to sleep.
Malone looked to one side and saw that Christie’s eyes had closed. He nodded to Barron and cast his eyes to the bed. Barron looked at the man in the bed and sighed.
“Uphill battle,” he said resignedly.
“I don’t think so, Dave,” Malone said. “We’ve got the evidence. Christie was caught at the scene.”
“And motive?”
“We might never know. A domestic. Maybe she was playing around.”
“We need that background to make it sound right.”
“And if Christie never gets his memory back? What then? There’s no way we can get that background. The priors get to be a little thin, but that’s no reason for us to say it can’t be done.”
“You’re right,” Barron admitted. “We will have to make a case. If Christie can’t contribute - because of this amnesia business - then we have to go with what we’ve got. No matter how thin the priors are.”
“It doesn’t really matter if we don’t discover the motive. Whatever the reason, he killed her. And how bloody long do we wait to see if his memory returns? We could keep saying, wait a week, wait a week. It might happen next week. It also might never happen.” Malone paused and looked over at Christie, sleeping in the bed. “Let’s wrap this up and get on with some more serious stuff.”
Barron was studying his colleague with interest. He finally, said, “Okay, wrap it up. Go on the basis of us getting nothing out of Christie. I’ll talk with the boss.”
“Done. Hey, look who’s here. How they hanging, Greenie?”
Sergeant Green stood at the doorway and beckoned both men out of the room.
“What is it?” Malone asked.
He walked away from the doorway, saying nothing, drawing them further from the room. He stopped and turned to face them, leaning back against the balustrade. Behind the stairs descended to the ground floor.
“I had a call earlier today.”
“Heavy breather, Greenie?”
Green expressed his annoyance at Malone’s flippancy by sighing and raising his eyebrows and turning his attention to Barron, in the hope that he would get a more reasoned response.
“Who from?” Barron asked.
“A woman calling herself Turner. Kathy Turner.”
“Who’s she? Should I know her?”
“Wanted to talk to Christie.”
“Why? Did she say?”
“Yeah. Said that Christie had been speaking to her a couple of times in the past. Something to do with Barry Doyle.”
“Barry?” Barron asked. “Did she say his name?”
“No, I did, but she was quite specific. No mistake about it.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Told her Christie wasn’t available. Was in Sydney and was likely to be there for quite a while. I asked her if I could help her.”
“And?”
“And she was a bit cagey to start with. Implied that she trusted Christie and didn’t know if it would be right to talk with someone else.”
“And you lost her?” Malone butted in.
“No,” Green said, not taking his attention away from Barron. “I arranged to meet her. She said she would only talk to someone other than Christie if she could see them face to face.”
“Where?”
“In the city.” Green explained the location that she had specified and the ways they were going to identify each other. “What do you want me to do?” he asked Barron.
“Good work. Leave it with me. I want you to help Barry here get all the paperwork on Christie finished.”
“You’re going with it now?”
“Yes. We can’t afford to hang around just waiting for Christie to regain his memory. We might be waiting forever. We’ll go with a case based on what we’ve got now. You’ll need to do a bit of poking around. Get some neighbours who’ve seen Christie and the woman around. See if they provide any insights. You know the stuff. When you’ve got it together we’ll do a run-through. If it’s okay, we’ll run it past the boss.”
“And if Christie comes good?”
“We’ll bring in whatever we can. “
“And you’ll meet this woman?”
“Yes. I’m sure it won’t amount to much, but if I go you’ll be able to concentrate on the case. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Fine.”
“When?”
Green told him.
“Come on, we’ll let the doc know what’s going on. We got full cover for Christie?”
“Yes. Twenty-four hour watch. Armed.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Day 5 - Melbourne
The day was overcast, threatening rain. A wind blew up Bourke Street, carrying the sounds of the people in the mall. Up Russell Street, outside the cinema, there was group of boys and girls laughing and pushing. Ragged t-shirts and torn jeans, school bags with painted symbols. Closer to the intersection people stood and waited for a bus, outside the newsagency. A woman standing at the confectionery shop, looking at her watch. Waiting for someone. Something. Other corner looked clear. An elderly couple looking at the shoes in the shop window.
And diagonally opposite that, the fast food place. Hungry Jacks. People going in and out all the time, groups, couples, singles, all ages. And then down Russell Street, north, the collection of little shops and restaurants. Nothing out of the usual.
And, of course, everywhere the crowds. Coming and going. North to south and south to north. East to west and back again. Milling at the intersection waiting for the Walk signals to appear, gathering at the pedestrian island for the trams, clogging the pavements, blocking his view, dashing between cars, parked and moving, noisy, chattering, laughing, shouting, screaming, crying.
Bloody normal, really, he thought.
Barron took it all in, then reviewed the scene again. East up Bourke, panning to the right, south up Russell, west down Bourke towards the mall. A tram went clanging past, cutting out the other side of the road and there was a bit of shoving and pushing at Hungry Jacks. North along Russell and back along the pavement to where he stood outside the bookshop. He moved
