Daughters of Eve, page 29
‘I’ll text you when I’m done, maybe you can come and pick me up?’ I leaned over and rummaged through the brand name bags on the back seat, looking for my handbag. As a woman who loathed shopping, the last three hours had been excruciating. I understood Matt needed more than one outfit, a pair of trackpants and a t-shirt for his stay, but I couldn’t understand why a quick trip to Kmart wouldn’t cover his clothing needs.
‘I’ll be right here.’ Matt’s lips brushed my cheek. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He produced a novel and held it aloft.
‘Most cops don’t read crime novels.’ I tried not to smirk.
‘I’m not a cop anymore.’
It took me a moment to register what he’d said. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Fitzhugh wouldn’t approve my leave, so I quit.’
‘But you’re …’
‘I was looking for another job, anyway. Fitzhugh’s … well, you met him.’
I must have looked as devastated as I felt because he smiled and took my hand. ‘Seriously, Hart. Not your problem. My choice.’
I got out of the car and headed to the entrance on autopilot. Before I walked through the doors, I looked back. Matt waved the novel and smiled.
Had he just thrown his career in the crapper for me? Christ on a catapult, what was I supposed to do with that?
The police union rep was waiting for me in the foyer, pacing up and down by the desk. If that didn’t shake my confidence, when he stuck out his hand to greet me, it was shaking and his palm was slick with sweat.
‘Have you been with the union long?’
‘Three months next Friday.’ The tremor in his voice and his long, lean build reminded me of a teenager.
‘Tell me you’ve been to uni, or you’ve worked in another industrial role.’
He chewed on his bottom lip and I read my answer into his silence. I made a mental note to stop paying my union dues if they didn’t send someone with experience to the next meeting. As we cleared security and headed for the lift, I wondered if the union had intentionally assigned someone with so little experience to represent me, or if it was just the luck of the draw.
‘How was the meeting?’ Matt stretched his legs out and sat back with his hands behind his head as he looked out over the harbour.
Had I ever felt that relaxed? I mean, I’d had lazy Sunday mornings and evenings at the theatre, but had I ever experienced this level of I have nothing to do and nowhere to be relaxation? Not that I could remember.
He’d insisted on waiting till we were sitting by the water’s edge to talk about the meeting, then taken me to a cafe by the Opera House where you pay twice what you’d pay anywhere else in the city and the parking is extortionate.
‘It was two hours of where was I on this day, what was I doing in that place. They had a list of phone calls I’d made and the phone towers I’d pinged when I made them. And the guns—they had a field day with those: why hadn’t I surrendered them or registered them when they came into my possession.’
Matt’s head tipped to the side and he considered me for a moment. ‘You had unregistered firearms?’
I’d just spent two hours of my life explaining myself to two suspicious strangers—three, if you counted my union rep. Was I going to have to go through it again?
‘They were my grandfather’s.’
‘Oh.’ Matt nodded. ‘Right. Grief does funny things to your brain.’
Now it was my turn to look sideways at him. ‘What do you know about grief?’
Matt pulled himself up in the chair and the air of relaxation folded back into the normal planes and angles of his body. ‘I knew someone who died.’ He reached for his coffee and turned the half-empty cup around on its saucer.
‘Was this person important to you?’
He picked up the cup and drained the contents in one gulp. ‘We should walk.’ He sat up but didn’t stand, as if his body and mind couldn’t decide whether to stay or go.
‘So, they were?’
He looked over the harbour towards Sydney’s iconic bridge, but I don’t think he saw it. He seemed to have left the table, and me, and wandered into a memory.
‘Matt?’
He looked back to me then, smiled and shivered, as if shaking himself loose from a reverie. ‘Let’s walk.’ This time he stood and looked down at me. ‘I’d love to get some pictures before we head home.’
That was twice today he’d diverted the conversation: first his job and now this grief.
His job. The memory of that conversation flooded back. ‘So, what are you going to do about work?’
He shrugged and started walking, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, smiling the slow, lazy smile of the recently unemployed. I realised I didn’t know anything about his finances. Could he live off his savings, or had he moved here thinking he could live off me for the foreseeable? The thought needled at me, activating the nervous energy that had been building in me since Rose’s arrest.
‘I mean, who does that? Who quits their job to go take care of someone they hardly know?’
He considered me, clearly taken aback by my outburst. ‘Who takes in two street kids they barely know?’
‘That’s different. They needed help.’
His eyebrows rose but I’d heard what I said.
I poked him in the ribs. ‘I can look after myself.’
Matt’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. ‘It’s Roberts.’ He handed me the phone.
‘Hart here.’
‘How was the PSC grilling?’
I smiled. Trust Robbo to start with a question when he knew I was waiting for news.
‘I’d say I’m medium to well done, but they’ll come at me again tomorrow.’
‘Did they rip you for this morning?’
Of course he was worried; if they found out he’d set up the accidental meeting between me and Rose, he’d be facing the PSC himself.
‘No mention. I think you’re good.’
‘She’s still at the Bunker but the crowds are thinning. Apparently all it takes is the threat of rain to disperse an Aussie lynch mob.’
‘Have they charged her yet?’
