Tristan Bancks - The Fall

I reached with my crutches and swung my legs forward. Reach and swing, reach and swing, until I felt the warm interior light of the police station on me and Magic sniffed the narrow gap between the heavy glass double doors. She shook from side to side, her ears flapping loudly against her cheeks, showering me with fine dog-stink spray.

Inside, an officer was working on a computer at the counter. I pushed open the door and crossed the threshold from danger to safety and I knew that everything was going to be okay. It was warm and smelt like fresh coffee and disinfectant and security. There was a sea of deserted desks behind the tall front counter. I crutched across the flat brown carpet of the waiting area and collapsed into a plastic chair against the wall. I breathed hard and looked back out into the darkness.

‘That’s a very nice dog,’ the officer said, ‘but you can’t actually bring dogs in here unless it’s a guide dog. You’ll have to take him outside.’

I pulled myself up on my crutches and hopped the four or five steps to the tall black counter, taking Magic with me. The officer had light-brown hair in a bun and olive skin. Her name tag read:

SENIOR CONSTABLE

KATE PINNEY

I noticed now that there was another officer sitting at one of the thirty or so identical desks behind the counter and another couple walking around the open-plan office space. There were six or seven glass-walled offices at the back of the station. I was surprised by how busy it was this late at night. But with people being thrown from buildings and disappearing all over the place, I figured I probably shouldn’t be surprised.

‘I need to report a crime,’ I said.

‘And what crime is that?’ She peered over the counter at Magic, who panted and looked up at her with a smile. A long string of drool hung from the side of the dog’s mouth, making a damp patch on the carpet.

‘A murder,’ I said. I almost didn’t believe the word as I said it. I’m not sure Senior Constable Kate Pinney believed it either.

‘Right. And where did this take place?’ She shifted a notebook across the desk and grabbed a pen.

‘Just up the street. About a hundred metres from here.’

She studied my face, probably searching for body language cues she’d learnt in training. I’d read about the techniques officers and detectives used to decide if a witness was telling the truth or not. Breaking eye contact, crossing arms or turning your body away told them you were lying. I did none of these things. Stretching and yawning wasn’t great either. Police officers analysed the speed of the person’s response and the tone and volume of their voice, too. I was aware of all this as I spoke to her, which probably made me seem totally suspicious.

‘When was this?’

‘This morning,’ I said. ‘Just after two o’clock.’

‘And why haven’t you reported the crime till now?’

I shook my head. ‘I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.’

‘Where are your parents?’ she asked.

‘I’m staying with my dad but I don’t know where he is.’

‘Tell me what you saw. Actually, can you wait here for one moment? I’d like to have a more senior officer present. You can take a seat again if you like and we’ll come around there. Can I get you some water?’

I shook my head once more.

She turned and strode towards one of the offices at the back of the station. A ball of hot acid burnt away at the lining of my stomach. I felt light-headed, exhausted, glad it was almost over. I hopped to the left to turn around and saw Kate Pinney knocking on the door of the glass-walled office in the far right corner.

I heard a big, meaty cough, like a man had gravel caught in his throat, and I saw someone inside the office that made my breath stop dead.

The office windows reflected the fluoro lights from the main part of the station but I could still see him. I leaned in, squinted to sharpen my focus, my certainty. Kate Pinney opened the door and the man looked up.

He turned and stared right at me. His face was as white and full as the moon. I dropped down low behind the counter. I scrambled across the carpet towards the front door, dragging Magic, sliding my crutches along the floor. I tried to protect my right knee but in that moment I felt no pain. I pushed open the glass door and the cold night slapped me in the face. I pulled myself up on the doorhandle, staying as low as I could, and ducked to the right, across the slippery tiles at the entrance and out of sight. I did not look back.

How can he be a police officer? It’s not possible.

Sick, blind panic streaked through me. Magic and I ran up some steps, past a large fountain, across a patch of well-worn grass, then down a laneway between a restaurant and an apartment block. The lane was just wide enough for a car. I stayed to the right, against the wall, running on my crutches past overflowing bins at the back of another restaurant. Further down, I could see the small, steam-covered front window of another eatery. I ran past the window: ‘Red Dragon Food and Gifts’. There was a ‘Closed’ sign on the door. Inside, dumplings on a flour-covered bench. A lady spooning goop from a silver bowl into small, round wrappers.

I looked back to see if the cop was standing in the mouth of the alley, then I shoved the narrow red shop door. I was surprised when it opened. I poked my head inside. It was warm and smelt good.

The lady turned to me. ‘Not open, not open,’ she told me, waving her hand.

‘Please?’

‘Not open.’

I let Magic in and stepped in behind her. They wouldn’t be far away. Kid on crutches comes in to report a murder. Cop goes to alert a more senior officer and kid disappears. They would come for me.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘I’m very tired.’ I motioned to my crutches.

She regarded me, clicked her tongue, turned away and continued spooning mixture into dumpling wrappers. My stomach snarled. I had hardly eaten all day.

She shook her head. ‘Why are you alone?’

‘Just a few minutes, then I’ll go.’

‘Where are your parents?’

‘My dad’s at work,’ I said. ‘He’ll be home soon.’

She clicked her tongue again, like she knew I was lying, then waved a hand covered in dumpling-mush towards a small, red wooden table in the back of the store, near a scattered collection of teapots, lamps and bamboo steamers.

‘Thank you,’ I said and shuffled over. Magic was tired now and would only walk at a snail’s pace, so I pretended to browse the cumin seeds, crushed chilli and fish sauce bottles lining the counter. The lady was paying me no attention anyway, so I dragged Magic along, steered her into the corner and partially hid her behind a display filled with pink and red Chinese slippers.

I pulled one of the four small chairs out from under the table and flopped down onto it. I was physically exhausted, mentally on fire. I could still see the front window but I could easily lean to my right, out of view behind a shelf filled with lamps, if I needed to. It felt good to be in here, even though the lady with the dumplings couldn’t do much if a police officer tried to drag me away.

Being inside the shop made me feel like I had stepped outside time for a moment, like I’d gone through a portal. The music sounded like Buddhist monks chanting on a hilltop somewhere and the spicy smell and steam and colourful cushions and birdcages took me to some other place. It bought me a few moments to think.

How could he have pushed that man off a balcony and be a police officer? Maybe he’s not a police officer, I thought. Maybe they caught him. He was a criminal waiting to be charged. But he was in uniform.