Cold Deception (6 page)

Sally paused and narrowed her eyes at Julia. “I want you to come onto the Management Committee of the Women’s Health Center. We’ve all discussed it and we think your experience would be invaluable.”

Julia almost fell off her chair. “Me? What experience? I went into jail when I was twenty. I’d hardly done anything in my life before that. What could I possibly have to offer your management committee?”

“Ten years of doing time in New South Wales prisons. That’s a lifetime of experience worth a lot.”

Julia couldn’t believe her ears. “But I don’t know anything. No. No. I can’t…” She stammered. “I can’t… I don’t know them…”

“Shh. It’s okay Julia. Don’t worry. They’re a great bunch of women. Think about it. Maybe in a few weeks after you’ve settled in.”

Julia fought to keep the panic reined in. This was silly. Why couldn’t she be on a committee? But the thought of facing people she didn’t know, who knew all about her, was too hard.

“Shit! What time is it? I have to go and see my parole officer. I can’t be late.”

“It’s just before eleven. Come on, I’ll walk you over.”

Julia sat in the chilly foyer and contemplated the notice board in front of her. If she used drugs, had unprotected sex, or was homeless the information would be relevant. She couldn’t see anything about crazy sisters, guilt-stricken mothers or sexy cops. Sighing, she glanced down at the card in her hand. David Warren.

As instructed by her case worker before she left custody, she’d rung him late in the afternoon on her third day out and endured his irritable snarl that she should’ve contacted him as soon as she arrived home. Not wanting to get him off side, she’d apologized, trying to sound suitably servile. This man could recommend she go back to jail if she didn’t toe the line. Not that she had any intention of being rebellious. Quite the opposite. A quiet life was all she wanted.

A weak wall heater was attempting to heat the bare space unsuccessfully. She glanced at the receptionist behind the perspex barrier, certain
her
heating was keeping her toasty warm. As if she’d spoken, the receptionist looked up and frowned at her. ‘Doreen’, said her name tag. Blonde hair with just a hint of black roots, talons for nails that clicked on her keyboard as she typed, and a deep vertical frown line on her forehead. She looked like life constantly disappointed her. Not so surprising in this office.

Julia pulled her coat more closely around her as the door slammed open and just as quickly slammed closed. Her heart sank as she realized who’d arrived.

Rez. It couldn’t be anyone else. His resemblance to Blossom was both horrifying and fascinating.

“Fuckin’ cold out there, isn’t it?”

They were about the same height and build, had the same ratty dyed black hair, facial piercings and bizarrely the same dark eyeliner. If anything, he looked even more skeletal than Blossom. She wondered if he modeled himself on Captain Jack Sparrow. Unfortunately he had all of the trash but none of the whimsy of the Johnny Depp character. The smell of stale sweat and cigarettes filled the small area.

His dirty black jeans hung from his thin hips while his sheep wool lined jacket was grubby and torn. This was the wonderful Rez, the man her sister was willing to throw her life away over? A black tide of fury slammed into her. She fought to keep her mouth shut and her gaze averted from him. Closing her eyes, she again remembered to breathe and let go of her anger. After Blossom had been admitted to detox, she’d given herself a good talking to, determined not to take responsibility for Blossom’s life. She’d done that once but wouldn’t again. She would support Blossom in whatever way she could, but in the end she had to make her own decisions.

He sauntered over to Doreen and muttered his name. She snarled at him and directed him to a seat. Good old Doreen. An equal opportunity grouch. He shuffled back to a seat and threw himself into it.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” he muttered.

Julia glanced at Doreen wondering if she heard, but her head was bent over her typing.

“Thinks she’s better than everyone else. All these parole people are the same.” He turned to her. “How long you been waiting?”

She debated ignoring him but saw he was jittery in his seat. Probably had a shot of something before he came. He was dumb as well as aggressive. Any parole officer could see he was under the influence. He’d be lucky not to be breached.

“Not long,” she said.

He snorted then stared around him. Too jumpy to sit still, he stood and peered at the notice board.

“What crap,” he muttered.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and did a slow perusal of the foyer as if looking for something that could entertain him. His eyes rested on Julia. She could see his over-cooked brain trying to compute something.

No, no, no. Just ignore me.

“Hey. You’re Julia, aren’t you?” He smiled widely revealing a chipped front tooth. “I’m Rez. Blossom’s boyfriend. We came up to see you.”

He bounded over to her and threw himself into the seat next to her.

