Amy entered her flat a little after ten, picking her way through the mass of boxes that seemed to crowd every available space on the floor. She stepped over them all though and headed directly to bed, pulling her doona over herself on the unsheeted bed. She was practically asleep before her head hit the pillow. But before her eyes succumbed to sleep she looked around her new place of residence. It was dingy and old, and on the very bottom floor, which meant she could hear every footstep of the other residents as they went up and down the stairwells at all times of the night. She sighed as she folded her hands under her pillow. She was definitely back in the big smoke.
Amy wrenched at the drawer. She might've had a nice office, but her desk was a shit heap, complete with drawers that didn't open. She set her feet firmly and gave a final yank and it finally gave in and opened. She shoved her files inside and went about organising the rest of her desk as the office began to fill up and desks began to have occupants. They didn't arrive with any gusto however, instead sauntering in with takeaway coffees or Cokes in their hands, Herald Suns and Ages under their arms and chatting amongst themselves, albeit in a lighter tone than she had encountered the night before.
By 8am the place was what Amy assumed was its usual bustling self. Phones rang, keyboards were punched, papers were shuffled and doors were constantly opened and closed. It was a busy place, and Amy felt grateful that she had an office of her own, away from all the action. The sanctuary like feeling lasted until just 8:30am though, when Amy was snapped out of her reverie when a suited up detective, one of many faces that she vaguely remembered from the Latin Quarter, burst into her office, seemingly in a great hurry.
"Your first gig," he said, staring straight at her. "You ready?" he raised his eyebrows at her, as if expecting her to faulter.
She took a quick deep breath in, grabbed her folder and jacket and was at his side in a flash. "Yep," she answered confidently, determined to prove her worth. He was obviously so high up in the ranks that she didn't warrant an introduction, so she simply went along, without knowing his name or where they were going. She wanted so badly to impress and fit in.
It wasn't until they got into the car that he spoke. "Senior Detective Barron Lloyd," he stated, turning to face her in the front seat and extending a hand. He was charming and handsome, she had to admit. Seemed like all the guys at Homicide were charming and handsome. But Barron's hand looked like the type of hand that had never done any hard work, and Amy wondered for a moment if Barron Lloyd was one of those cops who whinged and whined about the state of everything, but never had a go when it counted. She pushed this thought to the back of her mind though, determined not to make judgements about people she hardly knew.
"Amy Fox," she replied back with a smile whilst shaking his hand firmly.
Suddenly every little thing she did seemed important to establish herself in this new job. She shook Barron Lloyd's hand firmly because she didn't want him to think she was weak, physically or otherwise. She sat up straight in her seat, her eyes focused and ready so that she seemed credible and on the ball and she studied her folder critically even though it had nothing but old notes from Mt Thomas in it, none of which related to anything in Melbourne – but it made her look like a real detective. Because around these Homicide blokes sometimes she just didn't feel like a real detective.
"You good at keeping your head down Amy Fox?" he goaded her, a cocky smile on his face, that charming exterior wearing off already with her.
"Excuse me?" she looked at him with a sharp turn of her head. Taken aback, she waited for an answer, but he just smiled in return and revved up the car before zooming out of the carpark. What was this?
Amy sat silently as they drove trying not to think of what a loser this guy seemed to be. But she needed to know where they were going and what they were doing, so she screwed up some courage and spoke up. "So what's this job?" she asked, trying to be heard over the droll of the police radio.
"Armed rob Illawara Street," it was all he would surrender and she figured that was going to have to satisfy her. But an armed rob? Why were they just cruising through the streets then? Even in Mt Thomas an armed rob merited more than 60 k's an hour. But Barron just drove leisurely along, not at all in a hurry to get to the scene.
When they at last got there, some 10 minutes later, Barron hauled himself out of the car like he was policeman of the year, all attitude and what he thought was suave. They approached the dry cleaners on busy Illawara Street, and were confronted with the distraught owners.
Amy prepared herself to speak, but as she took a breath in to begin, Barron stepped in front of her, ushering the man and woman inside where he spoke to them privately, lacing his charm into the conversation expertly. Disgruntled, Amy watched from afar, and noticed how Barron didn't take any notes and didn't seem too concerned that the owners had just lost the previous days takings. He was out of there in less than five minutes. As he stepped back onto the footpath he looked at Amy. "Is this how you guys in the country do your job is it? Standing out on the footpath?" he raised his eyebrows at her, and she again got a taste of his superiority complex.
It was time to bite back. "Well I didn't have a chance to have a go did I?" she replied, turning on her heal and walking back to the car. This wasn't the method of operation Amy was used to. She worked in pairs or as part of a team, and two heads were always better than one. Not so in Melbourne though.
As she climbed back into the passenger seat she saw Barron's expression and saw how he couldn't have even cared. This was obviously his job, not hers, and he didn't care if she felt excluded. They drove in silence, only this time Barron did speed. Still pissed off, Amy didn't say anything, just waited for them to arrive at wherever they were going.
