A doctor came to the police station, examined Josh Brownlee-cleaned a small cut and gave him some painkillers-and cleared him for interrogation. Now they were in one of the interview rooms in the corridors behind the reception desk, Josh and a solicitor hired by his parents on one side of the plastic table, Pam Murphy and Andrew Cree on the other. John Tankard was holding up the wall behind them. There were only four chairs in the room and Cree, the slippery little prick, had got in first. Tank watched and listened, his back and legs aching. At times like this he felt his excess weight in every bone. Ellen Destry might have been there too, but she’d left it up to Murph, saying she intended to go back and search Josh Brownlee’s bedroom and computer.
Tank listened to Murph run through the preliminaries for the benefit of the tape, and then watched her tap her folders and reports into alignment, taking several silent seconds over it, both to give herself time, he presumed, and to unnerve Brownlee.
‘Josh,’ she began.
If Brownlee were older, or looked less pathetic-a cut on his forehead, nose swollen and traces of caked blood in his nostrils-she might have called him ‘Mr Brownlee’. Right now, to everyone in the room, he was just a sad kid named Josh.
‘Josh, let’s start at the beginning,’ Murph went on. Tank could see from her posture how tense she was, and it was excitement, not the fear of failure. ‘You attended Landseer as a day student, not a boarder?’
‘Yes,’ mumbled the boy.
‘You did Year 12 last year, not this year?’
‘Yes.’
Josh stared at the table top, pouring his misery into the layers of it already there, expressed in scratches and stains over the long years.
‘Yet you attended Schoolies Week this year, as though you were still in Year 12?’
‘Yeah.’
Tank wondered if the solicitor, a middle-aged woman, had seen her own kids go through ali kinds of adolescent shit. Maybe she believed in owning up and atonement; she was making no attempt to halt Murph’s flow.
‘We’ll go into the question of why you did that later. As a Year 12 student last year, did you have any dealings with the chaplain at your school, Mr Lachlan Roe?’
‘Not much.’
‘But you knew him, knew who he was?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you had any dealings with Mr Roe since that time? This year, I mean?’
‘No.’
‘None?’
Josh showed a glimmer of spirit and looked up at her and down again. ‘You said it yourself, I’m not at school any more.’
‘Let’s go back to Monday evening of this week.’
Josh shrugged sulkily.
‘Can you account for your movements, Josh?’
He shrugged again. These kids are great shruggers, thought Tank.
‘Just, you know, hanging around.’
‘Alone?’
‘You know, with other kids.’
‘Other kids,’ said Murph heavily. ‘Kids younger than you? Kids who were in Year 12 this year? Or do you mean kids like yourself who had a ball last year and wanted to do it all again? Kids who didn’t want to grow up? Or maybe you were hanging out with the toolies this year?’
Josh flushed dangerously and the solicitor laid a gnarled, be-ringed hand on his forearm to caution him. ‘Really, Constable Murphy,’ she said, ‘where are you leading us? What crime are you investigating here? My client has been charged with traffic and firearms offences, and as you know, there are mitigating circumstances, such as the attack on him Wednesday night.
Pam smiled sweetly and gathered her thoughts. ‘Josh, did you or did you not encounter Mr Roe at or near his house on Monday evening?’
Josh swallowed. ‘Don’t think so.’
‘It’s only a few days ago.’
‘I think I said hello.’
‘It is alleged, Josh, that you had an altercation with him. What do you have to say to that?’
‘No.’
‘It’s even possible that he provoked you in some way.’
She’s trying to give him an out, Tank thought.
‘I put it to you that there was a scuffle, Josh, and Mr Roe was accidentally knocked unconscious. Isn’t that right?’
Tank watched as the kid struggled with this version of the truth, which put a gloss on the incident so that he wouldn’t feel so bad about beating the crap out of the chaplain. Seeing a kind of relief suddenly flood Josh’s face, Tank realised he was nearly there. Wanting to amp up the pressure on the kid, Tank stepped away from the wall and, with a quick, complicit, flirty smile at Murph, said, ‘You gay, Josh? Did you try to pick him up? Vice versa?’
