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I carefully rolled my bloodstained tee shirt off over my head and grimaced as I lifted my arms. I threw the shirt onto the bathroom floor and examined the gash in the mirror. Blood oozed slowly out of a cut that looked wider than it was deep. I snatched a towel off the rack and pressed it hard against the wound.
Alex cautiously peered in. ‘What the fuck happened? Are you okay?’
I gave her a blow-by-blow and told her to call an ambulance. I couldn’t decide what shook me more, becoming a stabbing statistic, or the fact Gav used a single-edged butterfly knife with a squared-off back, quite possibly the same weapon used to kill Renee Prestwidge and Pavali Singh, as mentioned by the coroner.
Paramedics arrived and worked on the unconscious woman. They tried to revive her, saying, ‘Can you hear me, sweetheart?’ in that heart-wrenching tone they use.
Alex watched from the hall with a hand over her mouth and tried to stay out of the way.
Bev shuffled into view and looked twenty years older.
A screen door opened and slammed shut, and high heels clacked and scraped across timber. Two women appeared from the back of the hall, a short, shapely African American girl with cornrows, and a tall Brazilian woman in tight jeans and a Felix the Cat tattoo on her arm. They gasped when they saw me, and stepped aside as Alex gave them the low down.
I stepped around and behind the women, and kept pressure on the wound. Shock kicked in and white lights danced before my eyes. I did my best to breathe and take my mind off it.
From the bedroom, the paramedics talked about ‘possible hematomas’ and ‘orbital fractures,’ then loaded the woman onto a gurney and carefully negotiated her out through the hall and out the back door.
One of the paramedics, a fresh-faced kid with a straight part, approached us. ‘I think she’s going to be okay. There’s a steady, strong pulse. She’s a fighter.’
Bev cried out when he said that, and Alex put an arm around her.
He made careful eye contact with all of us. ‘Is it okay if I get a name for the admin staff?’
‘Ally Crookwell,’ Bev muttered.
He nodded his thanks. ‘We’ll take her to St. Vincent’s. I highly recommend you report what happened to the police. Call Sydney Central and ask for Constable Nicholls, and make sure you get an E number.’
His eyes fell on Bev, and he pointed to her head. ‘All right if I see?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll be right, love. Ally needs you now.’
‘C’mon, Bev,’ Alex said. ‘Let him take a look.’
‘It’s nothing, love,’ Bev said, her voice firm.
The paramedic eyed me, and as he walked over I told him what happened. He inspected the wound, said it didn’t need stitches, and patched it with some gauze. He said to re-dress it regularly and handed me a stack of stick-on patches, and recommended I go to the police, then left through the back entrance.
Angels on wheels.
We all stood in an awkward silence until Bev said, ‘Alex, be a love and lock the door, will you? Put the closed sign up. That’s a dear.’
I rolled up the blood-stained towel and laid it on the floor in the bathroom by my shirt. The African American girl shot me a look. ‘And who the hell are you?’
‘Matt Kowalski. I’m a private detective.’
‘He’s good, Imogen.’ Bev said. ‘Ally’s alive thanks to him.’
Imogen twisted her mouth and crossed her arms.
The Brazilian, who stood level with me in white stilettos, smiled and held out her hand. ‘Wow, a real-life detective. Nice to meet you. I’m Cherice.’
I smiled, and we shook hands. Her fingernails were long and painted gloss red.
‘I absolutely love detective novels,’ Cherice continued. ‘Karin Slaughter is my fave.’
Bev went to move but Imogen cut her off. ‘Why we closed, Bev? My daughter’s school fees won’t pay themselves.’
Bev lowered the tea towel and leaned her cheek in close to Imogen’s face. ‘Because I can’t man reception looking like the fucking Elephant Man, unless you want to volunteer tonight?’
Imogen pursed her lips and looked at the floor.
Bev nodded. ‘You want to clean out the room, too?’
‘It’s okay, Bev,’ Alex said. ‘I can do it.’
‘That’s not the point, Alex. Imogen, I’m sixty-four years old. You can’t expect me to clean the kitchen after you and wash the cum off your sheets. We are a team! Lots of hands make lighter work... have you ever heard that?’
‘I was offered two shifts a week at the Golden Apple for twice the money I’m getting here.’
‘Then go work for them!’
Cherice raised her hands. ‘That’s enough, you two! Please! Go and cool down, or something. I can’t stand this fighting all the time!’
Bev shuffled into the last bedroom on the right. ‘I’ll call Stefan and see if he can come in for the next two shifts.’ She re-emerged with an oversized men’s tee shirt and threw it at me.
I thanked her and gingerly slipped it on, wincing at how the meat folded over itself when I moved.
We followed Bev in a procession line back into the kitchenette, where she carefully eased herself into a chair. She kept the tea towel pressed to the side of her face as I topped up her glass with more gin. She smiled weakly.
Cherice slowly settled into her own chair and looked forlorn.
Imogen violently pulled out a chair and threw herself into it with a huff. She crossed her legs at the ankles.
Alex stuck her head around the door jamb. ‘Sorry, girls, I’ll just be out the back. I need a smoke. I’m shithouse with this stuff.’
Cherice inclined her head slightly. ‘Are you here because of Ally? Because of what happened now?’
