Through the Cracks (22 page)

‘Billy, you better go.’

He nodded grimly. He couldn’t look up. ‘Yes.’

‘No, I mean the policeman is coming back.’

‘Hey?’

‘See.’

He looked. Billy got to his feet. ‘Fuck.’

The policeman had crossed through the traffic and was nodding to the driver who had stopped to let him cross. Billy collected up his smokes.

‘But he knows who I am anyway.’

‘Does it matter?’

‘And Scotty would have called the cops by now.’

‘I don’t think he would have. I’m not going to say anything about you . . . Are you sure you’d get in trouble, if you told them everything?’

‘Last time the church threatened me was when the surf picture went big. If I hadn’t dropped off the radar then, they would have brought me down. They’re bigger than anyone knows. They can control the cops.’

‘You better go then.’

‘. . . Yeah.’

They looked at one another. No time to hug. Not sure how to. Billy swiped Adam’s head, winked – it was more a flinch, a twitch.

He said without a smile, ‘I’m so sorry, kid.’

He was gone before Adam could say he didn’t blame him, never would.

T
he policeman caught sight of Billy ducking out the door. His hand flew to his belt and he broke into a jog. He looked along the window and saw Adam still sitting there. Adam waved. That stopped the policeman. It was an odd wave to give a policeman:
Looking for me?
The policeman’s hand dropped away from his belt. He came through into the diner. There were people queuing at the counter. A nurse was amongst them, and a man with two cameras over his shoulder, other media people. They turned because of the way the policeman burst in through the door. He glanced at them, looked out the windows, at the camera crew walking along, at the media van stuck in traffic. The policeman closed the door gently behind him, and stood in the queue, then he quietly made his way down to where Adam was.

The policeman slid in where Billy had sat. The seat was probably still warm. He laid his hands flat on the table, tried to smile but it was tense. He stared at Adam. What he did then wasn’t what Adam expected. The policeman held his hand out to be shaken. ‘I’m Constable Kieran Worth.’

It was a firm shake.

‘What’s your name, mate?’

‘I think I’m Nathan Fisher.’

The policeman nodded. He let go of Adam’s hand and looked above the backrest at the queue. ‘Okay,’ he murmured. ‘Right.’ He sat in the seat again. He took the radio from his belt, held it up to his lips, put it down. ‘What happened to your friend?’

‘He had to go.’

The policeman looked at the ashtray and at the Solo can and at Adam’s empty Fruit Box. He put the radio to his mouth and spoke quietly into it. ‘Constable Worth here, chasing Sergeant Prescott, urgent priority.’ The radio blurted a garbled response. He turned the volume down. ‘I need you to put him on,’ he said into the handpiece. He looked out the window, over at the police van. He waited. A short response came through, difficult to understand.

‘Yes, Sergeant,’ Kieran said.

The person on the radio barked something.

‘Yes, Sergeant, it is. I’ve a closed gate here, in Bobby’s Diner across the road.’

‘Repeat that,’ the voice on the radio said, clearer now.

‘A closed gate in Bobby’s Diner across the road.’

After a pause a response came through. ‘Yep, I’ve got you.’

Out the window, over by the van, an older policeman, round and short, had stepped onto the pavement. He was standing beside the mannequin. He had a radio to his mouth. Kieran lifted his hand and acknowledged him through the window.

‘We’ll get it cleared for you now,’ the Sergeant said through the radio. ‘Are we able to confirm?’

Kieran lowered the radio. ‘Nathan, could take your cap off for me, please?’ Adam took it off and sat it on the table. Kieran stood as best he could in the booth and he leaned across. ‘Sorry about this, one check and we’ll be done. Could you lean forward?’ He looked at the back of Adam’s neck. ‘Thanks, that’s all I need.’ Into the radio he said, ‘That’s one hundred per cent confirmation, Sergeant.’

‘We’re calling that?’

‘Yes, call it.’

