Kilda. A glow of light rose from behind the ferris wheel at Luna Park, as though it too was on fire. I squeezed her tighter, knowing this was more than just a physical embrace. Without even knowing, she’d reminded me of why I’d fallen in love with her all those years ago. Ella had been the only person to ever truly believe in me and I suddenly realised, for the first time perhaps, that she may never have really stopped. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her forehead, wondering how I’d ever got it so wrong.
‘Will you stay?’ I asked.
She eased out of my arms and, just like that, I knew I’d asked too soon. The moment was over.
‘Not tonight.’
8
EVEN WITH THE AIR CONDITIONER ON, I slept restlessly after Ella left, finally waking at 5 a.m., unable to get her out of my thoughts. Despite her declining my offer to spend the night, it hadn’t spoilt the evening or undone any of the positives. There seemed to be a glowing ember of hope now and I couldn’t wait to see her again, but I needed to be patient. I’d once read somewhere – possibly in a trashy magazine at the doctor’s clinic – that a woman’s heart was delicate, and that distance and space were sometimes more important than flowers and phone calls. It was all in the timing, apparently. I wanted to call or at least send a text message, but it was too soon. I needed to blow on the ember gently, fuel it gradually and pray that it would catch.
I quickly showered and made my way outside. It was going to be another scorcher. Driving through St Kilda before dawn, I noticed the strip was busier than it had been twenty-four hours earlier. Groups of clubbers gathered outside nightclubs, hailing taxis and staggering across the street.
Outside the Prince of Wales Hotel, an ambulance had pulled into the kerb, its lights flashing. Two paramedics squatted over a patient on the sidewalk, the fluorescent strips on their jumpsuits glowing like beacons. In front of the ambulance, a divisional van had its blue lights going too. Must’ve been a brawl somewhere. Another drunk bites the dust.
I slowed down, recognising the two uniforms questioning the victim’s friends, one of whom held a bloodied tissue to his face. The other’s shirt had either gone missing or had been used post-battle as a makeshift bandage. I wound the window down and asked the cops if they needed help. One of them quipped that if I could make it rain, they could use me. I nodded at the familiar complaint. The hotter it got, the more people drank and the more we were called upon to break up brawls and shitfights.
At the Acland Street junction, near where Dallas Boyd had died, I went over what I hoped to achieve today. Top of the list was to let Ben Eckles know I no longer believed the death to be accidental. It was a conversation I wasn’t looking forward to, but I didn’t care. I was in the hunt again and felt the clarity of my judgement and intuition returning.
At the police station on Chapel Street, I parked in the side car park, using the window reflection to adjust my tie. I took the concrete staircase to the third floor where the detective squad rooms were located. In the mess room the television was on but no one was watching. No one in the squad room either. Checking the whiteboard, I saw the night-shift detectives had signed out a car to attend a crime scene. In the notations column next to their names were the letters ‘DD’. A domestic dispute.
The open-plan squad room stretched the length of the building and accommodated a team of fourteen detectives. My desk was in the back corner, wedged between a concrete wall and a row of filing cabinets. As I made my way between the desks, the domestic dispute notation reminded me that Dallas Boyd’s stepfather needed attention. If, as Will Novak had said, Dallas had organised for the Department of Human Services to check on his sister, there was a very real chance the girl could be removed from the home. Though it sounded like genuine motive, thinking about it now, the killing seemed too slick for a domestic homicide. Still, I couldn’t rule it out without a thorough check.
Eckles’ office overlooked the squad room, but the door was closed and the blinds drawn. It was