He spoke again, eyes on the hospital across the road. 'The violence is highly addictive,' he said. 'And it has to escalate to satiate their desires. The other thing…' He paused, blinking in the sun. 'They never stop until they're caught or dead.'
The nursing unit manager walked Jill and Gabriel towards Donna Moser's room, but warned them that they probably wouldn't be able to get her to speak clearly. The only time the girl had awoken during the night, the nurse told them, she'd become hysterical, waking the whole floor with her screams. They'd sedated her again, and when the psych registrar had visited this morning, he'd authorised another intravenous dose of Valium. A general medical unit was the wrong place for her, in the nurse's opinion.
'Some family friends have arranged to have her moved out of here as soon as possible,' she said softly as she ushered them into the victim's room.
Jill looked down at the young woman sleeping in the bed. She would have guessed her age at maybe sixteen or seventeen, rather than the twenty years Jill knew to be correct. Other than her very white face and some pale shadows under her eyes, Donna appeared unharmed. They waited while the nurse tried gently to rouse her, calling her name, smoothing her hair back from her face. The young woman's eyelids fluttered, but the drugs pulled her back under.
Jill gestured to the nurse to let it go. I wouldn't want to face the world either, Jill thought. She moved one of the heavy bouquets of flowers on the nightstand to leave a card by the girl's bed, and she and Gabriel made their way out of the hospital.
Back on the street, Jill moved towards the pedestrian crossing, but Gabriel pointed in the other direction. She shrugged and followed.
'We'll have to find out where she's moved to when they discharge her,' said Jill, falling into step next to him. 'I'll follow it up.'
He nodded.
Their new direction led them past a large park. Specialists' buildings occupied the other side of the road.
'I didn't expect her to look so young,' she said.
When Gabriel again didn't answer, she stared up at him, slightly annoyed, but then noticed that he seemed focused on something ahead. She followed his line of vision. Action exploded immediately ahead of them. A youth wrenched at the handbag of a middle-aged woman as she stood at the side of a vehicle a few metres away. The woman screamed, and Jill tensed to move, but Gabriel held her arm and signalled her to follow him. He stepped off the footpath and into the park. Within seconds, the offender had ripped the bag from the woman's grasp and run straight into the park. Jill stood back slightly, aware she could give chase if she needed to, but that was Delahunt's call. Let's see what he's got, she thought.
Gabriel didn't identify himself as the youth ran towards them; in fact, he seemed to make barely any preparatory move at all. At the last moment, as the offender bolted towards them, he turned side-on and swung his arm out into the runner's path at throat-height.
The kid hit the ground hard.
'Get your hands flat on the ground,' Jill yelled, moving quickly towards the youth, now sprawled on his back. 'Face down,' she instructed him.
She followed procedure, but there was really little need. The kid was sucking air, eyes closed in pain. Kicking the bag away, she rolled him over and cuffed his hands behind his back. He was still breathing hard, but managed a couple of hoarse 'motherfuckers'. She kept her hands on the cuffs and looked around at the crowd that was gathering. Gabriel's eyes danced as he watched.
'Up,' Jill ordered, hauling on the handcuffs, and the kid got quickly to his feet, pulled upwards by the pressure. Gabriel had his radio out, but she could already see a uniformed foot patrol running towards them, and a marked car, sirens on, arriving at the scene. Jill had heard that there were several snatch and grabs a day in Liverpool, and units typically responded quickly.
On their way over to the car, Gabriel spoke.
'Door job,' he said, looking at the perp. His smile was huge.
She couldn't help smiling back. Door job: cyclists collected when a motorist opens the car door without looking. Same principle, I suppose, she thought, and shook her head.
Standing out the front of the Liverpool police complex with the two other lackey journalists, Chloe Farrell had held her breath when she'd seen the man and woman come out of the building. She'd seen these two yesterday out at Capitol Hill, arriving in an unmarked car behind the taskforce commander, Lawrence Last. Slinging a camera around her neck, she'd taken coffee orders from the others and headed off to follow the cops. She did not want passengers.
She kept a reasonable distance behind them. They were easy to tail. Headed to the hospital, she guessed, as they made their way down George Street. She knew the victim's daughter was in there.
Chloe had waited outside the main doors of Liverpool Hospital, wondering whether she should go in and try to find them. They could be in there for ages. Well, one thing's for sure, she promised herself, I am not standing out here any longer than five minutes. Although she was outdoors, she thought she might as well have been in a pub – so many patients and their visitors had come out here to smoke that her eyes were watering.
When the tracksuited drug dealer who'd been staring at her finally walked over to chat, Chloe decided to leave. As she turned to go, she spotted the detectives coming back out of the front doors.
'Hey, princess,' the man in the tracksuit stood in her path, his voice a nasal drawl. 'Do you want to go for a drink or something?'
'Actually,' she said, 'I've just got to catch up with my colleagues over there.' She saw the man clock the detectives. His eyes widened and he began to slink away. 'Maybe later,' she called after him. 'Could I get your name?'
Her would-be suitor broke into a jog, heading back down towards Speed Street.
Chloe smiled to herself and hurried to catch the cops ahead of her. She made a sudden decision that she'd approach them, identify herself and try to get some intel on the case. The worst they can do is brush me off, she thought. I've got to take risks if I'm going to get anywhere in this job.
She'd almost closed the distance between them when she noticed the male stop. The hairs rose on the back of her neck and she took the lens cap off her camera.
It all happened so quickly. Chloe had taken a dozen shots before she even knew what was happening. She got everything. The lot. This would run with the lead story tonight – she knew it. When she tied the two detectives to the taskforce and the murder in Capitol Hill, they'd link it all into one sensational story, with pictures.
I'm gonna get a lead reporter's job out of this home invasion story, thought Chloe, trying to run back to the news truck in her stupid new shoes. Hang in there, Mum and Dad.
14
ISOBEL FIGURED THAT if she could give Cutter to the police on a plate, Joss might be able to avoid having to tell his story to them. He'd always shied away from telling her much about his childhood, but she had known that he'd run with a gang until his grandparents had intervened. His account this morning of a robbery in which a boy called Fuzzy had been killed had been vaguely familiar to Isobel. However, the story she remembered hearing as a kid did not match what Joss had told her.
She remembered her parents talking about it after the evening news bulletin. It'd been a big story, back then. Late one night in 1984, fourteen-year-old Carl Waterman – affectionately known to all his classmates as 'Fuzzy' because of his blond afro – had investigated a noise in his father's bike shop. The shop sat underneath the two- bedroom apartment in North Parramatta that Carl shared with his father. Mr Waterman, waking to a crash, had found his son speared through the throat by a shard of glass from his shattered front window. He'd been unable to save his son. The man's desolate face on the news, pleading for the offenders to come forward, had brought Isobel's mother to tears. Her father had sworn that they should hang the bloody mongrels.
Actually, Joss had told her, what had really happened was that Fuzzy had let him, Cutter and Esterhase into the shop to steal the bikes. They figured insurance would pay for the robbery, and Mr Waterman would be no worse
