8

‘I hate him, I hate his guts.’

Angelo looked at Ruby with astonishment. ‘That sounds a bit harsh,’ he said before taking a bite from a sandwich as big as the lunch box it had come from. A blob of mayonnaise dripped from the sandwich and collected in the cleft of his chin.

His hands and nails were filthy, his overalls were covered in grease and his hair was gelled into short spikes. A gold ring pierced the bruising of his swollen left eyebrow. Ruby thought he was the most beautiful young man she had ever seen.

But his neutrality on the issue of her father annoyed her and made her more determined to milk her miserable life story for all it was worth.

‘I’ve been asking for a pony all my life and now I’ve finally grown out of the idea, he offers to get me one. It was his way of making me want to come here. Can you imagine that? At my age, he tried to bribe me with a pony.’

‘It would have been a bit hard to keep a pony in Sydney,’ Angelo said.

He spoke as slowly as he chewed, thinking long and hard over every word, savouring them just as he savoured every bite of his lunch. He wasn’t looking at her, but somewhere off into the distance, maybe at Fleur who was sniffing around the swings or maybe at the stagnant pools of the drying river.

Why was he always so fair and reasonable? She tried to get a hold of the emotions that blew like tangled ribbons through her mind. Sometimes even she didn’t know what she really felt.

‘I think what I hate the most about him is what he did to Mum and Zachy.’

‘It’s not like he killed them, Ruby,’ Angelo said as he inched closer, his arm snaking around her waist. He took another bite of his sandwich. She listened to his chewing, the occasional drawing in of his breath. He smelt of grease, cigarettes and mayonnaise.

‘No, but it’s his fault they’re dead.’ She allowed a quaver to escape into her voice. ‘If he hadn’t been a cop, they wouldn’t have died. The bomb was supposed to be for him. The bikies planted it so he wouldn’t testify against them in court. He’s guilty about it but taking it out on me. He thinks of this . . .’ she almost said dump, then remembered Angelo had always lived here ‘. . . place as home. He said he had the happiest days of his life here and he wants me to share in the fuzzy warm glow of his memories.’

She looked up at the sky, trying not to let the tears spill. A tangle of tree branches blocked some of the blue, lacing above their heads like a net. Her father had told her how he and his mates would sit in this Moreton Bay fig and pelt innocent passers-by with the rotten fruit. They’d steal fruit from the trees in people’s gardens and play chicken on the railway track. If the monks from the Boys’ Home caught them, they were put in the boxing ring with the school champion or else they were caned until they bled. Mum had told her that part; he never spoke about the bad things. He always pretended that everything was just wonderful.

God, how she hated all this nostalgic crap.

‘He’s changed so much since we got here. He’s overprotective. He smothers me and his jokes are worse than ever.’

Even his accent is different, she thought. He calls everyone mate, dinner has become tea and a bottom is now a bum. Mum always used to tell him off for that kind of language, but now he used it all the time. Before long he’d be blowing his nose onto the pavement. She looked at the boy beside her. And what would Mum have thought of you? she asked herself. She decided to put that thought to the back of her mind. Angelo took her hand and gave it a squeeze, looking at her with earnest brown eyes. ‘Are you glad you’re here now?’ he asked. He leaned towards her then, and brushed her lips with a soft kiss before reaching to cup her breast. She deepened the kiss, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation that tingled from her centre to her toes. Finally she drew back, blinking away the tears.

‘Yes, but I’m not going to tell him that.’

‘Did you manage to get rid of that geek Cindy?’

‘Yup,’ she said, smiling now. ‘I annoyed her so much she ended up wanting to bash me even more than that bible she was always carrying on about.’

Angelo laughed. ‘Do you think he’d ever let you come to Toorrup with me? I have a mate who lives there and a key to his house. He’s hardly ever at home.’ Angelo grinned and continued to massage her breast through her thin T-shirt.

‘Not likely; he hardly even lets me out of the house. He’s not going to let me go to Toorrup with someone who’s still on P-plates.’

In her mind she could hear him. ‘I’m not letting you out with someone who has spiked hair and a ring through his eyebrow!’ The imagined scene made her smile. She wondered if Angelo had any tatts under those overalls. The shock value of tatts would be even better than the eyebrow ring.

