Serpent Song. Toni Grant
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from your heart for good.
A framed replica of van Gogh’s ‘Blossoming Almond Tree’ leant against the mezzanine rail. She looked at the print fondly as memories of the street markets in rural France steered her thoughts. From that market alone, she’d packed and shipped a whole suitcase of trinkets home.
And here is the start, she said to herself. These particular memories from your past need to go. No more reminders.
The large eucalypt lit up by oncoming headlights caught her attention again, its branches bobbing in the brisk breeze. As it cast distorted shadows over the footpath, Francesca shuddered involuntarily. She walked to the small table, reverently placed the photograph in the music box and closed the lid.
She’d kept that photo for all these years. Was she such a fool?
Her heart ached.
Briefly checking her appearance in the full-length mirror, she straightened her uniform of well-cut pants, silk blouse and soft knit jumper. Handcuffs sat snugly in the small pouch at her hips. Work. And company. At last. A new focus, although she doubted Johnno appreciated the early wake-up call.
Chi You. Not so slick this time, thought Francesca, rubbing her hands together in anticipation as she descended the steps two at a time to the kitchen and dining area below.
~
This organised crime group of triads, known as Chi You, still fascinated Francesca. Their origins were as complex and controversial as their namesake, the Chinese mythological God of War. Ancient sketches of the God depict a bronze bull-like head with two horns and four eyes. The body, taking human form, possesses six arms wielding weaponry.
The modern day Chi You group carried out their actions in the true sense of their namesake, with a ferocity and cruelty matched only by their greed and tyrannical style of leadership. They were a group to be treated with caution and respect.
Members carried bull-like symbols on their bodies, etched in ink, hidden in intricate designs. Initiation was not for the fainthearted and involved cruel torture tests as part of the rites of passage. Permanent, deep scars to the upper torso and limbs were hallmarks of tribe members. They wore dark long-sleeved clothing to hide the afflictions among the general public.
Survival of initiation meant lifelong protection for you and your family.
For Francesca this was now a personal quest. She remembered clearly her introduction to Chi You. It would haunt her forever. It started with a boy. He was no more than 13 years and brutally afflicted with Chi You markings; his lifeless body dumped in an industrial bin behind a warehouse. A hollow gaze of death had not hidden the terror and pain he must have felt in his last moments. The welted bruising splayed across his bony limbs, broken ribs clearly visible through his stretched skin and fingers bent in broken, torturous ways.
Then there were the deep, clotted cuts from knife wounds as he fought for his place in the tribe. Francesca’s sickened dismay at the brutality of the initiation spurred her sense of justice. She would never learn this boy’s name. It was the code of Chi You. But he had a mother who was grieving for her lost son. Francesca vowed then and there to bring this group to its knees. For him and his family she would get justice.
Francesca glanced at the dining table, beyond the island bench of her small kitchen. Johnno would arrive any minute now. She couldn’t say she felt prepared. The table was littered with the Queensland Police Department Chi You brief. The scattered contents of the impending trial were spread for Francesca to search legal and technical loopholes within the statements and process. Amongst the papers an empty bottle of Campari and a small drinking glass sat in a puddle of melted ice.
To her left a large free-standing oven took space along the back wall. Francesca loved to cook. Sometimes she needed to cook. Thankfully the team were always appreciative of her contributions to the morning tea fund. For Francesca it was a far safer option than the alternative. She wasn’t good in relationships. Since turning her back on the heart-breaking affair, she could never get the balance right; work, the memory of Nicholas and the poor bastard who tried to fill his place. An appreciative team was by far a more satisfying option all-round.
Johnno was here.
“I’ll get back to you later,” she said at the Chi You brief. Casting a glance over a stack of dirty dishes in the untidy kitchen, the detective added, “you too.”
Francesca grabbed a warm coat from the hook on the wall and locked the door behind her.
Chapter 4
“Any news?” Francesca climbed into the over-heated car, smiling at his wayward appearance. Ginger hair stood on end, ruffled by a restless night and dire need for a haircut. His big hands wrapped around the steering wheel. Francesca waited for his reply, studying the sinewy lines that defined his forearms. Some way along, almost at the elbow, the cuffs of his shirt were rolled in a tight bind. His shirt was ironed today.
Johnno insisted on wearing his shirt sleeves in this fashion; rain, hail or shine. It was the western way. Beneath the twisted fibre, she knew his powerful arms linked to muscled shoulders and back, still bruised with ruck marks from the weekend’s rugby friendly.
At his waist, a two-ring plaited belt with an overlap of bonded leather would flap against his hips when he walked. On his feet, a pair of tan elastic-sided boots, polished and supple.
“Nothing much. Sounds like an execution. The boys took a phone call and rang me after they found the body. The caller was quite specific about mentioning Chi You and hung up.”
“Do we know anything at all about the caller?”
“Not yet. But I’ve already asked forensics to analyse the recording.”
Yesterday’s stubble formed a dark shadow around his mouth and jaw, making a sandpaper sound when he rubbed it. Her partner was loud, tall and broad. He had the biggest hands she’d ever seen. Safe hands his mates had said. They meant for the rugby ball but she knew it went a bit further than that.
Johnno loved his mates, sport and girlfriend, in that order, and lived each day to the full. His popularity compounded by a quick wit and equally wicked sense of humour. On the flip side, the Scot could be absolutely ruthless. Francesca loved working with him. She trusted him with her life; and she trusted his judgment more.
“Just get in, did you?” he teased good-naturedly, referring to her fresh appearance at the early hour.
“No!” Francesca tried to sound indignant, smoothing her damp hair. “Couldn’t sleep!” She changed the subject. “Well can’t say I’m surprised to be out on a job tonight. It’s a full moon and you know what they say about full moons.”
For emphasis, she pointed to the large disc slowly disappearing in the early morning light. Francesca babbled on feeling the nervous excitement build at the prospect of a new job. She smiled to herself. This new case was the distraction she craved.
“A floater! Hmmm!” She sobered suddenly. After ten years in the job the sight of death still made her stomach squish unhappily. “Execution style and Chi You. I assume there are no witnesses.”
She turned to face him. Despite the early hour and bleary expressionless face, she knew his mind was already in focus preparing for the day ahead.
Turning sharply off the main thoroughfare to a dimly lit alley, Francesca reassessed her bearings. The first misty whispers of a wintery fog began to drop. At the end of the road, the reflective paint of the marked police car caught their oncoming headlights.
Outside, the dockside location breathed an eerie pre-dawn feeling. An overpowering stench of rotting fish joined with the foamy green water, splashing against the wharf pylons as the tide turned to make its way back out to sea. Its age-old rhythm of coming and going meant that eventually all sins would be revealed. Francesca gagged at the smell. Not a good start, she thought.
As they neared the first police officer Francesca scanned the isolated location. They were directed to follow a tight