Chapter 11

‘LET’S GO to the pub. My shout.’

Sparrow had started walking to his car before he’d even finished his sentence. Creature of habit, thought Manolis. Or a fully committed drunk. Either way, not much of a working day for a fulltime police officer, though Manolis knew cops in the city who did even less and drank even more.

He was a step behind Sparrow as they crossed the oval. The constable was walking with determination and faster than he had all morning, as if he planned to start the car and drive away with or without his superior officer. Not that rank appeared to concern him.

‘I’ll give it a miss,’ said Manolis.

Sparrow stopped in his tracks, then turned and glared at Manolis as if mortally wounded. For a second, Manolis prepared to defend against a flying fist. To refuse someone’s shout in Cobb was downright criminal. But then Sparrow’s eyes softened and he turned away.

‘Suit yerself,’ he said simply, and continued to his car.

Manolis looked to the sky, felt the sun scalding his exposed body. Endowed with Mediterranean genes, his skin was inherently olive in colour and had only ripened over time, becoming darker and more etched with wrinkles. His swarthy appearance meant he was often mistaken as Middle Eastern, which elicited all manner of insults. But he still burned, and it didn’t take long beneath the harsh antipodean sun.

He caught up with Sparrow as he engaged gear and began reversing. ‘Can you at least give me a lift back to the station?’

Sparrow glanced over Manolis’s shoulder. ‘You don’t wanna hang round here no more? You know, scope the scene?’

‘Think I got all I need.’

A pause. ‘Take you as far as the pub. Hop in.’

The town was reluctantly coming to life, and Manolis reasoned it was probably due to the opening of liquor licensing hours. Groups of men were walking around, led by their livers. Eyeing Sparrow crookedly, Manolis hoped that any road-bound wildlife had already sought shade from the noonday heat.

‘I met Constable Kerr last night,’ Manolis said. ‘At the barbecue.’

‘What’d she say?’

‘Not much. She reckons the killer is an outsider, not a local. Or maybe someone passing through town, which means they’ll be long gone.’

‘Prob’ly, dunno.’

‘Any idea who that might be?’

Sparrow kept dodging potholes. ‘The roads have always been bad, but they’ve gotten worse with the extra traffic since the brown house opened up.’

Manolis repeated his question.

Sparrow crunched the gears in thought. ‘Passers-by, eh. Well lemme see. There’s no fruit pickers cos there’s no fucken fruit to pick. And I think all the slaughterhouse workers live here now. We had some issues with truckies recently, hmm…’

‘Truck drivers? Like what, when?’

Sparrow drummed the steering wheel nervously. Manolis got the impression the constable had said too much. He pressed him for more information.

‘Aw, you know,’ Sparrow said finally. ‘A few dumb truckers thought it was a good idea to offer our local girls drugs, food, money for sex. They used to do it in their trucks.’

‘Illegal prostitution. That’s nothing major.’

The car slowed noticeably. Sparrow glared at him with bullet-proof eyes. ‘Some of the girls were eight years old. Hadn’t even bled yet. Me sister was one.’

Manolis arched his bushy eyebrows in shock, before lowering them in dismay. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea.’

Sparrow eyed the road. ‘Worthless white scum. Preyin’ like that.’ His tone had changed into a cold, hard bark.

‘That’s terrible. Did you at least catch the guys who were doing it?’

A satisfied smile settled around Sparrow’s eyes. ‘My oath we did. The cousins brought justice with baseball bats and star pickets. Bastards won’t be back anytime soon.’

That wasn’t quite what Manolis had asked. But point made.

They drove on. Manolis found himself recognising more of the town. A group of trees he used to climb when he had supple knees. An old house, now barely standing, that all the kids once avoided. Blinking hard, he pushed away the memories.

‘You think Molly might’ve been involved in something like that?’ he asked. ‘The sex game, I mean.’

Sparrow shook his head. ‘Doubt it. What’s in it for her?’

Manolis moistened his lips. He was pensive. ‘Maybe she was turning tricks as well. Nice little earner, till she ticked off a client?’

‘Like I said, doubt it. Big difference between wanting a middle-aged schoolteacher and one of her students.’

‘Each to their own. Not everyone’s a paedo.’

‘Bullshit. Everyone’s a paedo.’

The car ploughed towards an angry murder of crows, feasting on the remains of something dead stuck to the road. They scattered at the last second. Sparrow scowled.

‘Look at the way Molly was killed,’ Manolis said. He was speaking with his hands now, gesturing his thinking. ‘Aren’t women normally stoned to death for adultery? Maybe one of her clients was infatuated, thought they “owned her” or something. You even mentioned that one bloke who carried a torch for her?’

Sparrow stayed quiet, thinking.

‘I’m just talking off the top of my head here,’ Manolis added.

