On Cringila Hill (17 page)

‘Better talk to both the boys. And Luz was suspended before she suffered that terrible attack. Are you allowed to tell us what that was all about? Protocol allow for that?'

Leon tugs down the corners of his mouth. ‘Don't see why not,' he says. ‘Murder investigation. The fact of the disclosure, that will remain between us?'

‘Of course.'

The principal takes a mobile telephone from his coat pocket, stabs a finger at numbers. ‘Kerry? Can you see if we still have a Luz Solomona file? And could someone bring it down? I'm in the courtyard with a copper. And, as well, Clint Phillips and Jimmy Valeski – could someone dig them out too and bring them down?'

In time a woman emerges from a stairwell holding a green suspension file, which she hands to Leon. He removes a form headed ‘Incident Report', reads the contents, raises his eyebrows. ‘Ah yes,' he says. ‘I remember.' With his head still lowered he conducts a little scan of the quadrangle from beneath his brow. No students are nearby. He raises the sheet and reads from it. ‘Luz approached Jimmy Valeski in the quadrangle. She was distressed, in tears. She shouted at him. These, I think, were the exact words: “You don't love me, not even love my cunt. You love the way your cock feels when you're fucking me.”'

He smiles at the detectives.

‘I remember this now. Plainly something had happened that had upset poor Luz. Afterwards, I recall, we requested a statement from Jimmy but he found himself unable to assist us. He was quite puzzled, I recall, convincingly puzzled. Incident? Was there one? How strange. He had no memory of this matter of any kind. Luz, having offered this observation, had departed
the premises so discussing the matter with her was not possible. On the basis of what was before me, and having full confidence in the testimony of my colleague who'd been conducting playground supervision I decided that it was not appropriate that we be seen to condone such outbursts. It seemed to me that, if the two were in the school together and encountered each other, we may witness an occurrence that was even worse. I contacted the home to tell folk there that it was appropriate that Luz should experience a short suspension while we considered our plan to respond to what had happened. After that was the assault and she didn't ever come back.'

‘Should I bring Clint?' the file bearer asks. ‘Jimmy isn't at school today.'

‘Sure,' Leon says. ‘Let's get it done.'

When Piggy arrives he is wearing a uniform, golf shirt and shorts, but his clothes are rumpled and stained. Leon moves so that there's room for the boy on the seating between Gordon and himself. When Piggy sits between them, Gordon is reminded that poverty has a particular smell.

‘Clint, these gentlemen are detectives who'd like to talk to you. Mr Winter and Mr Lawrence. How are you today? Have you had something to eat yet?'

‘Yeah,' Piggy says. ‘Mum made me a nice big hot breakfast.'

‘Sure. Still, have you room for any more to eat? Your Year Patron could give you a chit for the canteen.'

‘No, thanks, Sir. I'm fine.'

‘Ah. Now, as I said, these nice men would like to chat to you. You don't have to do that here, of course. Up to you. In the end they can compel you to do it somewhere, at least hear their questions.'

Piggy looks enquiringly at the file bearer. ‘They can make you listen, Clint,' she says. ‘You don't have to answer. You can do this here or go to the police station.'

‘Ah.'

‘And if you go ahead,' Beckett tells him, ‘you are entitled to a support person. Would you like someone to go and get your mother?'

Piggy smiles, as though at his own secret joke. ‘Nah,' he says. ‘It's cool.'

‘Do it here?'

‘Sure.'

‘Well, Detective Winter, over to you.'

There's a bubble of mucus emerging from one of Piggy's nostrils. He wipes it away with the back of a bare wrist.

‘Clint,' Gordon says. ‘Someone put something about the murder of Abdul Hijazi on the school computer network. Do you know who did that?'

‘Sure.'

‘Who did?'

‘Me.'

‘And why did you do that?'

‘Because I know who did it.'

‘And who was that?'

‘My dark Lord.'

‘Your dark Lord?'

‘Yeah. My Lord Satan. He called Abdul to him and Abdul must go. And now Abdul rests at the service of my dark Lord.'

‘I see. And how do you know this?'

‘My Lord sent me a vision.'

‘Does that often, does he?'

Piggy smiles happily at the detective. ‘From time to time,' he says.

‘I see. Is there anything else you think you should tell us?'

Piggy snuffles up mucus that goes rumbling down his throat and into his belly. ‘Nah,' he says. ‘That's sort of it.'

‘Thank you. Detective Lawrence? Anything to ask?'

‘No, thanks, Detective Winter. I think I've pretty much got the scene.'

