story?’
‘Ah, pretty standard, really. Says he came to work early to clean up after the previous night. He was taking out the rubbish and found the body. Seems pretty freaked out.’
‘Did he touch anything?’
‘Nope. Said he didn’t want to.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Said he was too scared.’
Following her gaze, I saw Vitazul slumped against a palm tree, staring up at the scenic railway. Within a few hours the park would be filled with kids, tourists and thrill seekers. How ironic that so many children came here to play, I thought. So many idyllic memories forged in a suburb that for others symbolised only pain and sorrow. But that was St Kilda, the home of extremes. Children played in Luna Park while paedophiles preyed on runaways in the surrounding gardens. The homeless begged for change in streets lined with luxury cars and trendy nightclubs. Drug addicts bought and sold their wares less than a stone’s throw from tourists in chic restaurants. Cheap hostels provided accommodation to ex-felons and prostitutes alongside homes priced in the millions. And every morning large machines ploughed the beach, removing broken bottles and syringes hiding in the sand like urban landmines. The coexistence of danger and pleasure, risk and excitement. That’s the St Kilda I knew.
‘Why did Vitazul call the police?’ I asked Kim. ‘Why not an ambulance?’
‘I asked him that. He just looked at me and said, “Young lady, the boy is grey like the ghost. He is dead, so I call police.” ’
‘Believe him?’ I asked.
‘S’pose. Why, what’s going on in there?’
‘Never mind. Just go in and assist Finetti. I’ll finish up with Vitazul and call the undertakers. It’s going to be another hot one today so I want the body out of there before it starts to reek.’
When Kim was gone, I leant against a lamp post and rubbed my shoulder, welcoming the distraction of physical discomfort and pain. It was better than thinking about my old mate from Benalla or wondering what had happened to the kid in the loading bay. And it helped block out my doubts about there being nil suspicious circumstances.
2
GENTLE MOVEMENT WOKE ME. Footsteps crept up my chest, then soft purring vibrated in my ear. Prince licked me on the cheek and let out a pleading meow. I opened my eyes and looked blearily at the clock on the bedside table: 12.43 p.m. Finetti had been right on the money. We’d finished at the death scene around 8 a.m. and I’d slept just over four hours. Not bad for a night shift.
I ran a hand over Prince’s black coat then headed to the kitchen at the far side of my single-bedroom apartment. It was seven years since I’d moved into what was initially a marital investment property that my ex and I had purchased in the glory days of our relationship. Back when Ella and I were first together, Albert Park was a suburb of run-down miners’ cottages and seedy corner pubs. Now even the smallest houses cost into the millions. Because we’d got in early, I had what the bank called ‘top-end equity’, meaning my apartment was worth far more than what I owed on it. Even so, the mortgage still zapped most of my pay every month.
Prince ran ahead and sat by his bowl. The insulin was running low. I’d need to go by the vet later and buy some – something else that chewed into my cash flow. I peeled the plastic wrapper off the syringe and an image of the syringe sticking out of the boy’s arm that morning flashed in my mind. Psychologists had an explanation for this: pictures of the subconscious. Cops call them flashbacks. Many years ago, I’d learnt to accept them as little more than an annoying intrusion. A bullet in the shoulder and twelve months of physical rehabilitation had changed all that. Nowadays, an innocent syringe for a diabetic cat became a dead kid in an alley; an old lady with a jaunty perm at the bus stop became the elderly rape victim of similar appearance I’d interviewed years ago; the backfiring of a car became a gunshot.
After filling his bowl, I stood and watched Prince demolish his food. My kitchen was original art deco and my favourite room in the apartment. Even if I could have afforded to, I wouldn’t have updated to a modern look. The old-fashioned character and warmth far outweighed any fancy stainless steel.
As always, the left side of my torso had stiffened during