Prime Cut (29 page)

A short while later, three and a half minutes to be exact, Jim Buckley finished his drink and left the picture. He returned twelve minutes later and made straight for a new position at the bar over to the right of frame.

‘He orders his drink and...’ Tess paused the footage, ‘there. He nods to someone off-screen, male I reckon.’

‘Why male?’

‘It’s a blokey nod. Reserved, a “how’s-the-ute” nod. Happy to strike up a conversation but don’t care if you don’t. That kind of nod.’

Cato was impressed and a little scared, he knew he didn’t stand a chance of hiding anything from intuition like that. They’d moved on from gin to coffee. Tess sipped hers and winked at him like old times.

‘There’s more.’

She fast-forwarded a minute or two. Jim Buckley was now half in, half out the right bottom edge of the frame and facing the person off-screen. The body movements suggested conversation. Buckley then turned to the bar and ordered another drink, his own Jim Beam and Coke still over half full. A barmaid’s hand delivered a middy of beer and Jim passed it off-screen.

‘Buckley shouting a round: official, on the record.’ Cato could have wisecracked a bit more but he remembered he was talking about a dead man.

Tess fast-forwarded again. ‘After a few minutes more the conversation ceases and Buckley retrieves his seat by the rear wall. He doesn’t look in that direction again for the rest of the evening.’ Tess found the spot she wanted. ‘At 11.49, pub almost empty by now, Jim leaves.’

They watched him finish his drink, scrape loose change into the palm of his hand and pocket it. Unsteadily now, after eight bourbon and Cokes, he nods towards the bar and exits left of screen. Across the road from the pub is the path that leads him down to the groyne. A hundred-metre walk in the rain across wet gravel and potholes will bring him to the short wooden fishing jetty which points west across the bay to the national park. There somebody will cave his skull in with a lump of jagged rock the size of a soccer ball. As they watched the last of the patrons leave the pub from right to left across the screen, Cato and Tess saw him at the same time. Tess pressed pause. Slightly blurred by the freezing of the frame, there was still no doubt about the short, wiry man in the beanie: Billy Mather, Herman the Hermit from Starvation Bay.

‘Coincidence?’ Cato didn’t even believe it himself.

Tess sat back and took a long gulp from her cooling coffee. ‘The usual line is that there’s no such thing. That’s the line the Mick Hutchenses of this world take. How much of the case against Justin Woodward is “coincidence”?’

Cato recounted what he’d gleaned from the file. ‘Forensics; Buckley’s hair on Woodward’s jeans; phone calls between Buckley and Woodward; drug traces in the van; and last but not least, he was dobbed in by Riri Yusala.’

‘Pretty-Boy, now there’s a reliable witness. A drug pusher and probable date rapist facing several years in the clink and deportation at the end.’

‘But what about the forensics?’ Cato insisted.

Tess nodded, conceding the point, then frowned. ‘The forensics, however rubbery, are usually good for getting juries over the line.
But if they had that from day one why did they release Woodward in the first place? Surely the phone records and the forensics should have been enough to hold him?’

Cato wasn’t familiar enough with the case to answer that question. His head was throbbing and he had an early morning search party to organise.

Tess started clearing glasses and cups away. Cato stood up to help her and wobbled; he’d stood up too quickly, not a good idea when you’ve recently been head-butted. Tess put out an arm to steady him and their eyes locked. They leaned in to each other; his hot breath on her face, his hand cupping her neck below her ear, fingers stroking her hair.

Tess closed her eyes, pushing her head against his hand like a cat starved of affection. ‘Why did you go, Cato? What was so wrong with us?’

Cato still didn’t know the answer after all these years. ‘I’m a coward. An idiot. I dunno ... sorry.’

She felt the tension in his body. The caresses that seemed so natural just a moment ago now felt distracted and clumsy. The moment was gone.

Tess stepped back from the embrace. ‘Sorry, it’s been a shitty twelve months. I’m just getting to the other side of it. This isn’t a good idea. The last thing I need now is a nostalgic fling with Cato Kwong,’ she smiled apologetically, ‘however tempting.’

He sighed. ‘Story of my life.’

She looked at the familiar self-deprecating pity-me smile. The one that said this situation is not of my making. The one he used when he left her.

‘Cato, don’t take this the wrong way but you’re a gutless, selfobsessed bastard.’

He looked like he’d just been slapped, then hid it with a rueful grin. ‘Don’t beat around the bush, say what you mean.’