Piggy stiffens. Someone has walked through the quadrangle gateway, is standing within the school precinct. He watches the little group, allows himself a small smile. He is a tall boy, broad-shouldered, slender, so good-looking as almost to be beautiful. Gordon notices that he stands with his head slightly to one side, his big hands down by his thighs. He is struck by how relaxed he looks, poised. Also, he has no school pack of any kind – clearly, applying himself to study is not what's on his mind today. Gordon also notices that Piggy gives the newcomer a nod so slight as nearly to be imperceptible.

‘Let me guess,' Gordon says. ‘I think that Jimmy Valeski has just joined us.'

‘Pig … Clint,' Leon says, ‘would you be kind enough to go across the quadrangle and sit on those seats just over there, where I still can see you?' Then, calling, he says, ‘Good morning, Jimmy. Welcome to your school today. Might you be kind enough to join these two gentlemen and myself?'

Gordon notes the confident stroll. As Jimmy gets closer, Gordon can see the veins broken in the bloodshot eyes, the dark staining beneath the skin at the top of his cheekbones. Smile or no smile, he thinks to himself, this is one beat-up kid.

Jimmy ignores the principal's gesture to sit. He stands beside David Lawrence, as tall as the detective, who backs away a little to give himself some space. Jimmy smiles down at Gordon, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his pants.

‘Should I call your mum?'

‘Nah. She ain't home, gone shopping. Nah, les jus' do this. I'm fine.'

‘Good,' the principal says. ‘And by the way, Jim, I can't begin to tell you how bloody dreadful you look. Are you well? Should you be at home, in bed?'

‘Nah. Went fishin' with my grandfather last night. Didn' get too much sleep.'

‘What did you do to your arm?' The detectives look at the swollen, discoloured limb.

‘What, did it get hit by a truck?' Leon asks.

‘Nah.' Jimmy smiles, amused. ‘Not a truck. I'm fine. This thing these men wanna do. Let's get that done.' Composed, he blinks, nods. He's ready.

‘Jimmy, I'm Detective Winter. We've come to your school to see what we can learn about the death of Abdul Hijazi.'

‘Sure.'

‘Now, Clint has put on school computers that he knows who the killer is. Have you got any ideas why he would write that?'

‘Exactly that? Nah, carn tell ya why he did that, exactly. Tell you this, though. He'd be thinkin' about it, a lot, the Abdul killing.'

Gordon's eyes narrow. ‘And why would he be thinking about it?'

‘Cos he saw Abdul get shot.'

The three men are very still. In tall gum trees next to the carpark beyond the school walls a magpie gives its confident warble. The sound rolls slowly through the morning air.

Gordon says, ‘And how would you know that, what Clint saw? Did he tell you this?'

‘Nah, I was standin' next to Piggy when it happened. I saw it too.'

‘And where was this?'

Jimmy gestures his head in the direction of the houses next to the school grounds.

‘Jus' up there, on the footpath.'

‘And what did you see?'

‘Abdul walkin' down the hill. Was rainin', light rain. Then a van come down the hill, pull up next ta Abdul, arm comes out. Pow, one in the head an' Abdul's down. Then two more, where he's lyin'. So Piggy saw that, very shockin' thing for Piggy to see. Prob'ly sent him a little crazy.' He smiles even more broadly from his tired face. ‘Course,' he says, ‘Piggy is always pretty crazy.'

Listening, watching closely, this fact comes into Gordon's mind – no media statement has yet been made by police to reveal the number of shots fired that night. David Lawrence has moved across the quadrangle away from the group, he has his telephone out, is jabbing at numbers. Jimmy narrows his eyes, ‘I s'pose you wonder why we didn' come see ya before, tell ya this.'

Gordon watches the confident head, slightly cocked to one side. ‘Oh, no, Jimmy, I don't wonder that. No, I don't care very much about that. I'm sure you've got a reason for me and I'm sure that it's a very good reason, convincing, something to absolve you, win you sympathy. Let's just imagine that you've told me your reason and that I've pretended to believe you. Then we'll move on to the next thing.'

Jimmy turns from the waist, his thumbs still hooked into his pockets. David Lawrence is still talking somewhat urgently into his telephone. Jimmy looks down again at Gordon. Jimmy's smile has gone, he has now a look of intense concentration.

‘Now, 'nother thing. S'pose there wasn' jus' one killin'. S'pose there was two. S'pose one happen a long time ago, years an' years ago. You could do somethin' about that?'

‘You've seen
two
murders?'

‘Nah, never seen nothin'.'

‘But there's a witness to another murder?'

‘Nah, well, no one still alive.'

‘So, what, we've got a body?'

‘Never gonna be no body.' Jimmy is scowling, not liking what he's hearing himself say.

‘Well, Jimmy, I'd say maybe we've got enough on our hands just now dealing with Abdul. Shall we just get done what needs doing about that, and talk about other things when Abdul's been sorted out?'

After a while, Jimmy says, ‘Sure.'

David Lawrence is back. ‘Reach Edna?' Gordon asks.

