Chapter Thirteen
The knocking was loud enough to make Jack jump. He opened the door to a stranger; a man in navy slacks, a blue shirt and a jacket. The stranger’s grey hair was cut very short and his eyes were hard. There was a cop standing beside him, a woman in full uniform.
‘Jack Miller?’
‘Uh . . . yes?’
‘Detective Senior Sergeant Rocky Jansen. This is my colleague, Senior Constable Lucy Phillips.’
‘Right. Hi.’ Something about the way Jansen was looking at him made Jack’s stomach turn over and sink to the floor. Cam must have felt it too. He stood a little closer.
‘Who’s this?’ Jansen said.
‘This is my son, Cameron.’
Jansen nodded. He gave Cam a small smile, but then pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. ‘This is a warrant. It allows us to search your apartment.’
‘A warrant? I don’t understand.’
‘We have information that suggests that evidence from a crime might be hidden in your property. We have an obligation to follow up on that evidence. So . . . we’re here to search your flat. If there’s nothing here, then we’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening.’
Jack felt sick. All he could think about was the gun. It was in his backpack. Which was on his back.
Jansen stepped forward. Jack automatically stepped out of the way.
Jansen handed him the warrant and Jack tried to read it.
The words blurred in front of his eyes. Two more uniformed police officers were coming down the side path.
Oh Christ. Did the warrant mean they could search his bag too? Of course it did. It must.
‘There’s a gun,’ Jack blurted.
‘A gun.’ Jansen’s eyes went flat.
‘Someone sent it to me. In a box. Gift wrapped. I found it when we came back from the park earlier. But I never saw it before. The gun, I mean. I’ve never used a gun in my life.’
‘Maybe someone thought you needed it.’
‘What? No. I mean. There’s no reason . . . look, I work in insurance, all right? I process insurance claims. I don’t need a gun. I’m not a criminal.’
‘Why don’t you show it to me?’
Jack slid the bag off his back. ‘It’s in here.’ He started to unzip it but the cop put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
‘Why don’t you let me do that, son?’
Jansen steered Jack away from the benchtop.
He put on a pair of latex gloves, reached into the backpack and pulled out the gun, still wrapped in the tea towel.
He put it on the benchtop and folded back the top of the towel until the gun could be seen.
Jansen gave a look to the other cop. She came forward with an evidence bag and took the gun.
‘I thought you said it came in a box. What’s it doing in the backpack?’ Jansen asked.
‘I was going to bring it to the police station. That’s where I was going when you got here.’
‘And the tea towel? This parcel you got . . . did the tea towel come with it too?’ There was a tone to Jansen’s question that made Jack’s flush deepen. He wasn’t taking the piss, not quite, but it was close.
‘No. That’s mine,’ Jack said. He straightened up. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he sounded guilty. He had to cut that out. Stand up for himself.
‘Why did you wrap the gun in the towel?’ asked Lucy Phillips.
‘I just . . . it felt weird, having it out in the open. Uncomfortable. So I just wrapped it up.’
Cam was standing off to the side now, looking scared. Jack went to him and put an arm around his shoulders.
Jansen nodded seriously. ‘But you haven’t wiped it down? When we test this, we’ll find your fingerprints on it? And, presumably, the prints of whoever sent it to you.’
Shit.
Jack forced himself to hold Jansen’s gaze. ‘I don’t know about the guy who sent it to me. Maybe he cleaned it. I . . . I barely touched it. So maybe it has my fingerprints, maybe it doesn’t.’
The two other cops were in the house now.
They were both tatted-up guys in their twenties with tight haircuts.
They stood there, waiting, until Jansen gave them a nod.
Then one of them turned and started lifting cushions on the couch.
The other went into Jack’s bedroom. Lucy Phillips started opening the kitchen cupboards and moving things around.
It was insane, how quickly everything had changed from a normal evening. It didn’t feel real.
‘Dad?’ Cameron said. There was a lot in that one word. Uncertainty. Some fear. Maybe a request that Jack do something about the fact that their home was being pulled apart.
‘It’s okay, Cam,’ Jack said, automatically.
‘Maybe you’d both like to take a seat?’ Jansen said, gesturing to one of the two rickety bar stools. ‘Let us get on with things?’
They sat. Jack still had the warrant in his hand. He tried to make sense of it but the document was a mess of fine print, none of which meant anything to him.
‘Look, the box is right there,’ he said. He needed to get things back on track. Needed them to understand that he was a normal person. That he was like them. One of the good guys.
