Chapter 1

You didn’t have to be a cop to see this woman didn’t fit in. She was sitting in a Collingwood hotel in suburban Melbourne wearing a pale brown blouse with short button down sleeves and black pencil skirt. Her thick blonde hair fell past her shoulders to her shoulder blades and every time someone gave her the eye or smiled she looked away. I pegged her as being someone who worked in the city or perhaps even closer, maybe an office in Collingwood or Fitzroy. I mean these places are becoming more gentrified but this pub is midway between the high rise apartment blocks of Hoddle Street and Wellington Street. I was on my way back home after a long shift at City West to see an informant who didn’t show up, and it was while I was waiting for Davo that I took the opportunity to observe the blonde.

I admit I wasn’t doing so purely in the interests of law and order, after all I hadn’t shown my police ID and was nursing a glass of beer. I’m gay and this woman was pretty much eye candy for me, I felt mildly guilty at checking her out, Rhonda would no doubt have kicked me in the shin for it but she was miles away in Forest Hills and what the hell. There was no harm in window shopping, just don’t handle the merchandise and she was definitely model material. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties and had a long angular shaped face free of imperfections and yet she still exuded an innocence that is almost toxic in a suburb like this. Innocence gets you robbed, bashed or raped and this woman was definitely getting edgier.

So was I. Davo hadn’t shown up, my immediate superior, Detective Senior Sergeant Tom Watkins had warned me that the guy might not show.

“But then again he might, it’s Friday night and he always sinks a few pots on pay night.”

The woman was getting up ready to leave. A half cut patron barred her path and offered to dance the night away to Willie Nelson’s You were Always On My Mind. I was about to intervene when she stepped lightly around him and fled from the pub. I shifted off my bar stool and sighed. It was time to be going as well but I couldn’t leave my name with the barmaid because Davo might get even more antsy if he thought some strange sheila was asking after him.

I was already on the phone to Tom as I stepped out into a warm April night.

“He’s probably at the fucking bookies,” Tom sighed, “are you going to stick around?”

“I’ve been here for a good forty five minutes and it’s a no show, give him until Sunday when he’s blown his dosh.”

“Sounds like a plan, see ya tomorrow?”

“No worries,” I ended the call and deactivated the alarm on my unmarked car.

Fuck Davo and fuck this town, I thought as I started the car and looked up just in time to see the blonde woman suddenly turn about and walk quickly the other way. She glanced over her shoulder furtively and I followed her line of sight to see a group of guys in a V8 Commodore do a sudden U-turn in front of oncoming traffic and cruise towards the woman.

“Hey, love,” the driver yelled out, “show us yer tits!”

The others were whistling and calling out other obscenities.

“My face is leaving in this car, would ya like to be on it?”

Now I was off duty and there are some cops out there who like to look the other way when they’re off duty but I’m not one of them. Maybe it’s my sense of duty or a desire to get one up on the boys but this woman was definitely in trouble and after a quick check in the mirror, I accelerated and spun the wheel. I flicked on the police lights and the siren sounded at the same time. I wasn’t sure if these monkeys were going to try to get away but then I shot past them and pulled in front of them. I jammed on the brake and heard a screech and a curse but the driver didn’t slam into my rear end.

“Ya fucking wanker!”

I leapt out of the car and yanked out my police ID and the driver turned a whiter shade of pale as I pulled my jacket aside to expose the pistol.

“Get out of the car, right fucking now.”

“Okay, okay, sorry ma’am.”

“You didn’t see the flashing lights?” I nodded at them, “are you drunk or on something?”

“I didn’t see them, sorry, I didn’t call you a wanker.”

“And what did you call her?” I pointed to the woman standing watching us, “I heard every bloody word. Didn’t your mum ever teach you manners?”

He swallowed and looked away.

“Let’s see your licence,” I slipped my ID behind my waistband.

He pulled out his wallet with a shaking hand and handed it over.

“Wait in the car and don’t move a muscle and don’t speak.”

I walked back to the car and noticed the woman was still standing there, she looked scared.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Would you like to sit in the car for a few minutes while I call this in?”

She shook her head but looked at the guys behind me.

I shrugged and slipped behind the wheel of the car. I called the name and registration in and waited. D24 came back with several traffic violations but no outstanding warrants. He had three points left on his licence and I smirked as I signed off.

I got out and sauntered over to the driver and opened the door.

“Get out,” I glared at him.

He got out and swallowed. I grabbed his arm and marched him towards my car and summoned the woman.

“This boy has something to say to you, don’t you, boy?”

The woman approached but kept her distance from him. I let him go and stared at him, it’s what we’re taught, make the bastard think you’ve got something on him and he’s putty in your hands, and this guy had turned to jelly.

“You nearly caused an accident back there because you were too busy humiliating her,” I propped against the car, “you’ve got four points left on your licence and what you just did back there will cost you four points,” I stared right through him.

“So it looks like you’ll be parking that fancy car here and catching a train home because I’ll bet your mates are too pissed to drive or too young.”

If this guy had’ve been drinking he would have emptied his bladder right then and there because his bottom lip started shaking.

“Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry just doesn’t cut it,” I stared at him, “but say sorry to her and I might just forget what I saw and let you go. Here’s your big chance, boy,” I folded my arms, “and make it good because I’m just itching to make you walk for the next twelve months.”

As apologies go it was impressive but this monkey was shitting himself and when she accepted his apology I handed his licence back and nodded at the car.

“All right, but if I ever catch you doing so much as turning without indicating I’ll take your licence and flush it down the shithouse, now get out of here before I change my mind.”

Hero boy walked back to his car and we watched him pull away so slowly I thought he had engine trouble.

