Roll With It (26 page)

‘Can I ask, who do you think I am?’

The first cop giving the cop next to him a look. That cop, who looked familiar, saying, ‘Stig, say your full name please.’

Stunned the cop knew his first name. Blurting, ‘Why don’t you?’ and realising his question had been met by silence.

Stig starting to smile. ‘You don’t know my name? You turn up at my girlfriend’s house, two carloads of cops with guns, harassing an innocent civilian without even knowing his name? I’m so going to sue for harassment. This is priceless.’

Dolfin becoming aware of a woman watching all this from the front door. Multi-coloured hair, pale eyes. In an oversized T-shirt and maybe nothing else. Also noticing a couple of neighbours peering out their windows. Dolfin starting to feel sick.

‘We would appreciate it if you would come with us, sir. I’m sure this can all be sorted out if we can just have some time with you at the station.’

‘I’m not going anywhere, officer. If you want to arrest me for something, then do it. You don’t even know who I am. While we’re on names, what was your name again, and your mate’s there, so I get it right when I speak to the Police Ombudsman?’

‘Detective Senior Sergeant Dolfin. With an F.’ Flipper not about to be bounced that easily. ‘And Detective Tony Laver. What was your name? So I’ll know which complaint it is. We have so many it’s hard to keep track.’

‘I don’t believe I legally have to provide my name. Should I call a lawyer? Are you planning to charge somebody you don’t even know with a crime you won’t mention?’

Dolfin giving the guy next to him, Detective Laver, an even sharper look. Stig, trying not to grin, thinking they’d be having words in the car.

Dolfin finally saying, ‘Maybe we could just ask you now: what were your movements last night?’

‘I don’t have to tell you, you realise. But if it puts this lunacy to bed, I was here all evening. My girlfriend can verify it.’

Dolfin looking past him to the door and saying, ‘Miss, can you confirm this man was with you all evening?’

The girl nodding. ‘Everything except the part about me being his girlfriend.’

‘From what time, please, Miss?’

‘I’m not sure. Quite early.’

Stig wanting to kiss her.

‘And your name, please, Miss.’

‘If he’s not giving you his name, I’m not either. This is total harassment. You’re just a heavy-handed tool of the machine.’

Dolfin taken aback. ‘The machine?’

‘Yeah. The government. The whole G20 conspiracy.’

Laver, now saying to Stig, ‘And what about your mate?’

‘Which mate?’

‘The big guy. Orange hair. Beard. Jail tatts.’

‘No idea who you’re talking about.’

‘The one who was spotted with you in a Collingwood café and has been seen driving with you in a red Ford Territory.’

‘I don’t have a red Ford Territory. I think your information is wrong.’ Breathing hard.

‘I saw you in the café and in a red Ford Territory, with the orange-hair guy.’

Stig realising now that shit, he was the bike cop, from the café. But saying, ‘Nope. No idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Can I see your licence please, sir?’

‘No.’

‘I can legally ask to see your licence.’

Stig sneering. ‘I’m not driving. Why would I have a licence on me?’

The bike cop turning to Dolfin, ‘Maybe we can get him on one of the new terror suspect laws?’

At which point, Dolfin let out the deepest sigh, saying, ‘For Christ’s sake, Laver. This is over.’ Then saying to Stig, ‘I’m extremely sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir. My apologies.’

The other cops standing awkwardly as Dolfin headed back towards his car, Stig saying loudly, ‘I’ll be suing for harassment. You’ll be a witness, won’t you, babe?’

The girl at the door staying silent.

The bike cop, Laver, not having moved; just staring at Stig with a dead-eye cop stare. Plenty of heat behind the eyes.

‘What are you looking at? See you in court, Detective Laver.’ Really emphasising the surname. Stig floating on air now as he turned and walked back to the front door. The bike cop finally heading towards Dolfin’s car. Stig’s beaming smile lasting all the way until he saw the look on Louie’s face.

‘Like fuck you’re coming back inside my house.’ Louie standing with her arms clamped across her chest.

Stig pleading, ‘Louie, just until they’re gone.’

‘What is all this about?’

