Take Out (18 page)

Stevie closed her eyes for a moment. Mrs Hardegan’s neighbour, Skye, and now her son: just how much could one old woman take? (Image 17.1)

The official part of the briefing came to an end with Angus answering individual questions while other officers added notes to their files. Barry and Wayne were busy delegating jobs to the various members of the task force and making sure procedures were in place for all the necessary gathering of information. Fowler was assigned the joyless task of breaking the bad news about her son to Mrs Hardegan and re-questioning her if possible. Stevie overheard a uniformed officer remind Angus that he was due for a press conference downstairs.

Wanting to avoid Angus for as long as she could, she was the first to slip from the room. She caught the lift downstairs hoping to wangle her way into the observation room to watch the Marius and Rodika interviews. She sensed that Pavel and Hardegan had been the victims of some kind of internal power struggle, but between whom? Marius had been uptight over something, and while Rodika had appeared ignorant of the circumstances behind Jon Pavel’s disappearance and his wife’s murder, there was no hiding her fear. But was it fear of the known or fear of the unknown? Stevie was anxious to find out.

On her way to the interview rooms, she called into the ladies off the central foyer. In it she found a middle-aged woman wearing a colourless skirt and thin grey cardigan, bent over the sink scrubbing at her face. She looked up and Stevie caught the spark of recognition in her puffy red eyes. The woman tried to hide her grief by reaching for the paper towels and pressing a wad into her face.

‘Mrs Williams?’ Stevie placed her hand upon the woman’s arm.

Skye’s mother gave her face a last dab, sniffed and threw the towels into the bin. ‘I know you, don’t I? Sorry, I’m no good with names.’

Stevie smiled. ‘That’s okay; we’ve only met the once, when I dropped something off for Skye, I mean Emily, at her flat. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. My name’s Stevie Hooper.’

‘You were Emily’s policewoman friend, the one she met when she was a volunteer at the Rape Crisis Centre?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Someone banged through the door and disappeared into one of the cubicles. Stevie placed her hand again on the woman’s arm and said in a whisper. ‘Are you all right, are they looking after you?’

‘As well as can be expected I suppose.’

‘Look, there’s a coffee shop just down the road. Why don’t we go and get a cuppa?’ Stevie changed her mind about watching the interviews. Talking with Mrs Williams might prove more beneficial to both of them.

The woman hesitated. ‘I wanted to talk to someone about the accident, that’s why I’m here. I was told to see someone called Angus Wong.’

Stevie wondered who had told Mrs Williams to talk to Angus. Did she know that Skye’s death was now being regarded as suspicious? ‘Angus is tied up with a press conference at the moment,’ she said. ‘But I’ll take you up to him after we’ve had a coffee if you like.’

‘Okay,’ said Mrs Williams, her eyes filling with tears again. ‘It’s been a long drive.’

Stevie held the door open for Mrs Williams then walked with her down the road to a coffee shop near Central. This was one of Stevie’s favourite boltholes, a place rarely visited by anyone on the Job, most cops preferring to hold their meetings in the local pubs and bars.

They ordered coffee and settled into a table near the window. Mrs Williams rarely met Stevie’s eye. Even when reminiscing about Skye she spent most of the time watching the smartly-dressed office workers striding purposefully up St George’s Terrace, holding skirts down, coats closed, battling the perpetual wind. ‘Did Mr Williams come with you?’ she asked.

‘He’s seeding. You know what it’s like; we have to take advantage of the rain.’

Stevie knew too well. Mrs Williams probably envied her husband locked away in the cabin of his John Deere, cutting himself off from everything around him.

‘Emily had a younger sister, didn’t she?’

Mrs Williams nodded and ladled three teaspoons of sugar into her coffee. ‘Gillian. She’s really upset of course; she’s at a difficult age. Never as focused as Emily was. I can only hope this isn’t going to tip her over the edge.’

‘I’m sure you and Mr Williams will be there for her.’

‘Terry, his name’s Terry; and I’m Irene.’ She began to cry, silently. Stevie passed her a napkin and she wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about this; I’m just so tired. Luke phoned about four this morning and it felt as if I’d only just got to sleep. He said I should leave early if I wanted to catch this Inspector Wong bloke—Luke knows full well how long the drive is.’

‘Luke?’ Stevie couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘You mean Luke Fowler?’

‘That’s right, he’s been terrific about all this. I don’t know how I would have coped without him. He rang as soon as he heard the news, sent flowers, even offered to come and help with the seeding.’

Stevie frowned. Was this the ‘sordid’ history Skye had been referring to? ‘How well did Skye know Luke, Irene?’ she asked.

‘They were only together a few months. She brought him to the farm a few times. He was a bit odd, but we still liked him enough.’

Stevie shook her head with amazement. While Mrs Hardegan had flatly stated that Fowler had been in love with Skye and she had seen for herself how committed he was to finding the truth behind her death, she hadn’t thought for a moment they’d actually been an item. She’d assumed it must have been some kind of unrequited infatuation on his part. Although her experience with him in the Fremantle alley did suggest he wasn’t quite the Action Man she’d first pegged, it was still almost impossible to see a connection between the girl she’d considered her friend and the man she could barely tolerate. Eccentric, flighty, impulsive, Skye would have run a conservative, finicky man like Fowler ragged.