‘You ran away from me because you were gutless, you rolled over for Hutchens and landed yourself in trouble, same reason, and you’re even hanging on to your shitty job in Stock Squad
because you haven’t the guts to make a stand on what’s right and what’s wrong. If you really feel hard done by then leave and get a proper job. What are you waiting for, somebody to say sorry and admit you were right and they were wrong?’

Cato looked at the floor. Flushed and pissed off.

Tess placed her hand gently on his chest. ‘Say something.’

He stared over the top of her head. ‘You seem to have worked it all out already.’

She took a step back from him. ‘Fucking grow up, Cato. You helped put an innocent man away because you did the wrong thing but what’s really eating you is that you got busted when others didn’t. Now you’re wallowing in this bitter martyrdom crap. It doesn’t matter who else got away with it. You did wrong, so take it on the chin and move on instead of infecting everyone around you with your ... poison.’

Cato’s head was swirling; was it Stevenson’s handiwork or something else? Tess had certainly done her homework: was that what the little car ride with Jim Buckley was all about? How long ago, a week?

Tess’s look was gentler now. ‘And your marriage is up the spout too, isn’t it? Tell me I’m wrong.’

‘Are you finished?’

She shook her head. ‘You really need to stop running away when stuff gets too hard. Take it from a girl who knows, Cato, if you don’t get that poison out of your system it’s going to eat you up.’

Step Forward – Walk Away.
First Greg Fisher, now Tess Maguire. What was this, Hang-Cato-Out-to-Dry Week?

‘Finished now?’

‘Yes.’ She gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Think about what I’m saying. Please?’

Cato never took his eyes off that neutral spot on the wall.

It was a motley crew: Duncan Goldflam and one of his offsiders were ready to roll wearing blue forensic coveralls and facemasks. They would be assisted by Mark McGowan, decked out in blue paper shoe covers, mask and rubber gloves. Paul Abbott and Mitch Biddulph from Ravensthorpe and a couple of young uniforms drafted in from Esperance would help settle things in the house. It was a motley crew because Cato didn’t have a more senior officer’s permission for this raid. He’d worry about that later. He stifled a yawn. Instead of sleeping he’d brooded over the home truths Tess had presented to him. He met her eyes; she still didn’t seem very sorry. He knew he was asking for even more trouble inviting her along. Although not actually suspended in the strict disciplinary sense she was still meant to be stood aside pending the outcome of the taser inquiry. To hell with it – she was one of the very few people he trusted.

Blue-black, orange-flecked cumulus billowed and jostled in the eastern sky awaiting the sun’s grand entrance. A soft breeze blew along Wilkinson Street and an empty can of purple UDL rolled with it. Cato nodded to Tess and she pressed her finger to the bell on Keith Stevenson’s front door. A dog barked somewhere inside. It was a deep meaty bark from a hound with more substance than Justin Woodward’s lamented Lily. Cato noticed Tess’s hand hover over her taser. Two more presses of the bell and through the frosted glass Cato saw a blurred figure descend the stairs and curse the dog back into submission.

‘Who the fuck is it?

Keith Stevenson slept in yellow Homer Simpson boxers and a Billabong T-shirt. He looked hungover and Cato noticed with some satisfaction that the top of his ear was wadded with elastoplast.

Stevenson squinted at his callers and shook his head in disgust. ‘Fuck’s sake.’

Tess did the formalities, announcing that she was arresting him for assaulting a police officer, declaring the premises a crime scene, and waving what looked like it might be a search warrant in his face.

Stevenson never took his eyes off Cato the whole time. ‘Weak cunt,’ he hissed.

Cato ignored him, instead issuing orders for the search of house, backyard, and shed.

Kerry Stevenson’s smoky croak echoed from the top of the stairs. ‘Keith, what the fuck’s goin’ on? Who’s at the door?’

‘Jackie-fucken-Chan. Get up and make us a coffee will you, love?’

‘Fuck off.’

Tess and Paul Abbott led Stevenson into the open-plan lounge room, cuffed him, and pushed him gently but firmly into an armchair. The penny finally dropped at the sound of a truck’s reverse beeper.

Stevenson’s eyes hardened. ‘What’s happening out there?’

Cato had his answer ready. ‘I believe I brushed against the boat last night when I left. My blood is on it. Helps us build a complete picture of the sequence of events for an assault charge.’

‘Bullshit. What do you really want the boat for?’

Cato repeated the line about assault being a serious offence, et cetera.

‘Any witnesses to this alleged assault?’ Stevenson’s eyes twinkled.

‘About thirty in your backyard.’

‘Any that have come forward?’

