The Twisted Knot (17 page)

49

He'd been the little brother, the runner-up, invariably in second place. There'd been a little over a year in difference between their ages, but Barry had exploited that small advantage at every opportunity. He'd always been a fraction faster, a little smarter, a half-step in front of his younger brother. Except when it really counted. For once, Peter had been quicker, quicker to understand as well as quicker on his feet. That was why Barry was dead and he was alive.

He shivered, tucked the sleeping bag tighter around his neck. It was cold in the shed, but not that cold. Not enough to put this chill in his bones like someone had walked over his grave. He was living on borrowed time. He knew that.

He wondered how his life might have turned out if his mother had left their father. Not that their father didn't love them. He wouldn't have touched them like that if he hadn't loved them. But the moments of affection were erased by the arc of his swinging belt. If he was especially angry, he'd use the buckle end. Though after that Mum would usually let them stay home from school and watch television the next day.

He hadn't told her the details. She hadn't asked. Like she hadn't asked about Janey. The same way she hadn't asked when he and Barry were boys and she'd hear screaming at night and wash blood from the sheets in the morning. She didn't want to hear the answers. Part of him hated her. But she was still his mum and you only ever got one of those.

Often he'd contemplate his childhood. He had been a victim too. He had suffered and deserved some compensation for that. So he took comfort the only way he knew how. Sometimes he acknowledged responsibility for his actions. He could stop if he wanted to. He had after Janey. He'd kept to himself and stuck to watching porn. But this had been different.

He wanted to be angry at Barry. Barry who charmed his way into, and out of, everything. Why did everyone think Barry was better looking when they both had such similar features? He had a way of talking to the ladies. ‘Charming' was how he'd heard them refer to Barry. Just trying to charm the pants off them, more likely. It had worked with Belinda. He'd been deeply envious of Barry when he'd married and acquired a stepdaughter. Lucky bastard.

Belinda did nothing to float Peter's boat. Those flabby arms, that wide arse. But, oh, her daughter. Nici had only been a baby when Barry married Belinda but she had blossomed into such a loveable, sweet girl. Peter adored her. She was, after all, practically his niece. It was a different shape of love but still love, even if the law disagreed. These opportunities were so hard to come by.

He'd considered moving out of town a few times after Janey, so he could live somewhere where no one knew him, no one was watching him. That's what he'd have to do now. Move away. Far, far away where no one would find him. Because hiding out like a marked man was a miserable life.

50

Not much happened in Angel's Crossing midweek on night shift. Tom and Aiden were happy to do some cursory patrols around the streets and spend the rest of the shift at the station. In theory, it was to catch up on paperwork. In practise, they would probably end up catching a little shut-eye. And that's the way it panned out. Aiden had won the race to get the good sleeping chair. During the daytime, it looked and acted like a normal office chair, but the hinge holding up the backrest was loose. If you pushed your body weight back, the backrest would recline so you could put your feet up on a desk for a quick nap.

Tom grumbled and sat himself in front of a computer as Aiden switched off the lights in the interview room and closed the door. He would get up if the phone rang. It was part of the deal. Have a nap, but still be able to grab the phone by the third ring.

Right now, Tom wished he had chosen to be a firefighter instead. He had taken a tour of a fire station when he had been stationed at one of the major regional centres in his first year. They had actual bedrooms kitted out with beds and air-conditioning. They were encouraged to sleep. Not police. They were meant to drive around doing ‘proactive patrols' if there was nothing else to do. Or paperwork. The endless paperwork.

He set himself to completing a breach for a traffic accident from a week ago, enlisting the help of a strong coffee to maintain focus. He was nearly finished when the phone rang.

‘Fuck!' Aiden said it loud enough that Tom heard it through the closed door. It was never good news when the phone rang at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday.

Tom grabbed the phone. ‘Hello, Angel's Crossing Police.'

‘Hello. This is Bernice Waterford. I live up in Magpie Lane in Moffatdale. There are intruders at my neighbour's house,' a voice answered. It sounded like an elderly lady.

‘Okay. Why do you think there's intruders?' Tom asked.

‘The neighbours are on a month-long tour of Europe. They asked us to keep an eye on the place while they're gone. We were fast asleep when a loud bang woke us up. A minute later there were another two bangs. Doug, that's my husband, thought they were gun shots.'

Aiden emerged from the interview room, rubbing his eyes. Tom, his face animated, pointed at his gun on his hip.

‘Doug thought it came from the neighbour's. He went to have a look. They've got a big shed out the back. He said there's lights on in the shed. Could you please get someone out there as soon as possible? Doug's insisting on going over but I don't think it's safe.'

‘What was the house number?' Tom asked.

‘They're at Lot 99. We're Lot 83,' the lady answered. Tom scribbled it on a piece of scrap paper.

