She nodded. ‘The town’s gradually filling up, have you noticed? More traffic during the day down where I live. People arriving for their holidays.’
Tankard grunted.
Silence. Then: ‘You should see a physio, or a chiropractor.’
Tankard blinked. What was she crapping on about now? ‘What?’
‘You look like you’re in pain, Tank. Is it your back?’
‘I’m all right.’
‘It’s all the gear we have to lug around on our waists. Heavy belt, handcuffs, baton, capsicum spray, holster, gun. Puts a strain on the lower back. Plus the weight’s not evenly distributed.’
He glanced at her. To his mind, she was as ugly as a hatful of arseholes. ‘You don’t say.’
‘A sports medicine clinic should be able to help you.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not. It’s not weak to admit your back needs adjusting.’
‘Look, Murph, why don’t you just rack off, okay?’
He saw her slump against her door. ‘Suit yourself.’
A car shot out of a side street, BMW sports, going like a bat out of hell.
Tankard chortled. ‘Okay, dickrash, let’s see how you like this,’ and he activated the siren and planted his foot.
As they drew closer, a lazy hand appeared, giving them the finger, and the BMW twitched under heavy acceleration and drew rapidly away.
‘Oh, mate, will I have you for breakfast.’
Beside him, Pam Murphy was sitting intensely, peering ahead, her hands on the dash. ‘Careful, Tank.’
‘Careful? You don’t chase someone carefully.’
‘Just watch where you’re going.’
The BMW sped away from Waterloo, heading south-west, inland from the coast. Tankard didn’t want to lose him. The Peninsula was stitched together with narrow roads and lanes, where there was no lighting, only shadowy driveways and screening trees and hundreds of access gates.
Then they did lose him. They were on Tubbarubba Road when the BMW vanished. ‘Slow down,’ Pam Murphy said. ‘I saw something.’
‘What? Where?’
‘Behind that funny building on the corner.’
‘Automatic telephone exchange,’ Tankard said. ‘What did you see?’
‘A light, like someone opened the door of a car.’
Tankard reversed so hard and fast that the engine howled and the van snaked, leaving rubber on the road. ‘Spot on. There he is, the cunt.’
He parked, switched off, got out. ‘You wait here. Call the plate in, see if the car’s stolen.’
He could see that she didn’t like it, but she did as she was told. He approached the BMW, which was parked in long grass next to a cyclone fence, and shone his torch at the driver’s door. ‘Step out of the car, please, sir.’
It was a woman. She was young, and inclined to totter and giggle. Plenty of blonde hair, including a rope of it that she was chewing while she looked him over. Legs up to her arse and showing a bit of tit, too. John Tankard had an image of wealth and privilege disporting itself while the workers were slogging away. He called, ‘Murph, come here a minute?’
He didn’t take his eyes off the girl. When Pam Murphy was standing next to him he said, ‘This young lady got out of the driver’s seat.’
‘Impossible.’
‘Exactly.’
The blonde screwed a look of bafflement on to her face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Miss, is there someone with you?’
‘You mean my boyfriend?’
Tankard tipped back his head and called, ‘Sir, would you get out of the car, please?’
Pam Murphy edged away, and now she was staring along the flank of the car, at the passenger seat. She had her hand on her gun. ‘We don’t want any trouble now, sir.’
‘God, lighten up, why don’t you?’ the blonde said.
They watched the door open. A young man emerged from the car. ‘Why the strongarm act?’ he asked.
Pam said, ‘Sir, are you the owner of this car?’
‘So?’
‘Were you driving it?’
‘No way.’
‘We have reason to believe that you swapped places with your lady friend.’
‘Are you for real?’
Tankard said, ‘Sir, we have reason to believe that you were driving this car. You were driving above the speed limit and we’ll be breathalysing you to see if you were driving while under the influence of alcohol. We also believe that you changed places with your friend in an effort to escape possible prosecution. I’d like to see your licence, please, sir, and yours, young lady, and ask you both to submit to a breath test.’
‘Come off it! You bloody coppers don’t know who you’re dealing with. You’ve made a big mistake this time.’
They ignored him. They separated the couple and took them one at a time to the van for a breath test. When Tankard had the woman alone he said, ‘You could make it easy on yourself.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You give me something, I give you something.’
She said nothing, but her eyes narrowed, waiting for more.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Cindy Price.’
‘Cindy. Well, Cindy, do you really want to be booked for drunken driving and making a false statement to police?’ Tankard jerked his head. ‘Just to protect some arsehole? Your boyfriend, is he?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Sort of. So you don’t feel too strongly. That’s good. Well, Cindy, we’re going to have to chuck the book at someone, so why don’t you go easy on yourself. Tell us what really happened, how he asked you to swap places with him, and I’ll see you don’t get charged with anything.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Is that all?’
They were closing in on it now. They were on the same wavelength. ‘If you wanted a watertight assurance, Cindy, you’d have to do one more thing for me.’
She said challengingly, ‘Try me.’
He waited a beat. ‘I intend to.’ He fished out his notebook. ‘What was the address?’
These days, his only way of pulling a bird. They rejoined the others.
‘You’ll be sorry about this,’ the boyfriend said.
He was like the girl, young, drunk, stamped with privilege. ‘I’ll punch you out in a minute, you don’t shut up,’ Tankard said.
‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with here.’
Tankard said to Pam Murphy, ‘There’s this joke, only it’s about Porsches, not BMWs, but it still applies. What’s the difference between a Porsche and a cactus?’
‘With a Porsche, the pricks are on the inside,’ Pam said.
Nine
