Black Ice (4 page)

Monday 1 April, 5.30 pm

'I'm sorry you had to get dragged in here, Jill,' said the psychologist.

'Literally,' said Jill.

The other woman gave a sympathetic smile.

Jill stood near the seat diagonally opposite the door, despite the fact that the psychologist's notepad and pen sat on the table next to the chair. Well, it's not as if it's her office, thought Jill; she knew that the woman had been sent out from Central specifically to speak to her. And she did like to take the seat that faced the door. Good feng shui.

'I know. I'm sorry,' said the therapist. 'It's got to be one hell of a life you're living right now. Look, Jill, we haven't met properly. My name's Helen Levine. I'm a clinical psychologist. I do a lot of work with the New South Wales Police.'

They shook hands.

Helen retrieved her notepad and gestured to Jill to take a seat. She took the other chair.

'So you don't work for the department?' asked Jill.

'No. I'm in private practice,' said Helen, 'but I should tell you straight up that this isn't your regular counselling session. This is more of an assessment to make sure you're okay, Jill, and I have to tell you that what we say in here is not confidential.'

'Who're you going to tell?'

'I have to report back to Superintendent Last, and a copy of my report will be annexed to his application to the Commissioner to have your undercover duties extended.'

'Okay.'

'So, if it's all right with you, Jill, I'm going to record our session to help me with my report.'

'You're going to record it.'

'If that's okay with you?'

Jill curled her feet up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. She was under constant scrutiny out on the streets, and in here, where she was supposed to be safe, she felt under siege again.

'Whatever . . . You're going to report everything I say anyway,' she said, resigned.

'Let's get going, then,' said Levine. She fussed briefly with a voice recorder on the desk and then came back to her chair. 'So what made you want to do undercover work, Jill?' she asked.

'Actually,' said Jill, 'Last asked me to do it. I was between assignments at the time, so I thought I might as well.'

Helen gave a short laugh. 'You thought you might as well? That's a pretty risky job to just jump into for the hell of it.'

Jill shrugged.

'You'd been working on that home invasion case last year. What did they call the killer – Cutter? How did you pull up after that?'

'Fine.'

'You were shot, I believe.'

'Not really. Blowback. My partner shot the offender. I got a bit of a graze on my cheek.'

'Your partner,' Levine glanced down at her notes, 'Gabriel Delahunt. A federal agent. Do you have much contact with him now?'

'I don't have much contact with anyone at the moment,' said Jill.

'Oh, of course. Obviously,' said Levine. She read a little more. 'The offender in that last case died in your arms, is that right?'

'You seem to know the story.'

The psychologist smiled. 'You've had a remarkable career, Jill,' she said. 'Really. It's quite exemplary. Your superiors are full of praise. There have been some very difficult moments over the past couple of years, though. I think it was only
just
over a year ago that you were involved in another fatal. You killed the man who had been the leader of an organised paedophile network.'

Jill didn't speak.

'I shouldn't say this, Jill, but congratulations. That must have felt great.'

Jill exhaled. 'You have no idea,' she said. The man she had killed, Alejandro Sebastian, had abducted and raped her when she was twelve years of age. She had killed some of her nightmares with him.

'You were working over at Maroubra then, weren't you?' Helen Levine looked down at her notes again. 'That's right. With Sergeant Scott Hutchinson. You're a long way from Maroubra now.'

'Tell me about it,' said Jill. This was great. Every subject she didn't want to think about, raised within the space of ten minutes. Cutter. A sexual sadist. When she closed her eyes, she could feel her face on his neck when he died, shot dead by Gabriel. She remembered listening to him die, her mouth full of his blood, sounds muffled and distorted. Her hearing had returned slowly, although doctors had since informed her that she had lost some range of sound because of her proximity to the gunshot blast; the shot that had prevented Cutter slashing her throat. Gabriel had saved her life.

Gabriel. Was he safe? He'd been pulled back into counterterrorism intel immediately following that case. She knew that a cop had been shot arresting one of the suspects Gabe was investigating.

And Scotty, her previous partner. Never far from her thoughts, especially whenever she thought of Gabriel, Scotty understood that she was officially incommunicado, but she knew that he would expect her to call him anyway.

She shifted in her seat, antsy, wanting to be out of there, to get back to work, to do some training, to do anything, really, other than sit exploring her feelings with a stranger like this. Jill turned, expressionless, towards the woman speaking. Can we just get this over with, she tried to tell her with her eyes.

'I believe,' said Helen Levine, 'that the operation you're currently involved in aims to try to clean up some of the Fairfield methamphetamine trade.'

'Amphetamine type stimulants generally,' said Jill. 'Ice, speed and ecstasy, basically.'

'Your last case was just over in Liverpool. Aren't you afraid that a drug dealer from Liverpool might see you in Fairfield?'

Thanks again, Jill thought. You're making me feel a hell of a lot better, Helen.

'I didn't do any work on the street in that case,' said Jill. 'And they reviewed the media footage from the case. There was really only one shot of me in which my face was visible, and I looked pretty different from the way I present myself now.'

'Yes, I have to say, I couldn't have picked you as a cop,' said Levine.

Jill smiled tightly. Her job was done: she'd disguised herself from being recognised by some university-educated white girl. Yay.

'How did they train you for the undercover work?' asked Helen.

'There's a two-week course,' said Jill.

'That seems quite brief.'

'I've been doing this job for fourteen years, Helen. And I've been UC before – in Wollongong. That should be in that file you've got there.'