‘I didn’t know that. I can’t ... I just can’t imagine them being suited at all,’ she said.

‘He was quite a bit older than Emily, and very different, but they do say opposites attract, don’t they? But I know what you mean. It wasn’t really much of a surprise to Terry and me when Emily told us she’d broken up with him. She wasn’t one to take relationships too seriously; she was way too young for that. I think he was in far deeper than she ever was. He didn’t take the break up at all well, apparently. I did feel sorry for him. Emily was a wonderful, kind girl and everyone loved her, but when it came to relationships with men...’ Mrs Williams shrugged. ‘She didn’t seem to really care; they were just a bit of fun. She got bored so easily.’

Stevie had always known Skye to be a love-’em-and leave-’em type of girl, too young for a serious relationship she always maintained, and oblivious of the trail of broken hearts, or ‘fuck buddies,’ she left sinking in her wake.

‘How long ago did they break up?’ she asked.

Irene looked to the ceiling. ‘Three or so years ago.’ Her absent gaze returned to the window.

In her head, Stevie began to click together the background pieces of the relationship, using what she knew and adding some creative imagination. Fowler and Skye had been an item. He probably had no idea about the nature of Skye’s part-time work. She must have decided to tell him or else he found out for himself. He would have been horrified; a job like that would have been hard enough for any regular guy to accept, not to mention a man like Fowler.

When Skye was assaulted by one of her customers she made the mistake of seeking his help, probably thinking that going to a cop she knew would make it easier. Wrong. Fowler would still have been smarting over their broken relationship, hurt and humiliated. He’d not listened to Skye and brushed her allegations under the carpet. Stevie could almost hear his voice in her head saying that Skye had brought this trouble upon herself. If he had taken Skye’s complaint seriously, the next victim might have been alive today. That was quite a weight to be carrying about on those starched white shoulders; no wonder he was so cut up about Skye’s death. Why though, Stevie continued to puzzle, had Skye told her he still hated her guts? Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe it was more a case of Fowler hating himself.

‘He was too old and too serious for her anyway,’ Mrs Williams broke into Stevie’s thoughts. Stevie couldn’t have agreed more. But she also knew from the errors of her own past, that sexual attraction alone rarely followed conventions and good sense.

Stevie pointed out to Irene Williams the office on the other side of the incident room, planning on leaving Barry to introduce her to Angus. Her timing couldn’t have been worse; the door opened just as she was about to beat her retreat. Several officers looked up from their phones and computers when Angus barked, ‘Stevie, a word.’

‘This is Emily Williams’s mother, Irene,’ Stevie said hurriedly, smiling at the woman. ‘She’d like to talk to you about her daughter. I’m afraid I’ve got to rush, Irene, my partner’s in hospital...’

‘I’m sure Mrs Williams won’t mind waiting for just a minute,’ Angus said. ‘Barry, look after Mrs Williams please, put the kettle on. Excuse me for a moment, ma’am. Stevie, come in.’

He closed the office door behind them. The office was on the fifth floor of the Central Police building, with views across the WACA and the Swan River. Not that Stevie was paying much attention to the view outside the window. Her gaze flitted about the room. It already looked and smelled different from when Monty had been using it: no overflowing bin surrounded by misfired balls of screwed up paper, no dry-cleaning on the back of the door, no clandestine cigarette smoke leaking from the small attached bathroom. The photo of her on the desk was gone too, that was a relief; she’d always hated that picture. Her hair had been especially unmanageable that day, as if she’d just been pulled backwards through the Terrace wind tunnel—which she doubtless had. She wondered where Angus had put it. At the bottom of a drawer along with Monty’s name plaque, probably. She noticed that the clay dinosaur Izzy had made for Monty was still on the desk, holding down a stack of papers.

Angus ground at the loose change in his pockets. ‘Stevie, what the hell have you been playing at?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That innocent look won’t wash with me. You’re messing around where you don’t belong. Haven’t you got better things to do than gatecrashing a team meeting? Shouldn’t you be with Monty and your daughter? Surely a child needs her mother at a time like this.’

How dare he. She felt a rush of anger, clamped her jaw and said nothing.

‘If it wasn’t for the incident in Freo last night I might not have realised you were playing such an active part in the investigation,’ he went on. ‘Some peripheral interest is understandable—you found the baby after all—but actually participating in witness interviews is out of the question. I won’t allow it. It’s paramount the case is only run through official channels. There’s the insurance for a start; you could have been hurt last—’

She interrupted him. ‘Izzy’s at school and Monty tends to sleep at this time of day. I’m taking her in to see him later after school, which will be out soon. So unless you need me for anything else, I’d better get going.’

‘I’m serious, Stevie. This is your last warning. I know Veitch has already had a word with you.’

Stevie made a move toward the dinosaur paperweight, but stopped herself. Taking it would be childish; besides, its presence here on the desk meant that Monty was still coming back. ‘I’ll send your regards to Mont,’ she said as she turned on her heel and left the office. (Image 18.1)

It was closer to lunch than breakfast, but everyone in the establishment slept late. The girls wiped sleep from their eyes as they sat around the table devouring rice cakes and coconut milk, baked bananas and sweet fish curry left over from the night before. The packets of sugary western cereal standing on the table remained untouched. They were well fed—the assurance of good food was about the only promise of Jon Pavel’s that had come true.