Woman, Missing by Sherryl Clark

Author:Sherryl Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQ Fiction
Published: 2024-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

‘Louisa. Nice to hear from you.’ His tone was measured and calm, as if he’d been waiting for my call. I didn’t want to think what that might mean.

‘Dad.’ I hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year.

‘I imagine you’re calling about your grandfather.’

‘Yes. What’s happened?’

‘I believe there was a shooting.’

My teeth ground together and I had to summon every shred of diplomacy and keep my voice calm. ‘Was Grandad injured? Or …’ I gritted out the word. ‘Killed?’

‘He’s in hospital under police guard. He’ll be charged in the morning.’

‘Charged with what?’

‘Murder. I doubt very much he’ll be able to talk his way out of it this time.’

He hung up.

The bastard hadn’t even told me how bad Grandad’s injury was. He could’ve been dying. Not that my father would care. He’d probably pour himself another glass of Chivas Regal or some other fancy scotch and celebrate.

Why did I bloody call him? I should’ve known it would get me nowhere, and just give my father a chance to gloat. And fuck up my life even more. I called Paul instead, who should’ve been my first choice.

‘What do you mean, shot?’ Paul shouted.

I held the phone away from my ear and looked around. No TV crews, nobody that looked like a journalist. Two people whose phones were in their hands, but neither was filming. The police had this locked down tighter than a constipated snake. Then a Channel 9 helicopter clattered overhead, hovering, a camera trained on Grandad’s house. Time for me to disappear.

‘Hang on,’ I told Paul, and walked swiftly away, around the corner to where some thickly canopied trees would conceal me. ‘A news helicopter has turned up, so word is getting out.’

Paul had turned his TV on. ‘Yes, it’s on now. News flash at the beginning of the ad break.’ He read off the scrolling news banner: ‘Shooting at a property in Altona. Reports of injuries. More to come.’

‘Kluzman and Gallo are here.’

He groaned. ‘That guy is like slime on a pond.’

‘I made the mistake of calling my father. He said Grandad is in hospital. Didn’t even tell me which hospital or how bad he is.’

‘I’m onto it. I’ll call you back. You got wheels?’

‘Not yet. I’ll go and get a car as soon as I can.’

‘Okay.’

I booked another Uber and was glad to see one was five minutes away. While I waited, I ran through all the hospitals Grandad might be in. Not Williamstown. It was closed to emergencies at night. Footscray then. Or maybe Sunshine. Or the Royal Melbourne. Or …

The Uber arrived and thankfully it was a different guy. This one was a very polite Indian man who actually knew his way around and didn’t need Google Maps to find the West Gate Bridge. By the time I was dropped off at the Commodore, Paul had called back and told me Grandad was at the Footscray Hospital. ‘He’s got a bullet wound in his arm, Lou, but he’s okay.’

‘My father said they were going to charge him.

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