Fox. Bill Robertson
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safe with me, but I’m not so sure I’m safe with you.’ Rogers grinned ruefully and nodded.
They entered the trailer truck. The long caravan, divided into a series of tiny rooms, was towed by a prime mover. At the back of the trailer, off the drop down steps, was a small lounge area. It was Spartan-like and scrupulously clean. Darrigan style.
‘Well, what do you want?’
‘Like I said, I want to talk to you. First of all, I want you to know I didn’t come here today looking for a bout. Meeting you was the last thing I expected. I thought you were familiar but I couldn’t place you. It was only through the last half of the last round when you were whipping me that I remembered. It was your eyes. I remembered those grey eyes glaring at that bastard Mullett.’
‘I’m glad you remembered. You caused a lot of harm.’
‘I know. That’s what I wanted to talk about. Look, I’m not proud of any of that. I was just doing my job and it never bothered me. But I heard about Mullett and what happened. It made me sick to think I’d been part of that. That I’d just gone along without question. So, I wanted to say I’m sorry. And I know sorry doesn’t cut the mustard …’
‘Too bloody right it doesn’t.’ Fox’s eyes glittered, pain pummelled his face. ‘Lucy was murdered by that vile piece of shit employed by the state. Me mum is dead after wasting away and you think “sorry” fixes things? Piss off! You saw what Mullett was doing. You coulda kicked him in the balls at the time, you coulda prosecuted him. But we’re black. We aren’t worth it, so ya did nuthin!’
Rogers moved to the door. ‘Yes. It was wrong. After I heard about Lucy I quit the force. Couldn’t stomach it any more. I always knew Mullett was sleazy and rough with kids but I never caught him doing anything indecent. He was a bit too cunning. I should have followed up my instincts, but I didn’t do that either. I’m sorry about your mum, I didn’t know she’d passed on. What happened today was proper. You gave me a lesson I won’t forget. You had the skill and power to hurt me badly, but you didn’t. You were controlled, you embarrassed me in front of a crowd, you hurt my pride, but, at the end of the day, that’s nothing compared to what I did to you. I want you to know,’ he said softly, ‘I am deeply, deeply sorry.’ Rogers turned and left the trailer.
When he’d gone, Fox slumped into a chair, anger turned to sadness. Sad for all of Rosie’s losses, sad that Lucy’s bright spirit had been extinguished and sad for Rogers. Rogers had seen wrong and done nothing; he had accepted bad law and bad policy. It was too easy to argue that Rogers was only one against many of his kind, that he was only doing his job – he knew it was wrong and failed to act. Fox had always acted. And copped the consequences! Beatings, confinement, bullying, isolation and starvation. None of it had ever stopped him speaking out against wrongdoing. He had stood against paedophiles, rapists, sadists and intimidators – both black and white. Predators who concealed their behaviour under the guise of “good works”.
Grudgingly, he admitted Rogers was due some respect for coming to apologise. It changed nothing, but he had done it. Rogers would carry his demons about Lucy in his own way.
Fox rose and walked to his bunk. After today, he was done with Joe Darrigan. When they finished here they were off to Winnellie, in Darwin. He would leave Darrigan then.
CHAPTER 7
September, and the air huffed warm and salty from a mild onshore breeze. Fox entered the Esplanade from Hughes Avenue and loped along Darwin’s beach front. The sun had relinquished its force to become a soft, orange-rich orb glowing from the brink of the Timor Sea. He had been running just over an hour from Frances Bay Drive, enjoying the sunset and a smooth, easy rhythm. His breathing was even, his strides metronomic, his runners tap-tapping softly on the pavement.
At Centennial Park near Knuckey Street, the path meandered towards a dense thatch of trees. Almost past them, Fox caught a flash of movement to his left and heard a muffled yell. He stopped abruptly, turning towards the sound. Then, a cry of anguish – a woman. He moved swiftly towards the sound and saw, closer to the beach, a knot of thrashing bodies. Moving silently, he saw three men with a woman in their grasp. One had an arm around her face and over her mouth, a second was tearing her skirt from flailing legs and a third was trying hard to hold her arms while ripping her blouse open. She was resisting fiercely.
As Fox stepped into the open, her face spasmed in horror. He raised a finger to his lips and before awareness dawned, delivered a mighty kick to the head of the man who had now pulled her skirt free. As he sank without sound, the mauler ripping her blouse whirled. Another withering kick, this time to the victim’s crotch. Roaring in pain, he doubled forward and received a crushing left-right from Fox’s flashing fists. Felled, unconscious. The third man fled towards the beach. Fox overtook him in less than a dozen strides, leapt and smashed him to the ground. Effortlessly, he twisted the man’s arm and snapped the shoulder joint leaving him to scream in agony.
He ran to the woman who, with her back to a tree, shoulders heaving, breath rasping, was trying desperately to pull her skirt up. Her racking sobs sliced at Fox’s heart. In the failing light he could see her entire body violently shaking. Suddenly, she turned and vomited.
Standing back, he studied her quietly, knowing instinctively that any move to touch or comfort might accelerate her fear. When she recovered sufficiently he spoke gently.
‘Eh, you’re okay now. No one’s gunna hurt you. You’re safe.’
She seemed not to hear. Trembling, sobbing and occasionally retching, she continued to pull her skirt up.
Fox tried again. ‘You’re safe now. Can I help you? Is there someone I can take you to? Or get for you?’ His quiet voice was husky with concern.
She paused, peering through the gloom – seeing, yet not seeing him.
‘I … I ... don’t … know,’ she stuttered. ‘They just grabbed me. They punched me and dragged me down here.’
One of the men at her feet began to groan. Fox stepped forward, placed a foot on his neck and hissed, ‘Shut up. Another squeak and I’ll break your neck.’ Heavy silence filled the air.
The woman was frantically trying to fasten her skirt with a zip that obviously had broken. Her torn blouse gaped revealing a white bra. In the distance, “Broken Shoulder” moaned. Gradually, the woman quietened.
‘Are ya hurt at all?’ Fox asked.
‘No. They’d just got me here when you arrived.’ She shuddered. ‘I’ve got a massive headache from their punches though.’
Fox, from a metre or so, gazed at her intently. After a period of silence he said, ‘I know you.’
Fear surged afresh. ‘No! What do you want? I’ve never seen you before.’
‘Yeah, you have. I’m Colin Fox. You spoke up for me at the police station years ago when that prick Wildman hit me. He was investigating my sister Lucy’s death. Lucy Fox. Connors isn’t it?’
‘Lucy’s brother! Oh … oh … ’ She slumped against the tree.
Gently, Fox said, ‘You really are alright. I mean you no harm, but I’ll damage these bastards if you want.’
Connors reached towards him, took a step and stumbled over the man on the ground. Fox caught her as she fell and steadied her. When she recovered, he stepped away.
‘I can’t believe it’s you. So often I’ve thought about you. Wondered what happened to you. How can I ever thank you for this?’ She gestured towards the two men on the ground in front of her.
‘Yeah,’ Fox rasped, ‘they meant business alright. But they’re not so tough now. What do you want to do with the bastards? I can wait with ’em till you bring the coppers back if you like.’ He eyed her keenly. Even though trembling, her composure was returning.
‘That’d be good. I’m staying at a pub on the Esplanade – it’s not far. I’ll