The Tower (4 page)

Randall was holding the beam of light over them again, a little steadier now. Looking down at the orange coat over McIver's lower body, Troy saw there was blood on it that couldn't have come from the sergeant. He glanced up at Randall and for the first time noticed the blood on the other man's forehead.

‘You okay?'

‘The man had a pistol. I was trying to use the radio, it wasn't working in there and he came barging into the stairwell. He just belted me across the head. I wasn't ready for it.' He sounded almost apologetic.

‘It's okay,' Troy said.

‘I guess you guys get trained for this sort of thing.'

‘We do,' Troy said, wondering if Randall was in shock. ‘You're okay now. So the man had a gun?'

‘Yes. He hit me with it.'

Troy told Randall to contact his base again and get them to tell Harmer the man definitely had a gun.

‘I already did, like you told me to.' Randall was speaking very quickly.

‘You told her he
might
have a weapon,' Troy explained. ‘Now you tell her he's
definitely
got one.'

When Randall had finished speaking into his radio, he said to Troy, ‘They'll be here any minute.'

‘Was the man carrying anything else?'

‘I think he had a handbag.'

It must be the victim's. They needed to tell Harmer this, too.

Troy wondered where the man with the gun might be by now. He might be downstairs in the atrium, trying to shoot his way out. It might be all over.

Randall straightened up suddenly. ‘I've got to make a call.' He was fumbling in his pocket, looking anxious. ‘I've got to ring my boss.'

‘I think he'd know already.'

‘No.'

Randall was turning to walk away.

‘Wait,' Troy ordered. ‘Call Bazzi. Ask him if he saw the lift come down.'

‘Call Bazzi?' Randall said a little wildly as a lift door opened, blinding them with its light, and a small crowd of cops and paramedics rushed out. ‘I can't. Harmer told me before. Bazzi's disappeared.'

Four

T
wenty minutes later, back at ground level and out on the street, Troy watched as the ambulance with McIver inside left for Royal Prince Alfred. The sarge was still unconscious. One of the paramedics had told Troy the bullet that ripped open his arm had probably shocked him into tripping over, and he'd hit his head when he fell. This could sometimes lead to recurrent blackouts.

Don Vella had turned up with two more detectives, and they were up on level thirty-one. The head of the police media unit was around somewhere, and had told Troy not to speak to anyone. Not that he would: it was standard procedure to refuse to talk to the media unless you had the go-ahead from a senior officer. Sometimes police leaked information, but it was not something Troy had ever done.

Homicide Commander Helen Kelly had arrived at City Central and was talking to Ron Siegert. Other detectives would be going to the hospital to be with McIver. Having any officer down was a major event and Troy couldn't remember the last time a homicide detective had been shot. Kelly had said the same when they'd spoken briefly on the phone a few minutes earlier. Then, ‘But if it had to be anyone, it was going to be Jon.' For a second Troy wondered who she was talking about, then realised Jon was McIver's first name. He hoped he wasn't going into shock himself. Of course he was upset by what had happened, but the emotion seemed to be restricted to one part of his mind, a small part, and the rest of him seemed to be functioning normally.

Upstairs, after the medics had taken over from him, he'd searched the clothes of the man he'd shot. Probably he shouldn't have done this; physical evidence would need to swab him for gunshot residue. Kelly had said something about this on the phone. But with the shortage of officers and the speed things were going, he needed to do what he could, see if there was anything that might identify the man.

He couldn't look at the face. It was strange—him being a homicide cop it shouldn't bother him—but he hadn't wanted to see the man's face. The guy had no wallet, no ID, nothing at all. He'd explained this to Harmer when she arrived. She'd told him to go down to ground level and leave the investigation to other officers.

Now that he had nothing to do but wait, he was feeling odd. Not traumatised, nothing like that, but as though he were floating. He wondered if this was how it would be, or if it would all come down on him at some point.

