Violent Exposure (19 page)

‘O for?’

‘Overdose. Then uraemia. And underdose. But we
can’t know about medication because she can’t talk. T for trauma or tumour. Infection, but she doesn’t feel hot.’

‘P for.’

‘Poisoning, but there’re no signs of that,’ Aidan said. ‘And S for stroke. Which I can’t check because I can’t ask her to move her arms and legs, so she’ll need a scan when we get her there.’

Mick waited. ‘That’s all you can remember from AEIOU TIPS?’

‘That’s all there
is.’

‘You’re forgetting something.’

Aidan looked at the patient, who’d shut her eyes the instant his head started turning. ‘Acidosis.’

‘That’s one, but not the one I’m thinking of.’

Aidan stared at the patient, then at the floor, and Mick saw his jaw grow tight. He imagined the cogs turning faster and faster in his head, the answer getting further away the harder he searched for it, his frustration
and anger turning into rage.

Finally he glared at Mick’s boots. ‘We’ll transport and they’ll run some tests. Diagnosis is their job. Get the stretcher.’

‘Fine by me.’ Mick shrugged. ‘If you want the nurse to think you’re a fool.’

He started out of the bathroom and Aidan jumped up.

‘This isn’t fair.’

‘All you have to do is ask,’ Mick said. The muscles in Aidan’s temples worked as he clenched
his jaw. ‘Okay.’

Mick waited.

‘Okay,’ Aidan said again. ‘Please tell me what’s wrong with her.’

Mick brushed past him and stepped into the cubicle beside the woman. ‘Hi,’ he said. As he expected she didn’t reply. He reached around the back of the pedestal and pulled a small string bag off her wrist.

‘I didn’t see that,’ Aidan said.

‘I know.’

The bag contained a slim wallet, three keys on
a ring, and a lump of bunched-up tissues. Mick didn’t expect to find much information about her present condition but he did want her name.

‘Sophia Costello,’ he read from her driver’s licence. She was thirty-three and lived in Campsie. ‘How you doing?’

No answer.

Facing Aidan, he pointed two fingers at his own eyes.
Watch.
He held up one finger.
Number one.
He leaned down and brushed his fingertips
across Sophia’s closed eyelashes. They flickered at his touch. He held up two fingers to Aidan.
Number two.
He gently tried to open one of her eyes but she resisted, squeezing her eyelids shut against him. He held up three fingers to Aidan, then lifted her arm over her face and let it go. It fell to her side, avoiding hitting her in the face. He did it again, releasing it in a position where it
should have struck the edge of the toilet, but instead it descended gently to the floor.

Aidan’s eyes widened. ‘She’s faking?’

Mick put his finger across his lips.

‘Why should I be quiet? She knows what she’s doing.’ Aidan hauled the Oxy-Viva roughly from the cubicle, knocking one of Sophia’s feet against the door. ‘Complete waste of time.’

Mick put a hand on Sophia’s shoulder and said, ‘Excuse
me,’ then pushed Aidan out of the bathroom. Aidan rounded on him. ‘What a load of bullshit.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Mick hissed. ‘Even fakers deserve respect.’

‘She’s totally wasting our time!’

‘Who knows what crisis she’s going through? Maybe she’s suicidal and this is her way of asking for help, ever think of that?’

‘She can’t fucking just say it?’

‘You don’t seem to find that so easy
yourself.’

Aidan folded his arms. ‘Completely different situation.’

‘Get the stretcher.’ Mick flung the keys at him. ‘We’ll talk about this later. At Rozelle.’

Aidan stormed off and Mick went back into the bathroom. Sophia hadn’t moved. Mick crouched beside her and squeezed her hand. ‘Sophia, we’re going to take you to hospital. Can you open your eyes and tell me what’s wrong?’

She didn’t
answer, nor did she open her eyes, but he felt her fingers grip his lightly.

He said, ‘I’ll have Aidan drive us, and you and me can sit in the back, and maybe we’ll chat, maybe we won’t. What do you say?’

She squeezed a little firmer.

‘Good-o,’ he said. ‘The nurses up at Sydney Emergency are really nice. One’s a friend of mine and I’m pretty sure she’s working today. I’ll let her know you’re
having a hard time and she’ll help you.’ He smiled at her though her eyes were closed.

He listened for the approach of the stretcher, but Aidan was taking his sweet time. Mick freed his hand from Sophia’s grip and closed the drug box and put it out of the way, then disconnected the monitor leads and packed them in their pouch.

