ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
Payback. Harvey Cleggett
Читать онлайн.Название Payback
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781922175946
Автор произведения Harvey Cleggett
Жанр Ужасы и Мистика
Издательство Ingram
He stood to leave then hesitated, smiling ruefully. “Oh, unless the world collapses today, I’d like to be over at Natalie’s by 6 tonight. I’ve an important question to ask her.”
Delwyn sprang to her feet, almost climbing over the desk to wrap him in a huge hug. “Best news I’ve heard all day. I knew you’d get around to it eventually.”
Face colouring, Ballard grinned as he extracted himself, concerned as to how lean she felt. “Yes, I’m going to ask her to the pictures on Saturday.”
Delwyn, feigning annoyance, stabbed her finger at the door. “Off with you and don’t come back until you’ve popped the question.”
Pretending servitude he slunk out of the office, much to the amusement of the younger detectives who didn’t know him well.
Heading over to the weapons’ safe, he signed out his personal issue 15 shot Smith & Wesson, along with a spare clip. While checking the magazine he silently thanked the department for changing from .38 revolvers, despite shuddering to think what gun battle may ever require fifteen rounds. He prayed he would never have to find out. From there he signed for a police vehicle, then, grabbing his day book headed off to find John.
Spotting him with two of his detectives he strolled over, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Ready? I feel a crime scene coming on.”
John looked at the car keys in his hand. “Want to ride shotgun, considering the lift this morning?”
Ballard smiled, aware that returning the favour was not the real motive; the simple fact being John loved to drive. “Sure thing.” He acceded by tossing the keys upwards in front of his partner who plucked them from mid-air, seemingly without looking. One of the detectives whistled in admiration, “Shit hot boss!” What the detectives were unaware of was the number of times John and Ballard had practiced the move until they could do it blindfolded.
Chuckling, John looked across at Ballard, “Good to go Inspector,” throwing him a military salute. Ballard reached forward to shake John’s hand; when John lowered his to accept, Ballard reverted to a return salute. Both men alternated this routine a number of times in rapid succession, their hands never touching. It came to an end with each doubled over in fits of laughter. The junior detectives looked at one another, shaking their heads in amazement, not understanding the bond that existed between the two older men from years of working together on the brutal streets of St Kilda.
Once in the car Ballard fastened his seatbelt then shut his eyes, knowing the three storey decent to street level would be a white knuckle ride, performed with precision, but terrifying nevertheless. “You do realise I’m getting too old for this kind of death wish.” Flicking a sideways glance John chuckled, choosing to misinterpret the statement.
“Bullshit Mike. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. The thrill of the moment. Bringing crooks to justice.” He lowered his voice to a growl, “It’s what keeps us alive.” Gunning the motor he accelerated to the first corner.
As Ballard predicted they made the descent with John in total control, as though he were an extension of the car. Once on the street Ballard opened his eyes and felt his breathing return to normal, realising he had been holding it for most of the descent.
John turned the vehicle in the direction of the CityLink tollway; his face that of a man on a mission. Ballard knew murders of this kind were regarded by him as an affront to a civilised society. Failure to find the ‘Shithead’, as John referred to all criminals, was not an option.
CHAPTER
4
“You know Mike it never ceases to amaze me what human beings are capable of inflicting on each other.” It was a rare reflection for John to wax philosophical, underscoring his deep feelings regarding the shooting.
Ballard shrugged. “Human nature at work. A fact of life ever since we crawled out of the swamp.”
John glanced over at him. “Thank Christ it’s a small percentage of the population. We wouldn’t have enough hours in the day otherwise.”
Ballard shuffled sideways to face his partner. “I’ve never mentioned this to you but when I was about eight, my maternal grandfather told me an unbelievable story just before he died. I’ve never forgotten it. At the time it gave me nightmares for weeks, months in fact. . I know Mum was ropable when she found out.”
John’s expression made it clear Ballard had his attention. “Grandpa lived in Mundulla in South Australia and it happened when he was about thirty-five,” he hesitated, performing mental arithmetic. “I’m guessing that would have been… ah, the mid 1920s. Anyway, he would take Mum on a shopping trip once a fortnight into Bordertown which was about ten kilometres away. They didn’t have a car, so grandpa would saddle up the horse and buggy.”
John snorted. “Jeez Mike. You’re kidding me? A horse and buggy.”
Ballard chuckled. “Yep. Remember, this was the twenties. Now here’s where it gets interesting. On the way into Bordertown there was a farmhouse that was close to the road. The owner had a reputation for belting his better half. In those days wives had nowhere to go, so she had to put up with it. Anyway, for whatever reason she died.
“Grandpa said her death was never attributed to the husband, but no doubt living in that environment didn’t help. From that point on the husband was shunned by the community. No-one would talk to him. He even had trouble buying food and supplies from the shops. For all intents and purposes he had to fend for himself.”
Ballard became more animated as the story progressed. “On one of the trips, grandpa noticed the sheep and some of the cows crowding around the farmhouse. This wasn’t normal. A fortnight later he saw the same thing again. By the following fortnight grandpa decided to take a look. He dropped Mum home after shopping then back-tracked, knocking on the guy‘s front door. It was the middle of summer, stinking hot. Grandpa saw the livestock weren’t in good shape, water troughs empty, no feed, that sort of thing.”
Ballard looked across at John, grinning wickedly. “Then he noticed the smell.”
Without taking his eyes off the road John inclined his head sideways so as to be closer. “What smell?”
“Death.”
“Death?”
“Yep. Grandpa called out for several minutes but no-one answered, so he forced open the front door and went inside. Said the stench was unbelievable. So much so he threw up in the kitchen sink. But when he opened the door to the lounge he did more than throw up.” Ballard paused for dramatic effect. “He told me he very nearly soiled his pants.”
John was mesmerised, waving his hand impatiently for Ballard to continue.
“What grandpa saw was a rope slung over one of the beams with a noose at the end.”
“Christ, the bastard hung himself.”
“Grandpa said he wasn’t hanging from the rope.”
John took his eyes off the road and stared at Ballard. “So he didn’t hang himself?”
Ballard chuckled. “Oh yes he did. Remember… it was the middle of summer and he’d been there for over six weeks.”
Realisation dawned on John’s face. “Oh, don’t tell me!”
“Oh yes indeed! The bugger had rotted off the rope. To make matters worse, the idiot had taken a swig of sulphuric acid before he kicked himself off the chair. Grandpa saw the bottle lying on the floor.”
John swerved in the lane as he looked across, horrified.
“Sulphuric acid! You’re kidding me. For Christ’s