Jill and Fin were on their way to the morgue. At least Fin had made some effort. She’d showered, her hair was washed and she was dressed in a pair of denim jeans, a pale blue shirt and a black knee-length coat. She’d even managed to cover the smell of booze. Mints and perfume were working overtime.
It was normally a ten-minute drive to the morgue but the tail end of the peak-hour traffic made for slow going — not helped by the rain. Jill kept the headlights on and the wipers turned to intermittent. It would have been smarter if she’d taken the back streets instead of busy Parramatta Road. She backtracked, turned right at Barr Street and a few minutes later pulled into the car park at the rear of the Glebe Morgue.
Jill walked with Fin along the building’s corridors, which smelled of formaldehyde and air freshener. When they reached the viewing room, Jill pushed open the door and they walked in. Jill had stood in this room with its dusty plastic flowers and tissue boxes more times than she would like to remember. An on-call counsellor who was in the room had her head bowed, respecting the formalities. Words of comfort and commiseration would be offered after Fin ID’ed Robbie.
‘Fin, is this Robert Calloway, your brother?’
Fin nodded and held her hands to her face. ‘Yes, oh my God.’ Fin slumped into Jill’s arms.
‘How about we have a cup of tea?’ the counsellor said. ‘We can go into my office and deal with the paperwork there.’
‘We just need you to sign a form,’ Jill said to Fin. As if grief wasn’t enough, there were also the rituals of death to be performed: decisions to be made, funeral arrangements, Robbie’s estate.
Eventually, Jill managed to get Fin out of the morgue and into her detective’s car. It was raining when they arrived at Fin’s apartment. Jill buttoned her coat. ‘I’ll walk you up.’
Fin fumbled with her house keys. Jill gently took them from her and opened the door.
‘Is there anyone I can call to be with you, Fin? You shouldn’t be alone.’ Jill remembered similar words spoken by Rimis the night Robbie died.
Fin didn’t answer immediately. She wiped her nose with a crumpled tissue and collapsed onto the sofa. ‘There’s no one. The doctor came last night. He gave me tablets to help me sleep. I think I’ll take one.’
Jill reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a card. She wrote down her private mobile number. ‘Here, take this. You can call me 24/7. I’ll always answer it. I’m here for you, Fin.’
Jill returned to the station and drove into the basement car park. She switched off the engine and let her head sink onto the steering wheel. The police radio crackled in the background.
Mental images of Robbie came to her. Robbie at the beach with his surfboard, zinc cream on his nose. Robbie in his police uniform, tall and straight. His cheeky grin. Robbie propped up at the bar of the pub they used to frequent. Robbie in a body bag at the base of the clock tower.
Jill went over the last time she’d seen Robbie. New Year’s Day. Jazz playing in the background, leftover tinsel and gaudy lights from Christmas still hanging above the bar. Robbie had spoken to her about his future and the plans he had to keep rising up the ranks. They’d joked that one day she’d be reporting to him.
In that last phone call, had he been reaching out to her? She’d never know. She slammed her fist against the steering wheel, and then gripped the wheel, tight, with both hands. A few seconds later tears streamed down her face, the sobs coming hard and fast.