‘Steady there, Worth.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Four officers crossed the road. They stopped the traffic. The sergeant directed another two up the street. Those two broke into a run. The sergeant sent another two off in the opposite direction. The four officers came into the diner. Constable Kieran Worth didn’t turn to them. He smiled at Adam.

‘They’re just organising it so we can get across without the TV cameras and the reporters getting in the way.’

‘Okay.’

‘It might take a couple of minutes. You want to tell me about your mate?’

‘He’s a friend.’

‘Why did he have to go?’

‘He had to.’

‘You can call me Kieran if you like. Is it okay if I call you Nathan?’

Adam looked away without answering. On the TV screen, over on the counter, the media spokesperson from earlier reports, Gerard, was speaking to reporters. The sound was still turned down. As Adam watched, Gerard was tapped on the shoulder. Someone whispered into his ear. Gerard nodded. He walked off without another word. Camera flashes flared. The footage filmed the grey wall for a second and then it jerked around to film Gerard going out through a door, police ushering him out. Adam hoped Scotty was watching.

Officers were filing the customers out of the diner. They were made to walk in the other direction, away from Adam.

‘Do you have questions about what’s going to happen?’ Kieran asked. ‘You can ask me anything you like.’

‘I don’t have any questions.’

‘It’ll settle down once we’re across the road.’ His radio was hissing and crackling. He switched it off. ‘I’ll stay with you. I can stay with you as long as you like.’

A police car had blocked the lane of traffic. The officers in the diner were staying up the other end. Diner staff were taking turns looking through the round window in the kitchen door.

‘You were in this hospital,’ Kieran said.

‘Yes.’

‘Once we’re over there, we’ll go up into one of the wards. They’re going to want to have a quick look at you. Is that okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any nurse you’d like to ask for? I can do that.’ He smiled. ‘Did you have a favourite?’

‘Nurse Rosie.’

‘Done. We’ll get you over there, and as soon as I can I’m going to find out where your parents are. They’re not far. They’ll be on their way already.’

‘Okay.’

‘Thought of any questions yet?’

‘Do you know my parents’ names?’

‘Pauline and Mitchell.’

The female officer came down from the other end of the diner. ‘We’re ready to go.’

‘But are
we
ready?’ Kieran asked.

Adam thought. ‘Yes,’ he said.

I
n the polaroid, Monty and Jerry were at the picket fence. The picture was taken from the footpath. The dogs were white and fluffy. Tummies round as barrels. Jerry had his paws up on the fence, mouth open, mid-bark. Maybe he remembered he didn’t like Billy. Monty was excited, ears pricked, wagging her tail. Billy’s thumb was in the bottom of the picture. Thumbs up.
Rat dogs are all good.
The photo had a rushed feel about it, out of focus.

On the back of the polaroid was Nathan’s name, misspelt.
Give to
Natan Fisher
. Written in childlike script.

‘It was left at a police station.’

Nathan’s mum and dad were sitting on the bed. Nathan was at his desk. Rain pattered the window. The wind was blowing down the hill, not across the flats like it usually did. The sky was luminous and sheer. The house had ducted heating. Warm air pushed down from the ceiling vent. His mother came across and squatted by the desk chair. She went to reach for Nathan’s hands, stopped herself, looked up into his face.

‘The police have had it for a few weeks. They’re thinking the two dogs were with you in the house, is that right?’

His mum’s hair was tied back in a low ponytail. Her brow was lined. She had a habit of fiddling with the rings on her left hand. She wore skirts and cardigans most days, smelled of whatever thing she’d been doing. If she’d been outside, soil and freshness came inside with her, garden smells and animal smells, dry leaves and hay. If she’d been cooking in the kitchen, she smelled of food – browned mincemeat, roast smells, garlic, potato peel, onion, melted butter, cinnamon. After doing the laundry, the scents were of washing powder and fabric softener. Today she smelled of the makeup she’d put on for the police visit.

