Joan Kilby - Protecting Her Son

Was Moresco threatening her with violence if she spoke up? Paula didn’t seem like she scared easily. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she’d gotten too close to Moresco.

Riley had known from the beginning that Paula wouldn’t be an easy partner. She could be abrupt, she had a giant chip on her shoulder and at times, talking to her was like chatting to the sphinx. Then there was her attitude to traffic duty. Clearly she felt it was beneath her and what a joy that was to work with.

On the other hand, she was gutsy and he liked a bit of attitude. Being a single parent couldn’t be easy, dealing with the guys at the station was a pain sometimes and she had to be disappointed that her career was at a low ebb. But she worked hard and didn’t complain—unless it was that there was too little to do.

He’d expected she’d be difficult, but he hadn’t thought she’d bring her problems to Summerside. She was his partner, yes, but if her actions violated his moral code, if he found any evidence of illegal activity on her part, either now or in the past, he was going to John, he was taking her down.

Riley pushed off the bench. She’d dodged his questions but the interrogation wasn’t over.

* * *

HOURS LATER RILEY was still mulling over the drug haul and what exactly Paula’s deal was. After she’d left he’d made a trip to the Frankston hospital hoping to question the driver of the Holden. Timothy Andrews had severe internal injuries and kept slipping in and out of consciousness. The nurse told Riley to call in the morning.

Paula thought there was a connection between Moresco and the crystal meth. What was the connection between her and Moresco? Her behavior didn’t add up. Was it merely a coincidence that Jamie must have been conceived around the time she was working on the Moresco case? Surely she was too smart, and too classy to get mixed up with a lowlife like Nick Moresco.

Hell. Why was he wasting his free time trying to figure out his partner when she so obviously intended to keep her secrets?

Instead he took out his frustrations by dismantling his kitchen. He disconnected the plumbing to the sink. The stove he’d removed to the corner of the room. There was a gaping hole where the fridge had been.

Riley levered a crowbar deep into a gap between the wall and the cabinet. Bracing his foot on the wall, he hauled on the crowbar. With an ear-piercing screech, the screws holding the unit pulled out of the wood and the cabinet shifted, buckling the ancient linoleum.

Riley staggered backward, panting, to survey his efforts. His mother’s kitchen was well and truly on its way to being destroyed. In a way it felt wrong, as if he were being disloyal to her memory. But she’d be the last person to want him to make worn cabinetry and old-fashioned appliances a shrine to her.

Damn, the pain in his right temple had started up again. His heart raced with an irregular, thready pulse. He must be breathing in too much dust. The paint was so old it might even have lead in it. He hadn’t thought of that. He could be getting brain damage.

He opened the back door and sank onto the steps. The air, cooler now it was evening, was heavy with the scent of the red roses climbing the trellis on the wall next to him. Mum had planted the rose bush the first year she and his dad had moved into the house. Riley picked up a petal and held it to his nose.

His dad and Sandra hadn’t changed much about the house and grounds over the past ten years. The huge fig tree that shaded a corner of the backyard still held remnants of the cubby house he and John had built in its branches when they were ten years old. His mum used to bring out cookies and lemonade and they’d winched them up in a bucket.

In the other corner of the yard was her gardening shed where she grew seedlings for the vegetable patch on the sunny side of the property. Smack in the middle of the grass was the rotary clothesline where she’d hung out the laundry. Summers had been cricket on the lawn, barbecues, the sound of his parents’ conversation continuing into the warm night as he lay in bed lulled to sleep by his father’s deep rumble and his mother’s soft musical laughter.

Heat pricked the back of his eyes. Part of him was grown up and practical. He recognized the value of the property and wanted to improve it, making a nice home for himself in the process. Another part of him wanted to preserve the small shabby dwelling as a time capsule, a tribute to the golden days of his youth and, yes, as a shrine to his mother.

His head throbbed harder. He let the petal in his fingers fall to the overgrown grass and pushed to his feet. He couldn’t stay a kid forever. And he didn’t have time to sit around being sentimental.

He would take a couple of painkillers and get back to work. The kitchen wasn’t going to renovate itself.

* * *

PAULA STOOD BEFORE the bathroom mirror, pinning up her hair while Jamie brushed his teeth at the sink. Nick and his crystal meth had followed her to Summerside. She couldn’t be positive he was the source but the timing was too close to be a coincidence. Was he taunting her? Trying to get her blamed for his presence in the community?

Freshly washed, her hair was slippery and unmanageable. She jammed a hairpin in only for it to pop out immediately. Already on edge, she swept the box of pins off the counter. She’d been aiming for the garbage but most of them scattered over the tile floor.

Jamie’s eyes went round at her uncharacteristic loss of control. Toothpaste foam dripping from his mouth, he crowed, “You’ve got to pick those all up.”

“Yes, sir.” She pulled her hair into an ugly ponytail, ignoring the flyaway wisps. Then crouched to retrieve the pins.

The house needed a good tidying. She picked up the book she’d been reading in the bath last night, Get Out Of Your Mind and Into Your Life. She was a sucker for self-help books, not that they ever seemed to fix her. If she could figure out what exactly her problem was, that would be half the battle. She knew where she’d gone wrong—getting involved with Nick—but not why. Until she understood that she was in danger of falling into the same trap in the future.

She put the pins in the cabinet and carried the book to the spare bedroom. There she kept her private bookshelf crammed with titles like, The Courage to Be Yourself, Women Who Worry Too Much, Get Out Of Your Own Way. But pride of place went to her sewing table and quilting materials.

A half-finished crazy quilt was spread over the table. She touched the patchwork wistfully, itching to piece a few scraps and forget about everything for a while. Ironically, quilting did for her what the books couldn’t do. Fully absorbed in sewing, she didn’t have time to dwell on herself.

She dropped Jamie off at school and went in to work early to have a chat with Patty. As well as operating Dispatch she was in charge of requisitions. Paula handed Patty a list of items she thought she and Riley would need for the investigation.

Patty looked at the list and laughed. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“No. It’s not an ambitious list. A camera, a high-powered flashlight, a dedicated laptop—”

“Half the time we don’t even have spare batteries. Most officers use their own cameras.” Patty shrugged. “The station doesn’t have the resources toward the end of the financial year.”

“I see. I’ll file this, then.” She crumpled the list and dropped it into the rubbish bin.

She started to leave then noticed her reflection in the window onto the bull pen behind Patty’s desk. Her hair was already springing out of the elastic band. Using the glass as a mirror she rearranged some hairpins. She was so focused on what she was doing she didn’t notice Riley on the other side of the glass until he rapped on it.