“I saw her this morning. She’s okay. Just a few pills, nothing serious. She didn’t need an ambulance, you know.”

Julia turned to him and saw the look of calculation in his eyes. As if weighing up whether to go on the attack or get her on side.

“You don’t think? The fact she was almost unconscious didn’t warrant medical attention? Is that what the two of you normally do?”

She kept her voice low, trying to give him the message any conversation was unwelcome.

He sneered at her. “What we do doesn’t concern you. Unless you want some stuff? Just out of jail and all. Most chicks are gagging for a little taste. And not just of gear.”

He leered at her while doing a quick perusal of her body.

“You’ve got more flesh than Blossom. I like that.”

The rage continued to pulse at the back of her eyes.

“What you like doesn’t concern me, you repulsive piece of dirt. Stay away from my sister.”

He leapt out of his seat and backed away from her, then tottered back to stand over her.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch,” he yelled. “Blossom and I can do what we like without getting permission from you, cunt. You can’t control everyone, especially me.”

Julia glanced at Doreen who was on the phone speaking animatedly to someone, a look of panic in her eyes. Maybe if he went right over the top, they’d call the cops and breach him right away.

“But I can make life very difficult for you, asshole. Although you’re well on the way to doing that yourself. You don’t think this David Warren guy won’t notice you’re stoned? He’ll know you’re facing further charges so when I tell him what’s happened to Blossom, he’s going to breach you, probably right now. You’re a complete fuck up.”

“Don’t you speak to me like that.” He grabbed her by her coat and threw her against the wall. “No one speaks to me like that.”

Her head hit the wooden paneling with a thump. It hurt but wasn’t as bad as the rank smell of Rez up close. His crazy bloodshot eyes bored into her. They better get their act together and either call the police or do something. He was on the verge of hitting her.

“Why not? Because you slap it out of them? Is that what you do to Blossom? Big man. Tough man. Not so tough when they throw you inside.”

“Stop it!” yelled Doreen. “I’ve called the police.”

That seemed to penetrate his drug-hazed mind. He let go of her and made for the door. Julia grabbed his arm just as the inner door to the parole office opened.

“I meant what I said. Leave her alone or you’ll answer to me.”

He shook her off and stumbled out the door, then ran across the square and down the street.

Damn it. He could still do a lot of damage to Blossom while on the run.

“What’s going on here? What are you doing?”

She turned to see a pudgy man with tussled wire-like hair, eyeing her suspiciously.

“She was fighting with another one who ran off,” Doreen said, breathlessly. “They almost came to blows.”

Julia held up her hands in denial. “No fighting here. He was off his face and just went for me. I didn’t say anything.”

The man frowned at her and turned to Doreen. “Call the police. Tell them what happened and I’ll call them in a bit.” He sighed and muttered to himself. “I had a bad feeling about that bloke when I agreed to his transfer up here.”

We looked at Julia and narrowed his eyes. “Come inside. We’re overdue for a talk.”

She followed him into the office and sat in a chair in front of his desk.

He picked up her file and sat opposite her. “Nothing like a little drama to start the day,” he said breezily, as if assault was a usual occurrence in this office. Maybe it was. She had no experience of being on parole so maybe this was normal. But his next words put paid to that idea.

“If I find out you’re involved in anything, anything that’s in anyway illegal, dodgy or otherwise a bad idea, I’ll breach you so fast you won’t have time to draw breath. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal,” she said. “But I can’t help it if your other clients won’t control themselves.”

“Don’t be smart with me, Julia. I know damn well who Rez is and his relationship with your sister.” He pushed his fingers through his hair looking frustrated and tired.

“Look, he’s a train wreck and he’ll be breached and picked up. I know you don’t want him around your sister and I sympathize, but you can’t goad him into something stupid. Apart from the fact he’s quite capable of doing that on his own, it’s dangerous. He’s unstable and he could hurt you, if he hasn’t already. How’s your head?”

She shrugged. “Fine.”

He slumped into his chair and stared at her for a long minute. She stared back, not dropping her eyes.

“I’m on your side, you know. I don’t want you to go back to prison and from the look of your file there’s no reason for you to.” He leafed through the thick file. “You’ve never had a history of drug and alcohol use, you participated in therapy and education and didn’t get one misconduct charge the whole time you were in. That’s pretty impressive and not something I see every day.”

He paused and narrowed his eyes again.

“What do you want to do with your life?”

What
did
she want to do with her life?

It was the question everyone asked her before she left custody. All she could come up with was finishing her degree and maybe getting some kind of low-paying job until the universe revealed something to her. But the state of Chez Taylor had given her ideas about what she wanted to do.