Amy looked out the window as she drove, trying not to imagine how things'd got done when she and Jonesy worked as a team, or worse, she and Alex. They would always discuss whatever the case was as they drove, sharing opinions, thoughts, concerns. It always seemed to help to have everything out in the open. They didn't seem to do it that way here. Maybe she had been away from the city too long. Maybe she'd forgotten how things got done here.
She watched the scenery go by as they drove out of the city and into the suburbs. The stony silence still sat between the two cops as Barron drove, and it was so intense and ugly that Amy was relieved when Barron pulled up outside a house in a suburb Amy didn't know and stopped with a squeal of the tires. Barron jumped out and charged up the walk without a second glance back at Amy to see if she was following. Sighing, Amy decided she'd better if she wanted to feel like she was a cop at all, and got out and followed at a slower pace after making sure the doors to the car were locked. The neighbourhood did not look friendly.
Barron was already at the front door of the housing commission house. It was one of those houses the government had built during a boom in the seventies and there were duplicates of it everywhere throughout Victoria – 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom shacks on small blocks. Average sized front yards, driveway along the side of the house, steps up to the front door. It was run down and old, being over 30 and all that, and Barron belted so hard on the door that Amy thought he might just knock it off its rusty hinges.
"Open up Dylan!!" he yelled viciously, not at all in the mood to wait. Just two seconds passed before Barron reared back his leg and kicked the door down in one swift movement, not getting a speck of dirt on his shiny shoes and spotless suit.
Again, not waiting for Amy, he barreled inside. As Amy walked up the footpath that lead to the front door she heard shouting begin, and it made her run. Barron was going for broke. She sprang up the steps and through the doorway, gingerly picking her way over the now splintered, broken wooden door. She was confronted with Barron in the front hall of the aging house. He had who she assumed was Dylan, up against the wall by the kitchen door. Dylan, with just boardshorts on and a baseball cap was swearing on his mothers grave that he didn't do the drycleaners robbery, and from the doorway of the kitchen an attractive blonde girl no older than 21 protested his innocence even louder than her boyfriend. She screamed and yelled and as Amy stepped into the house she took a leap towards Barron and attempted to pull him away from Dylan, or at least unlock the pressure on the poor guys neck.
It wasn't until the girl tried to pull Barron away that Amy realized how strong a grip he had on the Dylan. But Barron didn't seem to notice the way Dylan's eyes were beginning to bulge the longer he was trapped against the wall.
No matter how hard she wanted to fit in in the city, Amy wasn't going to stand by and watch a colleague strangle a suspect before it was even 10am. She too lunged at Barron and yanked him away from Dylan, and Barron finally loosed his grip, allowing Dylan to slip away and stumble into the kitchen where he was consoled by the girl. As he gasped for breath, one hand on the kitchen table, Barron turned and gave Amy a death stare so icy that she shuddered inside.
"He fucking did this," he whispered harshly, his blood boiling from his vengeful anger towards Dylan. Amy's brain worked frantically, trying to work out how the entire incident had even eventuated. She obviously didn't know the full story, and it seriously irked her.
"How do you even know?" she whispered back just as harshly, not speaking loud enough for Dylan and the girl to hear. "You take your time driving to the scene and then you break the speed limit getting here? Where the hell is your logic?" she looked at him, her questions burning furiously inside her.
But Barron just shrugged her and her questions off and walked into the kitchen with purpose in his step, muttering as he went. "He did it," he muttered again under his breath as he walked away from her. Amy shook her head and made her way back out the front door, not willing to be part of whatever crusade Barron had against this Dylan character. She made her way back out to the car, and just like at Illawara Street, waited in the passenger seat until he decided to come back and join her.
She was waiting more than ten minutes. When Barron finally stormed back out of the house, a frown creasing his forehead and his jacket flying out behind him, he had almost reached the car when the blonde girl ran out after him and they began talking in earnest. To hurry Barron up, or at least give him the impression she wanted to get going, she pulled at the doors handle and got out of her seat, leaning on the open door as she stood and waited for him to come around to the drivers side.
With the click of the door opening Barron turned around and gave her a fleeting glance, as if to check she wasn't too close. She was, but he turned back around and continued his whispered conversation with the girl anyway. Amy watched as they spoke with their heads close together. Straining her ears, Amy tried not to be too obvious as she casually leaned forward in an effort to hear what they were discussing. It didn't seem Barron was the type to work with a partner…or at least not a female partner from the sticks, and share info, so she was going to have to find out whatever she could through her own steem.
"…how can it not be enough?" the blonde whispered harshly, her face almost scared at the realization that 'it' wasn't enough. Amy cocked her head, curious now more than ever.
"Well you've just gotta decide if he's worth the money haven't you?" Barron whispered in reply, raising his eyebrows at her the same way he had Amy earlier that morning, expecting her to cave in to his strength.
The blonde began to look anxious. She wringed her hands and looked back into his eyes after studying her feet for a second. "Another $500?" she asked.
"That oughta do it," he grinned before giving her a soft play punch that grazed her cheek lightly. "I'll be back sweetheart." And with that he spun on his heal and headed back to the car. Amy would've shuddered at his slimy-ness if she hadn't have been shocked to her core. Had Barron Lloyd just taken a bribe? She got back into her seat, stunned.