Cross Kill

Nine

Shortly after Wyatt had left via the back fence, cops were pounding on the front door. At first Eileen thought the two factors were connected, but it was her son they wanted. She knew it would be a waste of time asking to see a warrant. The local jacks had it in for the Rossiters. She herself had served six months in Fairlie for receiving. Ross had done time for armed robbery all over Australia-Boggo Road, Long Bay, Wacol. Leanne had been lumbered with a community order when she was just seventeen. Last year Niall had served six months in Pentridge for burglary and assault.

And now they were threatening to chuck the book at the poor little bugger. She leaned forward across the table. ‘An offensive weapon? You must be joking. Not Niall.’

They were in the kitchen, and it seemed to be full of cops. One stood behind her chair, another behind Ross’s, a third behind Niall’s. Thank God Leanne and the kids weren’t here to see this.

‘We’ve had complaints.’

It was the local sergeant, Napper, a spongy, beer-fed man with a ginger moustache who uttered soft grunts from time to time. Eileen had seen him off-duty wearing short-sleeved shirts with polyester trousers that ended well short of his ankles and divided his balls and the cheeks of his backside.

He drove an unroadworthy Holden ute. He also had a girlfriend in a flat a couple of streets away. Sometimes you’d see the ute there, sometimes a cop car. Eileen tried her drowsy, wet-lipped smile on him, for the hell of it. ‘What kind of complaints?’

‘The dog, I bet,’ Niall said.

Napper smoothed his moustache. ‘That dog of yours is going to earn you a lawsuit one of these days, Niall old son. It’ll take someone’s hand off and you’ll be up for a million bucks in damages.’

‘He’s got instincts. You can’t do anything about that.’

‘You could try tying him up. You could try cutting his throat.’

Niall looked away, muttered, screwed up his face at the table. Don’t rile them, son, Eileen thought.

Napper cupped his ear. ‘What’s that? Did I hear a threat? A man of violence, are you, Niall old son? Bit of a hard case?’

Eileen looked across at her husband. The contempt was clear on Ross’s face. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Knock it off, Napper. Just get on with it.’

‘Fair enough. Where’s the crossbow?’

‘What crossbow?’

Napper said, ‘I ask the questions. What is it, Niall? Do you hate the way your neighbour looks, maybe? You think he’s got no right to park his truck in the street?’

Niall made the mistake of sniggering. ‘Doesn’t park it there anymore.’

The sergeant straightened, stood back and nodded at the uniformed men. They left the room. Eileen knew they’d find the crossbow without any trouble. She hoped it would be all they found.

Napper seemed to be settling in for the duration. He opened a Herald-Sun that had been left on the fridge. ‘You wouldn’t have been circling the funeral notices, would you, Niall? Wouldn’t be thinking of visiting the homes of the bereaved while they were gathered at the graveside, by any chance? A little drop-kick like you, that would be about your style.’ He grinned, his eyes creasing in the folds of his heavy cheeks. He turned the pages. ‘Looks like another innocent citizen has been bashed and robbed in his own house. A lot of it about these days. You’d have to be a hard man to go in against someone just off to bed in his pyjamas, what do you reckon, Niall old son, old pal?’

‘Don’t know what you mean.’

‘Bit of a hotshot, eh, Niall? Bit of a bully? Like hurting people when they’re down?’

‘Look,’ Niall said, ‘there are blokes on your most-wanted list walking around and you’re farting around with me.’

He meant Wyatt. Eileen looked across at her husband and saw a warning, a coldness in him. Ross wasn’t a dog, he’d never shop anyone to the cops, and it was a rule he expected the family to live by.

But Napper wasn’t listening to Niall. ‘You don’t like it when somebody else gets the upper hand, do you, pal? You turn to water, you lie down and roll on your back and give them everything they want, don’t you, matey?’

Eileen watched her son flush. ‘Take it easy, son,’ she warned.

Niall ignored her. ‘You’ll fucking get yours, Napper. I want a lawyer.’

‘A lawyer?’ Napper said, open-faced, amused, getting ready to play with that idea. Eileen prepared herself to intervene again, but Niall was saved from his tongue when the uniforms came back into the room. One of the young constables was carrying the crossbow. Eileen looked at Rossiter, frowned, a way of telling him to say something.

Rossiter said, ‘Look, the boy’s a bit hot-headed but he’d never hurt no one. Give him a go. I’ll have a word with the bloke next door, buy him a beer, patch things up. Niall will apologise, won’t you, son?’

No one listened. Napper moved behind Niall’s chair. He put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. ‘Niall Rossiter, I am arresting you on charges of threatening behaviour and possession of an offensive weapon. You will be taken to the local station, formally charged, and placed before a magistrate.’

He went on to read Niall his rights. Then a constable placed cuffs on him and led him outside. Eileen felt a heaviness settle in her heart. She knew it could be a day or two before she saw her son again. Napper would see to it that her boy would be denied bail, be remanded in custody. It would end up destroying him. Niall didn’t have the hard edge of men like her husband, men like Wyatt. Niall had come out of his six months in Pentridge last year sly and vicious, but it was an act. There was a permanent flinch about his head, eyes and shoulders that she hadn’t seen in him before, and it had broken her heart. She hated to see it, hated to think what another sentence would do to him.