Deal with the Devil by Grace Tobin

Author:Grace Tobin [Tobin, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780143790228
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

22.

THE ARREST

Tuesday 5 August 2008

A kookaburra chortled to itself high up in a spindly gum tree, calling up the beginnings of a brand new day. A wintry chill pervaded the air. Water lapped gently against moored boats in the Cronulla marina.

Hidden inside his car, Mark Leveson drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He could barely contain himself. It had been 10 months and 13 days since his middle son had vanished. Now justice was almost within reach.

A convoy of headlights burst into sight, and Mark ducked below the steering wheel. Half a dozen cars passed by and pulled up in the cul-de-sac, then a dozen police marched into the sleepy Cronulla unit block. Mark clenched his fists tight as this long-awaited moment unfolded: the arrest of Michael Atkins.

When Detective Sergeant Woolbank had visited him and Faye at their Bonnet Bay home some days ago, she’d come with the good news that they were going to charge Atkins with murder. Mark’s eyes had glistened. Faye wept with relief. For months they’d been banking on that very outcome. Even though the detective had refused to tell them when the arrest would be, ‘for operational reasons’, Mark wasn’t about to deny himself the chance to watch the bastard go down. Every morning since, he’d rolled out of bed at 4 am and staked out Atkins’ unit block. It’d taken almost a week but, finally, it was D-Day.

With his window lowered and his ear cocked, Mark heard a firm knock on Atkins’ door. ‘Open up, police!’ Woolbank’s strong voice boomed.

Mark quietly opened his door. He wanted to creep closer to the unit block and take a look at Atkins’ face, but he resisted the urge and instead leaned against the hood of his car in anticipation.

A TV crew arrived in the street. As the cameraman hauled out his camera and tripod, a reporter climbed out of the vehicle and nodded politely towards Mark. This was the sort of footage news bulletins thrived on. The arrest of an accused murderer.

Moments later, a number of police officers emerged from the building. Woolbank led the way.

The cameraman pounced. Mark strained to see the ‘money shot’ being chased.

And there Atkins was. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a colourful jumper with a monkey symbol, the hood pulled down over his face, he was handcuffed and flanked by two male officers. As Atkins was guided into the back of a police vehicle, he kept his head tilted towards the ground.

Gotcha.

Detective Woolbank stepped into the front passenger seat. The arrest had gone to plan. Atkins had been home alone, as hoped, and he’d agreed to leave with police quickly and quietly. She found it startling that he’d shown no emotion as she’d read him his rights.

Driving off down Tonkin Street, leaving the media behind, Woolbank glanced up just as the police car levelled with a familiar face.

Mark Leveson. He was leaning on the bonnet of his car with his arms crossed.

Their eyes locked. Woolbank shot Mark a smile. His own grin was already plastered all over his face.

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