‘Maybe,’ Sparrow finally said. ‘But to stone her to death? Who even does that? Doesn’t that say something to you?’

‘It does.’

‘Yair, so?’

‘I just didn’t think it could possibly be that cut and dry.’

‘Mate, I hate to admit it, but those religious nutters at the tourist park have a point here. They’re only sayin’ what most of the town is thinkin’ – even us blackfellas, and we don’t wanna agree with anything the whitefella says, ever. Kate’s wrong if she calls this an outside job. But I don’t reckon it’s an inside one either. It’s a bit o’ both, if you get me.’

The line for the drive-thru bottle shop came into view, twice as long as the day before. Trev would be raking it in. Sparrow waved at him as he puttered past with thumb extended, teeth exposed.

‘I’ll say one thing,’ Sparrow added. ‘People round here are always lookin’ for ways to make an extra buck. Look at Trev and his clever little operation. They know it’s the only sure-fire way outta this craphole. So it wouldn’t surprise me if Molly was chargin’. Blokes round ’ere would pay top dollar for a nice, clean white woman.’

Manolis considered this information as they arrived at the top pub. Sparrow had to use both hands to wrench on the handbrake. Reaching for the doorhandle, Manolis asked, ‘And you’d say, in your opinion, that you thought Molly was attractive?’

Sparrow stopped. ‘As in, good-looking?’

‘Yes.’

He laughed. ‘Well I wouldn’t go there. But that’s only cos I’m not into that sort of thing.’

His words hung in the air. Manolis couldn’t read the young man’s flawless, emotionless face. His eyes looked sheepish, appearing larger than usual, or perhaps that was just a trick of the light. Sparrow’s cheeks burned; he sighed and turned his gaze down to his hands.

The realisation dawned on Manolis. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Well good. Good for you, mate.’

Sparrow studied Manolis’s face warily, searching for a hint of expression. When he finally spoke, it was barely a mumble.

‘Best that come from me. I’m used to it. It’s another reason why most people in town give me a wide berth.’ He paused, then narrowed his eyes. ‘But fuck them. And fuck you.’

And with that, Sparrow slid off the seat, took a giant step and slammed the car door. Manolis’s ears rang for several seconds and he was again made to chase his host, this time grabbing his arm as it grasped the pub door and spinning him around. Sparrow brushed Manolis’s hand away with a swipe.

‘Hey.’ Manolis met his gaze. ‘Look, I’m not sure what you expect me to say here. I don’t know what you’ve been through but I reckon, at a guess, I’m not like the people here in town. In the city, we don’t give two shits what you do outside work. We don’t care if you like men or women or both or neither. All we care about is that you’re a good cop and do your job.’

Sparrow’s pupils flicked from side to side, his breath heavy, his chest heaving.

‘Is that clear?’ Manolis asked, calm tone.

The young man didn’t move. Then, after a few seconds, his breathing steadied and his eyelids half-closed.

‘Constable, I asked you, is that clear?’

Sparrow looked away. He swallowed hard and exhaled lightly. ‘Yair.’

‘Good. Now, a few questions so I can make the most of my afternoon…’

‘Shoot.’

Manolis leant against a weathered old post holding up an asbestos verandah. Sparrow slumped on a park bench, the wooden slats either coming loose or missing altogether. He lit a smoke to calm himself, his nerves surely razor-wired. Manolis wanted to do the same but fought the urge.

‘Okay. Who are the persons of interest, the main suspects, who was close to Molly? Come on, you know this town.’

Sparrow’s eyes remained fixed on a small patch of dirt behind Manolis. His limp cigarette turned to ash in his lips. ‘Er,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll have to get back to you on that one.’

‘Do you know of anyone behaving differently recently, either just before Molly’s death or since?’

‘Nope.’

‘Is there any CCTV footage anywhere in town?’

Sparrow chuckled at the mere suggestion.

‘Where’s this bloke she slapped in the pub?’

‘Joe? Again, get back to you.’

Manolis exhaled his frustration. ‘How was the detention centre last night, any trouble?’

‘Dunno.’

‘I thought you said you were going there last night?’

‘Yair. Didn’t.’

‘Where’s Fyfe?’

‘No idea.’

There was a long pause as Manolis gathered his thoughts and Sparrow inhaled his tar. Finally Manolis said, ‘Okay, this conversation is over. But tomorrow morning, nine o’clock, I want to see you, Kerr and effing Fyfe at the station for a briefing. You tell them. Enjoy your drink.’

Sparrow stood abruptly. ‘Thank God. Dyin’ of thirst…’

He flicked his butt at Manolis’s feet, narrowly missing his leather shoes, and disappeared inside the top pub. Manolis felt a cold blast of air conditioning as the door slammed in his face.