‘Won’t be long,’ he said to Sophia.

She reached for his hand again.
Her skin was damp and cool. He patted her arm and listened for Aidan but could hear nothing. All he’d had to do was get the bloody stretcher. What the hell could he be doing? Carly’s warning about Aidan’s snooping for her report exploded in Mick’s mind.

A cold sweat burst from his pores.

He tried to free his hand from Sophia’s but this time she wouldn’t let him go. ‘I’ll just be a second. I
think Aidan needs a hand.’ But she clung to him tighter.

Mick felt sick. He tried to prise Sophia’s fingers from his but the woman had a death grip. He leaned as far out of the cubicle as he could, but saw only the sunlit doorway.

Shit.

‘Sophia, please. Give me one minute.’

She started to cry.

Aidan strolled in with the stretcher. ‘Everything okay?’

Mick stared at him. ‘What took you so
long?’

‘It’s tough pushing the stretcher through gravel.’ Aidan smiled. ‘We ready?’

Mick eyed him. He’d left in a huff and now was practically laughing. This was bad. He needed to get to the ambulance and check his workbag.

‘Sophia, it’s time to stand up,’ he said.

‘You can do it!’ Aidan cheered.

Mick shot him a glare. ‘Sophia, you don’t have to open your eyes, but I’m going to pull on your
arm gently here and I want you to climb slowly to your feet.’

He tugged on her forearm and lifted up behind her shoulder, and she started to move, pushing herself off the floor and getting to her feet. She kept her eyes shut and Mick guided her forward to climb onto the stretcher. Aidan braced it so it wouldn’t tip, and Mick helped her lie down then covered her with the blanket and clipped in
the straps. He placed her bag on her lap.

‘There you go,’ Aidan said, big shit-eating grin straight at Mick.

Oh no, oh no, no, no.

Sweat ran down his back as they wheeled the stretcher outside and loaded it into the ambulance. ‘Get the gear,’ Mick said.

Aidan smiled. ‘Sure, boss.’

Mick jumped aboard and went to move past the stretcher to check his bag but Sophia grabbed his hand.

‘Sophia,
honey, please.’

With her other hand she held her little string bag out towards him.

He looked at his workbag tucked behind the driver’s seat. The hard hat was still on the top, but hadn’t the zip tag been at the other end, out of sight?

He tugged once more but Sophia wouldn’t let him go.

He sat down.

She pushed her bag into his hand. ‘Look,’ she whispered.

He took out her wallet, extracted
her driver’s licence and placed it on top of the drug drawers to copy her details.

She pointed waveringly at the wallet. ‘In the back,’ she whispered.

Mick opened the back section and pulled out a folded piece of newspaper. It was a death notice for two adults and a child, all with the surname Costello. The date was one year ago yesterday. Mick put the paper away and smoothed the hair back from
Sophia’s face. ‘From their ages I’m guessing this was your parents, and your daughter?’

Tears ran from between Sophia’s closed eyelids. ‘Car crash,’ she whispered.

‘I’m sorry.’

Aidan opened the side door and tossed in the gear. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Let’s just go.’

‘Back to Sydney?’

Mick nodded.

On the three-minute drive he held Sophia’s hand and stared at his bag.

C
onnor twisted his arms. Each turn ripped hairs from his skin but soon he would have none left and the pain would be less – the pain in his wrists anyway. His head felt like it was going to explode under the pressure of the tape, his throat was dry, and thirst raged within him so that it was hard to think about anything else. He’d shouted for help again and in doing so had re-split his lower
lip, and it throbbed and dripped blood still.

He tried to think. The reason why this was happening had to be in his grasp, if he could only see it. Terrible things happened randomly in life but he couldn’t make himself believe that this was one of them. He thought of what he knew and tried to add the facts up.

He remembered looking through the peephole. He remembered opening the door.

From
there things got foggy again. He remembered Suzanne – oh God, his poor, poor Suzanne.

Why did he open the door?

The cloud cleared a little and he remembered seeing the younger one being held up by the other one. Being held up like he couldn’t stand. Connor hadn’t been able to see their faces, and hadn’t been suspicious when the other one said, ‘Help us, please,’ in a gasping, pleading voice,
and had simply opened the door. The older one hadn’t said thanks, hadn’t asked him to call an ambulance or staggered over the threshold with his friend. Instead, he’d shoved the youth so that he fell into the hallway, then put a gun in Connor’s face.

