There was a blood smear on the outside doorknob. I stepped over the threshold, glanced at the chain on the lock as I went through, which was intact. I looked at the walls in the short hallway into the room. Both walls told me something. On the left, a new dent in the plasterboard at about the five-foot-five mark, just inside the door itself and beside a framed print of a chicken. Plaster dust on the floor. On the right, on both the wall and the open door itself, medium-impact cast-off patterns in blood. I stood there and tried to visualise what had happened. Saw the victim, Chloe Lutz, being grabbed by the throat or the face as she opened the door, being shoved hard into the wall, making a dent in the gyprock with the back of her head. Being held there while she was stabbed, probably two or three times, in the abdomen, judging from the height and amount of cast-off on the wall. I looked down at the mess of handprints and smears on the bloodstained carpet, stepped over it all, followed the smears as they went up the hall past the wardrobe and the bathroom and arrived at the foot of the bed. The bed wasn’t made but wasn’t messed up, either. No struggle. The coverlet and top sheet were flipped back on the left-hand side, closest to the bathroom and the front door. I walked over and saw there was no blood on the sheets, or on the walls. Just a couple of big pools in the carpet where Chloe had crawled, rested, dragged herself on, and then finally arrived at the place where she bled out and died under the window to the beer garden. The curtain was still drawn,blocking out the view. I looked up, saw that there were circular oyster-style lights in the ceiling, which were switched off. Saw another blood smear on the light switch.
I went to the spot where Chloe had died, crouched down, looked hard at the shape of the blood in the carpet. She’d been lying on her side, facing the bed. I could see the imprint of her upper arm. Her thigh. I took some deep breaths, rubbed my throat, got the sudden urge to vomit. This wasn’t me. I didn’t gag at crime scenes like a fucking rookie. What was this whole-body dread, this sense that a storm was about to hit and I was going to be caught in it, swept away?
I rose, looked at the bed again, preparing to do another lap of the room. Voices in the hallway outside made me jolt.
‘Who’s the arsehole who’s in my scene? One of your cronies, Dodge?’
‘Well, I actually wondered if—’
My brother, Russell, was there. The sight of him made me freeze. The moment seemed to collapse in on itself. It was like realising I was inside a dream but not being able to wake from it. Nothing made sense. Russell seemed somehow larger and more menacing than the last time I had seen him, five years ago. He’d been puffed up then, the way that he was now, standing in the doorway, mean-eyed and raising an enormous finger to point it at my chest like a gun.
‘You!’ Russell’s grey eyes narrowed. ‘What thehellare you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re on this.’
‘I am,’ I said. Dodge was hovering in the hallway behind Russell, a bare sliver of him visible past Russell’s broad shoulder: a single eye. ‘My chief super put me on it.’
‘Forget that,’ Russell spat. ‘I’m the assigned detective, and I’m not working with you.’
‘You’rethe assigned detective?’ I fumbled, trying to get a grip on reality. ‘How?’
‘Doesn’t matter how. I’m on this. Which means you’re out. Hit the road.’
‘Russell, wait—’
‘I’m not working with you.’
‘You have to,’ I said. ‘My chief—’
‘Tell her I sacked you.’ Russell jerked a thumb towards the hall. ‘You’re redundant. Your services aren’t required.Scram, Evan, before I create another crime scene right here on top of this one.’
‘Are you guys …’ Dodge’s words were again ventured carefully, a mouse trying to talk his way out of a lion’s den while two beasts snarled at each other. ‘You two are related, are you?’
I nodded. ‘Russell is my brother.’
‘Huh! Small world.’
‘Get out, Evan!’
‘I thought there must be a family connection.’ Dodge folded his arms, curious now. ‘Odd name, “Powder”. So you’re both from—’
‘Just give us a minute, Dodge, will you?’ I widened my eyes at him, and the sergeant turned and left. Russell remained in the doorway to Chloe’s room. I walked over, my hands up in surrender. ‘Russell, lis—’
Russell seized a handful of my T-shirt, got chest hairs as well, making me yowl with pain. Water welled in the corners of my eyes. ‘No,youlisten,’ Russell snarled.
‘Rus!’
‘I’ve had a real prick of a morning, okay?’ Russell said, squeezing hard as my hands closed around his fingers. He was almost lifting me off my feet. ‘Bridie is downstairs. She’s supposed to be staying with me this week in the city. Instead, I’ve been shafted out here to Fucksville against my will. When Georgia finds out I’ve dragged our child along on whatever the hell this is, she’s going to feed my balls into a paper shredder. The last thing I need to add to this delicious turd sandwich of a day isyoursorry mug. I’m here to clear this thing up and get back home. Okay? So get a move on. Now, Evan. Go.’
Russell yanked me into the hallway, shoved me hard. I found myself suddenly released. Stood with my face burning and smoothed down my crumpled shirt.
‘I can’t, Russell.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I just finished begging my way onto this job.’ I swiped at a tear that had fallen free of my eye. ‘I need it. For the detective’s exam. If I don’t get my stripes and get the fuck out of Mangrove Mountain in the next couple of years, Delle is going to leave me.’ I drew a ragged breath. ‘You must have heard about my … my …’
‘I heard.’
‘Right.’ I nodded hard. ‘So, you know, then, that I was supposed to be out of here by now. But I fucked up. And this might be my last shot at getting out for a long, long while.’