‘I honestly have no idea. You saw. They were just flying kites. Let’s have a cup of tea. Maybe go back to bed.’

Louie hissing, ‘This was a major mistake, Stig. Stay the fuck away from me. I mean it.’

‘Well, in one sense, it’s bloody impressive. I have to give
you that. I thought you were already in the maximum amount of shit possible for a cop to be in, short of literally holding the chief commissioner at gunpoint and rubbing your genitals against his wife. But no, Tony Laver has managed to find an even higher level of shit.’

‘Even I didn’t know about this one. It’s like a secret bonus stage,’ replied Laver.

He and Damian were sitting in his lounge room, playing PS3 and drinking beer at 11 am. Breaking all the rules. Well, all Laver’s rules. Drinking hours were a little more flexible in Damo’s world.

Slattery had phoned at 7.30 am, politely suggesting Laver take a few days off. Sounding more tired than Laver, which was an achievement. Clearly the debacle of his half-arsed murder investigation had done the rounds. Laver was just praying he didn’t get a call from Broadbent. Hated to think of the expression that would be on Strickland’s face right now.

‘Did you play last night?’ he asked Damian, who was looking seedy and enjoying the early beer just a little too much.

‘At the Espy. Quiet crowd.’

‘Which band?’

‘Helping out a mate’s band. Nightmare Scenario.’

‘Good name!’

‘And appropriate, given how bad the drummer was. I’ll get you a T-shirt.’ He fell silent as he finished off the level, fingers a blur on the controller. Sighed contentedly and sipped his beer. ‘So what happens now?’

‘Dunno,’ Laver shrugged. ‘Slattery suggested I not turn up until I actually want to ride the bike around. That means I’m technically not working, which might throw the whole “suspended from Major Crime but on full pay” thing out the window. Flipper won’t talk to me, because the attempt to apprehend the hippie’s boyfriend was such a Hall of Fame fuckfest. And, even more than before, nobody will listen to a word I say regarding potential crimes.’

‘I believe you’ve redefined clusterfuck.’

‘Oh, without a doubt.’ Laver’s head was pounding, and it wasn’t the early beer.

Damo said, ‘So Flipper isn’t talking to you at all?’

‘Well, he rang to say CCTV at the airport had picked up two men wandering to the taxi rank from outside the airport – as in, from the direction of where the private detective was murdered. Smart way to leave a scene, actually … walk to the airport and join the throng heading in all directions. They just didn’t realise the security cameras watch the surrounds as well, from before the long-term car-park exits.’

Damian hit the button to start the next stage of his game. ‘What does that all mean?’

‘It means there’s a very good chance, in Flipper’s eyes anyway, that the big gorilla with the orange mohawk wasn’t remotely involved in Thirsk’s death.’

‘The gorilla only being a figment of your imagination anyway as far as the other police are concerned.’

Laver gave his mate a look. ‘Are you helping?’

‘Sorry. Just trying to lay out the reality for my own understanding.’

‘It’s pretty simple,’ said Laver. ‘I’m fucked.’

The security buzzer from downstairs interrupted. Laver wandered over and pressed the button. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Cecy.’

Laver raised his eyebrows to Damian and said, ‘Come up.’

‘I’ll just lock up my bike,’ she replied, and the speaker went silent.

Damian was grinning faintly. ‘So, Marcia is officially history then?’

‘This is a work colleague, Damo. Keep it in your pants.’

‘You can talk. Maybe you should play this rogue cop thing all the way?’

‘She’s young, Damo. And untarnished by the life, so far. And likes to play it by the book.’

Damian shrugged and reached for his stubby. ‘Turning up at your place, unannounced. Off duty. Very professional behaviour.’

Laver found himself wondering.

In the end, a strange thing happened. Cecy gave Laver a hug, meaning it. Then they sat around, Laver in his own world, just letting the conversation drift by him as Cecy and Damian yarned easily about music, talking about bands Cecy liked that Laver had never heard of. Bliss n Eso. Drapht. The Herd, and that band’s alternate-reality incarnation, Horror Show. The Hilltop Hoods. He might have heard of that last one on Triple J. Turned out Cecy and Damian had both been at the concert where Tim Rogers from You Am I, Josh Pyke and others covered The Beatles’
White Album
.

