Scotty and Jill left Madeline and her mother with Charmaine and their grief, and quietly exited the office. They walked silently through the corridors of the hospital. Jill mostly felt numb, but she was also aware of a vague sense of satisfaction that the man who'd caused that chaos was dead. One day that was going to help Madeline recover. She remembered the fear that had chased her everywhere after the police brought her home. She'd believed the men who'd taken her could find her again any time they wanted to. After leaving her naked and still blindfolded on a school oval two suburbs from her house, there'd been no sign of them. If she'd had proof they could never hurt her again, that they were dead, she knew that would have helped.
When the glass doors of the hospital slid open to let them out, Jill blinked in the sunlight. She rubbed at her arms with her hands, chilled by the refrigeration of the hospital, and wrinkled her nose at the cigarette smoke that hung in a cloud around the entryway. Patients in pyjamas and gowns, leading their drips and monitoring machines like pet dogs, sucked in lungfuls of smoke while they chatted to each other and their visitors.
Scotty strode towards the road in front of the hospital. Jill had to jog to keep up.
'We're going to see Sebastian.' Scotty's face was closed. He stared into the distance. 'If there is some sort of club for these arseholes, we're taking it down.'
Jill sighed. She'd seen her partner in this mood before. If she didn't work with him, he'd charge in there on his own.
'We'll need a plan,' Jill said. 'They're not just going to admit they all hang out together.' They crossed the road and began walking through the park opposite. Jill negotiated around a homeless man lying face up in the 11 a.m. heat, his bottle already empty beside him. She was going to stop to make sure he was alive, when he grunted and opened his eyes. He mumbled something about the ozone layer, staggered to his feet and began to shuffle over to the shade of a tree.
'Surveillance, then. Let's at least go have a look at where this prick lives. Check this club out. And I want to talk to him. Shake him up a bit.' Scotty was in full stride, his features set.
Jill assumed they were heading for the bus stop at Taylor Square. They'd left the car with Charmaine Davis and would need to use public transport to get back to Maroubra.
'All right, we'll check out his place, Scott,' said Jill. She hoped to stall before they actually spoke to Sebastian. He'd just shut up shop if they were too inquisitive.
Jill took two steps for every one of Scotty's. The sun felt good on her shoulders after the chill of the hospital. They were approaching The Wall, a sandstone barricade that was formerly the outside wall of an old gaol.
The Wall ran along Darlinghurst Road, and was a well-known strip for child prostitutes. Jill remembered a time when up to twenty young boys would hang here, blatantly soliciting, waiting for one of the steady stream of vehicles to slow down and pick them up. There was often a raucous atmosphere – sometimes there'd be a brawl that spilled into the traffic, over a client, a patch of turf. It only helped to draw the crowds; many, visitors from the suburbs with their car doors locked and windows up, were just out for a look at the seamy side of life. There was always at least one boy leaning into the driver's window of a car with dark windows. Nowadays the show was over, police routinely busting the kids, and sometimes the men who preyed on them. Most times of the day and night, however, if you waited long enough, you'd see a boy dart out from the park and hop into a car, or notice that there was a disproportionate amount of youth hanging around the mobile needle exchange or food van that was often stationed at The Wall.
A van stood there now, distributing sandwiches and cups of tea and water to the homeless and poor that lived in this area. Jill followed Scotty as he walked straight up to the van.
'Detective Scott Hutchinson,' said Scotty to the middle-aged man and woman in white T-shirts handing out the food and drink. 'We're investigating a paedophile network, and we're wondering whether you see many people around here taking young boys into their cars.'
'You're kidding, right?' the woman said flatly, continuing to distribute her styrofoam cups. 'You know this is The Wall, don't ya?'
'There's no need to be sarcastic, Beryl,' the man next to her said, stopping his work for a moment and staring down from the van. 'Yes, son, unfortunately there are still many cars stopping regularly for the kids around here.'
'Same cars all the time. We take the plates and call you guys, but we see 'em here again the next week. Bloody perverts.'
'We don't know about a network, but there does seem to be a regular group that comes around…'
'There ya go. Do some good right now if ya want.' The woman interrupted her partner. 'That bastard's here all the time.' Beryl was pointing at a dark, late-model Range Rover that had pulled over about a hundred metres from where they stood.
Scotty was in full flight before Jill had even turned. She had started to run after him when the big car screeched away from the gutter, leaving Scotty standing in the street staring after it. He was writing in his notebook as she reached him.
'Well, I know what I'm doing this afternoon. Gonna hunt down that squirrel and then do some work looking into who this Sebastian is, where he lives and what he eats for fucking breakfast.'
'I'll go and see Honey again, then.' Jill could see Scotty was on a mission and wouldn't need passengers. Ninety minutes later, Jill sat in a coffee shop in Surry Hills waiting for Honey. She'd ordered a coffee, but it had grown cold in front of her. Her head already buzzed, and she didn't need any more of a rush.