His mind drifted back to his conversation with Kelly, who'd said, ‘We're going to have to be very careful about all of this, you two being where you shouldn't, and then the shooting. Siegert's very unhappy. I suppose you went up to help McIver. I mean, Harmer told you not to, but I suppose you felt you had to help a fellow officer?'

‘That's right,' he said, wondering where this was going; wondering if he should tell her what state McIver had been in, but knowing he wouldn't. He had felt the stirring of something. A different kind of danger.

Kelly said, ‘Just be careful. I'd hate to see your career affected because of the sergeant.'

‘What do you mean?' he said.

Until tonight he'd had few dealings with Kelly, and didn't know how to read her.

‘I'm not saying there are any problems, Nick. I don't know enough about it yet. But when you make your statement, just think about what you're saying. All right?'

‘Sure I will.'

‘No, I mean
really
think.'

He knew he had to work this out for himself, but at the moment nothing much was coming. She had told him to wait at the scene until Internal Affairs arrived to interview him.

‘Does this mean I'm off the investigation?' he said.

‘Of course you are. Just keep an eye on things until I get there. You heard about this double stabbing at Bourke yesterday?' Troy had. It meant the squad—six months into a hiring freeze and already understaffed—was now desperately short of people.

Soon after she'd hung up, Anna called.

‘You hungry?' she said.

‘No.'

‘Dry?'

‘Yes.'

‘Warm?'

‘Of course.'

‘You're lying.'

It was a ritual, based on some advice a sergeant had given him years ago: a cop should never be hungry, cold, wet or tired. She didn't ask if he was tired because she knew all about the rush he got at the start of the case, the rush that could keep him going without sleep for twenty-four hours or more.

‘How's Matt?' he asked.

‘He's good.'

‘What you doing, watching TV?'

‘Nothing on. I might have an early night.'

He thought about telling her what had happened, but if he did she'd stay up for him and he didn't want that. Not tonight. Things were not right between them, and sometimes it was easier to deal with stuff by himself. These days she slept on the couch in Matt's room, using his condition as an excuse. As though asthma was some life-threatening disease. In some ways for Troy that was better than having her in the room with him, there but not there. When he got home tonight he knew he'd just want to sleep, not be reminded of the state of his marriage.

He told her he had to go and disconnected, glad she wasn't watching television and didn't listen to the radio at night. News of the shooting would be all over the place by now.

Maybe he should have told the man he had a gun and would fire. There was no obligation for him to do this, but maybe he should have. Like maybe he should have been up there with McIver in the first place. He puzzled over this for a while, wondering if he could have handled it differently, come out of the situation with the guy alive. Nothing came to mind. He wondered if he was being too easy on himself, if his mind just didn't want to do that sort of hard work at the moment.

Troy stood in the drizzle for a while, staring up at the skyscraper. It was hard to avoid looking at it, yet when you did, your mind sort of froze, as if it was just too big to comprehend. There was one light on the edge of each storey, one above the other. The mist had gone and the column of dim lights extended up higher than before. Maybe he could see as far up as level forty, when the building stepped back, but he doubted it. The rain in his eyes made it hard to count the floors. Lowering his head, he became aware there were more people around, including lines of spectators at either end of the section of road that had been blocked off. Armoured men were getting out of the back of a big van—the on-call unit from the State Protection Group. About a hundred metres away, flashes were going off. He realised the cameras might be pointed at himself. The media had arrived. Of course.

Harmer came by, walking quickly, but stopped when she saw him. She put out a hand and touched him on the arm, asked him how he was.

‘Jon will pull through,' she said.

‘You've heard from the hospital?'

‘No, but he's—' She stopped, as though suddenly aware of the difficulty of describing McIver. ‘You know we just found shoes and a coat on level thirty-three?'

This was good. ‘There you go,' he said. ‘Mac's instincts are all right.'

‘They were near the loading platform, so she could have done it herself.'

‘You're getting it dusted?'

She nodded. ‘It's pretty wet. Why was Sean Randall up there?'

