Free Deserving Death by Katherine Howell Page B

eyes fixed on the screen before her. Ella saw she was zooming in, and recognised the street corner as one in the Cross.
    ‘Now what are you fellas up to?’ the woman murmured.
    On the screen three teenage boys huddled together. Ella saw their hands move as something was passed furtively between the first and second, then the first boy walked off in one direction while the others headed the other way along the footpath, talking with their heads together, the second one looking down into the pocket of his hoodie at what he held there.
    Janssen glanced at the screen. ‘They think they’re invisible.’
    ‘You report that stuff?’ Murray asked.
    ‘Absolutely. The computer sends it straight through to you people, and we keep a log and details of the recording too.’
    ‘How close can you get with that zoom?’
    ‘Pretty damn close,’ the wiry woman said. ‘I’ll show you.’
    She made the camera follow a car along the street, close enough to see the numberplate and even the heads of passengers in the back seat.
    ‘Of course, we need to be able to account for everything we zoom in on,’ Janssen said. ‘Stops operators perving, that sort of thing.’
    ‘Is perving a problem?’ Ella said.
    ‘Potentially perving, I should’ve said.’
    The woman zoomed out and again the screen showed a wide angle of the street.
    Murray looked mesmerised. ‘Man, you can see it all. You’re like a little god in here, watching over everything.’
    ‘It has its drawbacks,’ Janssen said, eyes on his own screen as he typed. ‘It’s fine to see something happening and be able to call for help for someone, but then you’re watching and waiting for that help to arrive, and seeing the assault continue or the person lie on the street, maybe dying or unconscious. It can actually make you feel powerless.’
    ‘I can imagine,’ Murray said.
    ‘Here we go.’
    Janssen’s screen showed the street outside Castro’s nightclub. The headlights of passing cars flared white, and people moving on the footpath were dark figures.
    ‘Night is never as good as day,’ he said, tweaking the joystick to zoom in on the club’s door. The recording was faster than real time, and people walked jerkily in and out, stood around smoking, hugged and kissed. The time in the corner ticked forward. ‘Did you have a more specific time?’
    ‘Try from quarter past eight,’ Ella said.
    Janssen tapped keys and the screen blurred, the time whirring forward, then he slowed it down again. People came and went, and at eighteen past they saw a taxi pull up. Bayliss, recognisable by her long light hair and the short black dress, got out then walked to the door and inside. She didn’t appear to be in a rush, nor did she stop to speak to anyone around her. Nobody looked to be paying her special attention either.
    ‘The other time?’ Janssen asked.
    ‘Start at quarter past midnight,’ Ella said.
    They watched people walk in and out of the club again, mostly in pairs, sometimes singly, a couple of times in groups. An aircon vent was blowing directly onto the back of Ella’s neck and she covered her skin with one hand while watching the screen and the time. Elsewhere in the room she could hear someone relaying details of an assault in progress in The Rocks.
    They appeared at twelve forty-three: five women stepping out the club’s door.
    ‘Aha,’ Murray said.
    Alicia Bayliss pranced down the footpath. The group moved away from the camera, one looking back up the street – Carly, Ella thought – and raising an arm for a taxi. Ella stared at the door and the footpath behind the women. A few people wandered out of the club, some standing there to light up, two coming towards the camera and disappearing underneath it. A big man with dark clothing and a mop of light hair stepped out, his attention on his phone, and then stood looking in the direction of the women before setting off after them.
    ‘Tall and blond,’ Murray said.
    Ella was too busy watching to