Robbo went quiet. That got my nerves tingling.
‘They’re detaining her under the terrorism provisions.’
‘They’re what?’ It wasn’t enough that Rose was a killer, they were calling her a bloody terrorist now?
That meant they could hold her for fourteen days, and if they let her walk out the door they could grab her again and restart the clock.
‘How is this terrorism, Robbo? How many bodies did we find in Belanglo and no-one called that terrorism?’
‘I’m just the messenger, Hart.’
He was right. This wasn’t down to him; it stank of politics. Was there an election coming up and the government wanted scalps for a re-election campaign?
‘They’re talking about transferring her to Silverwater tomorrow if the rain keeps the crowds away.’
I’d never been a fan of right-wing rallies, so the irony wasn’t lost on me that I was praying this one would find its second wind. The longer Rose stayed out of Silverwater the better, because the way this case was coming together, it looked like Rose would be a true lifer—she’d never set foot outside a jail again.
I’d struggled to sleep that night, worrying about Rose, alone in the cells beneath the Bunker with the transfer to Silverwater threatening. Grace had woken me around four in the morning and when I’d lifted the blanket, she’d climbed in beside me. I’d felt Matt shuffle back behind me, making room for us all in the bed.
But however hard the night had been, the morning was infinitely worse. When Robbo rang, I’d hesitated, before taking the phone from Matt. It was exactly as I’d feared: Rose would be transferred today.
Two hours later, I was tucked in the corner of a reserve across the road, watching the back entrance to the Bunker. Wind whipped down the street and rain lashed my face as I dug my hands deeper into my coat pockets, clinging to the flip phone like an anchor.
Robbo had given me Rose’s transfer details in good faith, as a father, knowing the desperation a parent would feel to see their child. He’d entrusted me with the information and I had accepted it, knowing I would betray that trust. I’d wrestled with my conscience, but in the end, the only thing I’d demanded of the Daughters was that no law enforcement officers would be hurt during her escape.
An hour passed before unmarked cars splashed down the rain-soaked road and pulled in through the gates behind the Bunker. I pulled Rose’s bright jacket from the shopping bag at my side. It wasn’t enough for me to see her; she had to know I was here. Know that I loved her despite what she’d done.
The remaining protesters’ chants increased on the far side of the building. It was definitely going down. The decoy transport must have arrived and ducked down into the underground car park. A couple of the protesters who’d been scoping this side of the building started running, not wanting to miss the chance to hurl abuse, throw rocks and spit at the windowless van they believed held the killer.
I felt it like a tremor in the force, but to outsiders it would have looked like a couple of cops slipping out back for a cigarette. Civilians wouldn’t have noticed the bulges under the jackets of two pedestrians walking down the street, one from each end, or the car that cruised into the street to park opposite the back gate.
I slid out of the sodden grey woollen coat that had rendered me almost invisible against the concrete wall and pushed my arms into Rose’s red jacket. There was no point trying to blend in with so many eyes on the street. It was less suspicious to be obvious, just a woman waiting for a lift.
The chants from the protesters notched up another few decibels and I looked around, and then at my wrist as if checking a watch.
I stepped to the side of the road and felt the frisson of the plainclothes officers who were close to me. A civilian in the middle of an operation—I had eyes on me now.
Like a choreographed dance, the back door flew open and two men walked out into the rain, one with a walkie-talkie pressed to his lips, his head on a swivel; the other was Robbo. He clocked me as I crossed the road and I felt rather than saw the two plainclothes running towards me.
Then she was there. In the doorway. Wearing street clothes, with a jacket draped over her hands to hide the cuffs. She had a plainclothes on either side, their arms linked through hers, and six more spilled out of the door and into the fully fenced car park.
Her head turned. She’d seen the jacket.
Her escort detail froze. They’d seen me, just as the plainclothes cops converged on me.
‘Rose!’ I yelled as I gripped the slippery bars of the fence and held on, knowing they’d try to drag me back. She smiled and it was like sunshine on my face as the first man unpeeled my fingers and wrenched my arm behind my back.
I still had eyes on her when the shot rang out. I saw her start to fall, just as Griffith-Jones had. The jolt of impact and then the slow sag as her body registered the blow. But instead of falling to the ground, she hung, suspended between the two men, rain pouring down her face, dripping from her hair and clothes.
Upper chest, right side. A ring of red spread like a rosebud opening.
The tactical team retreated, carrying her limp body back into the building. I screamed her name over and over, as if she were trapped in a nightmare and I had to wake her.
But the nightmare was mine as the second plainclothes wrenched my arm from the bars and tugged it behind me. I heard the cuffs and began to struggle.
Then Robbo’s voice rang out. ‘She’s blue. She’s blue. She’s one of us.’
The men loosened their grip and took a tentative step back.
Robbo was running towards me, his arm extended, pointing to the gate. ‘Open up, open up.’
I was running now, heading for the gate and the cop standing guard. I slipped through before it had finished opening and Robbo turned, never breaking his stride, to lead me back to the door that they’d dragged Rose’s body through.
I was beating on it as Robbo fumbled with his scan card.
‘Calm the fuck down Hart, or someone’s going to shoot you too.’
