Free Harrigan and Grace - 01 - Blood Redemption by Alex Palmer Page B

she hasn’t been out of the Academy all that long — eight, nine months perhaps? I know there are recent academic qualifications of some kind in criminology but really … ’ He paused as if expressing their agreed contempt. ‘Public Affairs needs a body. Why don’t you let them consider her? There are other people I could let you have. As I understand it, her only outstanding quality is that she flaunts herself.’
    Ouch, Harrigan thought.
    ‘She hasn’t in front of me.’ He spoke casually, pacing his words.
    ‘No, I don’t want to do that, thanks, Marvin. She handled herself well today. She’s got a brain and she uses it. It’s nice to see. It’s rare enough.’
    ‘Have it your own way. But there are other people. And you can always be in touch with me later if you want to change your mind.
    Perhaps we can come to some arrangement the next time you drop by to discuss your resource allocations. She may not be your most honest recruit. I dare say you’ll find that out in time.’
    ‘I guess time will tell us a lot of things. I wouldn’t have any reason to think that way about her now. I’ll see you later, mate. Give my regards to Joan.’
    They smiled at each other with equivalent insincerity before separating and walking away. Harrigan stopped to watch with distaste as the Tooth’s broad back disappeared into the open elevator, and wondered why he was so anxious to sink his fangs all over his new starter. She was lucky he never let Marvin decide who ought to work for him, simply as a matter of self-preservation. He could never be sure who the Tooth might want to salt onto his team or why. Still, if Marvin did not like her, then probably he could trust her. Bright skies, mate, he said to himself ironically, if a little sourly. Always look for the bright skies while you negotiate the tightropes strung over the crevasse beneath.
    He walked along the corridors back to his office softly whistling,
    ‘Always look on the bright side of life’.

5
    As Lucy moved through the alternations of urban devastation and bright, lively bazaar which made up King Street, her destination became her sole external focus. Her surroundings were immaterial, they could have been something made up out of fog. She found herself not far from the railway station, like someone who, after a night of drunkenness, cannot remember how they came home intact. Cutting through familiar narrow streets past the old police station, she followed the curve of the hill down towards Parramatta Road, to where a small, old-fashioned picture theatre, square, squat and flat-roofed, stood on the corner of a laneway. A sign — The New Life Ministries Temple, Pastoral Care and Community Youth Refuge, the Preacher Graeme Fredericksen — had been attached to the façade of the theatre against a backdrop of weathered film posters. Its companion building, the refuge, a large terraced house with a closed-in veranda, stood on the other side of the narrow lane.
    The front door to the theatre was always locked. Lucy went down the laneway to the back of the hall. Here, there was an open expanse of ground where two houses had been demolished some months ago, leading to a protest which had left the site undeveloped. The back door was also locked and she let herself inside, dropping her keys into her jacket pocket and leaving the door on the latch behind her. She stood in a small hallway where bare bulbs hung unlit from the high ceiling on their long cords. There was a set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine area, with a door beside them. She opened the door and looked into the untidy office beyond but it was empty. She walked down the short hallway and opening the heavy wooden door that led into the small auditorium she called out ‘Hello?’ A vacant echo was the only response. She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.
    A single row of small navy-blue rectangular windows near the ceiling locked out the light on the laneway side of the building. They created