‘Inquiries are continuing.’

‘This is a fucking joke and my lawyer’s going to enjoy doing you.’

Cato didn’t mention the fact that a second tow truck was on its way to collect the Prado and the SaS ute as well.

There was a commotion on the stairs which led directly from the open-plan family area to the floor above. Cato wandered over to the bottom step to investigate. Kane Stevenson was acting tough for little brother Jai’s benefit; he was now facedown at the top of the stairs with the two Esperance uniforms kneeling on his back to snap the cuffs on. He seemed to have picked up his parents’ vocabulary and florid language. At the top of the stairs, eleven year old Jai stood wide-eyed in his green Bart Simpson boxers. Cute: father and son, mix and match boxers.

His mother brushed past him in a hooded purple velveteen dressing gown. ‘Jai, get some fucken clothes on and get down here.’ She glanced down at her older boy, face deep in the shagpile.

‘Kane, stop being such a dickhead, love.’

Duncan Goldflam poked his head through the back door and nodded for Cato to join him in the backyard. His forensic helper and Mark McGowan were standing by the shed door with the chainsaw, an orange petrol-driven Huskie, and an evidence sack.

‘Don’t get too excited yet,’ cautioned Goldflam, ‘it’s not covered in your Chinaman’s blood, it’s been cleaned recently. But...’ Goldflam allowed himself a grin, ‘first impressions are of a not very thorough job.’ He nodded back towards the house. ‘These blokes are usually either too lazy, cocky, or stupid to cover their tracks properly. They think they’re untouchable. That’s where they usually come undone.’

Goldflam signalled for his bloke to put the chainsaw into an evidence sack.

Cato was warming to him. Despite the man’s obvious tribal loyalties to his boss Hutchens he was still, in the end, a pro who revelled in nailing bad guys. ‘Let’s hope you’re right. Any sign of a firearm?’

Goldflam shook his head. Cato frowned, there should have been one. In the pub, Travis Green had said something about Keith taking the younger boy, Jai, roo-shooting, something he never did with older brother Kane.

That’s when they heard the gunshot from inside the house.
‘Put the gun down, Jai,’ said Cato.

The Disaffected Youth was armed and dangerous. Nobody knew precisely where he was, just that he was upstairs somewhere with his dad’s .22: the one he’d just shot Steve Dempster with. That was the name of the young cop from Esperance, now lying face down at the top of the stairs. A patch of dark blood spread across the back of his blue uniform shirt and dripped through the open staircase on to the jarrah floorboards of the kitchen below. Kane Stevenson, still handcuffed, lay on his stomach. Steve Dempster’s partner, Corey something, lay between Kane and the wall, eyes pleading for someone to get him out of the line of fire. The poor bugger had pissed himself, maybe worse, judging by the nasty smell hovering in the air. Everybody else was downstairs behind the kitchen counter.

‘Jai, put the gun down.’ It was Tess this time, she’d come out from behind the counter and was at the bottom of the steps.

‘Get back here,’ hissed Cato.

Tess ignored him. She unclipped her gun and lifted her foot to the first stair. Cato couldn’t believe he’d brought people into this situation unprepared and unprotected. Admittedly, the nearest supply of body armour was three hours away in Albany but it had never occurred to him that they were walking into anything more dangerous than a possible scuffle with Keith Stevenson.

‘Jai, it’s me. Tess. Remember?’

There was a snort and a chuckle. ‘Course I remember.’

Cato crouch-walked over to Kerry who was sipping serenely from a mug of coffee.

‘Is there another way upstairs?’ he whispered.

She shook her head and waved her mug vaguely in the direction of the stairs. ‘If I were you I’d tell Wonder Woman not to chance it. My Jai’s a real grudge-bearer, gets it from his father’s side. Scots. Never lets anything go.’

Keith Stevenson glared at her. He held up his handcuffed wrists to Cato. ‘Get these off and I’ll go up and sort him out.’

Cato shook his head but couldn’t think of any better ideas right now.

Stevenson growled. ‘I don’t want my son getting shot. I’m the only one he’s going to listen to. You’ve already lost one.’ He gestured with his chin towards Tess who was now three steps up with seven to go. ‘Do you want her to die as well?’

Tess’s head was nearly at upper floor level. She was now just a few centimetres from the line of fire. Two more steps and she would be able to touch the limp outstretched hand of Steve Dempster.

‘Jai, I can see from here he’s still breathing, but we need to get him to a hospital quickly.’

She was acutely aware that the last time she and Jai met he’d ended up with a fifty thousand volt hangover. Jai Stevenson was a boy with a gun in his hand and scores to settle.