‘Hey, Angelo, have you ever tried drugs?’

His hand dropped from her breast. ‘Is this truth or dare or something?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m just curious. I figure that when people have a relationship, start to go out and everything, they should tell each other stuff like that. I used to smoke cones in Sydney,’ she said, hoping to impress him, to seem older than she was. ‘I was wondering if you knew how to go about getting them over here?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah, that’s not how I operate, Rubes. I never buy them. Besides …’ He waggled his eyebrows. ‘There’s better things than drugs, I reckon.’

‘But you’ve had mull, right?’

‘Sure, hasn’t everyone?’

‘And if you were given some, you’d like it, right?’

‘Well yeah, but I wouldn’t waste my money buying it.’ He gave her a puzzled look, then smiled and tapped on the side of her head. ‘What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?’

Ruby smiled.

***

Cam left the station when his phone calls home remained unanswered. Ruby wasn’t in the house and the dog was gone. He guessed the park, but why hadn’t she rung? Was it because she was meeting that boy?

She could still have rung. Something must have happened to her.

From his house he jogged down the rough path to the park and by the time he got there he’d worked himself up into a panic; paperwork and Vince were forgotten, the Bell case might never have existed. He came to a halt alongside the wobbly Lion’s Club sign that dedicated the park to the citizens of Glenroyd. As he leaned against its wooden post to catch his breath he gasped in the muddy river smells that wafted up the embankment.

The park sloped down to the drying riverbed, connected to the stunted scrubland on the other side by a metal bridge he always used to think looked like a dinosaur’s backbone. Now it was just an ugly metal bridge. Knotted ropes and swings with tyre seats hung limply in the afternoon air, and squiggles of heat slithered up from the tarmac wicket, making the ground quiver. He squinted through the heat haze. The park was deserted. Except for Ruby and a boy sitting on a bench overlooking the river.

Fleur raced over to jump at his legs. He picked her up and headed towards the bench. Ruby’s hair shone in the sun like corn silk. The head of her male companion was no more than a spiky silhouette.

Cam clutched the poodle tightly to his chest as he got closer. He stopped a few feet away and cleared his throat. The sound was drowned by Ruby’s raised voice.

‘Gramma always said he put his job before us. She said things might be different now, but she’s wrong – his job still comes first. He doesn’t give a shit about me.’

Cam willed himself to take a step forward. ‘Ruby?’ No response. Surely she’d heard him?

He stood and watched the kid reach into his pocket for a greasy rag to wipe her cheek. When she moved her head her eyes met Cam’s and, with a look of calculated defiance, she turned back to the boy and planted a firm kiss on his lips.

Cam pushed himself into taking another step.

‘Hey, Ruby,’ he said, ‘I found Fleur on the road. You’d better keep her on the lead next time.’

The kid jumped to his feet and turned around. His hair was gelled into short dark spikes with bleached tips. It looked like he had a wet echidna on his head.

‘Um, Dad, this is Angelo,’ Ruby said.

Angelo thrust out a dirty hand. The wrist that disappeared into the overall sleeve was as skinny as a girl’s.

‘Good to meet you, er, Mr …’

‘Sergeant. Sergeant Fraser,’ Cam said, tapping at his nametag.

After shaking hands, Angelo wiped his nose on the sleeve of his overalls. Cam could only imagine what those long sleeves might be hiding.

‘Watch you don’t hook yourself on that eyebrow ring, son,’ he said.

Angelo’s mouth opened like a fish’s.

Ruby clenched her face. ‘Dad, don’t be so rude!’

‘It looks like he’s hooked himself up on it once already.’ Cam leaned forward to have a good look at the boy’s eye. It was eggplant purple and swollen to a slit, the holes on each side of the ring a livid pink. ‘You should have taken that thing out.’

Angelo spoke to Cam’s shoes. ‘I guess I’d better be getting back to work now.’ His gaze travelled up Cam’s leg to the holstered Smith and Wesson. He swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple almost bounced into his mouth.

‘Yeah, guess you’d better,’ said Cam. But he changed his mind when the boy turned to leave, realising that this would be a good opportunity to find out what kind of a kid his daughter was hanging about with. ‘Say, I may as well come back to the workshop with you. I’ve been meaning on having a chat with your boss.’