Over on the bed, Nathan’s father sat in silence. His knees were wide apart. He’d come inside from the sheds. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows. The bottoms of his work pants were tucked into his socks. A smudge of soil was on his forehead, underneath his fringe. He only ever smelled of one of two things: soapy, steamy showers or the shed. Hessian potato sacks, the fibrous, coarse string used to tie the bags, dry dirt, tractor exhaust fumes, those shed smells were almost always detectable on him. Except after his long showers. His eyes were blue, set well back. His lips were thin. His hair was thick and brown, turning grey. His beard was darker than his hair.

‘Nathan?’ his mother said. ‘What’s this photo about?’

Nathan looked out the window. He could see the boot of the police car, an unmarked vehicle. Adam listened for noises down in the kitchen. Nothing.

‘Kieran’s still here,’ she confirmed. ‘He said they dusted the photo for fingerprints. They matched some taken from the house. They believe the man from the diner is the same man who took this photo.’

‘Is Kieran here to talk to me?’

‘He has the detective with him. Only here to listen; the detective won’t ask any questions. But Kieran has a few.’ Her gaze pinched in and she shook her head. ‘We’re worried the reason you’re not talking or telling us anything is because the man who took this photo has warned you not to. The police are wondering if this photo is some kind of threat. Reminding you not to talk. Is it that?’

‘No.’

‘They’re taking it very seriously. They think the man is dangerous.’

‘Are they looking for him?’

‘Did he threaten you? Did he tell you not to talk? The police say he might not have made it seem like a threat. They say he’s very clever and persuasive. They’ve found out things about him, Nathan. They’ve asked us to let them tell you, but . . .’ She glanced over at Nathan’s dad. ‘We could tell you,’ she said quietly.

‘Might be best to have the conversation in the kitchen,’ Nathan’s father said.

Adam’s mother put her fingers to her lips and looked away. She started crying. Those hot slipping tears that came without much warning. Hurt leaked out like that. Suddenly, small bits at a time. Her nose started running. She pulled a tissue from her sleeve.

‘We can tell them to go away,’ she whispered. ‘If you talk to us. Tell us, Nathan. Please tell us. We don’t expect you to feel any certain thing, or behave in any particular way, but we do want you to trust us.’ This time she took his hands in hers. Squeezed them. ‘Nothing you say will get you in any trouble. We’re going to love you no matter what you say. You can’t say the wrong thing to us. We are always,
always
going to be on your side.’

The eldest of Nathan’s two sisters, Sarina, walked past the open doorway. She was nineteen. She had a handbag over her shoulder. It looked like she was heading out. She wore long boots, stockings and a short coat. She didn’t look in.

Nathan put the photo of Monty and Jerry on the desk. In his bedroom he had a wardrobe, a tallboy, a bedside table, a lamp, the desk and the chair he was sitting on, a square plastic container with a basketball and a football and a skateboard in it. He had a cassette player and four cassettes. He had a shelf on the wall above his bed. On it were some of the gifts children had sent him. A carved wooden figure from a boy living in a village in Indonesia, a Rubik’s cube, a Stretch Armstrong, a snow globe of the Eiffel Tower from a French schoolgirl, Star Trek figurines, an Etch A Sketch, Matchbox cars, a cup of golden plastic popcorn from a high school class in Hollywood. The gifts were neatly displayed.

Nathan’s mum let go of his hands. She got to her feet. She’d paled. ‘We’ll go down then.’

His parents stood outside the bedroom while Nathan put the chair under the desk, ejected the Summer Hits ’84 cassette he’d been listening to and put it away in its case. You could hear, down in the kitchen, Sarina and Kieran talking. Sarina’s voice was musical, her laughter in particular. Nathan straightened the doona where his mum and dad had creased it. He put on his shoes. Tied his laces. That morning he’d put on jeans and a zip-up tracksuit top, a red T-shirt underneath.