‘Yep. They're putting things together.'

‘Well, Jimmy we'll have to go down to the station. And nothing's going to happen until we've got a support person for you, maybe your mother, I imagine. You can have a lawyer, if you want one.'

Jimmy watches the detective, but doesn't answer.

To Leon, Gordon says, ‘Is there somewhere comfortable where the boys can wait, until we can get down to the station and start?'

‘Sure. Should I keep them apart?'

Gordon watches Jimmy for a while, looks across the quadrangle to where Piggy's sitting.

‘Oh,' he says, ‘truly, I don't think it'll matter too much. I'd guess any talking out a story that's going to be done has already happened.'

Chapter Nineteen

Jimmy watches the backs of sheets of paper while, on the other side of them, Detective Gordon Winter intones the details of the statement. Jimmy looks through the clear glass walls of the office in which he's been interviewed. Bored-looking people in uniform or civilian dress move slowly between desks, show written material to each other, peer into the illuminated screens of computers. Jimmy looks at his mother. She is seated next to him. Her face is set in a look of deep displeasure.

Jimmy hears Gordon Winter say, ‘So, that's pretty much it? You're happy to sign this?'

‘Sure.'

The sheets are placed on a desktop, spun across in front of the boy. Jimmy takes the proffered plastic pen, painstakingly writes his name across the bottom of a page above a dotted line. He looks up to see that he still has Gordon Winter's close attention.

‘So, Jimmy, that's that. We may need to come to you from time to time to check some details in your statement. I think it very unlikely that you'll ever need to appear in court. Now, earlier, at school, you told me of another matter.'

‘Yeah. Stupid. Jus' havin' a laugh wit' ya. Forget 'bout that.'

‘Well, it was a pretty intriguing thing. Something about another murder?'

‘I say that? You sure 'bout that? Maybe wrong words come out my mouth. Don' know nothin' 'bout that.'

‘You're sure.'

‘Yeah. Sure as anythin' in the world.'

Winter is watching him.

‘See, I've got this feeling, Jimmy. Something's troubling me. Something I heard once. And now I wonder has it got anything to do with this matter I've got on my mind?'

Jimmy smiles. He finds himself in confident territory, baiting an authority figure. ‘That
what you thinkin'?'

‘Yes, it is.'

‘An' what sort of answer you givin' youself?'

‘Not sure yet. Still working on it.'

‘Well. Good luck wit' that.'

‘You're Lupce Valeski's grandson, aren't you?'

Jimmy can feel his smile go. He frowns down at the desktop.

‘Sure,' he says. ‘So what?'

‘Well, it's a strange thing. It was Lupce said to me the thing is troubling me so.'

‘That right.'

‘Mmm. Mrs Valeski – you have your father's name, I see.'

‘Did a long time. Husband went away a long time. Helped, that people knew who I was, who my father was. Helped, when there was people I didn' meet before.'

‘Did you ever meet another detective? Big man, very long face, not so much hair, a Detective Laecey?'

Jimmy keeps his eyes on the desktop.

‘Maybe,' he hears his mother say. ‘How I can say no, meet so many people. Carn remember nothin' 'bout that.'

‘Well,' Winter says at last. ‘Jimmy, if ever there's anything you want to talk to me about, this is my card.' He hands across an oblong of cardboard. ‘I'm always ready to listen.'

It's good for Jimmy to get outside. The air seems a lot fresher to him, there's a breeze that feels good. He walks with his mother towards a car where a uniformed policeman waits to take them home.

‘What all that?' his mother says. ‘About a murder?'

‘Jus' forget it. Had a stupid moment. Nowhere to go with that, I know that, nowhere wit' the police.'

‘Sure.'

‘Jus', you know, feel like somethin' should
happen
. Not jus' be like he never was alive, my father, what happen to him didn' matter nothin' to no one.'

‘I unnerstan'.'

‘Jus' dunno what I should do.' He rubs a hand across his face. He says, ‘Not too sure who I should be now, Mama.'

A heavy man of middle-age, roughly dressed, not recently shaven, walks towards them in the carpark, raises his eyebrows in recognition.

‘Jimmy!' he says. ‘Jimmy Valeski! Didn' see you
long
time. How you, boy?'

‘Sure,' Jimmy says. ‘Good.'

‘Good to see you. An' say hello to your grandfather! Great man. Great man, Lupce! An', course, you two jus' so close, so close like
this
.' Grinning, he presses together the palms of his two hands to show how close he proclaims the Valeskis to be.

‘Sure,' Jimmy says. ‘I'll say hello.'

‘Jimmy,' his mother says when the man has moved on. ‘Can I give you a hug?'

‘Nah, Mama. No disrespeck. Love you real good, Mama. Not gonna be a time hugs from your mama gonna be no help.'