Serpent Song. Toni Grant

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      “Johnno,” she squeaked, turning her head momentarily to alert her partner. Francesca returned focus to the spot across the river. The car had disappeared. She examined the roadway, tracking side to side through the binocular lens along the river bank avenue.

      “Francesca,” Johnno said, drawing out her name by syllable. “You’d better look at this.” The detective coughed discreetly. The distinct smell caught in his throat as the body was turned over.

      Morning light broke across the sky. The small group of police exchanged looks over the motionless body. Staring plainly for all to see, the numbers two and five scalded the victim. Upon the left pec, sealing his flesh, the burn was similar in size to a cattle branding iron, the type used to determine stock ownership.

      “And you’re positive the caller mentioned Chi You?” Francesca spoke first. No triad group she’d ever known had ever claimed a murder.

      Johnno nodded as she continued.

      “This is really unusual. I mean the whole set of circumstances are odd. Chi You are particularly careful in this area. In fact, this is the last thing I’d expect from them.” She turned to Johnno. “You know how they operate.”

      “Yeah,” Johnno agreed.

      “Twenty five. It’s the triad number for undercover cops and traitors.” She looked back at the body.

      “Well … this message is a warning of some sort,” Johnno concluded after a few silent moments.

      Francesca nodded and focused on the tattoos. More specifically on the wings of the eagle that wrapped around his upper shoulders and chest. Its story seemed out of place with the heavy black markings on his back. Was this dead man searching for a new identity by covering up old allegiances?

      “You see here,” she said pointing to his torso, “he’s not part of Chi You, not in the traditional sense anyway. There is no evidence of blade work.” After a few moments, she continued, “What do you think about the placement of that brand? It’s centred on his heart. To me that indicates he is a traitor at the centre of something.”

      Johnno nodded but it was pure speculation at this point. He spoke after another long silence, “Thanks boys.”

      Francesca glanced around at the scene in the morning light, imprinting the whole picture in her memory. For her own records, the detective snapped a couple more location photographs and followed Johnno along the muddy bank back to the car.

      Chapter 5

      The Five Dock café bustled in morning activity. Francesca greeted the owner with warm familiarity and found a private table at the rear of the small room.

      Over breakfast, the detectives explored Chi You habits and the creep in the car across the river in low, private voices. Their hushed but intense discussions went largely unnoticed until the second round of coffee. By now the place was beginning to fill with groups of mothers and small children.

      Francesca switched subjects when she realised one of the groups was paying more attention to them than to the whining children.

      They stood out like dogs’ balls anyway. Cops have a look about them and Little John with his messed-up ginger nut lit up like a beacon amongst the dark-haired crowd of well-dressed customers.

      Johnno leaned back in his seat, causing it to stretch alarmingly under his bulk and surveyed his partner of 12 months.

      She was a looker all right. Physically a beautiful specimen of average height with curves in all the right places. Her dark hair fell in waves down her back and stopped midway to shapely hips. Startling green eyes sparkled with vitality, emphasized as they were with thick black lashes and heavy eyeliner. During the summer months her skin turned a deep golden, a tribute, he supposed, to her Italian heritage.

      The boys in the squad called her Movie Star and she took it in her stride. Everyone in the team had a nickname. Usually it related to an unfortunate mishap on a job, or an obvious character or physical trait. His was Little John because there was nothing little about him.

      The coffee had been delivered and he watched her sprinkle the sugar over the top. She seemed absorbed in the process, waiting and watching as the sugar perched high above the tight foam before slowly descending.

      “You know …” she started.

      “That’s the sign of a great coffee. Made to perfection. When the sugar can sit on the top like that it means the milk has been agitated to …” Johnno finished the sentence of the girl he’d come to regard as a little sister.

      “Smart arse,” Francesca responded her lips forming a playful pout. “I don’t say that every time.”

      “Have you ever tried to sit the sugar on the coffee crema? Now when that happens you know the coffee is good,” Johnno continued to bait her.

      She looked into her coffee as a playful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She composed herself enough to look directly at Johnno and smiled sweetly revealing pearly teeth and a surprising fullness to her face.

      “Alright you’ve had your fun,” she said simply, returning her focus to the coffee, creating patterns in the milky froth with her spoon.

      Johnno watched her. He couldn’t put his finger on it but recognised the cracks behind the stylish clothes and façade, signs that she wasn’t coping. Distraction and agitation replaced by a 1950s housewife. A fresh homemade treat every morning tea accompanied by obsessive fussing over process and court preparations. The lucky dip of emotional outpouring that the team bore daily.

      “How are you going with the Chi You brief?” he asked casually.

      Whether the cause was work-related or chick’s business made no difference. Every detective on Johnno’s team was subjected to the same scrutiny. They worked a deadly game. Knowing the importance of this, Johnno employed numerous tactics to help each member stay on form and focused.

      “Good,” she lied, thinking about the papers scattered around her home. If she missed something in the brief and Chi You walked, she’d never forgive herself. In one month, the pressure valve would be released enough for her to relax a little and get a decent night’s sleep. Subconsciously she stretched her shoulders, flexing and prodding the tight muscles with her fingers.

      “Do you need a hand? I can organise for someone else to handle this new matter if you like,” he persisted noticing again the hollows under her eyes that makeup couldn’t hide.

      “What? No way. I’m good Johnno. Besides, we all have massive case loads, there’s no one else available. Truly, I’m good. Just a bit flat at the moment, that’s all.” She reached across and squeezed his arm where it rested on the table. The girl smiled reassuringly.

      “Coming to Ruthie’s tomorrow night?” He changed tack. “Great band, good food, great blokes. You never know, you might pick up! That drummer you hooked up with last time, what was his name, Peg Leg Pete, is playing.”

      Francesca shook her head in disbelief. “You’re an arse, you know that. His name was Van Peart. We didn’t hook up.”

      “Bullshit!” Johnno cupped his hands over his mouth, pretending to sneeze. “I saw you leave with him.”

      “If СКАЧАТЬ