Around the house were framed photos of the family. Pictures from before Nathan had been taken. There were no recent photographs.

Sarina had left. Nathan’s other sister, Tamara, slid open the dining room glass door and was about to come inside. Small drops of rain glistened in her hair. She had a chubby face. Her voice contained a squeak. Every second or third word came out higher than the rest, not very musical, but interesting all the same. She saw them, saw Kieran and the detective sitting at the kitchen table, and slowed her progress.

‘G’day, Nathan, mate,’ Kieran said. ‘Hello, Tamara.’

She waved her hand towards a jumper balled on a bench. ‘Sorry. Just grabbing that.’

The tight corduroy pants she was wearing were the ones she’d worn the day before, and the day before that. The skivvy was perhaps from the day before as well. A slob, a grot, Sarina called her. A normal teenager, their mother said.

‘Each time I see you, Nath, you look bigger. You’ll be taller than your dad soon.’

Kieran wasn’t in uniform. The man with him was in a suit. He looked familiar. Adam might have spoken to him before. He said hello as though they’d met, smiling gently, nodding, using Nathan’s name. So many gently smiling faces. It was hard to distinguish them, remember them, because they were so softened. Lots of moderated voices too. As though Adam’s ears might need protecting. Did they think he was too sensitive to hear a person’s proper tone? They should have heard Billy’s voice. Too fuckin’ right.

Nathan sat down across from Kieran and the detective.

Sarina rushed in the front door. ‘Forgot the keys.’ She took the car keys from the sideboard and rushed out again, the wind caught the door as she went to close it. It slammed shut. ‘
Sorry!
’ she called from outside.

At least Nathan’s sisters had stopped smiling gently at him. Nathan had caught them, more than once, exchanging eye rolls when they thought he wasn’t looking. They could be relied on for some kind of animation and reaction.

‘Mitch, I should’ve mentioned,’ the detective said, ‘we’re going to need that photo back.’

Before Nathan’s dad, or anyone else, could go to get the photo from Nathan’s bedroom, Nathan got up.

He felt all adults’ eyes follow him as he walked down the hallway.

‘William Benson. He’s spent time in youth facilities and in state care. His parents lived together. Father worked. Evidence of domestic violence . . . That’s covering what we’ve already told you . . .’ Kieran paused to light a smoke as Nathan sat back down. Nathan’s mum had brought out the guest ashtray. It was made of coloured glass. Dark red. Heavy. Kieran maybe thought the ashtray always sat in the centre of the kitchen table, beside the salt and pepper shakers. It didn’t. He offered the open packet of cigarettes around. Everyone declined.

‘What the detectives have pieced together,’ Kieran tapped his lighter on the paperwork in front of him, ‘is detailed and fairly . . . ’ He glanced at the detective. Kieran sucked on his cigarette. The faint crackle could be heard. Adam watched the cigarette tip glow. Drifting across was that first-puff smell, a lingering hint of lighter gas. ‘Maybe you should run through it, Peter?’

‘We told Nathan it would be you,’ Nathan’s mother said.

‘No disrespect, Pete,’ his father added.

‘It’s fine. We came prepared.’ The detective moved his chair along to create distance between him and Kieran. He flipped the notepad cover over, clicked his pen, laid it on the pad. ‘I understand you’re comfortable with Kieran.’

Kieran dragged the papers closer. He cleared his throat. It was probably only because Nathan knew about the surfing, but it was like you could see the ocean in Kieran, his face and his body reminded Nathan of the beach. Fine white hairs on his temples, cracked lips, strong limbs, a far-off, lost-at-sea look in his eyes, and a wide-as-a-beach smile. Kieran wasn’t moderated. He joked. Swore. He was a gust of salty, or, more like it, cigarette-filled air. Nathan breathed it in.

