Free Salt and Blood by Peter Corris Page A

karate chop. I grabbed his forearm and stopped the swing. Rod struggled; he was stronger than me but unbalanced and I held him there long enough.
    â€˜Stop it, you bloody idiot,’ I hissed in his face. ‘Pick up that fucking board and let’s get out of here.’
    His eyes were starting from his head and a vein was throbbing in his temple. I bore down on his arm, locking it against his body. He sucked in a breath and the force seemed to go out of him.
    â€˜Okay, okay,’ he said.
    I let him go. People had gathered to watch the fight, but at a respectable distance. Rod and I avoided eye contact with them and the man he’dbeaten. He was still on his knees with blood dripping from his nose to the sand, but he didn’t seem to be seriously hurt. Rod picked up his board and we moved back up the beach.
    â€˜Jeez,’ I heard one of the spectators say, ‘that guy’s got a murderous temper.’
    I collected my things and Rod’s sandals and stuffed them into the bag. Rod was standing and looking down at the sand, breathing hard. I threw his towel at him and he fumbled the catch. He looked diminished and afraid, nothing like the athlete who’d ridden the waves so triumphantly. ‘Let’s go.’
    He looked at me and his eyes had lost their fire and were soft and pleading. I almost felt sorry for him. ‘Did you think it was another serious go at you?’
    He shook his head. ‘No. I just lost my block. But you’re supposed to be on my side.’
    I shoved at his shoulder and got him moving. ‘I am,’ I said. ‘Maybe you’d have liked being charged with assault. That’d put you back in Rutherford House faster than you can shit.’
    He plodded across the sand with his shoulders slumped like a schoolboy caught shoplifting and going home to tell his mum. ‘I didn’t take the Valium this morning,’ he said. ‘I felt good and didn’t think I needed it. Not a good idea in the surf anyway.’
    We reached the concourse and I directed him to a shower. He was obedient. He washed the sand from his legs and back. Then he rinsed down the board and the leg rope. He seemed childishlypleased to have these tasks to perform. I sneaked a look back at the beach, where the disturbance caused by the fight seemed to have faded away. Lucky. If there’d been an inspector around or some officious type with a mobile phone …
    When he was dry I gave him his sandals. ‘They never told us what medication you were on.’
    â€˜Just Valium.’
    Just Valium,
I thought.
Great.
And
without it
…? I couldn’t count the number of mood swings I’d seen courtesy of Valium. The comment from the beach hit me again:
That guy’s got a murderous temper.

10
    The computer arrived at ten the next morning and Glen showed up soon after to give Rod his lesson. He hadn’t said a word about the fight on the beach and seemed to have forgotten all about it, perhaps in the excitement of getting the computer. When we had a moment alone as he was unpacking the thing she handed me an envelope.
    â€˜Copies of the wife’s letters.’
    I pocketed the envelope. ‘Looked at by whom?’ 
    She spoke, quoting, ‘Police experts confirmed that they were in the hand of Mrs Lucille Harkness and written in a state of extreme distress.’
    â€˜As you’d expect. Have you turned up anything else?’
    â€˜Some stuff about her. Bit of a good-time girl, apparently.’
    â€˜Okay, here’s something for you.’ I gave her the bullet. ‘Dug out of the upholstery of my car. As I said, I thought you could use your old contacts to find out a bit about it.’
    â€˜Why’re you being so shitty?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜You know. I can feel the chill coming off you.’
    I wanted to tell her what I’d seen on the beach and about the Valium and the misgivings I was starting to entertain about Rod,