The fallout was extreme, the solicitor hard and protective, Murph furiously throwing down her pen and Josh shrieking, ‘No! No!’ and throwing himself at Tank. Tank wrestled the kid into his chair again, saying, ‘Looks like I touched a nerve, eh, Josh?’
The solicitor said furiously, ‘Constable Tankard, you’re provoking my client needlessly. He’s been in a car accident-’
‘Cleared by the doctor,’ flashed Tank.
‘-and so I suggest we stop this charade immediately.’
Tank opened his mouth to reply. Murph snarled, ‘Shut it, Tank, okay?’
No one saw the slow smile that Andy Cree gave him. Tank felt hot and explosive, but subsided against the wall, not meeting anyone’s gaze.
Meanwhile Murph was saying, ‘Josh? Do you want to have a break?’
The solicitor said, ‘Yes, he does.’
Josh said, ‘No, I don’t.’
The solicitor threw up her hands theatrically but sat back as if to say that if her client was set on acting against his best interests, what could she do about it?
‘All right, Josh; let’s go back to Monday evening. You admit to meeting Mr Roe?’
‘Yes.’
Tank wondered what game Murph was playing. There were too many undercurrents for him. The whisper around the station was that Josh Brownlee’s DNA had been found on Roe’s clothing, so why wasn’t she blindsiding him with that, asking him to account for it? Maybe-it came to him suddenly-the DNA sample she’d obtained from him hadn’t been authorised, and so she couldn’t use it legally. She wanted an admission. But how did it fit in with all the other stuff, the rape on Saturday night, the whispers of sexual assault at last year’s Schoolies Week, Josh found naked on the beach Wednesday night, and all that shit with the shotgun?
‘Did you talk to Mr Roe?’
‘Yep.’
‘What about?’
Josh scratched abstractedly at the top of the table as if looking back through days, months and years of misery. The solicitor said, ‘What does this have to do with the misdemeanours with which my client has been charged?’
Pam ignored her. ‘Josh?’
‘Stuff.’
‘Your brother Michael went to Landseer, correct?’
Josh trembled and his face spasmed in grief. ‘Yes.’
‘Did he have contact with Mr Roe?’
Josh exploded. ‘Mister Roe! Why do you keep calling him that? Why do you give him that kind of respect?’
‘He’s lying in a hospital bed, Josh, beaten so badly he could die.’
Tank knew that wasn’t true. The doctors had confirmed that Lachlan Roe would live. He’d be a vegetable, but he wasn’t going to die.
‘Good! He deserves it!’
Pam asked what they all genuinely wanted to ask: ‘Why, Josh?’
‘For what he did to Mike.’
‘Your brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘Michael went to him for advice last year? At school?’
‘Yes? cried Josh. ‘The bastard had just been appointed chaplain. All this crap at assembly, all these politicians were there, how great the school chaplaincy program was, how great Roe was, how he’d offer guidance and support.’
Murph said gently, ‘But he didn’t, did he, Josh?’
‘He killed my brother!’ Josh said shrilly, face distended, spittle flecking the table.
‘Something he said to Michael? Something he did?’
Josh wrenched his head from left to right, not meeting their gaze, his neck tendons standing out like rods under his skin. ‘Mike was gay.’
He didn’t say anything after that, and Tank tried to put it together. Murph said, ‘Michael was upset or confused about his sexuality?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Josh.
‘Did your parents know?’
‘Fuck no! You don’t know what they’re like.’
‘Did he confide in you?
‘Not much,’ said Josh miserably.
‘But you knew.’
‘He left me a note! He fucking wrote me a letter, then took an overdose and killed himself
Pam reached across the table and held his hand. ‘Do you still have the letter?’ she asked presently.
‘No,’ Josh said, eyes sliding away, returning his hand to his lap, so that Tank knew he was lying. Maybe Sergeant Destry would find it.
‘What did it say?’
Josh leaned forward tensely. ‘He’d gone to Roe for help. He wanted to know how to tell Mum and Dad and me he was gay, how to broach it.’
Josh stopped. Murph said, ‘What advice did Roe give your brother?’
The tears spilled down Josh’s face. He said, very distinctly, ‘The bastard told Mike that being gay was an abomination in the eyes of God and all right-thinking people. He said Mike should be ashamed and beg forgiveness and change his ways. He said Mike was sick, a sick person, with sick thoughts. He said Mike made his skin crawl.’