‘By going through what Peter and his team have put together here, they’re thinking, it might help you remember, Nath, mate, or it might help you see why they need some police action. A bit of this info your parents would have already heard . . .’ his voice trailed off while he skimmed the first page. ‘What’s prompted some action,’ he scratched his head, took a drag, exhaled, ‘is that the shed fire was deliberately lit . . . yes . . . and the photo . . .’ Kieran read, gathered his thoughts. ‘Okay, so it’s been discovered that William and his family once lived beside Miloslav Kovac. Miloslav being, obviously, the man who took you from the market, Nath, and the man who died in the fire. A call was made to Miloslav the night before he died. The call has been traced to the Barbary Street house, made . . .’ Kieran was reading again, ‘when you and William are thought to have been there.’ Kieran tapped his ash, looked up. ‘Do you remember anything about that call or anything from that time?’

‘No.’

The detective moved his pen and shifted in his seat. Kieran glanced at him.

‘Actually . . . let me make that a bit easier for you, Nath,’ Kieran said. ‘We’re gonna keep it simple. Were you in the house with William at the time he made the call to Miloslav Kovac?’

Nathan shook his head.

‘That’s a no, mate?’

Nathan shook his head again.

‘Okay, well, let me tell you why we need to know and what the detectives are thinking. They believe William rang Miloslav to organise to meet him at the shed the following morning. William chose the shed because it was where Marta Vander lived. William’s intention was to light a fire with them both in the shed.’

‘That’s not true.’

The detective started jotting.

Kieran’s gaze lightened encouragingly. ‘That’s all we need from you, Nath. That’s great. Now, there’s a reason, of course, why they have that suspicion.’ He read then, as though unsure of that very reason.

The detective pushed the tip of his pen against his chin, watched Kieran with a wrinkled brow.

‘Yes . . . because . . . like I said, the detectives went back and discovered that William lived beside Miloslav at the time of the abduction, and William was at the market with him the day you were taken.’

Kieran’s eyes rose to meet Nathan’s. Everyone was looking at Nathan. Watching. Waiting. The information was meant as a test. His mum and dad were staring expectantly at Nathan too.

Kieran restated it, this time with the gravity he was perhaps meant to use the first time. ‘William was at the market the day you were abducted.’

Nathan listened to the weather blustering its way onto the verandah. He thought about how he hadn’t heard Sarina’s car start up and go off down the long driveway. In the country you’d expect to hear something like that, a car going, or coming. But it wasn’t the case. Space, open paddocks, meant that noises sometimes lifted and took flight, disappeared, or they mixed in with the other sounds and were blended away. But then again, on other days, a sound could carry across the largest of the paddocks, travel the longest distances. Nathan’s dad’s tractor could sound like it was idling next to the house, when, in fact, it was in the hilly paddock far away. No buildings here, no walls, no high fences to trap sounds or bounce them back at you in a way that was regular or expected. It was all up to the sky. Whatever the sky wanted to do that day.

They’d all stopped looking at him and were looking down.

Kieran scratched between his eyes.

‘Marta Vander,’ he read, ‘was questioned further and confirmed William was there that day. She drove him home. She recalls Miloslav saying to keep an eye out for William. Throughout her questioning she has denied being a part of any abduction plan. She claims only knowing Nathan had been taken after she had dropped William home and went next door to the kennels. She says she discovered Miloslav with Nathan . . .’ Kieran read ahead, skipped over details, ‘. . . says he threatened her because she had found them, and that he then hatched a plan to include her and her brother, to insure she wouldn’t talk. Detectives believe she’s lying. They believe it was premeditated, with William playing the part of luring Nathan away from the market, and Marta providing an alibi for Miloslav when he was questioned as to what time he left the market. If William’s fear of being uncovered as an accomplice in the abduction was extreme enough, it explains how the fire came to be lit, why Miloslav and Marta were targeted. It explains why William took you from the house, Nath. Why he took you from the hospital.’ Kieran read the next question from the page. ‘Did William tell you he was involved in your abduction at the market?’