “Did you try to dissuade her?”

“Huh?”

Hirsch sought inspiration from the stale air. “Did you try to convince her it was the wrong thing to do?”

“Her? Yeah, right.”

“She was stubborn?”

Gemma snorted.

“You haven’t answered the question: who got her involved?”

Her voice came, without conviction: “Mr. Coulter.”

“How?”

“Me and her got done for shoplifting and he let us off and asked Mel out.”

“Was she his girlfriend? Did they go out?”

“Yeah, but, you know, they had to keep it secret.”

“For how long?”

Gemma heaved her heavy shoulders. “I dunno, a while. Few weeks.”

“Just to be clear, they were having sex?”

Gemma couldn’t believe he’d be so naive. “Like I said, they were goin’ out.”

“How long after he started going out with her did he ask her to one of your parties?”

The shoulders heaved again. “It wasn’t like she went to lots of them.”

“That first time, did you tell her what kind of party it would be?”

“No.”

“You didn’t try to warn her?”

“I would of got into trouble.”

“With who? Melia?”

“No—Mr. Coulter. He said I had to hold her hand. He said he could still drop me in the shit because of the shoplifting and that.”

“Was she shocked, upset, when she realized what was happening?”

Gemma snorted. “Not her.”

“Did you give her a lift or did Mr. Coulter collect her or collect both of you?”

“Me.”

“He couldn’t let himself be seen with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Getting back to that first party: She wasn’t scared, nervous?”

“Mr. Coulter was there.”

“But so were a lot of other men and they wore masks.”

“What? No.”

“They weren’t masked?”

“Nah.”

“Never?”

“No.”

Emily Hobba had said the men had worn masks.
They changed their MO
, Hirsch thought,
or Emily had lied, not wanting to be asked to identify anyone
.

“These parties: I know you had sex with the men, but was there also music, dancing?”

“Sure.”

“Alcohol? Drugs?”

Gemma slid her eyes to a forgettable corner of the miserable room. Hirsch said, “I’m not the drug squad. I just need to know more about the atmosphere of these parties.”

“Like you said, dancing and drinking and that.”

“And there was you, Melia …”

“Sometimes these other girls.”

“I know about Emily Hobba and Lily Humphreys.”

“So? Why you asking me, then? Deadshit.”

“Apart from Emily, who were these other girls?”

“Dunno. They came with that cop.”

“The party I’m mostly interested in is the last one. What happened?”

“Well, you know.”

“No, Gemma, I don’t know.”

“I had sex and the others had sex.”

“Melia too?”

“Sure.”

“With more than one man?”

Gemma wriggled around where she sat. “I’ll tell ya, all right? She was with Mr. Coulter and then the others wanted to gang her, all of them at once, including anal, and she got upset, all right?”

“She ran out?”

“Said she was going to tell.”

“Did David Coulter follow her outside?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Did you?”

“I couldn’t find her.”

“She wasn’t outside on the road or on the lawn?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Did you see Mrs. Latimer there?”

“What?”

“Never mind. What about Sam Hempel?”

“That loser.”

“Was he there, Gemma?”

“Didn’t see him.”

“You don’t sound surprised that I’ve mentioned him.”

“He was always like sniffing around and that.”

“He told me he was looking out for her.”

“Yeah, right.”

“The day I first asked you questions, why didn’t you mention any of this?”

“Get real.”

“But your best friend had just died a terrible death.”

“Doctor McAskill said don’t say nothin’ or I’d get in trouble. Look what they done to Melia to shut her up. So when you go asking me about Melia and some older guy I got scared.”

“You ran.”

“So?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Where have you been all this time?”

“Me foster mother.”

“You were in foster care?”

“When I was like nine.”

Hirsch’s checks had uncovered a juvenile record but not the foster placement. “She was nice to you?”

“Better than Mum.”

“Tell me about Emily Hobba.”

The big shoulders lifted to the fleshy ears. “We met in juvie detention.”

“She had an older friend who got you involved in this party scene?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Just trying to form a picture, Gemma.”

“I’m really tired.”

“Before Melia was involved, you would sometimes travel all the way down to the city for these parties?”

“So?”

“Didn’t your mother wonder where you were going?”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Were you paid?”

She shrugged. “Got, you know, presents and that.”

“Were you ever paid cash, Gemma?”

“I’m not a prostitute or nothin’.”

“Why did the operation move to Redruth?”

“What?”

“Why did the parties stop occurring in the city and start occurring in the country?”

“There were these like whispers.”

“Whispers?”

“Like we should take a break or not do it in the city.”

“People were suspicious?”

“Suppose. Dunno, do I?”

Hirsch named all of the locals, and said, “Were these men new, or had they been attending the city parties all along?”

“Some of them, sometimes. It wasn’t like every weekend or anything. I’ve only been to like six or seven parties, tops.”

Hirsch thought about it. Even posted in the bush, a cop of senior rank would be in a position to hear about rumbles coming from sex crimes or any of the other squads. “If any of these men try to contact you, call me straight away.”

Gemma shrank from him. “What?”

“We will need to speak to you again, but in the meantime perhaps you could stay with your foster mother again.”

The girl looked frightened. “I thought it was over.”

“Those men have been granted bail, I’m afraid. Strict bail conditions, but still …”

“Okay.”

Hirsch took note of the foster mother’s details then walked through to the kitchen and pointed out a few home truths to the birth mother.

KROPP WAS WAITING FOR him at the police station, apparently dozing behind the wheel of a Redruth patrol car. Head tilted back, eyes closed, hands in his lap.

But he was quick to sense Hirsch. In a couple of economical motions he was out and onto the footpath as Hirsch slid his key in the lock. “Sarge,” said Hirsch, one arm out to hold the front door ajar, giving the sergeant plenty of room.

“Constable.”

They were chilly with each other. Hirsch opened the connecting door to his private quarters, again giving Kropp room, as if the pair of them might explode into violence if sleeve brushed sleeve, but Kropp shook his head. “Your office will do.”