Free ThornyDevils by T. W. Lawless Page B

journalists herded themselves behind the trolley and towards the ambulance.
    The grey-haired woman darted out of the house, followed closely by a policewoman. The woman had changed into a fresh, green tracksuit with yellow edging. In her urgency she had only zipped up the tracksuit top over her abdomen, leaving her bra exposed. She threw a passing glance at Peter before running up the driveway towards the ambulance. She seemed oblivious to her public display. Peter thought about telling her but decided against it. Maybe the female copper would tell her.
    Mad Dog had gone back into action, snapping the trolley as it was pushed into the back of the ambulance. He attempted to take a photo of the woman trying to climb in and being grappled by police, but he was pushed away. The doors were thrown shut and the ambulance screamed away, siren blaring in harmony with the two police cars following it. Peter wanted to go back to the swing and close his eyes. He desperately wanted a stiff drink. He managed to direct his feet back towards the garage. It was cordoned off. He realised his suit jacket was back there and he was wearing nothing but a singlet and pants soaked to the knee in blood.
    A line of police officers and ambos were gathered at the doorway of the garage. Peter wanted to blend in. He was a few steps away. Then he noticed. How the hell hadn’t he noticed before?
    In the congealing pool, Peter saw four bullet casings alongside the still open passenger door of the BMW. Four more on the other side. The driver’s door was also open. Two police officers were standing near the door looking down. One has taken off his cap and was running his hand through his hair, pale with shock. Peter could now clearly see what he was looking at. A male torso hung out of the driver’s door, the head resting limply in a puddle of gore on the garage floor. The back of his skull was missing.
    Then Peter saw his suit jacket draped over a carpenter’s bench. He wanted to go and pick it up but an agitated male voice bore down onhim from behind. The two coppers looked up in the direction of the voice. It was the wavy-haired detective senior sergeant.
    ‘Hey you,’ he barked. ‘You. The bloke in the singlet. You can’t go in there, you’ll be disturbing a crime scene. Don’t you touch anything.’ With a wave, he signalled one of the other Homicide Squad members to approach Peter.
    As Peter backed away from the garage door, he was followed by a senior constable, who cornered him against a fence. A few minutes later, the detective senior sergeant crossed the yard towards him.
    ‘Who are you?’
    Peter was still trying to shake the vision of trauma he had witnessed from his consciousness. He concentrated all his energies on the present. The detective was taller than Peter, broad-shouldered with a soft, jowly face, a porn moustache, and that hair. The thought that it might be permed pushed everything else away. The detective’s soft face didn’t match his rasping voice.
    ‘Peter Clancy. I’m the new crime journalist from The Truth and the owner of that coat.’ Peter was beginning to feel the brisk Melbourne winter air. He started to shiver. I need a shirt. I need a shirt. I want my coat back. My tits will freeze off . ‘I heard about the shooting on a scanner and my photographer and I got here just before your lot turned up.’
    ‘If it was up to me those things would be outlawed,’ he sneered at Peter.
    ‘I was using my shirt as a compress. For the man who was shot. Can you tell me anything about him?’ he continued, wrapping his arms around his body for warmth.
    The detective smirked, enjoying Peter’s discomfort. He took his time responding. ‘I’m the one asking the questions here, mate. You’ll be very lucky not to be charged.’
    ‘With what? For trying to save a life?’
    ‘Well, Peter Clancy, porn peddling, muck raking Good Samaritan from The Truth , one of the detectives here will ask you a few more questions and then you