'Bumya,' said the new guy, Gabriel.
'Sorry?' She meant it as a question; as an apology for covering the table in okra; and as an apology to herself, for having to come to this bloody place this morning when she'd so badly wanted a few days off.
'Bumya,' he repeated.
She wondered what was wrong with him.
'It's um… ah…' he tried.
Muscles leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, enjoying the show.
This was like a car crash.
'Okra!' Delahunt shouted, delighted with himself. 'Bumya. Okra. It's the same thing.' He pointed at the scattered vegetables.
Over the next hour, Jill learned that last night not only had the home invasion gang committed murder for the first time, but that they were now in possession of at least nine firearms. Most worryingly, however, it was clear that the motivation for these crimes was not just robbery. At least one member of this gang was a violent sadist. A sociopath. And his need for violence was escalating.
Six acts to date. Eighteen victims. One dead. One still unconscious, with multiple serious injuries. Reports from past victims had all identified one person who seemed to be in charge. There were four offenders they knew about, each armed with a machete; but only one man in each of the robberies had used his knife. The victims' descriptions suggested that it had been the same person each time: the descriptions of his height, his mannerisms, his voice seemed to tally.
Superintendent Last wanted them all to travel over to the Capitol Hill residence later this morning. He'd been there at five this morning, shortly after the daughter of the deceased had managed to free herself from her restraints and telephone for help. Physically uninjured, she remained in hospital, heavily sedated. Her father's legs, head and arms had been severed from his torso. His safe, containing ammunition and nine registered firearms, had been cleared out.
Almost incoherent, the survivor had managed to let the arriving officers know that she'd heard the whole thing.
Jill imagined that the sound of her father's screaming would have been less horrific than the chopping and sawing sounds that had continued when he stopped.
The taskforce members had been silent during the briefing, transfixed by Last's measured, careful account. Jill and David Tran scribbled notes. During the introductions, she had learned that David Tran and Derek Reid were detectives from Sydney's southwest. Gabriel Delahunt was the surprise – an Australian Federal Police officer, he had most recently been stationed at the police headquarters in Surry Hills, but like Jill, had moved around a lot for his previous big cases. She knew that the AFP often worked major crime investigations with community police, but she'd never worked a case involving them.
'Before we get moving on this thing,' said Last, 'there are two other important matters. First, we'll be looking into a couple of additional home invasions committed prior to the six we have been actively assigned. They occurred late last year, and there are some similarities which suggest that one or more of the same perpetrators may be involved.'
He cleared his throat, sat a little straighter in his seat.
'The second matter we need to discuss involves the media.'
Silence for a few beats.
'I am sure you heard the news this morning.'
Jill did a mental head slap. She'd been too busy figuring out how to get there to listen to the radio.
'I don't know whether any of you listen to talkback, but it seems that eighty per cent of callers want to know why we haven't caught these guys yet. They're talking about being too scared to turn the lights off; complaining that they've spent thousands on new security. Last week, one woman said she'd moved all of her family's beds into the loungeroom, where they plan to sleep every night until the offenders are caught. The idea seems to have caught on, and other listeners report doing the same thing.' He stopped to take a sip of water.
'The news this morning was all over the murder in Capitol Hill. Neighbours must have tipped them off. In fact, channels Nine and Seven and a couple of radio stations held special broadcasts this morning, dedicated to the home invasions. It is now the major national issue. Even the premier's been wheeled out to talk about it.' He paused again and scratched at an island of grey stubble on his face, as though surprised to find it there. Hasty shaving had clawed other patches of skin.
'The pissing contest has begun,' he said. It was the first time Jill had heard him swear.
'I don't know whether any of you have worked a headline case before,' he continued. 'I am sorry to tell you that you are caught up in one now.' He seemed genuinely apologetic. 'The pressure is horrendous. You will work ridiculous hours and be criticised constantly for doing nothing. You can expect no support from above me should things go wrong. Expect hysteria, propaganda and even lies in the media. I can't say it more clearly than this: do not speak to them. Come to me with everything. I will do my best to watch your backs.' He paused again. 'Please. Don't speak to the media. They will be everywhere.'
The superintendent unfolded like a giant pair of compasses.
'David, Derek. If you could ride with me please. Jill, would you come behind us with Gabriel? Please follow my vehicle. If we become separated, Capitol Hill is off Elizabeth Drive. You've a map in your folder there… ah, Appendix C.' He flicked through the folder to show them. 'We'll enter the house together. Expect crime scene, the coroner, and of course the media. Thank you for your attention this morning. I'll set new directives following our meeting in situ.' Back in a tick, he'd said.
Jill sat in the Commodore out the front of the police station, motor idling. She stared at the backs of the four heads in the car in front of her, its engine also running. A uniformed officer was in the driver's seat, Last in front, Reid and Tran in the back.
She thrummed her fingers against the wheel, felt like she was doing something wrong. Where the hell was Delahunt?
At last he bounded through the front doors of the station, swung into the passenger seat.
About bloody time, she thought, irritated. She ignored him completely and pulled out, indicating to enter the traffic. Delahunt sat silently, hands in his lap.
She stayed with the car in front, watching for the street sign. Elizabeth Drive. There it was. Straight now to Capitol Hill. She relaxed a tiny bit, rubbed at her neck.
She became more aware of her passenger. Was she supposed to say something? She widened her senses, listened to him moving, tried to learn more about her companion in the quiet car. Her perceptive skills had been sharpened through years of fight training blindfolded, and she could tell a lot from others' barely perceptible movements, the way they breathed. His breathing was even, composed. She felt no tension, but he was not especially still. His active attention was directed to the road, outside the car. There seemed to be no awkwardness or tightness in his silence. She chanced a glance sideways. He'd donned a trucker's cap, the brim pulled low. No sunnies. His eyelashes were ridiculously long. Mediterranean skin, strong nose, generous lips.
'Best way to cook it is with lamb,' he said.
Jill over-corrected the steering a little. 'Sorry?'
'You gotta use heaps of garlic, like a whole thing. A big onion. Then brown the lamb with it. You can use lamb mince if you want, but it smells like shit. Better to use chops, or you could cut up a leg of lamb.'
Was this guy for real? After what they'd just heard? What they were going to see? Regardless, he was on a roll. She sat back and listened, finally realising that he was explaining to her how to cook the okra.
'You gotta have boiling water ready, or you can use stock if you want. Salt and pepper and plenty of tomato paste in with the meat. Add some sugar. A big spoonful. Then you throw the bumya in – you know, the okra – and cover it all with the water. And you have to cook it for an hour. You eat it with rice. But don't do that crappy boiled rice. You've gotta cook it absorption method. You can put lemon and chilli in at the end if you want.'