To try to block out thoughts of little Madeline and her mum, she paid attention to the patrons with whom she shared the cafe. Although it was now 2 p.m., she knew that many of these people were eating breakfast. This suburb caught up an eclectic mix of university students, artists and clothes designers, young professionals, and the unemployed from the numerous housing commission high-rises. A scowling gay couple periodically spat a few words across the table at each other and then studiously ignored one another; a dreadlocked girl in a multi-coloured caftan yawned over a herbal tea, while her multi-pierced companion munched muesli. A woman in a serious suit and heels clattered away on a laptop; while at the next table a scrawny blond man was on the heroin-nod over bacon and eggs. The disgruntled waitress nudged him awake with her hip as she walked past carrying empty coffee cups.
The waitress had fixed Jill with a stare a couple of times before Honey finally breezed in. Wearing pelvis-skimming denim shorts, midriff-baring white halter top, over-sized white-framed sunglasses and gold gladiator sandals laced halfway up her calves, she woke everybody up. Used to making an entrance everywhere she went, Honey gave Jill affected air kisses, bending forward and giving half the cafe a view to remember. Jill heard the gay couple, united at last in whispered theatrical mortification.
'Hi, Honey.' Jill was pleased to see her, happy to be distracted.
'What are we eating, sweetie? I'm starving.'
'Order whatever you like.' Jill knew by now that Honey enjoyed being spoiled, and today she felt content to indulge her. Honey ordered eggs Benedict with toast, mushrooms, coffee and a blended fruit juice. Jill ordered bottled water and a smoked salmon and avocado sandwich on wholegrain bread. No butter.
When the waitress bustled away, leaving their table covered in food and drink, Jill pulled a cloth carry bag from under the table.
'Your clothes,' she said. 'Thanks for lending them to me.'
'Oh, no problem, sweetie, any time. You should wear stuff like this more often. You were hot!' Honey put the bag down beside her. 'What happened to you when the alarm went off, anyway?'
'Just called it a night,' said Jill. 'I couldn't see you, but I figured you weren't ready to go home.'
'Are you kidding? I didn't get home until Thursday night.'
Jill gave a short laugh, and then got down to business.
'So, Honey, remember you said that Sebastian had a youth drop-in centre in the Cross? You said he used it for recruits.' This time she wanted to make sure she and Honey were talking about exactly the same thing before they went anywhere.
'Yeah, so?' Honey's sunglasses perched on top of her head, holding her long black hair off her face. She was making short work of her breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the stares of every male that walked past. The front wall of the cafe folded back while trading to allow it to be part of the street.
'Well, I want you to take me there.'
'He's hardly ever there, but whatever. It's not like it's some secret place. It's been there since I was a kid. Charities even use it to try to get the kids off the streets.'
'So it's like an amusement centre?'
'Yeah, you know, some pool tables, a few computer games. There's a half basketball court, a room to do art and craft and shit.'
'And Sebastian set this up?'
'There's always plenty of kids there. It was a great place to go. And close to everything.'
'Well it's in Kings Cross, so it's not really close to anything a kid should be close to,' Jill commented.
'But the kids who go there are going to be around the streets anyway, so it's a safe place to hang out.'
Jill stared at her. 'Honey, there's something I don't understand about you.' Jill kept her voice quiet and careful, but she felt exasperated. 'You told me that Sebastian runs this place to recruit children. I assume you mean recruit them for sex. You told me that man started you in child prostitution and got you addicted to heroin. And you just called a place that this man runssafe.'
Honey glared at her for a moment, then slipped her glasses back down over her eyes.
'You wouldn't understand,' she said. 'When you're on the streets, a place with a roof is usually a safe place. At the centre you don't even have to give a blow job to stay warm.' She stabbed at her eggs. 'You just don't get it. Sebastian is an arsehole, but he gives those kids stuff as well. Not everyone who goes there gets molested, you know.' She pushed her plate away, folded her arms. 'I'm done here. To be honest, I've got other things to do today.' She looked out to the street.
Jill reached across the table, and then pulled her hands back, remembering Honey didn't like to be touched. 'Come on, Honey. I'm just frustrated, that's all. Don't shut down on me. I'll get you an ice-cream at the Cross.'
Honey was silent for a few moments, then she spoke, still looking at her plate.
'Yeah, well, whatever. I guess I can come.'
She grabbed her juice and stood, and Jill went to pay. The male couple now held hands across the table. Jill parked her car out the front of a prestige car dealership; she and Honey passed the front of the sleek showroom selling fat Mercedes and walked straight into hell. The drop-in centre was a block from the Matthew Talbot Hostel, a refuge for homeless male alcoholics, and today the afternoon sun bore down pitilessly on close to fifty men lying in the street that led up to the hostel.