‘On our way,' he said, before hanging up. ‘Breaker's on,' he called to Aiden. ‘Possibly,' he added. Often these jobs weren't what they seemed to be.

If they had to get a job at two in the morning, it might as well be one that woke them up, got the blood flowing. They hurried out to the car.

‘Fuck, why'd you book the paddy wagon out tonight?' Aiden whinged as he slid into the driver's seat.

Tom laughed as he grabbed the radio. ‘You booked it out, you clown.'

‘Okay then. Why'd I book out the paddy wagon?'

‘It will come in handy if we catch the bugger,' Tom said.

He let Comms know what the job was and where they were headed. Aiden put his foot down and the paddy wagon slowly picked up speed. They didn't activate the sirens. There was no other traffic around and the noise would piss off the senior who lived next door, plus every other sleeping resident near the CBD.

‘Might turn out to be nothing,' Aiden remarked. The paddy wagon accelerated slowly but could move nearly as fast as the police sedans once it got going. Aiden always liked an excuse to drive fast.

Tom shrugged. ‘You never can tell.' He had the passenger's light on and a Refidex open on his lap. He still preferred it to the sat nav, felt better when he had an overview of where they were headed. Aiden would only need directions once they got to Moffatdale.

The house was down a narrow dirt road. Aiden backed off a little as the rear of the wagon started to fishtail on the loose surface. As they rounded a corner, they saw a dark blue ute pulled up on the side. A sudden and unexpected obstacle on the narrow road.

‘Fuck!' Aiden slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop. Tom jumped out before the paddy wagon had completely stopped, torch in his hand. There was someone in the driver's seat. As he drew closer, shining the torch into the cab of the car, something caught his eye. A rifle on the top of the dashboard. Tom drew his weapon with an automatic movement.

‘Put your hands where I can see them,' he shouted. His heart felt like someone had pressed the accelerator pedal on it too. Out of his peripheral vision he could see Aiden was out of the car and to his left. He had his Taser drawn, as they triangulated the car. Only then did Tom shine the torchlight properly to look at the driver of the vehicle. It was an elderly man, wearing striped pyjamas. His face was white and both his hands were as straight in the air as the roof of his car would allow.

He found his tongue. ‘I'm the neighbour,' he yelled, fear pitching his voice high. ‘We're the ones who called.'

Both Tom and Aiden lowered their weapons quickly. They exchanged glances – relief, tinged pink with embarrassment.

‘Sorry about that,' Tom called, taking a couple of steps towards the car, dipping the torchlight so it was no longer blinding the startled gentleman. ‘I saw your rifle before . . .'

Tom and Aiden had been so focused on the vehicle in front of them, they didn't notice the vehicle coming up behind them until it was almost upon them. It was travelling at a rate of knots and the headlights were switched off. It was a small white hatch. Although it kept as far left as possible, the narrowness of the road didn't allow for much space. Aiden had to jump to the side as the vehicle passed them. Tom caught a glimpse of a dark hood pulled up and a gloved hand covering the exposed portion of face. Through the confusion, his training kicked in and he made a conscious effort to read the rego as it disappeared around the corner.

‘That's him!' the neighbour yelled, pointing at the cloud of dust from the hatch. Tom and Aiden ran back to the police car. Aiden had already slammed his foot on the accelerator while Tom was still closing his door, throwing him into the passenger seat. Adrenaline surged through them both, the atmosphere electric as everything became faster, but sharper.

Aiden pulled the steering wheel down hard to the right and the back end of the car slid around in a wide U.

‘Fuck! Why did I choose the paddy wagon tonight!'

Tom braced himself in the passenger seat as they hurtled down the narrow road, Aiden's foot jammed onto the accelerator. They both had enough experience not to overreact, to harness the buzz. Even so, Tom had been in a few code twos with Aiden before and he found his driving could be a little too reckless. It was easy to get caught up in the excitement of a chase and forget the inherent risks – the limitations of the paddy wagon, the demands of the conditions.

‘Did you get the rego?' Aiden said. He was gripping the wheel and leaning forward slightly, completely focused on staying on the road and closing the gap between themselves and the hatch.

‘Yep,' Tom said. He clutched the radio, steadying himself on the grab handle at the top of the window. Get the rego. Always get the rego. It was an instinct that came from years of practice. Without that, they had very little. A white hatch, maybe a Ford Laser. How much did that narrow it down?

There was minimal radio traffic in the wee hours of the morning, but Tom still had to call twice to raise anyone at the Gympie Communications Centre. Maybe they had a chair with a dodgy back too. Or it was a poorly timed trip to the bathroom. It was less than a minute wait for Comms, but time seemed to slow in inverse proportion to the speed they were travelling at.

‘Go ahead 320,' Comms replied.

‘We're in pursuit of a vehicle we believe was involved in a break-in at the job we were going to. Could I get a rego check please?' Tom asked.

