tsarina or a murderer. Conclusion inescapable — it was time to take a look at Danni.
I rang Price and caught him before he went to work. The clean-up must have been pretty good and Sammy must have had a good explanation for her injury because Price didn’t mention anything untoward happening.
I asked him whether his daughter was at home and whether he knew her movements.
‘She tells me nothing. We leave notes for each other.’
‘Did you leave her a note about Jason’s death?’
‘No. She’s left her skateboard and protectors in a heap by the front door so I guess that’s where she’s going. I’ve got to rush, Hardy. If you have anything to communicate call the office.’
And speak to Junie, I thought. I said I would and hung up.
Kingsgrove was not one of those places touched by the magic Olympic wand. Nothing significant had gone on or passed through here. The rain of the day before had cleared and the sun was shining, showing the place in its best light, but it still wore a slightly depressed and neglected look. The railway station looked much the same as it had since its last facelift quite a few years back. The skateboard park, going by the name of Skate City, was in a barn-like building tucked away in a lane behind the main drag, Kingsgrove Road.
It wasn’t the sort of place a man my age could blend into. I was too formally dressed as well, even though I was tieless and jacketless in drill trousers and a dark shirt. I parked as close as I could in the lane and stayed in the car. The skateboarders, male and female, waiting for the place to open, wore a uniform of back to front caps, baggy pants to just below the knee, loose T-shirts and sneakers. Hairstyles varied from number ones to ponytails. Backpacks were almost universal.
The skaters ranged in age from the pre-pubescent to the early twenties and at least half of them, young and old, male and female, smoked cigarettes. Most of them arrived on their skateboards, wheeling in, jumping gutters and slaloming through other riders to come to what looked to me like ankle-snapping halts. There was a small car park, littered with signs warning: LOCK YOUR CAR, wedged between the building and an anonymous structure with no apparent function. I kept an eye on that space for Danni’s Honda. That was a mistake. Skate City opened and the riders filed in, feeling in their pants leg pockets for money or passes. A low-slung car pulling into the car park took my attention and by the time I was sure it wasn’t Danni’s I was too late to get more than a fleeting look at a group of three rollerbladers who arrived together at speed: I got an impression of smarter clothes, helmets, colourful knee and ankle protectors and smooth styles before they disappeared into the building.
Could be her. It was dumb of me to have thought she’d drive up. Inviting a snapped aerial or worse. I got out and did a slow recce of the surrounding streets. A racing green Honda sports coupe carrying the registration number Price had given me was parked in a No Parking zone a block and a half away. The inside of the car was in the same condition as Danni’s bedroom, if not worse — clothes, magazines, drink bottles, cigarette packets, food wrappers. I could see the strap of a shoulder purse sticking out from under the front seat where it had been carelessly shoved and I wondered briefly whether it’d be worth my while to break in and take a look. But the Honda was almost new and the security alarm was bound to be working, and by now there were people on the street and traffic on the road. Nothing for it but to get a look at her in motion and then tail her to wherever she might be going.
I shifted my car to a legal position a short distance from hers and then walked back to the skateboard park. I could hear the noise of the place from a considerable distance — a series of resounding metal clangs and clashes. There’s an open-air skateboard run in Glebe behind the Harold Park Paceway so I had some idea of what to expect — a dipping, swooping, swirling surface with flat sections at either end. The Glebe kids perform amazing sweeps and flips and other manoeuvres that look potentially fatal, each pass ending with the skateboard slamming down on the metal surface. They seem to find it fun and they do it for free. I wondered what you got for your money inside Skate City.
A black kid wearing a Skate City T-shirt and sporting dreadlocks and two lip rings was sitting behind a desk just inside the door. He wore earphones and was watching a rock video on a portable TV set. I flashed my licence folder at him.
‘Health and safety,’ I said. ‘No trouble. Just a look around.’
‘Two dollars.’
‘Did you hear me?’
He took his eyes off the screen just long enough to indicate that he knew I’d spoken. ‘Two dollars.’
I paid and went inside. The interior was darkish but probably not inconveniently so to these kids with 20/20 vision. It took me a minute or two to adjust before I could make out the curving, W-shaped surface and a wide, looping flat track that ran around the edges. The flat track seemed to be confined to rollerbladers, but both skateboarders and rollerbladers used the other area. It was hard to tell what previous function the building had served — a warehouse or store of some kind. A mezzanine ran around three sides, reachable by a narrow iron ladder. The riders and rollers were moving too fast to pay me any attention and I went up the ladder to the mezzanine to get a bird’s eye view of the whole thing.
From my vantage point and with my eyes adjusted to the light, I could see that at the far end of the building there was a bank of soft drink and food vending machines, toilets and a couple of doors leading to God knows what. This area was in shadow, but I could see a dozen or so kids hanging about there drinking from cans and smoking, despite the NO SMOKING signs everywhere. The noise of the skateboards slamming down on the metal and the shrieks and yells were deafening, plus there was music blaring from a PA system. It wasn’t a place for conducting quiet conversations but other kinds of intimacy were possible. A little way along from me, wedged into a galvanised iron corner, two boys with their pants around their ankles were kissing and mutually masturbating.
I turned my attention to the slightly banked track, wide enough to allow three rollers to travel abreast, and spotted a dark, strongly-built young woman whizzing around in a blur of lycra, Nike and spandex. She appeared to be involved in a race with at least two other people, one male, one female, and they weren’t letting other people get in their way. They swept around the track using elbows and hands to clear their paths and drawing verbal and physical responses from the other rollers. I squinted as the dark one, now clearly in the lead, swooped down not far below me. Dark hair escaping the helmet, strong jaw, full mouth, squarish face — Danni Price for certain.
Her movements were forceful rather than graceful, but she attacked the bends and hammered down the straights with a determination that impressed me. Even more impressive was her disregard for the safety of others. She caused at least two spills and it slowly dawned on me that this was, at least partly, the name of the game. Fainter hearts soon left the track to Danni and five others who seemed bent on being the last one rolling. In their pants, T-shirts and helmets it was hard to tell males from females and it didn’t matter because no quarter was asked or given.
The two lovers sneaked past me and I hardly noticed because I was drawn into the drama on the track. The skateboarders kept slamming away regardless but a small audience had formed for the knockout derby. Danni disposed of another competitor with a shoulder bump, narrowly avoided a swooping charge and saw the charger sail off the track to crash into something hard that hurt. It was down to two now — Danni and a tall, skinny boy with a wispy chin beard. They did a few laps side by side as if feeling each other out. Then the boy made his move, drifting up the track to make a downward swoop with one arm swinging. Danni sailed on below him seemingly unheedful but, as he made his descent she jumped forward, cocked her left leg back and tripped him. He went sprawling on his hands and knees ahead of her, she jumped again, cleared him and sailed on with her clenched fists held high.
It was a fine, fearless, ruthless display. The audience cheered and I almost felt like doing the same.
13
Danni and a couple of the others did a few more laps with fancy flourishes and then retreated to the shadows for drinks and a smoke. Tailor-mades. I left the balcony; the kid at the desk was flicking through a surfing magazine now as well as listening to his headphones and keeping an eye on the TV. Multi-skilled.
I got into my car and wound the windows down. The morning was warm but a coolish breeze from somewhere was helping. Where do you go after you’ve creamed someone on the rollerblade track? The pub, a