“Thank you,” the woman sighed, “thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” I looked her over, “so, can I give you a lift anywhere? Like a station?”

“I, I’m okay, I was heading for a bus stop, I live in Hawthorn.”

“Hawthorn? Well tonight’s your lucky night. I live in Box Hill and I’m actually off duty as of now, I could drop you closer to home.”

She hesitated and I stepped away from the car.

“It’s a ride in a police car, a once only offer and unlike our friend you won’t be wearing silver bracelets, I’ll even let you turn on the lights if you want,” I managed a smile.

“Okay, thanks. I can give you petrol money but I guess you can’t take it.”

“Not officially and even then I’m not that poor, come on.”

Some two minutes later I executed a U-turn and headed back towards Hoddle Street.

“The name’s Lisa Ryan, what’s your name?”

I looked at her and she managed a smile.

“My last name is Darling, it always gets a look.”

“Okay, Robyn Darling,” I smirked, “do you mind if I ask what you were doing there in that pub dressed like that? It’s not exactly a respectable establishment. I was there to meet an informant who’s probably getting pissed.”

“I was meeting a woman there, an old client but she didn’t show up,” she leaned against the headrest, “we were going to have drinks and maybe a bite to eat.”

I’m pretty good at getting information out of people, it’s a cop thing and to be fair we were just two women talking in a car, but by the time we reached Hawthorn I’d learned that she was a trained psychologist with an office in Richmond. She was in a de facto relationship with Stephen but judging by the way she described him it didn’t sound like a union of hearts. Her parents were divorced and she had two sisters and a brother, all living in the Eastern suburbs.

What I didn’t learn was the identity of the woman she’d met online but as I pulled up outside her house on Barkers Road she told me the woman was gay.

“She had a few sessions twelve months ago and called me yesterday wanting to meet up, but I get the feeling her girlfriend might have had something to do with it,” she smiled grimly, “the old jealousy thing. It’s not like there was anything going on between us,” she hastened to add, “I could be struck off for something like that but there’s nothing wrong with friendship.”

“It’s hard like that when you’re with a woman,” I admitted, “with Rhonda I’m okay but she still likes to know who I’m seeing and if they’re gay. She’s not one of those green eyed monsters but I’ve known some lesbian couples who get their knickers in a knot over an innocent friendship, which leads me to believe their relationship isn’t as solid as it sounds.”

“Few relationships are,” Robyn stared at the house, “that’s odd. The lights are on but his car is gone,” she put a hand on the door handle and my cop instinct kicked in.

Robyn nodded as she took out her phone. Some fifteen seconds later the phone rang but it took a few seconds for it for someone to answer.

I kept my eyes on the house and waited.

“I’m outside, where’s the car?”

A moment later her head hit the headrest.

“I’m outside, I got a ride home with a detective… no, I’m fine… I just got worried when I saw no car… I’ll be inside in a minute.”

She hung up and it was only then I saw a figure in the window but because the light was behind him I couldn’t make out his face but it was a man.

“I’m sorry,” she looked at me, “as we were saying about shitty relationships, he left the car at his brother’s place because he’d had too much to drink, which means his brother will probably go out to the club in the car, my car.”

“Look,” I took a card from my handbag and wrote a number on the back, “it’s none of my business unless he’s drinking and driving, even then it’s probably up to the uniforms but if you need help with the police then call the other number,” I turned the card over.

“But if you just want to talk, call my number.”

“And it won’t get you into trouble with your partner?”

“No it won’t,” I handed her the card, “it’s entirely up to you.”

“I feel like I owe you something all the same,” her eyes shifted, “you really did me a favour back there, I’ve been going through a rough patch lately and that’s without going into my shit with Stephen.”

“It’s fine, really, it was on my way home so it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Okay, but I can leave a thank you message on my Facebook?”

“Thanks,” she squeezed my hand, “for everything, if you send a friend request I’ll accept.”

I watched her go into the house and more out of habit I waited until I saw her figure in the window and a hand raised in a wave before tooting the horn and heading home.

Facebook. It’s always amazed me that people spend so much time on Facebook, I get the whole social media thing, instant communication and all that but it’s not for me. I have one of those Facebook accounts with the standard white on black generic female picture and a single photograph of me at Surfer’s Paradise with Rhonda. I rarely post or share posts. Call me old fashioned but I’d rather face to face instead of Facebook. Rhonda is the social media queen, she’s got it all and it’d been a bone of contention between us for nearly eleven months. She always wanted to post pictures of her and I on the Internet and because of my job I have a bloody good excuse for saying no.

Nevertheless that night I did check Robyn Darling’s Facebook page and there it was in black and white.

Thank you to the lovely policewoman who drove me home. You’re a credit to the force.

“Who’s Robyn Darling?” Rhonda leaned over my shoulder.

“A woman I just helped out in Collingwood.”

“Attractive woman, is she?”

“Straight, she’s a psychologist.”

Rhonda wanted to know more and I told her how we’d met, it satisfied her and she went back to her computer. I sent off a friend request and headed off to the toilet. I was just washing my hands when I heard my phone beep and a moment later Rhonda came through with the phone.

“She accepted your friend request,” she held the phone out, “that was sneaky, I didn’t know you’d sent it.”

“Is there something wrong with making friends?”

“With Robyn Darling?” Rhonda asked as I dried my hands, “no, of course not, why? Is there?”

“No,” I took the phone and read the message, “she’s a nice woman.”

It’s one of those loaded questions that needs to be answered and I did answer it but in a roundabout way because I felt both compelled to explain the situation and resentful that I had to answer to my partner like an errant schoolgirl. To put it into full context, I was five years older than her and the house was in my name. I know it may sound arrogant but there you have it.