‘Go with the number,' the Comms operator replied. She'd woken up now too, and had surely pressed the red button to record anything that might come next.

Tom gave her the rego number. With his finger off the radio button, he turned to Aiden. ‘Is that what you got?' he asked.

‘Yep, but I could only be sure of the letters, I didn't see the numbers properly,' Aiden replied. They were driving into a continuous cloud of dust. Although it was a sure sign that the other car wasn't too far in front, it also meant they were almost driving blind. Aiden flicked the high beam on then off again when it failed to cut through the screen of dust particles hanging in the air.

‘That rego should be a white Mazda 323 hatch, 1989 model,' Comms replied. If the car had false plates on it, they had been stolen off a similar car which suggested a level of planning which was beyond most petty thieves. The hoodie and gloves also weren't representative of an opportunistic thief.

Tom looked at Aiden. ‘I thought it was a Ford Laser. Did you see?' Aiden shook his head slightly. He was completely focused on the road. The car slid at even the slightest turn of the wheel at this speed and Aiden was using all of his skills to keep on the narrow road. With any luck, the other driver would not be so competent and they would find the hatch off the road and into the trees.

Tom remembered that older model Fords and Mazdas had the same body shape. He pressed on the radio button.

‘That's it,' he replied to Comms.

‘It's registered to a Mario Angoletti from an address in Coopers Plains in Brisbane,' Comms replied. ‘Please give your location and road conditions.'

They came to the turn-off for Magpie Lane, a T-junction with the highway.

Aiden strained forward, his head scanning left and right as he slowed approaching the intersection.

‘Which way, which way?' he said, the volume of his voice increasing as the need to make a decision raced up as quick as the T-junction. The highway was bitumen, there was no dust trail to follow now. The car would surely still have its lights off.

‘Fuck!' he said, the chase could be over before it had properly started. He began turning right, back towards town.

‘There!' Tom yelled, pointing left. A flash of movement through the shadows of the trees. Aiden braked heavily, and they both lurched forward. He wrenched the wheel to the left, pressing down on the accelerator. The wheels gripped harder on the bitumen than they had on the dirt road. Despite this, the paddy wagon crossed to the wrong side of the road. All Tom could see was a ditch and a large gum tree. Aiden pulled harder, like trying to wrestle a stallion, and wrangled the car around the turn, with only the front wheels leaving the roadway onto the dirt. Tom was pressed back into his seat as the car clicked through gears with the accelerator jammed to the floor.

‘Go easy,' he said to Aiden, trying to sound calm and measured.

Aiden didn't acknowledge him.

‘Location
and
road
conditions
please,
320!'
the
radio
demanded.

Tom still had the radio in his right hand.

He steadied enough to bring it to his mouth. ‘Eastbound on the Gympie road, just off Magpie Lane,' he said, his voice under better control than the car. Aiden was giving it all he had to bring the other vehicle back into sight.

Tom reached down and activated the police lights, but didn't bother with the sirens. They were for safety so other vehicles would know they were coming. But if another driver didn't notice the garish flashing lights in the middle of the night, then the siren probably wouldn't help either. He wondered briefly if the other driver could see the lights in his rear-vision mirror, hopefully gaining on the hatch. It might make him panic, and make a mistake. There wasn't much room for error going 130 kilometres an hour on the highway. But they had the advantage of better training than whoever was behind the wheel of the hatchback in front of them. Aiden was still accelerating heavily.

‘Mate, steady on,' Tom said. He didn't want to sound like a pussy, but if one small thing happened – an animal or a pothole on the road, a blown tyre – they would be wrapped around one of the trees that flashed past on the sides of the road.

‘It's only a fucken breaker,' he continued. ‘Not a murderer. If we lose 'em, we've got the rego.'

Aiden glanced at him. ‘There's no traffic. It's fine. And I bet they're false plates.'

Tom knew how competitive Aiden was. Very little would slow him down with the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins. He was like a dog after a rabbit.

Tom got on the radio before they called him for more details. The Comco, the senior officer in charge of the communications room, would be monitoring the pursuit and would order them to call it off if it was deemed too dangerous – either for themselves, the vehicle they were pursuing, or members of the public. And, like Tom, Comco knew they had the rego and it had been a break and enter they were proceeding to.

‘There's no traffic. We're coming up to the Manyung turn-off,' Tom reported over the radio. He glanced across at the dashboard. ‘Speed is 110,' he said, winding it back for Comco's sake.

The vehicle in front still had its headlights off, but the brakelights flashed red occasionally and were easy to spot amongst the darkened silhouettes of trees.

‘Christ, he's got some balls,' Aiden observed. ‘I didn't think a shitbox hatch could handle like that.'

Tom watched, his eyes flicking from the speedo to the road. They didn't seem to be gaining at all. Tom couldn't even say when they stopped seeing the tail-lights.