wiped her eyes with a rumpled tissue.
‘I’m sure he’s doing well now.’ Holly took another step back. ‘Why don’t you go in and see?’
The Emergency Department doors slid open and Kyle came out. Holly’s breath caught in her throat. He looked over, and started walking towards them.
‘And you’re certain I can just park here?’ the old woman said.
Holly backed away, sick at the sight of Kyle’s smile, then heard a car coming along the driveway. Norris in the Mazda, at last.
He pulled up and she wrenched open the door. The air conditioning was icy on her damp skin. Kyle stood by the old lady’s car, the case-sheet folder under his arm, watching Holly.
‘Hey, honey,’ Norris said. ‘What’s with the gloves?’
‘Please just drive.’
From the corner of her eye she saw Kyle raise his left hand as they went past. His left.
She shivered.
SIX
I t was cool in the office, but the setting sun flooded the windows with orange light and made the place look as dusty and hot as outside. Detectives talked by the coffee machine, then took their cups into the meeting room. Ella gulped water from a bottle as she sank into a chair. She was headachy and tired from the heat, and could feel the grime of the afternoon’s sweat on her skin but a shower was still hours away. Murray flipped through his notebook beside her. She drank more water, then rested her elbows on the table and thought about Darcy Fowler carrying her dad’s present everywhere.
Dennis came in and opened a manila folder on the table. He took out a blow-up of Fowler’s driver’s licence photo and taped it to the whiteboard behind him. Ella saw a restrained smile on the man’s face, as if the RTA staffer had cracked a bad joke before hitting the button. With that and the life in his brown eyes, he looked like a nice guy, so different from both the corpse she’d seen in the hospital room and the bastard Trina had described him to be.
Ella’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked the screen but it was a mobile number she didn’t recognise. The last detectives were hurrying through the door so she let it go to voicemail.
‘Okay,’ Dennis said. ‘Victim is Paul David Fowler, twenty-nine years old. At approximately eleven forty-five today he was crouched down, tying his shoe, in Beaman Park in Earlwood with friends who said he suddenly collapsed. Two bystanders diagnosed cardiac arrest and commenced CPR. An ambulance was called and arrived on scene at eleven fifty-five. In the course of their treatment they found an apparent bullet wound to the back of his neck. He was transported to RPA and declared dead there at thirteen-oh-four.’
He paused. Nobody spoke.
Ella looked around at the bent heads, the pens going hard in notebooks. She lived for this moment: the thrill of the chase as a case began. She felt for Darcy and Trina but she so loved her job.
‘The body’s going to Glebe morgue and the post-mortem’s scheduled for eleven tomorrow morning. The hospital X-rayed Fowler’s head and located a projectile in his frontal lobe, here.’ Dennis tapped his right forehead. ‘Projectile does not look in good condition.’
Ella scribbled a note of her own. You couldn’t expect the bullet to be in great shape, but it meant matching it to a particular weapon was going to be hard if not impossible.
Her phone buzzed again. Same number. She left it for voicemail again, though she noticed the caller hadn’t left a message last time.
Dennis taped a blown-up map of the park next to the photo. ‘Marconi?’
She put her phone on her chair and went to the map. ‘Fowler was standing approximately here.’ She marked an X on the spot. ‘From the description of the way he was facing and how he fell, it’s likely the shot was fired from an area to the south of the park, here.’ She circled it. ‘In that area there’s a number of trees, a car park and a children’s playground, and as you can see the park runs for some distance beside the
‘I’m sure he’s doing well now.’ Holly took another step back. ‘Why don’t you go in and see?’
The Emergency Department doors slid open and Kyle came out. Holly’s breath caught in her throat. He looked over, and started walking towards them.
‘And you’re certain I can just park here?’ the old woman said.
Holly backed away, sick at the sight of Kyle’s smile, then heard a car coming along the driveway. Norris in the Mazda, at last.
He pulled up and she wrenched open the door. The air conditioning was icy on her damp skin. Kyle stood by the old lady’s car, the case-sheet folder under his arm, watching Holly.
‘Hey, honey,’ Norris said. ‘What’s with the gloves?’
‘Please just drive.’
From the corner of her eye she saw Kyle raise his left hand as they went past. His left.
She shivered.
SIX
I t was cool in the office, but the setting sun flooded the windows with orange light and made the place look as dusty and hot as outside. Detectives talked by the coffee machine, then took their cups into the meeting room. Ella gulped water from a bottle as she sank into a chair. She was headachy and tired from the heat, and could feel the grime of the afternoon’s sweat on her skin but a shower was still hours away. Murray flipped through his notebook beside her. She drank more water, then rested her elbows on the table and thought about Darcy Fowler carrying her dad’s present everywhere.
Dennis came in and opened a manila folder on the table. He took out a blow-up of Fowler’s driver’s licence photo and taped it to the whiteboard behind him. Ella saw a restrained smile on the man’s face, as if the RTA staffer had cracked a bad joke before hitting the button. With that and the life in his brown eyes, he looked like a nice guy, so different from both the corpse she’d seen in the hospital room and the bastard Trina had described him to be.
Ella’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked the screen but it was a mobile number she didn’t recognise. The last detectives were hurrying through the door so she let it go to voicemail.
‘Okay,’ Dennis said. ‘Victim is Paul David Fowler, twenty-nine years old. At approximately eleven forty-five today he was crouched down, tying his shoe, in Beaman Park in Earlwood with friends who said he suddenly collapsed. Two bystanders diagnosed cardiac arrest and commenced CPR. An ambulance was called and arrived on scene at eleven fifty-five. In the course of their treatment they found an apparent bullet wound to the back of his neck. He was transported to RPA and declared dead there at thirteen-oh-four.’
He paused. Nobody spoke.
Ella looked around at the bent heads, the pens going hard in notebooks. She lived for this moment: the thrill of the chase as a case began. She felt for Darcy and Trina but she so loved her job.
‘The body’s going to Glebe morgue and the post-mortem’s scheduled for eleven tomorrow morning. The hospital X-rayed Fowler’s head and located a projectile in his frontal lobe, here.’ Dennis tapped his right forehead. ‘Projectile does not look in good condition.’
Ella scribbled a note of her own. You couldn’t expect the bullet to be in great shape, but it meant matching it to a particular weapon was going to be hard if not impossible.
Her phone buzzed again. Same number. She left it for voicemail again, though she noticed the caller hadn’t left a message last time.
Dennis taped a blown-up map of the park next to the photo. ‘Marconi?’
She put her phone on her chair and went to the map. ‘Fowler was standing approximately here.’ She marked an X on the spot. ‘From the description of the way he was facing and how he fell, it’s likely the shot was fired from an area to the south of the park, here.’ She circled it. ‘In that area there’s a number of trees, a car park and a children’s playground, and as you can see the park runs for some distance beside the
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