‘Yeah, I’ll be here.’
Before leaving the scene, Harrigan stopped once again to look up at the high retaining wall with its sparse toeholds of tenacious vegetation.
The other boy must have been pissing himself to get up there, but fear has a leverage all its own. He knew this from his own experience of sheer terror: the moment in a back alley in Marrickville one night ten years ago, when Michael Casatt had pushed Harrigan’s own gun into his mouth and forced his hand onto it with the succinct words, ‘You’re dead, mate.’ That microsecond of time was set to be his permanent hiatus when it was broken by some brave, brave soul that he had never met and thanked, who had shone their car lights onto them at high beam. The moment had had a depth of emotion Harrigan would not have thought possible if he had not experienced it. His body might have vaporised, he might have already been dead. Then the gun butt hit his jaw and his jaw hit the ground, almost in the same instant. After that, he had felt nothing except atrocious pain, which, for a short space of time, was the most welcome feeling he’d ever had. At least he was still alive.
Maybe this was the reason he had never taken any pleasure from seeing fear work on the people he interviewed in his job, the way some of his colleagues did. He watched his subjects twisting in its grip and felt nothing other than repugnance for the humiliation. He dealt with it by telling himself that fear was like anything that was human. What mattered was how you used it.
He took out his phone and rang Trevor. ‘What have you got Grace doing this morning?’ he asked.
‘She’s doing what you wanted her to do. She’s over at the hospital checking up on Matthew and the doc. Why?’
‘She was good with that boy yesterday. I’d like to see how she might go with this one today. Get her back in for me, would you?’
‘You want Grace? Sure you don’t want Louise? After all, she’s already here. Look, Boss, you don’t want to be sexist about this — you could always get one of the guys.’
‘Louise will breathe stale booze all over him and she’ll scare him.
So will all of the rest of your ugly mugs. Get Grace. Get her to meet me outside the interview room. Tell her I’ll brief her myself and I’m going to sit in on it.’
‘Lucky Grace. I’ll get her right away.’
Ignoring the sarcasm, Harrigan hung up. Yes, get Grace. She can chat to this boy in that nice voice of hers and smile at him with that smile. Sweet-talk him, soothe him down. Maybe even put him off his guard long enough to make him open up.
The forensic team began to remove the clothes from the boot just as he walked away to his car. He always thought that blood, whether it was dried on clothes or walls, had an inconsequential look to it, something that could be brushed off and the slightly more stubborn stains washed away. The boy they had in custody had wanted to burn these rags into non-existence, even at the risk of obliterating himself.
Grace could use this fact to squeeze him in a gentle enough way if she tried. He was curious to see if she would do it, whether she had the backbone. It was a pleasant thought, the idea of spending some time with her to find this out. It was already brightening up his day.
11
Grace stood beside him outside the interview room, her long hair in a single plait over one shoulder, waiting while he checked his watch once more. Harrigan had not expected to waste quite this much time hanging around.
‘I just love cooling my heels like this,’ he said to her with a grin.
‘Nice to know I’ve got nothing better to do with my time. What is this woman doing? Writing the boy’s obituary?’
She smiled ironically in reply. ‘Here we go. At last,’ she said.
The case worker finally appeared in the corridor, a big woman in a shapeless black dress wearing round glasses and with bright earrings in the shape of parrots. Harrigan turned to greet her with a smile and an outstretched hand.
‘Ria Allard? I’m pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘I’m Paul Harrigan and this is my colleague, Grace Riordan. How are you?’
The sociability was wasted. She brushed past him, ignoring his offered hand, and returned his introduction by looking them both up and down as though they had dropped in for the day from outer space.
‘Do you mind if we don’t bother with all the crap,’ she said. ‘I need to talk to Greg for a few moments alone first but I’d like to get this over and done with as soon as we can if you don’t mind. I have got other things to do today.’
‘Be my guest, Ria. I’ll even open the door for you,’ Harrigan replied affably.
‘How would you like to be locked in a small room with her?’ Grace commented, after the interview room door closed on the case worker’s back.
Harrigan grinned. ‘Yeah, she’s a real charmer. Don’t let her throw you, Grace — I’m assuming that’s what she’s up to. Whatever she does, you take your time and you take it gently. Just keep coaxing him.
I’ll keep her in line.’
‘Okay,’ she replied.
They waited around a little longer until the door was finally opened to them.
‘I’ve already told him who you are,’ Ria Allard said, as they came inside. ‘You don’t have to bother with that. He knows your names and why you’re here.’
‘We have to tell him anyway, Ria. I’m sure you know that,’
Harrigan replied, smiling in a businesslike way.
Harrigan went through the ritual, giving Grace the opportunity to look the case worker over. Her hair was dyed too black for her ageing face and she had reduced her eyebrows to a thin painted line. Anger was her most obvious quality; she sat beside Greg Smith seething with unspoken rage. The introductions finished, Harrigan sat back a little from the table, leaving it to Grace.
‘Hi, Greg,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘How do you think he is?’ the case worker answered for him.
‘You’ve hauled him in here on some wild pretext, he’s hardly had any breakfast. What do you think he’s feeling like?’
‘Maybe he’d like to tell me that for himself,’ Grace replied with her tough, sweet smile, and then repeated for him, ‘How are you?’
The boy shrugged. He had a long, thin face that was hollowed out from the nose across to the cheekbones and his hair straggled onto his shoulders. He twisted his red beanie in his hands and glanced quickly from one person to the next. The room was lit with bright lights which left no shadows in the corners. Everything in his edgy movements told Grace that the walls were closing in on him.
‘I’m okay,’ he said eventually.
‘I’ll start by asking you about the car, Greg. Okay?’
‘Whatever you want,’ he replied quickly.
In the background, the case worker snorted in contempt.
‘Where did you find it?’
‘It was just on the road. Nowhere.’
‘Nowhere? You can’t remember where it was?’
‘No.’
‘What about the other boy? What can you tell us about him?’
‘He was just there. I don’t know anything about him. I never saw him before.’
The boy gave a loose smile, quick and unconvincing. Grace waited for a moment.
‘Why did you take it down to Macdonaldtown Station to torch it?
Is it because you live near there?’
‘Good place for it,’ he replied, shrugging and trying to grin. ‘That’s all.’