Even Cree seemed affected. Pam said, ‘And your poor brother had nowhere to turn?’
‘He could have come to me,’ Josh said, pleading. ‘Why didn’t he come to me? I’d have understood.’
‘It’s not your fault, Josh.’
‘It is my fault. I would have understood. I know kids who are gay. I’m not anti-gay.’
Murph said gently, ‘Michael was too distraught to think clearly, Josh. He felt he had nowhere to turn, and took his own life.’
‘Shouldn’t have happened!’ Josh said.
‘You were so angry with Mr Roe that you argued with him,’ suggested Pam, ‘and it escalated.’
Tank was watching Josh. He saw the kid almost say something like, ‘No, I tried to kill the bastard,’ but then a glimmer of intelligence replaced the heat, and his face closed down again. He cocked his head at Murph. ‘Something like that.’
Pam said, ‘Josh, for the benefit of the tape, are you admitting to the assault on Lachlan Roe at or near his home on the evening of Monday, the sixteenth of November?’
‘Yes.’
‘You will be charged with assault, Josh. Do you wish to add anything in relation to this matter?’
Some of the tension had lifted. Josh muttered, ‘Nup.’
‘What about today, Josh? The shotgun. Why did you need it?’
A kind of shiftiness came into the kid. ‘I was still upset over last Monday.’
Tank found himself stepping away from the wall, saying, ‘Why go after that chick in the surf shop, Josh? What did she have to do with your brother and all that other stuff?’
Murph shot him a frown. He gave her one of his old looks, from back when they were partners in a patrol car, a look that said, ‘Bite me.’
Irritated, she returned her attention to Brownlee. ‘Did Ms Moon drug you and take away your clothes one night this week, Josh?’
The lawyer gaped and looked at her client, who shook his head carelessly. He’d recovered some of his cockiness. ‘Nah,’ he said coarsely. ‘Got drunk, that’s all, decided to have a swim in the nuddie and forgot where I put my clothes.’
‘Traces of the date-rape drug GHB were found in your system.’
That’s how she got his DNA, Tank thought.
‘I was partying. Must have taken it by mistake.’
‘It’s not shameful to admit you were taken advantage of, Josh.’
‘Wasn’t taken advantage of.’
‘I put it to you, Josh, that you intended to accost or even shoot Ms Moon, that you wanted to pay her back. What do you have to say to that?’
‘Bullshit.’
Josh had folded his arms stubbornly, the powerful emotions long gone. He seemed to have some control over this new issue being raised. The other matter, his brother, he’d had no control over.
‘The question is, Josh, why did she take advantage of you?’
‘She didn’t.’
‘Was it revenge? Revenge for something that happened to her?’
The solicitor said, ‘Where is this leading?’
‘It is alleged that Josh and his little pals raped one or more of the young townswomen last year. They considered these women to be an easy target-working class, uneducated, therefore of loose morals and no account. Except that Caz Moon surprised you, didn’t she, Josh?’
‘Constable, please,’ the lawyer said.
Josh said, ‘Where’s the evidence?’
‘So you’re not denying it?’ Pam demanded.
‘Where’s your evidence?’
That was a good question, and there it ended, with Josh Brownlee charged and bailed and likely to plead to mitigating circumstances for his rampage that morning.
‘You okay, Murph?’ said Tank later. He’d tracked her down to the canteen, where she was drinking fucking peppermint tea with Cree. ‘Good job in there,’ he added, conscious that Cree was watching him.
She said, very distinctly, ‘Tank, when I am conducting an interview, kindly butt out, okay?’
Cree smiled then, nothing and everything in it, and edged his chair closer to Murph. Tank couldn’t bear to watch it. He couldn’t think of anything clever to say. Finally he asked, ‘Does his DNA tie him to any of the sex stuff?’
She sighed and pushed her mug of tea away. ‘Afraid not. But he was involved, I know he was.’
‘But you got him on the assault,’ Cree said. ‘It was brilliant, Pam, absolutely brilliant.’
Tank wanted to thump him. More so when Murph bumped shoulders with the prick and said, ‘Win some, lose some.’