Chapter 15
Matthew Hawkins’ address was a duplex in east Ipswich, situated halfway up a quiet, very nearly vertical street overcrowded with eucalypts. Kids played in front yards, birds squawked in the trees and from somewhere close by, a game show was being played at high volume. Every time the audience applauded an equally loud voice cheered on the contestant.
“Nice neighbourhood,” Ivan said as they got out of the car. “I wonder if they know Hawkins’ history.”
“Everyone’s got to live somewhere, even ex-cons.” Erin studied the duplex. It was a low set brick place with a shared driveway between the two units and neat yard bare of garden beds. Hawkins had Unit 2, and the curtains were drawn and the front door closed. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
“Or like he’s pretending he’s not home. You do kinda look like a JW.”
Smoothing down her grey suit skirt, Erin glared at him. “Like he’s going to mistake me for a JW with you by my side.”
Ivan’s T-shirt proclaimed ‘I’m Prettier Than Your Girlfriend. And You Know It’. He just grinned at her.
“Let’s go knock.”
Erin had her hand raised to knock when the door to Unit 1 opened. A sweet faced, grey haired lady stepped out.
“You looking for young Matthew?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yes we are. Is he home?”
“What business is it of yours?” She looked them both over, her lips pursing as she read Ivan’s T-shirt. “Matthew doesn’t have friends like you.” This was directed at Ivan.
Hands on hips, Ivan asked, “But he does have friends like her?” He jerked his head in Erin’s direction.
“Of course. Proper professional folk. Well, at least one. Young man always in a suit. Very decent. He’s very respectful too.” She sniffed. “Wouldn’t be impertinent to a stranger at all.”
Erin put a hand on Ivan’s arm before he could respond. “Let it go,” she whispered to him. Turning to the woman, she smiled gently. “Please excuse my associate, it’s his laundry day. Ma’am, my name’s Erin McRea and I’m with Sol Investigations.” Producing a card from her pocket she held it out to the woman. “Please feel free to check up on my credentials at any time. I used to be a police officer in Brisbane CBD for nine years.”
The old lady examined the card every which way as if it might have a secret compartment. She squinted at the printing. “I’ll have to get my glasses. Stay there.”
The door banged shut behind her. Ivan huffed out an irritated sigh.
“Don’t start,” Erin warned him.
He grumbled and crossed his arms. “What was all that stuff about checking credentials and telling her you used to be a cop? You don’t always do that.”
“It helps some people feel more confident in talking to me. They like to know that I’m responsible and that they have a means of making sure I’m legit.”
Nose wrinkled, he mumbled, “Suspicious old biddy. Bet she doesn’t know about Hawkins. Wouldn’t think so highly of him then, I reckon.”
About to caution him again, Erin clamped her mouth shut as the door opened. The old woman had a pair of half-moon glasses perched on the very end of her nose, head tilted back as she peered at the card.
“Well, it looks official, I suppose. Why are you looking for Matthew?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential, ma’am,” Erin said. “Do you know when he’ll be home?”
She looked the card over again, adjusting her glasses. “He’s out of state on business. Young man works very hard. Hardly ever home these days. I take care of his mail.”
Erin took a deep breath. Away on business? But being beaten half to death in Redcliffe at the same time? She let the breath out in a long, even flow.
“When did he leave?” she asked, years of practice keeping her tone neutral.
“I last saw him four weeks ago. He was gone again two days later.”
“Do you know what sort of business he’s in?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something to do with computers or calculators, I think. All that sort of talk goes right over my head. But he’s very professional. Perfect gentleman.” She cut a pointed look at Ivan.
Ivan rolled his eyes and stalked back to the car.
“Mrs…?” Erin began.
“Browne, and it’s Miss.”
Erin smiled. “Miss Browne, you like Mr Hawkins. He’s a good neighbour when he’s home?”
“Oh yes. Used to have two girls living in there.” She pursed her lips. “Loud music every weekend. Well, I suppose they call it music. And the boys. My, those girls were…” Miss Browne screwed up her face, thinking.
“Popular?” Erin suggested.
“Sluts. But Matthew is such a sweet boy. Always brings me flowers or butterscotch fudge when he comes home, to thank me for the mail.”