‘He can die. He shouldn’t have jumped on Kane.’

Tess looked up the stairs into Kane Stevenson’s eyes. He read her signal.

‘Jai, mate, I’m okay. No worries. But we need to get that cop to a doctor quick. Chuck the gun down and let them do it, okay?’

‘No.’

‘Do it, you stupid little runt.’

‘Fucken shut up Kane or I’ll shoot you as well.’

Tess climbed another stair. Depending on exactly where Jai was, and whether he was lying down, crouching, or standing, she would be in the firing line on the next step – if she wasn’t already. Corey from Esperance had stopped trying to merge with the wall and floor. Tess tried to ignore the smell of his fear. He opened his eyes and realised how close Tess was. If he reached out his hand he could touch the top of her head. Beside him, lying on his stomach, Kane Stevenson’s expression was unreadable. Was he going to warn his little brother of Tess’s every move or would he help her end this? On the other side of Kane, the blood-soaked body of Steve Dempster seemed to be growing colder and smaller.

‘I can see you!’ Jai was playing a singsong, peek-a-boo game.

Tess instinctively crouched and flinched. The eleven year old chuckled.
Out in the backyard, Goldflam and his bloke were placing a ladder against the outside wall. Mark McGowan, pistol in hand, waited at the foot of the ladder for the word to go, but they didn’t know which room Jai was in. They signalled through the door to Cato to find out. He turned to the boy’s mother.

‘Which room is he in?’

Kerry shrugged and looked away.

‘Your son is in real danger of dying today, Mrs Stevenson.’

‘Only if I help you lot and I’m not going to.’

‘Let me talk to him.’ It was Keith Stevenson, pleading.

This was a side to him that Cato hadn’t expected. ‘I need to know which room he’s in. I have a badly wounded officer needing urgent medical attention. Time is running out.’

‘The middle one, but let me talk to him. I can end this.’

Cato mouthed ‘middle’ to Mark McGowan and turned back to Stevenson.

‘We both know why we’re here don’t we? The real reason.’

Stevenson kept his face neutral. ‘The alleged assault.’

‘The real reason.’ Cato’s eyes bored into Stevenson’s.

Stevenson shook his head in disgust. ‘Jesus you’re a piece of work. Turning the screws at a time like this. Bargaining with my boy’s life. You’re a fucking disgrace.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr Stevenson, I’m just trying to bring this situation to an end.’ Cato looked over Stevenson’s shoulder at McGowan and gave him the nod to start climbing. McGowan checked his Glock one final time and started the ascent.

‘What’s all that whispering down there?’ Jai’s voice, uncertain.

‘Jai mate, we need to stop this. There’s...’

Cato placed a warning hand on Keith Stevenson’s shoulder and leaned in close to his ear. ‘If you warn him you’ll restrict our options even further. That puts him in even more danger. Think about that.’

‘There’s what, Dad? What’s the whispering, is something happening?’

Jai’s voice sounded more and more childlike, nervous, afraid,
the game was no longer such fun.

Keith Stevenson’s lower lip trembled. ‘There’s...’ Cato locked eyes with him. ‘There’s ... no need for all this, Jai. Let’s call it a day, eh?’

‘Dad. There’s a bloke at the window! He’s got a gun.’

With Jai distracted, Tess leaned forward and grabbed Dempster by the back of his collar, dragging him down three steps out of the line of fire.

‘Dad.’

‘Throw the gun down, son.’ Keith Stevenson’s eyes brimmed over.

‘No.’ The boy’s voice was rising in panic.

‘We need to stop all this, Keith.’ Cato looked from Stevenson to Goldflam, who was outside waiting for a signal to pass up to McGowan. He turned his gaze back to Stevenson again.

Stevenson slumped. ‘I did the Chink. Stop this. Now.’

Cato gave the signal to Goldflam to hold fire and uncuffed Stevenson. Dad was up the stairs in a few quick strides talking calmly to Jai all the way. Cato followed close behind, gun drawn. The boy put the .22 down as he was told and his father crushed him in a desperate, anguished embrace.

Cato placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Keith Stevenson, I am arresting you for the murder of Hai Chen...’

Stevenson released his grip on his son and turned to face Cato, his voice low and accusing. ‘What you did today was plain wrong. If you had a kid you’d know it was.’ Stevenson’s finger prodded Cato’s chest. ‘And God help him if you do.’

Cato couldn’t read the expression on Tess Maguire’s face. She was busy calling an ambulance.