She hesitated. “Decoration. House decoration.”

“Interior design?”

She nodded. “Although not just that. More a total make over service. I’m good with color and decoration. At Emu Plains I did some building courses. I can do woodwork and painting.” She could feel some of her stiffness softening with the man in front of her. “My mother’s house is in a bad way. I thought I could complete the building qualifications I started at Emu Plains and learn as I go by fixing her house.”

He nodded his head and smiled at her. “That’s a good plan. Let’s get you in contact with TAFE.”

He pulled out some forms and for the next hour, Julia gratefully focused on her future plans. He really did seem to want to help her. By the time the hour was up, she’d enrolled in a TAFE course over the phone, had discussed doing a small business course, registered for a tax file number and an Australian business number, and accepted his advice to stay away from Rez.

“Leave him to the police. Don’t have any contact with him at all.”

She nodded and hoped Dylan and his colleagues would pick him up soon.

*

Julia Taylor’s haunted look preyed on Dylan’s mind

He wasn’t foolish enough to discount an accusation of abuse at the hands of police. It made his blood boil. He knew she wasn’t making it up. She didn’t have that air of being a drama queen that never failed to set off his bullshit detector.

And he knew who assaulted her.

Angus O’Reardon. Ex-cop, now owner of the biggest and most successful hotel in Katoomba.

He’d been medically retired from the police force just after the priest’s murder. Although from what Dylan heard, he was on the verge of being investigated by the Police Integrity Commission after one too many accusations of assault. No one mentioned a rape.

His mind made up, Dylan crossed the busy office of the Katoomba Police Station and knocked on the open door of his boss, Local Area Commander Bill Pringle.

The older man was on the phone but waved Dylan in, pointing to a chair. Dylan sat and smiled, shaking his head as he listened to the one-way conversation.

“Yes, Mrs. Daley. That must have been very irritating. No, no. I can’t send anyone out right now.” Silence as he rolled his eyes at Dylan. “But there was no damage? Just some noises. Yes… Yes… Maybe it was a possum. No?” He sighed. “Okay, Mrs. Daley. I’ll drop in on my way home. No, no. No trouble. I’ll see you then.”

He hung up the phone and gazed at Dylan, with a face full of gloom.

“She thinks someone tried to break into her house last night. Last night and three days ago. Unfortunately she lives just down the street to me so I dropped in to take a look. It’s obviously possums, but she won’t believe me.” He sighed again. “She’s lonely, the poor old duck. I’ll speak to my wife. Maybe she can get someone out to talk to her.”

His gaze sharpened as he focused on Dylan. Most people saw him as genial and easy-going, but Dylan knew better. Nothing got past him. His carefully cultivated laid-back charm hid his razor sharp mind. He’d been the LAC at Katoomba for the last two years. In that time, it became more and more obvious to him and to Dylan just who was responsible for the growing drug trade throughout the Mountains and the Central West.

Years of experience as a Senior Sargent within the New South Wales Police Service meant O’Reardon was adept at covering his tracks. But Dylan and Pringle kept chipping away at the investigation, adding seemingly random facts to the growing body of intelligence about the distribution of drugs in the local area. So far, the investigation was under wraps. No one knew that the most prominent and well-respected public figure in Katoomba was a major drug distributor.

“What have you got for me?”

These were Pringle’s usual words of welcome, offered to everyone from investigating officers like Dylan to the lady in the sandwich shop.

“Julia Taylor.”

“Oh yeah?” He frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d be in trouble so soon. If at all. Crime of passion by someone young and foolish. If it’d been up to me she would’ve got a suspended sentence. Yeah, yeah…” He waved away Dylan’s objections. “I know you have a different idea. But what those dropkicks did to Dale Rowe was the result of too much alcohol and misplaced moral indignation. They killed a child killer because what they thought he did was a hair’s breadth from what they did to their own kids.”

Dylan shifted in his chair, knowing Pringle was right. Most of Dale Rowe’s neighbors had kids who’d either been removed by child protection authorities or were being investigated by them. Up until the death of little Eva, they’d seen Rowe as a friend and neighbor. Someone to chew the fat with and maybe score some drugs from. But he stepped over the line when he was suspected of beating his de facto’s daughter to death. His dismembered, half-burnt body was found in a field not far from the public housing estate where he and his girlfriend lived. The smell seemed to hover in the air for weeks afterward. One more reason Dylan left Sydney.