Garry Disher - The Dragon Man

She looked away from him. ‘They’re all in Darwin.’

‘Darwin? From your accent I’d have said New Zealand.’

She shot him a look. ‘A long time ago.’

He didn’t believe her, but didn’t push it. ‘A neighbour?’

‘Don’t know them. Besides, it’s late. Can’t you stay for a bit? I could put a dressing on your burnt hand.’

‘I’m on duty, miss.’

‘Clara.’

‘Clara. I’m on duty. I’ll call in tomorrow, around lunchtime.’

He could smell wet ash and smoke, and see, in the moonlight, the pine-tree skeleton at the end of her driveway. He opened the door of the police car and at once she wailed, ‘They’re out to get me.’

‘Who are? Why?’

‘I don’t know why. They are, that’s all. It’s a signal.’

‘A signal.’

‘They’re saying: We’re coming back, and next time we’ll get you.’

He shut the door and walked back to her. ‘Clara, it was kids.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘It’s been on my radio. At least a dozen mailboxes torched between here and Mornington. No pattern to it, just any old mailbox on a back road somewhere. You’re one of many.’

She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘You’re sure? You’re not trying to make me feel better?’

‘I swear it.’

She laughed, unclasped herself and stared at the dim form of her hands in the half-dark. ‘Look at me. Can’t control myself, shaking like a leaf.’

‘You need a stiff drink.’

‘I’ll say. Scotch, vodka. You want one?’

‘I’m on duty, Clara.’

She stepped closer. ‘What’s your name?’

He said awkwardly, ‘Kees. Kees van Alphen. It’s Dutch, originally. There’s a few of us on the force.’

‘Kees. I like it.’ She grinned. ‘Justice never rests with Kees on your case.’

‘I’m generally called Van.’

‘Which do you prefer?’

‘In the force, a name sticks. I’m used to Van. The wife called me Alf or Alfie, a kind of a put-down.’

Clara touched his chest briefly. ‘Not very nice of her.’

‘Not real nice, no. Still, old history now.’

‘Just one drink. Or at least sit with me till I stop shaking.’

He found himself warming to her, to the notion that someone wanted to touch him, that someone needed him. ‘I’ll have to call in and tell them I’m still here.’

‘Tell them you’re following up clues,’ Clara said, with shaky humour.

Seven a.m. and already some heat in the sun. Showers with a weak change forecast for later in the week. Ellen Destry poked her head around the door of her daughter’s room. Larrayne lay on her back asleep, apparently peaceful, but as usual the top sheet was tangled about her slim legs and her hair was fanned over the pillow and across one cheek. She’d been a restless sleeper ever since she was little. Then Ellen returned to the kitchen and kissed her husband, putting her arms around his neck briefly as he read the paper at the kitchen table. She paused on the way out, standing at the door that opened on to the carport. No, Alan didn’t look up, nothing to bid her a good day ahead.

She wound the car past holiday homes and shacks, slowing for the speed bumps. She lived in Penzance Beach, some distance south around the coast from Waterloo (for you didn’t live where you worked, not if you were a copper). On an impulse, she began a sweep of some of the township’s side streets on her way to the intersection with the main road. There had been an 18 per cent increase in burglaries in Penzance Beach over the past year.

Penzance. What did the ‘pen’ prefix mean? Penzance, Penrose, Penhaligon, Penrith, Penleigh, Penbank, Penfold, Pengilly. ‘Town of…’ maybe?

Then she saw the new uniformed constable, what was her name, Pam Murphy, waiting at the bus stop with a surfboard.

Ellen stopped the car, wound down her window. ‘Morning.’

The younger woman stiffened, eyes darting warily left and right before fixing on the car itself. Cop’s instincts, Ellen thought.

‘Sergeant Destry. Didn’t recognise you.’

‘Day off?’

‘Morning off. I’m on again this afternoon.’

‘Surfing. Lucky you,’ Ellen said. ‘Where?’

Pam Murphy pointed farther south. ‘Myers Point.’

They stared at each other for a moment. Ellen said, ‘How are you finding things? Settling in okay?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

Ellen took a chance. ‘What about John Tankard? Or Sergeant van Alphen?’

She saw the wariness in Murphy’s eyes. Who could you trust in this job? ‘I wouldn’t know, Sarge.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Ellen leaned her head out a little more. ‘This is off the record.’

‘Off the record?’

‘Yes.’

The younger woman looked away. ‘They do things differently.’

‘Like how?’

She swung back. ‘They get people’s backs up. Shouting. The odd swift clip over the ear. Pulling old people over and breathalysing them, people who’ve never had a drink in their lives. Always lurking to catch people speeding. Just to increase their arrest rates. They say I’m too soft. Not performing.’

Ellen mused on that, and sighed. ‘I’m CIB, not uniform. There’s not much I can do.’

‘Will that be all, Sarge?’

‘You’ll have to get yourself a car,’ Ellen said. ‘That bus? God.’

She saw the younger woman close up and look away. What nerve had she touched? ‘Well, I won’t keep you.’

‘Have a good one, Sarge.’

Ellen Destry skirted around the naval base and on to Waterloo. Murphy seemed lonely. She tried to imagine life as a uniformed constable again, working with a pair of thugs like van Alphen and Tankard. I could offer to take her to work in the mornings, she thought. Then again, it would only complicate things.

She parked her car at the rear of the police station. It was now seven-fifteen, her normal arrival time for a 8 a.m. start. She stretched the kinks out of her back. There was a gym upstairs. It would do her good to use it sometimes.

The air-conditioning man pulled in at the courthouse next door, his Jeep top-heavy with a roof-rack of ladders and PVC tubes. Ellen noted the name, Rhys Hartnett, painted on the side, and took a moment to watch Hartnett as he got out. She was doing this a lot lately, watching men, the way they moved.

He caught her at it and winked across the driveway separating the courthouse from the police station. ‘Another hot one.’

‘Not even January yet,’ she agreed.

She watched him prop open the rear doors of his van. ‘Typical,’ she remarked. ‘The courthouse is only used once or twice a week and gets air-conditioning fitted. We’re in and out of the police station twenty-four hours a day and can’t even requisition a fan.’

He stood back, began to eye the courthouse windows. He’d lost interest in her.

‘Well, see you. No doubt you’ll be around for a few days.’

‘Couple of weeks, at least.’

On an impulse she said, ‘Maybe you could give me a quote to air-condition my house.’

That got his attention. He could ignore her but not the chance to make another buck or two. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Penzance Beach.’

‘I could drop by sometime. Got a card?’

She closed the gap between them, stepping over a line of white-painted driveway rocks and straggly low shrubs to get to him. There were leaves and pods from the flowering gums scattered over the ground. She registered the snap and buzz of summer heat in the air, and the smell of the gum trees, and the brine of the nearby sea. She proffered her card. He was very graceful, movements delicate, voice soft, and the smile was a real charmer, so no wonder all of her senses were alert.

He looked impressed. ‘Sergeant. Where’s your uniform?’