Felicity Young - Take Out

Stevie smiled. ‘That’s okay; we’ve only met the once, when I dropped something off for Skye, I mean Emily, at her flat. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. My name’s Stevie Hooper.’

‘You were Emily’s policewoman friend, the one she met when she was a volunteer at the Rape Crisis Centre?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Someone banged through the door and disappeared into one of the cubicles. Stevie placed her hand again on the woman’s arm and said in a whisper. ‘Are you all right, are they looking after you?’

‘As well as can be expected I suppose.’

‘Look, there’s a coffee shop just down the road. Why don’t we go and get a cuppa?’ Stevie changed her mind about watching the interviews. Talking with Mrs Williams might prove more beneficial to both of them.

The woman hesitated. ‘I wanted to talk to someone about the accident, that’s why I’m here. I was told to see someone called Angus Wong.’

Stevie wondered who had told Mrs Williams to talk to Angus. Did she know that Skye’s death was now being regarded as suspicious? ‘Angus is tied up with a press conference at the moment,’ she said. ‘But I’ll take you up to him after we’ve had a coffee if you like.’

‘Okay,’ said Mrs Williams, her eyes filling with tears again. ‘It’s been a long drive.’

Stevie held the door open for Mrs Williams then walked with her down the road to a coffee shop near Central. This was one of Stevie’s favourite boltholes, a place rarely visited by anyone on the Job, most cops preferring to hold their meetings in the local pubs and bars.

They ordered coffee and settled into a table near the window. Mrs Williams rarely met Stevie’s eye. Even when reminiscing about Skye she spent most of the time watching the smartly-dressed office workers striding purposefully up St George’s Terrace, holding skirts down, coats closed, battling the perpetual wind. ‘Did Mr Williams come with you?’ she asked.

‘He’s seeding. You know what it’s like; we have to take advantage of the rain.’

Stevie knew too well. Mrs Williams probably envied her husband locked away in the cabin of his John Deere, cutting himself off from everything around him.

‘Emily had a younger sister, didn’t she?’

Mrs Williams nodded and ladled three teaspoons of sugar into her coffee. ‘Gillian. She’s really upset of course; she’s at a difficult age. Never as focused as Emily was. I can only hope this isn’t going to tip her over the edge.’

‘I’m sure you and Mr Williams will be there for her.’

‘Terry, his name’s Terry; and I’m Irene.’ She began to cry, silently. Stevie passed her a napkin and she wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about this; I’m just so tired. Luke phoned about four this morning and it felt as if I’d only just got to sleep. He said I should leave early if I wanted to catch this Inspector Wong bloke—Luke knows full well how long the drive is.’

‘Luke?’ Stevie couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘You mean Luke Fowler?’

‘That’s right, he’s been terrific about all this. I don’t know how I would have coped without him. He rang as soon as he heard the news, sent flowers, even offered to come and help with the seeding.’

Stevie frowned. Was this the ‘sordid’ history Skye had been referring to? ‘How well did Skye know Luke, Irene?’ she asked.

‘They were only together a few months. She brought him to the farm a few times. He was a bit odd, but we still liked him enough.’

Stevie shook her head with amazement. While Mrs Hardegan had flatly stated that Fowler had been in love with Skye and she had seen for herself how committed he was to finding the truth behind her death, she hadn’t thought for a moment they’d actually been an item. She’d assumed it must have been some kind of unrequited infatuation on his part. Although her experience with him in the Fremantle alley did suggest he wasn’t quite the Action Man she’d first pegged, it was still almost impossible to see a connection between the girl she’d considered her friend and the man she could barely tolerate. Eccentric, flighty, impulsive, Skye would have run a conservative, finicky man like Fowler ragged.

‘I didn’t know that. I can’t ... I just can’t imagine them being suited at all,’ she said.

‘He was quite a bit older than Emily, and very different, but they do say opposites attract, don’t they? But I know what you mean. It wasn’t really much of a surprise to Terry and me when Emily told us she’d broken up with him. She wasn’t one to take relationships too seriously; she was way too young for that. I think he was in far deeper than she ever was. He didn’t take the break up at all well, apparently. I did feel sorry for him. Emily was a wonderful, kind girl and everyone loved her, but when it came to relationships with men...’ Mrs Williams shrugged. ‘She didn’t seem to really care; they were just a bit of fun. She got bored so easily.’

Stevie had always known Skye to be a love-’em-and leave-’em type of girl, too young for a serious relationship she always maintained, and oblivious of the trail of broken hearts, or ‘fuck buddies,’ she left sinking in her wake.

‘How long ago did they break up?’ she asked.

Irene looked to the ceiling. ‘Three or so years ago.’ Her absent gaze returned to the window.

In her head, Stevie began to click together the background pieces of the relationship, using what she knew and adding some creative imagination. Fowler and Skye had been an item. He probably had no idea about the nature of Skye’s part-time work. She must have decided to tell him or else he found out for himself. He would have been horrified; a job like that would have been hard enough for any regular guy to accept, not to mention a man like Fowler.

When Skye was assaulted by one of her customers she made the mistake of seeking his help, probably thinking that going to a cop she knew would make it easier. Wrong. Fowler would still have been smarting over their broken relationship, hurt and humiliated. He’d not listened to Skye and brushed her allegations under the carpet. Stevie could almost hear his voice in her head saying that Skye had brought this trouble upon herself. If he had taken Skye’s complaint seriously, the next victim might have been alive today. That was quite a weight to be carrying about on those starched white shoulders; no wonder he was so cut up about Skye’s death. Why though, Stevie continued to puzzle, had Skye told her he still hated her guts? Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe it was more a case of Fowler hating himself.

‘He was too old and too serious for her anyway,’ Mrs Williams broke into Stevie’s thoughts. Stevie couldn’t have agreed more. But she also knew from the errors of her own past, that sexual attraction alone rarely followed conventions and good sense.

Stevie pointed out to Irene Williams the office on the other side of the incident room, planning on leaving Barry to introduce her to Angus. Her timing couldn’t have been worse; the door opened just as she was about to beat her retreat. Several officers looked up from their phones and computers when Angus barked, ‘Stevie, a word.’

‘This is Emily Williams’s mother, Irene,’ Stevie said hurriedly, smiling at the woman. ‘She’d like to talk to you about her daughter. I’m afraid I’ve got to rush, Irene, my partner’s in hospital...’

‘I’m sure Mrs Williams won’t mind waiting for just a minute,’ Angus said. ‘Barry, look after Mrs Williams please, put the kettle on. Excuse me for a moment, ma’am. Stevie, come in.’

He closed the office door behind them. The office was on the fifth floor of the Central Police building, with views across the WACA and the Swan River. Not that Stevie was paying much attention to the view outside the window. Her gaze flitted about the room. It already looked and smelled different from when Monty had been using it: no overflowing bin surrounded by misfired balls of screwed up paper, no dry-cleaning on the back of the door, no clandestine cigarette smoke leaking from the small attached bathroom. The photo of her on the desk was gone too, that was a relief; she’d always hated that picture. Her hair had been especially unmanageable that day, as if she’d just been pulled backwards through the Terrace wind tunnel—which she doubtless had. She wondered where Angus had put it. At the bottom of a drawer along with Monty’s name plaque, probably. She noticed that the clay dinosaur Izzy had made for Monty was still on the desk, holding down a stack of papers.