‘Wait for me then; I just need to put my shoes on,’ Ruby said, scrabbling with her sandals.

‘This is police business, love. I’ll see you back at the house.’

Ruby folded her arms and turned down her mouth, but Cam knew he was safe; she wouldn’t risk scaring off a new boyfriend with a temper tantrum now.

They separated at the edge of the park; Ruby headed for home, Cam and Angelo on to the mechanic’s near the centre of town. While they walked Cam attempted to make conversation with the kid. The grunts of response became so irritating he gave up trying.

***

The double front doors of the mechanic’s were locked. A grimy piece of paper that read BACK IN THIRTY MINUTES had been taped above the handle.

‘Cliff ’s still at lunch.’ Angelo stated the obvious. ‘You’ll have to drop by again later.’

‘Oh, that’s OK. You’ll do just as well.’ Cam gave him a pleasant smile. ‘Where’s the other entrance then? Round the side?’

Before Angelo could offer up any form of protest, Cam disappeared down the side alley towards the back of the workshop. He opened the gate and found himself in a high-walled yard that looked to be the final resting place of anything in Glenroyd ever loosely termed mechanical. Part of an old-fashioned push-mower, a large copper kettle and a set of sheep shears shared space with piles of tyres and mounds of rusting car and truck parts. The four-wheel drive fire unit and a tow truck were parked within easy access of some locked double gates at the end of the yard.

But it was what was standing alongside the tin wall of the workshop that interested Cam the most: a custom-made Harley with studded leather saddlebags and more chrome than a Mack truck.

‘Umm, er, Sergeant Fraser. Cliff ’s not going to like it that you’re down here in his yard. Shouldn’t you have a search warrant or something?’

‘Why? I’m not searching for anything. I’m merely talking to you.’ Cam bent over the bike. He ran his hand over the chrome mudguard and made appropriate sounds of appreciation.

‘Do you know something about bikes then?’ Angelo asked with a glimmer of interest.

‘Not really. I used to ride one, that’s all.’

‘A bike copper then?’

‘No. I just rode for fun.’

‘What, a rice burner?’ Angelo said with the lip curl of a serious bike enthusiast.

‘A Fat Boy.’

Angelo’s good eye lit up and his face glowed with an intelligence Cam hadn’t noticed earlier. ‘Cool,’ he said.

It always amazed Cam how teenagers could elongate that one word into two or three syllables. He looked back at the bike, caressing the silky paintwork of the fuel tank, then stopped. He glanced at Angelo then back at the blemish under his own fingertips. It was a sticker: a triangle with two dots for eyes making it look like a hood. Around the border of the triangle were the words ‘Made For Whites By Whites’. He had seen stickers like this often enough and they never failed to make his neck prickle. This white supremacist sticker was a clear indication that the machine did not belong to any weekend biker.

Cam straightened up. ‘Who owns this bike, then?’

‘A mate of Cliff ’s.’

‘In a club?’

Angelo took a breath. ‘Maybe.’

‘Is Cliff in it?’

‘No. He says bikes are death machines. He just works on them sometimes.’

‘And you?’

Angelo shrugged. ‘I like bikes. But I don’t have anything to do with the bikies; they’re a mob of animals.’

‘Sensible man, stay right away from them,’ he said, jotting the bike’s numberplate in his notebook.

Angelo wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Is this all you wanted to talk to me about – bikes?’

‘No. I wanted to talk about Sunday’s fire.’

‘Yeah. What about it?’

‘You got there at about 11.20?’

Angelo nodded and licked his dry lips.

‘When you first arrived, what colour was the smoke?’

‘Um, the other cop asked Cliff that. Just ask him.’

‘But I’m asking you,’ Cam said.

Angelo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Cam moved to one side so the sun shone into Angelo’s face like a spotlight.

‘Greyish white I guess,’ he said. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

‘Like an ordinary bushfire?’

Angelo shrugged. ‘I dunno.’

‘Of course you know. You’re a fireman, for Christ’s sake. You know full well different fuels make different coloured smoke.’

Angelo took a step back.

Cam softened his voice. ‘How’d you get the black eye, son?’

‘I slipped in the shower.’