*

The bakery where Emil the Streetlights’ success story worked was in an arcade off Parramatta Road in Annandale. Ella’s stomach growled at the
smell of fresh bread and coffee and Dennis widened his eyes in mock fear. ‘Shut up,’ she said.

The middle-aged woman behind the counter wore a round white hat pulled down low and a name badge saying
Vanessa
. ‘What can I get you?’ she asked.

Ella flashed her badge. ‘We’d like to speak to Emil Page.’

‘So would we,’ the woman said. ‘He hasn’t come in to work yesterday or today, no phone call,
nothing. Doesn’t answer when we ring. Is he in trouble?’

‘We just need to speak to him.’ Two days. Ella glanced at Dennis. ‘Has he been a good employee up till now?’

‘No trouble at all,’ she said. ‘A bit slow sometimes but a nice enough kid. Got on and did his work, did as he was told. You never know sometimes with kids like that, who’ve had a bad time, but he was good and we were happy.’

‘Has he failed to turn up before?’ Dennis asked.

She shook her head. ‘Never even had a sick day.’

‘Does Streetlights know about it?’

‘I left a message but nobody called me back,’ she said.

Ella thought about Angie Crane’s praising of Emil. ‘When did you call them?’

‘Yesterday morning, after we couldn’t contact him. I was going to try them again this afternoon.’

‘We can do it for you if you
like,’ Ella said. ‘We’ll be going by there anyway.’ Would they ever.

‘Thanks. Save me talking to that woman. Although the man who was in here the other day was nice enough.’

‘Who was that?’

‘Said he was a social worker from Streetlights. Gus something. Emil didn’t want to stop work but I told him to go and have a cuppa with the man who was obviously so proud.’

Ella scribbled in her notebook.
‘What day was this?’

‘Monday, about one.’

‘Could you give us Emil’s address and phone number, please?’

‘Sure, just one sec.’ She went out the back then brought in a sheet of paper. ‘Tell him he’d better let us know what’s going on. There are plenty of kids who’d like his apprenticeship.’

‘Will do,’ Ella said. ‘Thanks.’

Outside, she and Dennis got in the car and he fired it up. ‘Unit 4, 337
Prince Street, Enfeld South,’ she read off the sheet.

The sun glinted off the rear windows of the car in front as they joined the traffic.

Ella said, ‘Since Suzanne’s death, Connor and Stewart Bridges have disappeared, and now something might be going on with the dude Suzanne slept with. Could they all somehow be involved?’

‘Maybe Connor offed Emil before he killed Suzanne,’ Dennis said.

‘As revenge? But what about Aidan? Why did he do nothing about that?’

‘Maybe he felt that Emil was somehow to blame for all of it,’ Dennis said. ‘Or maybe after killing Suzanne he went to Aidan’s place, not knowing he’d be at work.’

Ella nodded. ‘And when Aidan wasn’t there, he just nipped off south.’

‘None of this helps us with the identity of the other man in the car,’ Dennis said. ‘Long bow
here,’ Ella said, ‘but could it have been Emil behind the wheel?’

‘The photos that Angie Crane showed us in the Streetlights office didn’t fit with the RTA pic though,’ Dennis said. ‘Even as pixelated as it was.’

He stopped at a crossing and Ella watched a group of schoolboys amble over the road, all slouching backs and oversized sneakers. ‘I want to know what was going on between Suzanne and
these guys,’ she said.

‘You know already.’ Dennis gave an exaggerated wink.

She punched his arm. ‘I mean I want to know why.’

Dennis drove on. ‘Would we wonder that if Connor was the victim and had been shagging a heap of girls?’

Ella pondered her resistance to the idea that Suzanne was sleeping around just for the fun of it. She remembered Deborah from the nursery’s words about the goose
and the gander and tried to make herself agree, but something felt off. She wondered if it was a gut feeling triggered by the case or that she simply couldn’t see a woman behaving the same way as a man. That in itself didn’t make sense: she’d seen enough of life – more than enough – to know that both genders were capable of colossal monstrosities, and having a string of partners hardly counted. But
something still didn’t feel right.

Emil’s flat was the fourth back from the street in a U-shaped brown-brick arrangement of ten. An old man wearing dark glasses snored in a sagging blue armchair on the small patio of unit 8, and on the sparse lawn in the centre of the U a gangly young man shaved bark off a stick with a penknife. Ella assessed him with the eye of one who’d seen apparently innocuous
people go nuts in less time than it took to flash a badge.