‘People feeding us bullshit,’ said Villani. ‘That’s what we have in mind. Total loss of vision on this scale is new to us.’
The tiny narrowing of Hendry’s eyes.
‘We’re a bit new on that too,’ he said. ‘Our techs are hotbunking to solve the problem.’
‘Doesn’t the software write a log?’
‘A log?’
‘Have a code that writes a detailed log on glitches, breakdowns?’
Hendry didn’t get it.
‘Certainly a technical challenge,’ said Hendry. He was looking at Cameron in the way of someone who wanted to be rescued from a bore.
‘Dead girl in the building,’ said Villani. ‘That’s our technical challenge. Low-tech challenge. Girl screwed to death.’
Cameron ran a finger across his upper lip. It was a signal to Hendry. The feeling of being patronised triggered the icy rage in Villani.
‘Maybe we should be talking to you, boss,’ he said to Cameron. ‘Maybe we’re talking to the office boys. This’s a Blackwatch cock-up, not so? Blackwatch high-tech challenge. No back-up, no log.’
Cameron smiled, not the golden smile now, no eye-crinkles, Villani knew this smile too and he wished he could take back all his words.
‘Growing in the job, Stevo,’ said Cameron. ‘Crawling out from under Colby and Dance and Singleton. That’s a good thing for a man your age. Mature man, family man.’
In the crowded room, in the hubbub, Cameron’s words made their own silence.
‘Got to move on,’ said Cameron. He was looking over Villani’s shoulder, raised a hand to someone. ‘Keep sane.’
Cameron walked and Villani looked.
Anna. His hand was on her arm. She touched it.
He saw Cameron stoop, kiss her cheek, another cheek.
Jesus, when did he take up this shit? The last time he saw Cameron stoop to kiss it was to kiss Joey Colombaris with his forehead, the prick bled for so long they exhausted the shit paper, called the medics. Joey turned out to be a bleeder, needed a transfusion, almost died.
‘Not the best few days,’ said Hendry. ‘Casino’s screaming at me, the hotel, bloody Marscay. I’m supposed to be at the beach.’
‘That’s tough,’ said Villani. ‘A last point. This stuff doesn’t go away. You and Marscay and Orion can fuck with us but we don’t go away.’
Hendry put up his hands. ‘No, no, we want to know what happened up there as much as anyone. We understand our obligations. But the technology failed us. The bloody Israelis gave us a demo in this hot lab in Herzliya. Worked like a charm. Infinitely scaleable, they said. You know what that…’
‘I know what that means,’ said Villani.
A couple were at Hendry’s shoulder, the woman tall and thin, pale hair in a man’s cut, her loose shirt showed hollows behind her collarbones deep enough to hold water. Small birds could sit on her shoulders and nod to drink. The man was shaven-headed, hooded eyes, an art dealer, Daniel Bricknell, often in the media.
She put a hand on Hendry’s shoulder. ‘Darling, that Orong creature made an advance,’ she said.
She smiled at Villani. ‘Oh shit, he’s not your closest friend?’
‘Like brothers,’ said Villani.
‘Caitlin Harris, Daniel Bricknell, Stephen Villani,’ said Hendry. ‘Stephen’s the head of the Homicide Squad.’
‘I know who Stephen is,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen Stephen on television. The serious face. It turns me on. Stephen, that old “City Homicide” show. Is it really like that?’
‘Only the names were changed,’ Villani said.
‘You’re not bad in the flesh,’ she said. ‘I mean without the make-up. That’s unusual.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Villani. ‘I have to go, attend to bodies.’
‘Well, I’m a body,’ said Caitlin. ‘I need attending to.’
‘Forgive her,’ said Hendry. ‘The beauty-brain imbalance. Scientists are working on it.’
‘Nothing wrong with a beauty-brain imbalance,’ said Bricknell. ‘It’s the ugly-brain balance I don’t like.’
Villani passed close to Anna, Cameron gone, he met her grey eyes, he was a stranger, could read nothing.
Near the door, Barry came from nowhere. ‘A rewarding outing, boyo. Talking to the right people. Doesn’t hurt to get to know people, does it?’
‘Thanks for the invitation,’ said Villani.
‘My pleasure. You went really well. Just a little tip?’
‘Yes?’
‘Smile more. You can be a bit forbidding, bit grim. Makes people uncomfortable, know what I mean? Like you’re going to arrest them.’
Villani smiled, he felt the resistance in the muscles of his cheeks. ‘Point taken, boss,’ he said.
‘Excellent,’ said Barry. ‘Now it’s an early night. That’s an order.’
ANNA WAS on his mind all the way home. So striking, so handsome. And so clever, so confident. She could choose from all the smart people around her. Why had she slept with him? Perhaps she was like him, perhaps she felt the compulsion to possess.
The house dark, murmur of television from the back, the family room, no complete family ever gathered in it, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of extension, half what the house cost, Laurie arranged the money.
Corin asleep on the sofa. He killed the television, said her name, twice, a third time, she was startled, grumpy, puffy-eyed, rose and went away without a kind word.
He went down the passage, sat on the bed, took off his shoes and his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, ready to shower, lay back, just for a little minute, closed his eyes.
It was not like television. His second or third month on the job, a late-night kicking in Flinders Street, the man unconscious, then induced coma, two days later they cut the power. The premier went on television, said symptom of all that was rotten in society, the whole force including traffic was on the case day and night, results expected hourly. The truth was they had nothing. They looked at security footage from every working camera in the area. All they got was a glimpse of four figures, grey shadows, a block away, the time right. Unless they got a dobber, they had nowhere to go and so the media unit fed a stream of rubbish about positive identifications in the hope that one of the pricks in the group who didn’t actually kick the man more than five or six times would dob in those who did.
No one came forward. They took turns talking to the victim’s family, rich people in Toorak, he didn’t know anything about them, just rich people. He spoke to the mother and the father, they always thanked him warmly but he knew he was just a reminder of what they had lost.
On a night in August, freezing wind off the bay, it had rained at last light, Villani and Burgess went to Footscray, a sad domestic, woman stabbed, the blood-spattered husband was in the local cells, picked up at the milkbar while buying cigarettes. Villani tried to talk to the man, who was incoherent with drink, drugs, possibly this was his natural state. After a while, Villani went outside for a smoke, stood against the wall in the cold, stained concrete yard, the sky now blown clear, he could see the Southern Cross, the wind blew the cigarette coal white-hot.
A van came in, they unloaded two youths, black trackies, beanies, still full of fuck-you attitude, it showed they had been treated with the respect owed to citizens, even those who were lawless scum.
‘What?’ said Villani to the senior.
The man knew him from the Armed Robbers, most cops in those parts knew him, he had been seen in the company of legends, it attached to you.
‘Bashing a black kid, kicking him, boss,’ he said. ‘We come around the corner, the hugely intelligent pricks run straight up a dead end.’
Villani flicked away his stub, watched the party go up the steps into the building and, through the legs of the cop behind, he registered the second youth was wearing Blunnies.
He followed. Inside, he said to the senior, ‘Give us a minute with these dorks. One to start.’