‘I asked him to take me.'

She looked unhappy. But all she said was, ‘How did he hold up?'

Troy shrugged. ‘Is he okay? At his job, I mean.'

‘He's an engineer, no previous experience of security, but a quick learner. You need to go inside now, keep yourself intact.'

‘Intact?'

‘You're evidence.'

He looked down at his hands, covered in dirt and blood. McIver's blood. At that moment something felt like it wanted to burst out of his chest.

‘You've closed down the site?'

‘We're working on it,' she said. ‘I'm trying to get the civilians out.' She turned to go. ‘But I don't have enough officers yet. It's a nightmare.' All the same, she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.

Troy went back to the screens around the car and into the enclosure, where the government contractor was asking Little if it was all right to bag the body. Crime scene had finished and gone upstairs. Little looked at Troy, who nodded.

The sergeant said, ‘I suppose we need the autopsy as soon as?' He looked at the woman on top of the car. ‘A face would be nice.'

‘And I guess your constables would like their vehicle back.'

Several people sniggered and Little smiled. I can handle this, Troy thought. I am going to be okay.

He left the enclosure while the contractors got on with their job. The crowd at one of the barriers parted and a van reversed towards him. Troy saw Sean Randall wandering around, holding a big orange coat like the one he'd been wearing upstairs. He had a bandage around his head and looked distracted. When he saw Troy, his face lit up as though he'd found the missing piece to a puzzle. He came up and thrust out the coat.

Troy put it on and drew up the zip, and found himself shivering violently for almost a minute. When it was over, he felt warm again, and nodded his thanks to Randall, who was staring at him anxiously.

‘Bazzi disappeared at eight thirty—just after we went upstairs,' the engineer said. ‘As far as we can make out. Just walked out of the office and left the site.'

‘His mobile?'

‘Still on his desk.'

Thinking about the man who'd taken McIver's gun, Troy said, ‘Did anyone see a lift come down after the guy took your pass?'

‘When I called, Harmer was right next to the console. She and one of the guards saw it was coming down. It went to car park one.'

‘So the guy with the gun's down there?' Troy said, pointing to the ground.

‘Your colleagues are searching.'

Randall went back onto the site. Troy was about to follow when Little appeared, and said he'd been directed by Harmer to stay with him until Internal Affairs arrived. Because of the time of night, this might be a while.

‘She wants you out of the rain,' Little said, looking dubiously at the coat Troy was now wearing. They began to walk and he said, ‘Bloody McIver, eh? Man's had a charmed life.'

‘I guess.'

‘Anyone who could do that to Bobby Logan and survive, I mean, the guy's got balls.' Troy nodded, shifted his mind back to McIver. ‘You know what I'm talking about?' Troy nodded again. Little looked unconvinced, but said no more as they walked across the road.

Troy did know about the Logan brothers, who were two of the city's most effective criminals. In the late eighties McIver had been a junior detective on an investigation that had locked up Bobby for ten years for manslaughter. McIver's evidence in court had been crucial and, from what Troy had heard, partly fabricated. That had been common in the old days, but it was harder to do now, and not Troy's thing. Cops had to make a decision about all that early on and stick to it, and Troy had made his.

‘You think what he did was right?' he asked Little. It was nice to know where the people you worked with stood on these things. But the sergeant didn't seem to have heard him. He was preoccupied, working his cigarette hard to finish it before they got to the entrance.

Troy thought about the dead woman on top of the car, and the presence of the two Indians or Pakistanis. Their determination to escape, the fact one of them had the handbag, pointed to murder. Bazzi's flight confirmed he'd been involved somehow, maybe just by enabling access to the site. Because the body had struck the car, the police had arrived much sooner than the killers would have expected, possibly cutting off their planned means of escape. Bazzi had dithered for a while. Then he panicked and ran, which meant the killers had been stuck upstairs, presumably retreating from the police sweep until McIver had come upon them.