‘The box?’
‘The box the gun came in. See? I left it there, on the bench beside the microwave.’ Jack pointed. ‘And there was a letter with it too. It’s in my backpack.’
‘A letter?’ Still wearing his latex gloves, Jansen pulled the bag towards him again. He opened it.
‘Not a letter, exactly. Just a page with a quote on it. Like from a poem or a book or something.’
Jansen read from the sheet of paper.
‘He’s still here, sometimes, but he doesn’t want to be. What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You didn’t write this?’
‘Definitely not. Like I told you. It came in that box with the gun.’
Jansen flipped over the lid of the box. He examined the packing label.
‘This didn’t come through Australia Post,’ he said. ‘There’s no stamp.’
‘Right. It must have been a courier.’
‘Even with a courier there should be a bar code, or a QR code, or something. This hasn’t been paid for.’
Jansen stared at Jack, waiting for an answer. Jack looked blankly back.
‘Look, I don’t know. I wasn’t here when it was dropped off. Someone must have just left it out front.’
‘Right,’ said Jansen, nodding.
Jack was finding it impossible to read the other man. ‘Look, this is clearly some kind of mad set-up. I mean, someone obviously told you to come here, right? Who?’
‘I can’t share that information with you right now.’
‘Okay, but whoever told you to come here must have also sent me the gun. That’s the only thing that makes sense.’
‘The thing is, we don’t have any proof that you’re telling the truth,’ Jansen said, in a conversational tone.
‘You say that the gun was delivered to you in that box. But for all we know you could have had that box for years, and you could have stuffed the gun into your backpack two nights ago. Did you tell anyone about it?’
‘About the gun?’
Jansen inclined his head.
‘No. Not yet.’
Jansen made a that’s interesting face. The cop who’d been searching the living room disappeared down the hall and into Cam’s bedroom.
‘I saw it,’ Cam said, suddenly.
‘You saw what, kiddo?’ Jansen asked.
‘The box. Just like my dad said. It was by the door when we got home from the park.’
Jansen nodded at Cam. The expression on his face was kind, but it was clear he thought that Cam was just backing up his father.
‘What happened two nights ago?’ Jack asked.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You said I could have stuffed the gun into my backpack two nights ago.’
‘Let’s not get into that now.’
This was bad. Really bad. Jack took his phone from his back pocket.
‘Look, I just searched for police stations. See? I was going to bring the gun right to you guys. I was just going to drop Cam off at my friend’s house on the way, then bike over to bring the gun to you.
That’s where we were going when you arrived. ’
Jansen took Jack’s phone from him willingly enough. He looked at the maps app and for a moment he really seemed to be listening. But then the cop who’d gone into Jack’s bedroom came to the door.
‘Sergeant? I think you’ll want to see this.’
The mood shifted again. Everything seemed to slow down.
Jansen and Lucy Phillips exchanged glances.
Jansen walked to the bedroom, and Lucy Phillips stepped forward.
She didn’t put her hand on her gun, but she might as well have.
Her body language was charged, and her eyes were on Jack like he’d suddenly become something dangerous.
‘There’s nothing in there,’ Jack said. ‘It’s just my bedroom.’ He tried to smile at Cam, who was beginning to look teary. Oh god. He reached out and took Cam’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, mate. They’re just doing their jobs.’
A minute passed, and then Jansen came back out of Jack’s room, followed by the uniformed cop.
The uniform was carrying two large paper bags marked ‘Evidence’, one in each hand.
The cop kept his distance from Jack, standing on the other side of the island unit.
He put one bag on the ground and opened the other.
He half-withdrew what was inside. It was a long-sleeved T-shirt; an old Rip Curl top he’d had for years.
He recognised it by the illustration on the front and the little tear in the neck.
‘So, Jack,’ Jansen said. ‘I want to ask you about this T-shirt, but I want to be clear. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, however, anything you do say may be taken down and used in evidence against you. Understand?’
Jack nodded dumbly.
‘This T-shirt yours, Jack?’
There was no point in denying it. They’d taken it from his laundry basket, or his wardrobe, or maybe from the pile of clothes he’d left on the chair.
‘I reckon. I mean, it looks like mine.’
Jansen nodded. He let the T-shirt slide back into the paper bag, which he folded closed before opening the other. Inside this one was a pair of boots.
‘Yours?’ Jansen said.
Jack tried to rally. ‘They look like mine. But they’re Kathmandu, mate. I got them at Vinnies. Probably fifty pairs of them just in this neighbourhood.’