'We don't have to go up that street, do we?' Jill asked Honey.
'Nah, it's the next one up.'
They walked past a man in a singlet and shorts who was asleep in the gutter. The cheek exposed to the sun was the colour of a cooked, wet lobster.
The drop-in centre was not what Jill had expected. A two-storey terrace house in a mostly residential street, there was no sign out the front indicating the function of the building. Honey walked up the two front steps and went straight in, Jill following close behind. The front room was dark compared to the white heat bouncing off the pavement outside. Jill blinked as her eyes adjusted.
Three Aboriginal children scribbled with textas on a large canvas. A rack containing pamphlets stood in the corner; the only other furniture a couple of lounge chairs and a desk. There were no adults in sight. The kids did no more than glance at them before going back to their colouring. Jill and Honey walked through to the next room. A kitchen. Large jars of coffee and sugar, a big refrigerator, a bowl of apples. No-one in there.
In a small courtyard off the kitchen, two teenage boys smoked cigarettes. They blew out insolence with their smoke. Jill thought she'd at least try to talk to them.
'You guys know Mr Sebastian?'
The oldest boy looked her up and down and whispered something to his mate. They both laughed.
'I asked you a question.' Jill felt hot and tired.
The boys sniggered again, and she had a sudden image of herself slapping the spotty face of the closest boy. She walked back into the kitchen. Honey had the fridge open and was poking around inside. Jill saw loaves of bread, margarine, a catering-sized jar of Vegemite.
'I'm going upstairs,' Jill said, walking from the kitchen.
The muted music of a computer game led her up the stairs. She walked into one of three rooms off the first-floor landing, following the sound. A dark-haired boy who looked about twelve sat on a dirty, pink fabric-covered couch. His eyes were locked on a TV screen, his hands on a game control panel. She sat next to him, watched the game.
'These guys are the worst.'
Jill was surprised to hear him speak.
'They come at you so fast.'
'Shit! Look out for that one,' she warned him.
The muscleman controlled by the boy blasted the flesh-eating zombie just in time. Green brains splattered from its skull; grey limbs flew into the air. Moments later, another zombie shot the muscleman in the head and the boy turned to face her.
'I'm Jill,' she told him.
'Jack.'
'Ha. Jack and Jill.'
A white smile split his brown face, and the sun came out in the small room.
'Jack, I'm a police officer.' She decided to be honest. These kids all knew anyway. They always said it was the shoes cops wore, but Jill felt street kids developed senses others didn't, survival skills, honed living in the urban jungle.
'Got a gun?' They always wanted to know.
She lifted the short jacket she wore over her T-shirt, showed him her revolver.
'Cool. Can I touch it?'
That was always the next question; either that or, 'Have you ever shot anyone?' His brown eyes were young and old.
'Not today.' The answer would do for both questions.
'You lookin' for Jamaal?'
The air was very still in the room; dust motes danced in a sunbeam near the window. A pulse beat in her neck.
'Why would you think that, Jack?'
''Cause you should be.' He put his chin on his chest, fiddled with the joystick.
'You know what? I am looking for Jamaal. Does he come around here much?'
Jack shrugged.
'How do you know him?'
'He told me about this place.'
'Has Jamaal ever hurt you, Jack?'
Eyes down. Nothing.
'Why should we be looking for him?'
'You should know why.'
'Could you come to where I work and tell me more about him?'
'You're crazy.'
She looked up when the light altered in the doorway.
'Hello. May I help you?' came a sharp female voice.
Jill stood. The woman looked about thirty-five maybe, hippie clothing, closed face, no smile.
'Sergeant Jillian Jackson.' Jill held out her hand.
'Do you have an appointment with someone here?' The woman ignored her hand, didn't offer her name.
'Do I need one?'
'Well, adults are not encouraged to drop by unannounced,' said the woman. 'Are you all right, Jack?'
The boy said nothing. Jill asked, 'What about Jamaal Mahmoud? Alejandro Sebastian? Do they drop by unannounced?'
The woman paused a few beats. Looked at a point over Jill's shoulder, then fixed her eyes back on her face.
'I'm afraid I'm the wrong person for you to speak to. If you'll come to the office next door I'll give you my supervisor's card.'
'Simple question, though, really – do those men drop by? What role do they have here at the centre?'
Jack stared at the woman, also waiting for her answer.
'Yes, as I said, Ms Jackson, my supervisor's best placed to answer any questions about the centre. If you'll just follow me?'
'It'sSergeant Jackson, actually, and yes I will take that name.'
The woman turned and lead the way out of the room. Jill lingered behind and slipped her work card into Jack's hand.
'Call me any time, about anything. If I'm not there, leave a message and I'll call you the next day. I promise. I'll be back here, Jack, but if you need help, call me.'
When the woman made an officious noise in the hallway outside the door, Jill left the room and followed the wide, bright-orange skirt in front of her.