“He’s very considerate. Do you know when he’ll be back from interstate?”
“He’s rarely gone for more than a month, so it shouldn’t be long now. They work him very hard, you know.”
“So I understand. You mentioned a friend of his, in the suit.”
Miss Browne beamed. “Even more polite than Matthew. Very gallant fellow.”
“Do you know his name?”
She tilted her head slightly. “You know, I don’t think I do. He’ll usually come by one night while Matthew is at home. If I’m out, he always says hello and helps me with my bags or holds the door for me. Very charming.”
Erin considered not asking, but she had to. “Do you think this man and Mr Hawkins are involved?”
“In business? Yes, I do.”
Oh dear. Erin pulled in another soothing breath. “No, I mean romantically.”
Miss Browne’s eyes popped open wide and her jaw dropped. “No! No, of course not. They’re both respectable young men.” She glanced toward Ivan. “Matthew has a girlfriend.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Well, no. I’ve only seen her a few times. Matthew always brings her in late at night. Pretty little thing. Dark hair, pale skin.” She frowned. “She dresses like the girls who used to live there, though. I’ve told Matthew that he should encourage her to wear more or she’ll catch a cold. He agrees with me but says she’s very strong willed. Now, is that all you wanted to know? My stories are about to start.”
“Please, Miss Browne, I only have a couple more questions.”
“Come on then, make them snappy.”
“How long has Mr Hawkins’ rented this property?”
Miss Browne spent a moment thinking and counting silently on her fingers. “Two years, next October.”
“Okay.” Erin steeled herself. “Did you know he has a past conviction and that he spent time in prison?”
Obviously not, by the tone of her firm, “Surely not. He’s such a nice young man.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s true.”
Miss Browne’s face crumpled. “But…”
Erin took her hand and rubbed it gently. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago and not for anything major.” What was a little white lie to sooth the old duck? “I do think he is repentant and shouldn’t be persecuted for his crime anymore. Please don’t think any worse of him for it. He’s always been kind to you, hasn’t he.”
She nodded, though her eyes seemed unfocused. Erin just hoped she hadn’t upset Miss Browne too much. But knowing Hawkins hadn’t come clean about his past was important. As was the fact that he kept a decoy house. He wasn’t away on business. He didn’t really ‘live’ here. He was hiding something, and going to great lengths to do so.
“Thank you, Miss Browne, you’ve been very helpful. You have my card. Don’t hesitate to call me for any reason. I’ll let you get back to your stories.”
Miss Browne nodded and wandered back inside. Erin bit her lip, wondering if she should talk to one of the other neighbours and ask them to keep an eye on her. Decided to do that, she headed toward the highblocked house next door. A dirty white van chugged up the steep inclin
e of the street, passed her car, and Ivan who slouched sulkily on the boot, turned around at the cul de sac and belched its way back toward them.
Erin glanced at the driver, then looked again. He stared out the window at her, not looking where he was going. His face was deathly pale, long and narrow, almost too long, with a sharply pointed chin. The nose looked like it had been flattened with a mallet, flaring wide, and expanding as the driver took in a deep sniff of air. His ears were huge, lobe-less and upswept so they ended in points just over the top of his bald head. He grinned and his mouth was full of fine, pointed teeth.
What…?
“Ivan,” she called, not daring to take her eyes off the strange person.
The driver lifted a very real and very deadly submachine gun and pointed it through the window.
“Down!” Erin threw herself to the ground.
The machine gun exploded into action, a deafening, rattling roar. Erin scrambled on her belly toward the cover of the garden bed in the neighbouring yard. Clods of dirt flung themselves out of the ground around her. A bullet, fast and scorchingly hot, whizzed over her back. Another scored her left shoulder. The hibiscus she pulled in behind shook as if suffering a fit. Leaves were torn from the plant, a whirlwind of green localised right around her.
Screams pierced the din of the machine gun. Erin lifted her head, but pulled it back down as the top half of the bush collapsed under the damage and crashed down over her. Sharp branches dug into her back.
And then, in a squeal of tyres and smoke, the van raced away down the hill.
Erin stayed where she was for several moments more. Someone was still screaming, a high-pitched wail of terror.
That was when Erin remembered the kids playing in the yards.