Two of the schoolies had had their bicycles stolen, so Pam Murphy spent part of the afternoon investigating that. Then she was called to a dispute on the foreshore, a motel manager claiming that a schoolie had let all of his tyres down, the kid claiming the manager had put his grubby hands inside her singlet top. Then up High Street to investigate a shoplifting incident blamed on a gang of schoolies but probably committed by the proprietor, who had a history of suspected insurance rip-offs.
All of this wasted time and shoe leather, and so Pam didn’t reach HangTen until five o’clock, as businesses were closing for the day. ‘A word, Caz?’
‘I have to balance the registers and lock up.’
‘It’s important.’
Caz Moon had very white hair and black eyebrows today, a bruised look around her eyes, purple lips. She’d ditched her jeans and wore a torn skirt over an unravelling petticoat over holed tights. It shouldn’t have looked attractive but it did. Pam tried to figure out why. It was Caz herself, she decided, Caz’s air of containment and intelligence.
‘Sit,’ said Caz, indicating a stool behind one of the counters. ‘We’ll talk as I work.’
She was deft and focused, closing one cash register after the other, setting the lights, locking display cabinets, alarming the rear doors. Pam’s questioning was no distraction to her; she answered without missing a beat.
‘Where were you last night?’
‘Out clubbing-or what passes for clubbing in dear old Waterloo. You saw me, remember?
‘The schoolies bring you a lot of extra business?’
‘Some.’
‘But they attract toolies, right? Locals who try to take advantage of them? Mostly we think of a toolie as a guy.’
‘Is that a question?’
‘But there are female toolies. Yesterday I warned off a thirty-five-year-old woman.’
‘Huh,’ said Caz without interest.
‘You’re not a toolie, are you, Caz? You don’t fraternise with the schoolies?’
‘Unavoidable. Turn a corner, and there they are.’
‘But you don’t seek them out? Don’t try to pick up the guys, have a drink with them?’
‘Babies,’ Caz said. She was adding figures in her head.
‘Where were you last night?’
‘You already asked me that.’
‘I mean later, around midnight. The early hours.’
‘Home.’
‘Can you prove that?’
‘Do I need to?’
‘What do you know about GHB and Rohypnol?’
‘Date rape drugs,’ said Caz without hesitation.
Pam nodded and said, ‘Dropped into the victim’s drink in a bar or club or at a party. She feels woozy, a “concerned” male friend takes her home, rapes her when she passes out, and she wakes up the next day feeling sore and confused and can’t remember anything.’
‘Your point?’
‘Has it ever happened to you, Caz? Or a friend of yours?’
Caz shook her head as she briskly wiped a phone handset. ‘This is Waterloo. I don’t think GHB and roofies have reached past the suburbs yet.’
‘Very droll,’ Pam said. She paused. ‘If you could get your hands on that sort of gear, would you go so far as to use it on anyone?’
‘I’m not into girls,’ Caz said. ‘I know it’s chic in some circles, but I’m not into that. No offence.’
Pam wasn’t a lesbian. Caz was stirring. She wasn’t doing it out of spite or bigotry, but she was being combative, and Pam had to wonder why. ‘Did I say girl? You might want to give it to a boy. A particular boy.’
Caz stopped what she was doing and gazed into space as though she found the prospect intellectually absorbing. ‘But wouldn’t the drug cause “erectile dysfunction”?’ she asked, hooking her fingers around the term. ‘And wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of the exercise?’
Pam grinned. ‘Depends on the purpose.’
Caz didn’t grin but gave the ghost of a smile. ‘I guess so.’
‘Like, you might want to strip off all his clothes, lipstick his genitals and leave him out in the open for all to see.’
‘Interesting. What would you call that-making a statement?’
‘I’d call it revenge,’ Pam said.
‘Really,’ said Caz evenly. She began to bundle the day’s takings together, according to denomination. She filled out a deposit slip and packed everything into a canvas sack with ANZ Bank logoed on it.
‘Night safe?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘There are thieves about, Caz. I hope you take precautions.’
‘Precautions? Like birth control or the morning-after pill in case I’m doped and raped?’
It was said with the tiniest increase in heat. ‘Please tell me what happened to you,’ Pam said.
‘Nothing happened.’
‘Was it last year? Last weekend? A girl was sexually assaulted in the early hours of Sunday morning.’
Caz sighed. ‘These things happen when people congregate and booze and drugs are involved.’
‘Was it Josh Brownlee?’
‘Who?’
‘The boy you called out to last night.’
‘Is that his name?’
‘Cut the crap. I heard you. I heard you say, “Raped anyone lately, Josh?”‘
‘Me? You probably misheard. The music was pretty loud.’
‘Caz, was it Josh Brownlee who drugged and raped you?’
‘Me? Of course not.’
Caz had barely faltered. Pam wondered how long the girl would be able to keep it up-wondered how long she would be able to keep it up, for that matter. ‘The more people who come forward, the better our chances of gaining a conviction.’
‘Has Josh been a naughty boy?’
‘Cut it out, Caz. Help me, please?’
‘What’s it like, being a copper?’
Pam blinked. Caz seemed genuinely interested. ‘There are moments of boredom, there are disappointments, but there’s also exhilaration and satisfaction when you get it right.’
‘Exactly,’ said Caz elliptically. She said, ‘What’s it like for women in the police?’
‘Getting better.’
‘I’ve seen you with those two uniformed guys, the fat one and the good-looking one. What’s that like?’
‘We’re just colleagues, pitching in together.’
‘I doubt it,’ Caz said promptly. She paused. ‘They both like you.’
It came out of nowhere and Pam blushed. ‘Getting back to-’
‘Steer clear of both of them,’ Caz said.
Pam scowled. ‘I’m afraid I’m not here to-’
But her mobile phone rang and Challis said, ‘Where are you?’
Pam walked out of the shop to take the call and heard Caz lock the door behind her and knew she couldn’t do a thing about it. ‘Just down the street from the station.’
‘Briefing room, ten minutes.’
‘But sir…’
‘Briefing room. Murder takes priority.’