I pushed past him as soon as the lock clicked, yanked the door open and started down the corridor, checking every room until I found her.
Several men stood around her pale body where it lay on the floor. Her legs were elevated, resting on someone’s knees as they kneeled by her feet. Another officer was beside her, pressing a blood-soaked tea towel to the wound.
I kneeled and touched her face. ‘Rose. Rose, stay with me, love.’
Her eyelids flickered and her lips stretched in a serene smile. Droplets of water fell on her face. They could have been my tears or raindrops, I couldn’t tell.
‘First-aid kit.’ It was Robbo pushing the person opposite me aside and clicking the kit open. I folded Rose’s hand in mine and cradled it to my chest. ‘Has anyone called an ambulance?’ He looked around the room and someone must have nodded because he tore her damp shirt open and started pressing packed gauze to the wound.
When he was done, he slid his hand under her shoulder.
‘Help me lift her.’
I released her hand and reached over to hold her, with one arm around her ribcage and the other cradling her neck, holding her suspended so Robbo could check her back.
I didn’t need to look. I saw the patch of red carpet beneath her.
‘It’s through and through.’ His voice was calm as he tore the back of her shirt and pressed more gauze before winding a bandage around her shoulder while I held her elevated, fighting the desire to pull her into a hug.
When he tied off the bandage, we lowered her gently and something in me eased. It was through and through. No bullet lodged in my beautiful girl. But when I saw the blood staining the clean white bandage that something tightened again. A through and through could still have clipped her lung.
Robbo pressed on the wound like Rose’s life depended on it because it probably did. Air in her chest cavity could collapse a lung, halve her breathing capacity when her body and brain were already struggling to compensate for blood loss.
I took her hand in mine and fought the urge to scream. Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die.
Behind the panic clouding my mind, an insidious voice whispered. Is this your fault? Did the Daughters do this to keep Rose from talking?
I shook my head, hoping to dislodge the voice, but it was a siren in the distance that brought the room back into sharp focus.
Then paramedics were pushing into the room. Hands closed over my shoulder and a woman crouched beside me. ‘Can you stand back, please?’
I surrendered Rose to the stranger, standing and shuffling back without once taking my eyes off Rose. I watched them do to her what the paramedics had done to Griffith-Jones and I felt sick. This couldn’t be karma. She didn’t deserve to die before she’d had a chance to live. Hadn’t she paid any debt in advance, at the hands of people who were meant to love her, meant to protect her? Hadn’t she earned enough karmic grace to cover at least some of what she’d done?
The paramedics stood and one left the room.
‘What do you think, Hart?’
I looked at Robbo and he was waiting. That’s when I saw the remaining paramedic pulling a body bag from his kit.
My eyes went to Rose, where she lay on the floor.
‘A through and through you said.’ I grabbed Robbo’s arm and my fingers dug deep into his flesh. ‘Even if her lung collapsed, she wouldn’t die this quick.’
Robbo grabbed my hand and loosened my fingers. ‘She’s not dead. This is just to get her out.’
‘To get her out?’
He held my hand firmly and looked into my eyes. ‘The protesters are out the back now. They must have heard the shot and they’re baying for blood.’
I looked at the floor, at the blood-soaked dressing Robbo had wrapped around Rose’s body. Wasn’t that enough to satisfy the mob?
‘We’re hoping a body bag will convince them she’s dead. Take the wind out of their sails.’
My knees went soft and Robbo’s arm went around my waist to stop me sinking to the floor.
‘They’ve cleared the compound. We’re good to go,’ the first paramedic said as they wheeled a gurney into the room. Her partner nodded. Together they lifted my girl into the body bag and onto the gurney.
I pushed forward as they zipped the bag up to her chest and pressed my lips to her forehead. ‘Don’t you dare die, Rose Hart. Do you hear me? Don’t you bloody dare!’
‘Let the ambos do their job.’ Robbo pulled me back so they could wheel her past me.
‘I want to go with her.’ I moved to follow but Robbo held my arm.
‘She’s in custody, Hart. If anyone should go, it’s a uniform.’
The paramedic at the head of the gurney looked up. ‘You in the habit of escorting corpses to the morgue?’
Robbo grimaced. ‘You’re right. We have to do this by the book. You go ahead; we’ll have someone at the hospital before you arrive.’
I was in the foyer with Robbo when the second ambulance arrived. We were waiting for the DCI, who had been in a meeting in Parramatta, because apparently I had questions to answer.
The protesters had begun to drift away now their wicked witch appeared to be dead. Still, I wouldn’t want to venture out in my damp blood-soaked shirt and jacket. Who knew what a souvenir from the death of the Daughters of Eve killer would fetch?
I heard the ambulance before it pulled up to the door. The paramedics were halfway up the front steps before Robbo and I realised they were coming into the building.
What were the odds? Two ambulances called out in less than half an hour.
‘We had a call for a gunshot wound,’ the young paramedic said to the officer at the desk, his eyes sliding over to my blouse and then up to my eyes.
‘The other ambulance took her.’ I tried for a professional smile, but the waterworks weren’t far from the surface. I don’t think I pulled it off.