Cam folded his arms and stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Angelo’s face. The kid swallowed but this time stood his ground.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence. The boy glanced at the side entrance. The gate creaked and the sun was eclipsed by the shadow of one of the biggest men Cam had ever seen. Angelo seemed a midget beside him. He introduced Cliff Donovan to Cam before scuttling off into the workshop.

Cliff watched Angelo’s retreat. The thick beard around his mouth moved, suggesting a smile, though there was no evidence of one in his eyes.

Cliff nodded in Angelo’s direction. ‘He’s a good kid,’ he said paternally. ‘It’s hard to find decent apprentices these days; he’s one of the best I’ve had.’ He paused. The heat radiated from the tin of the workshop walls, the intense sunshine shooting stars of light off the chrome of the Harley.

Cliff saw Cam looking at the bike. ‘How about coming into the workshop for a coffee? It’s a lot cooler in there.’

Cam declined. ‘I won’t keep you long, sir. I just wanted to clarify the time you got to the fire.’

‘Let me see now,’ the big man said. He scratched his bearded chin, making a sound like wire wool on a cooking-pot. ‘I had a real early start that morning. I like to work on a Sunday, it’s more peaceful, you know?’ Cam nodded his agreement and Cliff continued, ‘I was working on old man Ronnin’s truck from about 7 am. He came to check up on it at about 7.30. Angelo turned up for work soon after. His folks need the extra money so I often let him come in on Sunday. Then I had a long phone call from John Campbell, the shire president, about a fishing trip he’s planning.’

Cam had not asked for an alibi, but he seemed to be getting one.

‘After that I went to Flo’s diner for smoko, chatted with Flo there for a while and got back here about eleven when I got the fire call. Would have got to the school at about 11.20, like I told Vince.’

Cam wrote in his notebook and they made some small talk. Cam didn’t ask him about the smoke. It was in Vince’s report.

He’d said the smoke was oily black.

***

‘You were spying on me, weren’t you?’ Ruby said the minute Cam walked through the front door.

She’d opened another of the cartons and was surrounded by books. His mechanical manuals and law books were piled incongruously next to Elizabeth’s leather bound classics, Zach’s Where’s Wally stash and her own animal books. Ruby sat in the middle of the piles as if inside a walled fortress.

‘No, of course I wasn’t spying on you – you damn well knew I was there. I’d forgotten something. I came home to get it, you weren’t home, and as you didn’t ring to say you were going out, I got worried. I don’t care that you have a boyfriend,’ he lied. ‘It’s just that after what happened to Mum and Zach we have to look after each other, keep each other safe and above all tell each other what’s going on.’

She sprang to her feet and twisted her face. ‘Lock me in prison, you mean! Embarrass me in front of my friends!’

‘He seems nice. How long have you known him?’

Ruby stared at him for a moment, trying to read his neutral mask.

‘Since we first arrived.’ She seemed to be expecting some kind of outburst. When none came, hope brightened her face and sped up her voice.

‘He has a good job. He’s an apprentice mechanic, but he wants to become a chromer. They’re the guys who put the silver stuff on old-fashioned cars and motorbikes.’

Cam arched his eyebrows. ‘Really? I’m impressed.’

‘Can I see him again, then?’

Cam frowned. ‘How did he get the black eye?’

‘He walked into a door,’ Ruby said innocently. ‘So?’ she added.

‘So what?’

‘Can I see him again? I’m only asking to be polite, I don’t have to.’ She stopped as if she knew that an argument at this stage of the negotiations would do nothing to help her cause.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Cam said, picking up one of Elizabeth’s books. He sniffed at the leather cover and ran his thumb over the edges of the gold leaf: Wuthering Heights, one of her favourites. She must have read it a dozen times and it never failed to make her cry. He could never understand why she kept reading it.

‘I ran into an old lady I used to know at the stock feeder’s.’ When Ruby didn’t answer he continued. ‘She needs someone to help out in the shop and was wondering if you could give her a hand this afternoon.’

‘Paid?’

‘Yes.’ He’d already arranged to give Mrs Rooney the money.

Ruby shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

That was good enough. ‘Good. Let’s go do some more unpacking, then I’ll take you over there and introduce you.’

‘What about your work?’

Cam paused for a moment, thinking about the conversation he’d overheard in the park. ‘It’ll keep,’ he said.