The Robbers by Paul Anderson

Author:Paul Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Hardie Grant Books
Published: 2012-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 47

Kelso had hit rock bottom. Through red and tired eyes he re-read Paradox information reports at his desk, having defied Shepherd’s orders for the squad to spend the day resting with loved ones. Shepherd said it was The Robbers’ plan to tackle the murders, on the quiet, with a fresh constitution and clear heads come Monday morning. Kelso read IR after IR, knowing it was in vain. He and Rogers had checked every Paradox lead to no avail. Grotesque caricatures of both Schwarzenegger and Rambo had been tormenting Kelso in his dreams. For the first time in his police career, he felt truly crestfallen. Stumped. Haunted. He felt responsible for the deaths of two colleagues: two brothers. One had been his best mate. Kelso stared at the Paradox whiteboard. Turned to the Tombstone poster of Wyatt Earp and his immortals. The Armed Robbery Squad were immortals no more. Dumping the case files, Kelso walked across the room and stood in front of the squad photo board. On it was a patchwork of snaps documenting happy days and happy nights; victories both professional and social. They were captured moments special to The Robbers. Kelso pulled free a particular picture and took it back to his desk. It was a shot of Happy and Mitch on the squad’s annual fishing trip in north Queensland, the mates holding up a decent-sized game fish at the stern of a boat. Sun shining. Sky nearly as bright as their big winning grins. The two had spent three hours sharing time on the line to land the gleaming fish. Much to the howls and protests from the rest of the boys on the cans, they’d released the prize back into the blue. Kelso thought about Mitch. Their cops-and-robbers games as kids. Their time at the academy: Mitch on the training track, at the firing range and regularly skulking into his dorm room past curfew after Friday night drinks. Kelso thought back on times together on the job and a holiday spent in Ireland drinking Guinness and rubbing the local clover. Irish girls would always be good girls, but Mitch’s ride was over.

‘You right, pal?’

Kelso turned. It was Shepherd, also still in his scruffs.

‘Come on, into my office … Pull up a pew.’

Kelso sat. The boss flicked on a CD. Pulled a bottle of Makers Mark and two tumbler glasses from a filing cabinet. Shepherd poured to the soothing tones of ‘Viens Mallika Sous le Dome’. Tomorrow the music would take a dramatic change, Shepherd planning to unleash ‘Ride of the Valkyries’. Kelso placed down the photo. Shepherd took a glance. ‘We’re all hurting, Shane.’

‘I know, boss.’

Shepherd picked up his mobile. Pushed a speed-dial number. Left a message.

‘Chelsea, it’s your dad. If you get this message, give me a bell. It’d be nice just to hear your voice.’

Kelso took a hit of Makers. Lit a cigarette. Shepherd punched another number. This recipient answered.

‘Malone, it’s Shepherd … Yeah, thanks, pal. We’re all feeling lower than a turd in the shitter at the moment.

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