Damian, inspired, put on some music as they talked. Cecy, on a day off, drank a beer from the stubby, laughing her barking laugh at Damian’s rock ’n’ roll stories. Laver, still quiet but feeling himself coming out of his funk, wondered when he had last heard genuine laughter in his living room. It felt strange, with Cecy in his home and Marcia gone in a puff of smoke. He briefly wished for a joint but, thinking it might send him into a downward spiral, stuck to sipping beer. Contemplated how few of his police colleagues over the years had ever been to his house, or vice versa, beyond an all-in barbeque. And here was this rookie cycling cop …

And then Damian, all traces of his hangover gone, was leaping to his feet.

‘We’ve been sitting around too long.’ He pointed at Laver. ‘What you need is sunshine and exercise.’

‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’ Laver asked, horizontal, one arm dangling to the floor where he was clutching a beer. Looking like he may never move again.

‘No. He’s totally right,’ Cecy said, getting to her feet. ‘You need to move.’

‘You’re outvoted, Rocket,’ Damo said. ‘Move your arse.’

Laver didn’t have it in him to argue and so they hit the road on their bikes, Damo in front on his city cruiser, Cecy and Laver on their cop bikes but not carrying all the usual kit. Laver muttering, but Cecy just laughing at him.

They headed away from the city, following Damo as he hooked into a bike trail, and suddenly they were on the banks of the Yarra, cruising along the river, gazing at the astonishing houses that sprawled on the other side of the river and dodging the occasional walkers and joggers. Laver realised after a while that his butt wasn’t even particularly sore.

‘You look like you’re getting some riding legs, Rocket,’ said Damo, cruising effortlessly beside him.

Cecy, just behind them, called, ‘Why do they call you Rocket?’

Damo turned and said, ‘That’s a disgrace. You’re un-Australian! Do you really not know why anybody with the name Laver would be called Rocket?’

‘Um, no.’

‘Give her a break, mate,’ Laver panted. ‘She’s Colombian, for Christ’s sake. How many Colombian tennis players can you name?’

‘Well, none,’ conceded Damo. ‘But then again, no Colombian has won a Grand Slam. Twice.’

‘It was a while ago. Have you noticed Cecy is a bit younger than us?’

The suburb of Richmond turned into Hawthorn on the other side of the Yarra, as they swung west towards Collingwood. Damian took them to the Abbotsford Convent, an old complex that was saved from developers and instead transformed into a collection of cafés and artist’s spaces; freelance writers huddled in what used to be the nuns’ chambers. At Handsome Steve’s House of Refreshment they sat on a balcony, enjoying the sun, and then cruised back to Laver’s apartment block.

Laver couldn’t believe it. He felt clear-headed, sweaty in a good way and in love with cycling.

‘That’s a minor miracle,’ he said.

‘We’ll have you bush-bashing before you know it,’ said Damo, before waving and riding off to get ready for that night’s gig.

Laver was still feeling great, right up until he arrived home and checked his message bank.

‘Tony, this is Marcia. Your stuff is in a suitcase on the nature strip outside my block. If you want it before it’s stolen, you had better get moving. And I won’t be here so don’t bother knocking.’

‘I need a drink,’ Laver announced.

‘Is Marcia your girlfriend?’ Cecy was loitering near the door.

‘I think the tense would now officially be past,’ he said, rooting around in the fridge. Heard the words leaving his mouth. ‘My ex. Beer?’

‘Not for me,’ Cecy said. ‘Best not to drink too much and ride.’

‘Who breathalyses a bike rider?’

‘It can happen.’

‘Not if you’re on a cop bike.’

‘That’s not really the point though, is it? We’re supposed to set an example.’

Laver shrugged, opened a beer for himself and toasted her. Then poured her a glass of water.

‘I think my example-setting days might be as dead as my engagement.’

‘Oh wow, engagement! I’m sorry.’

Laver swigged. ‘Me too. It’s all gone to hell. Maybe it already was before the shooting, but it feels like the relationship died with Coleman. It’s hard to explain.’