Jack’s small attempt to defend himself seemed to have no impact. Jansen handed off the paper bags to Lucy Phillips, who carried them out of the house, along with the plastic evidence bag containing the gun.
‘Do me a favour and hold out your wrists,’ Jansen said.
Confused, Jack slowly extended his arms. He was wearing a T-shirt. His arms were bare.
‘Turn them over,’ Jansen said.
Jack turned them over, exposing his wrists.
‘No injuries,’ Jansen noted. ‘Suffer from nose bleeds, do you?’
‘What? No, I—’
‘Because there’s a bloodstain on the sleeve of your shirt. The one in the bag. And it’s recent. And there’s mud on your boots. Where did that come from?’
Goosebumps rose on Jack’s arms. A shiver ran down the back of his neck.
‘No. Hang on a second. This is all wrong. If there’s blood on my shirt, it’s old, okay? Whatever you’re thinking I did, you’re wrong.’
The cop who’d been in Cam’s room came back. He exchanged a glance with Jansen, and shook his head. All three policemen turned to look at Jack. Jansen took a step closer. He glanced at Cam, and something like regret passed briefly over his face.
‘Jack Miller, you’re under arrest for the murder of Robert Walker.
I’m going to bring you to the station now, where you’ll be processed, and then we’ll have a formal interview.
You have the right to medical treatment, if you need it, and you have the right to inform a friend or relative about where you are. ’
Jack reeled. For a second he thought he was going to be sick.
Robert Walker? The name meant nothing to him.
Sweat broke out on his lower back. He was making such a mess of this.
He had to do better. Stand up for himself.
Explain who he was, the kind of person he was.
Just an ordinary guy. Not a murderer. Oh Jesus.
Cam. He was clutching at Jack’s arm now and crying for real.
Ten years old, Cam hated to cry. This was messed up.
‘My son,’ Jack said, and his voice was raspy. ‘What happens with my son?’
There was sympathy in Jansen’s face. ‘Where’s his mother?’
‘She . . . she’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Jansen said. ‘Can you call your parents?’
Jack shook his head. ‘I’ll call my friend.
Okay? She’ll pick him up. Look after him for a few hours.
’ He turned to Cam, wrapped his arms around him.
‘It’s going to be fine, mate. It’s all just a mix-up, all right.
Elsa will look after you. And I’ll be home .
. . I’ll pick you up in the morning. We’ll go out for breakfast.’
Cam nodded his head. He tried to stop crying. Drew in a couple of shaking breaths. Tried very hard to pull himself together. Jack gave him a one-armed hug. Tried to act like this was all normal, like he had some kind of control.
‘Is it . . . is it okay if I use my phone?’
‘For now, sure.’
Jack dialled Elsa’s number. He turned away slightly, a futile attempt at some small privacy. It was a wasted effort. Elsa didn’t answer. He tried a second time. Again the call rang out.
‘Problem?’ Jansen said.
‘She didn’t answer,’ Jack said. ‘I just . . . there’s one other person, okay?’
Jansen nodded. His face was blank, but he still managed to give the distinct impression that Jack was running out of time.
Jack’s fingers were clumsy on his phone.
Who should he call? He tried Noah’s dad.
There was no answer. He tried Tom’s mum.
She was the super organised type. But again there was no answer.
Jesus Christ! Where was everyone?
‘We can call child services,’ Jansen said. ‘They’re all set up to take care of kids in situations like this.
‘No,’ Jack said. No way. He fumbled with his phone again. He dialled the number Elsa’s au pair had given him. Please, please let her answer.
‘Hello?’
Jack was almost giddy with relief to hear Celine’s voice. He stumbled over his words.
‘This is Jack. I need a favour. I’m sorry to ask, but I tried Elsa and she’s tied up.’
‘How can I help?’
‘Can you come to my place and pick up Cam? I’m .
. . I’m tied up with something.’ That was ridiculous.
She’d see the cops when she got to the flat.
There was no hiding what was happening, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say he was being arrested.
‘Can you come and pick up Cam and bring him to Elsa’s place? He’ll need to stay overnight.’
‘Okay, sure. No problem. I bring him to school in the morning?’
Jack hadn’t thought of that. ‘Uh. Maybe. I’ll call you later, if that’s okay. He’ll need to pack a uniform, and there’s sport, so we’d have to work out—’
Jansen held his hand out for Jack’s phone.
‘I have to go, Celine. I’m sorry.’
Jansen took his phone from his hand as Jack ended the call.