‘No. I’m not here in any official capacity. One of you should call the police and report the assault on Ally. I’m actually looking for Tamsin Lyons. I believe she works here as Anastasia. I’m sorry, I know it’s not the best time—’
‘Mama has gin,’ Bev slurred. ‘Ally’s in good hands, and that little prick ran out of here with his tail between his legs because of you. Now’s as good a time as any, love. You ask away.’
‘Have any of you seen her recently? She’s been missing for over a week.’
Bev shook her head. ‘I remember she didn’t show for work last Saturday, which isn’t like her. She always calls in if she’s sick, without fail.’
I looked at Imogen, and she drew back. ‘What? She’s weekends. I’m weekdays.’
Cherice teased a strand of hair extension between her fingers. ‘It’s the same for me. Sorry. We just don’t see each other.’
I said, ‘Bev, did she work the shift the Saturday before that?’
Bev looked up at the ceiling. ‘She worked Saturday and Sunday. I remember because she hugged me when she left. She’s a sweetheart, but she ain’t much of a hugger.’
Cherice started to cry. ‘Why did he do that to Ally? She totally didn’t deserve that.’
I sighed. ‘Because he’s not right in the head.’
Imogen slapped the table and faced Bev. ‘How many times have I told you we need security in this place? That fucking Asian factory around the corner has onsite security twenty-four seven, plus security cameras.’
Bev took a sip of her gin.
Cherice said, ‘That could have been any one of us in there.’
Imogen sneered. ‘Bullshit.’
‘What?’
‘What happened to Ally is her own fault. She refuses to do anal.’
‘That’s not funny.’
‘Does it look like I’m joking? I bet she tried to finish him off with a fucking hand job. Ally’s a fucking snowflake, and we all know it. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. This place would have none of this shit if Felicia was here.’
Bev’s loose jowls seemed to tighten. She slammed her glass against the table. ‘Jesus Christ! Let it go. Felicia is not employee material, Imogen! The woman has a list of convictions as long as her arm. Now is not the time to bring up fucking Felicia. Ally’s been beaten within an inch of her life, and this is what you want to talk about?’
Bev downed her drink in one move and looked at me worriedly. ‘Is Tamsin in danger?’
‘Yes.’
Cherice’s shoulders shook, and she stifled a cry.
Imogen got up and left the room. She soon came back with a tissue box and handed it to Cherice.
I said, ‘I think that man is after her for some reason. The good thing is he doesn’t know where she is. He’s looking for her, but so am I.’
‘The Yin and the Yang,’ Cherice murmured.
Bev poured a generous slug of gin and took three large gulps.
‘Goodness, Beverly!’ Cherice said. ‘No more drink for you. Take painkillers please, darling.’
Bev shrugged. ‘It’s nothing I ain’t used to, love. I was married to a heavy-handed son of a bitch for eighteen years, until he came to his senses.’
Imogen said, ‘What happened?’
‘I stuck a knife in the bastard, but he lived.’
Imogen glared at me. ‘Do you know who the man is?’
I took out my phone and showed her the photo of Gav that I took Friday night at the Peekaboo launch.
‘His name is Gav. He’s got an English accent. About five eight, seventy-five kilos.’
‘That guy’s been here before,’ she said. ‘You kicked him out, Cherice.’
Cherice sat up. ‘Can I see?’
I showed her, and she pointed at the phone. ‘That’s the prick who hit Candy. Remember, Beverly? He had her up against the wall, punched her in the head, ruptured an ear drum. She had blood runnin’ out of her ear and everythin’. She screamed. I ran and hit him in the head with my shoe.’
‘What happened after that?’
‘He ran away like the devil was on his heels.’
‘Do you remember if he said anything?’
‘He wanted to see Tamsin. He was going on about some book. He wanted a book.’
Alex came back into the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes and washed her hands in the sink. ‘Who wanted a book?’
Clarice said, ‘Remember, I told you about that prick who hit Candy? That was him just now, with Ally. Little prick walking back in like he owns the place.’
Alex turned and dried her hands. ‘That shithead?’
I said, ‘Would you know why he came after Candy?’
‘She’s pretty close with Tamsin.’
Imogen baulked. ‘Not what I heard.’
Cherice sneered, and Bev rolled her eyes.
‘Tamsin has a hard on for Alyssa Shumak,’ Imogen said.
‘Wash your mouth!’
‘Wonder where she went?’
‘Google biggest slut in Sydney.’
‘Isn’t she at 641?’
‘Nuh uh. She turned that down. She’s at Peaches.’
‘If you like riding nasty crack whores.’
I typed ‘Alyssa Shumak Peaches’ into a new memo on my phone, saved it, and looked at Alex. ‘What’s Candy’s real name?’
‘Heather Morrison. Those two were always hanging out in here.’
‘Why so pissed off over a book?’ Cherice murmured. ‘You don’t get that worked up over 50 Shades.’
‘Can you remember anything else he might have said?’
All the women, except Bev, shook their heads.
After a moment, Cherice sat up. ‘I remember now. He didn’t want a book. He said, ‘Tell Tamsin not to publish the book or try fancy court bullshit,’ and he said he’d come back and cut her fucking throat if she did.’