'I know. I didn't mean to . . . It's just that undercover work can be very stressful on cops. You don't get your usual social and professional supports. You don't work with a partner. You're out in the street. I believe they've rented you an apartment locally?'

'Nothing but the best,' said Jill.

'Have you been lonely?' asked Levine.

Jill studied her hands. Did this woman really expect her to be frank? Probably not, she realised. But if she said she was fine, and she one day claimed psychological injury, she could bet that the tape of this interview would be produced pretty quickly.

'I'm fine,' she said.

Levine paused. 'I don't really know how to ask the next question, Jill,' she said.

Jill waited. She didn't either.

'I believe,' continued Levine, 'that there's general acknowledgement that undercover operatives may have to take drugs at times during covert operations in order to divert suspicion?'

Jill said nothing.

'Have you had to do that?'

'No,' said Jill. She'd been told to lie if asked that question in court. She wasn't in court now, but she was being taped. She uncurled her legs from the chair and sat up straight. She'd had enough. 'Helen,' she said, 'I'm really hungry. I've been working all day and it's, what, six o'clock? Is there a lot more we have to do? I've still got to report in to Superintendent Last.'

The psychologist read the top sheet of her notepad, then flicked the page over.

'Actually, Jill, they were the most important questions. I understand that you're tired. Thank you very much for your time.'

Jill stood.

'Before you go,' said Levine, 'could I just give you my card? I'd like you to call me if you need any help, or even if you just feel like talking.'

Jill took the card. 'Will do, Helen,' she said. She moved to the door of the office and waited.

The psychologist stood, uncertain.

'Could you please open the door for me, Helen?' said Jill. 'This is going to have to look as though I'm still under arrest.'

'Oh, of course, I forgot.'

Helen Levine opened her office door. Adam Clarkson stood there, grinning. The hall was otherwise empty.

'Alrighty then, Krystal,' Clarkson said to Jill. 'Let's get you over to the booking room.'

'Ready when you are, pig,' said Jill.

The door closed on Helen Levine's somewhat startled face.

Jill dropped the card into the first rubbish bin as Clarkson steered her down the corridor.

Monday 1 April, 6 pm

'All right, if I could ask you to take a seat, please? Most of us are due to knock off now, and I know people are keen to get home.' Superintendent Lawrence Last stood at the front of the booking room, his grey suit and face rumpled with the day. Jill figured that when he'd reached adolescence and his height of six foot seven, he must never have felt the need to develop any brash aggression or male bravado. He towered over most of his colleagues in the police force, and with his height and his hushed, serious tone of voice, he could settle hostility in both cops and civilians faster than anyone she knew.

The other four occupants of the room took seats in front of their commander. Jill sat closest to the wall, with Adam Clarkson to her right.

'First up,' said Superintendent Last, 'I would like to offer congratulations and my gratitude for a superb job this afternoon. The operation was flawless, and that is due to the professional way in which all of you conducted yourselves.'

Last turned towards Jill.

'A special thanks to Detective Jackson here. Her status remains undercover, and although I know it's unnecessary to say this again in present company, I will do so. While Jill is in this building, she is Krystal Peters, today being questioned in relation to items stolen from the Priceline chemist. She will be released without charge this evening, immediately following this meeting.'

'What'd ya steal, Krystal?' said Clarkson. 'Some make-up? You could use some; you're looking a little rough tonight.'

Jill smothered a grin. Clarkson had asked her out three times. She liked him. But not that much.

'Nope, treatment for my lice,' she said, and reached out with a hand to lightly brush his shoulder, as though flicking something off.

'Okay, okay, let's get on with it, please, people.' Last spoke quietly and the banter died quickly. 'I'm preparing an application to extend this operation for another three months. This meeting will serve as an operational debrief for progress thus far, and the notes will be included as part of the application,' he said. 'Before we review the paperwork, I'd like to point out that the covert monitoring has been highly successful so far. In addition to the drugs seized, raids have netted two shotguns, a .22 handgun, a thousand dollars in counterfeit cash, and ammunition. Remember that Jackson's brief is to observe and befriend people with the aim of netting us the major dealers where possible. We don't bring anyone in unless we can get them under the Trafficking Act.'

Last handed Jill a slim bundle of papers. 'Please take one and pass it on,' he said. 'Obviously, these cases have yet to go to court, so the verdicts and sentences have been left blank, but this will give you an idea of our progress to date.'

Jill reviewed the typed table in front of her. It looked pretty impressive and she stifled a private smile as she bent over the paper. She read along as Last went through each case.

Drugs – Amphetamine/ Methylamphetamine – multiple supply: s.25A
.s.25A(1) Drug Misuse and Trafficking Act 1985 (NSW) – supply prohibited drug on 3 or more occasions during 30 consecutive days – maximum penalty 20 years

Jill zoned out at some point during the review, lost in memories of the things she'd had to do and say to aid in these apprehensions. The work was satisfying and exhilarating, but she also felt saddened by the plight of many of the users she'd befriended in the line of duty. From her years in the job, she knew their stories well: many of the women were incest survivors who'd escaped home with the first man possible. A man whose possessiveness seemed adorable to begin with – a true sign of his love. But the months would wear on and she would find herself increasingly estranged from friends and family; trying desperately to please this person who was now never happy, who had taken to belting her when she dropped a glass, or arrived home a little late from the shops. She'd just have to try harder, of course, she'd tell herself, but he was so angry when she had no money for speed, and she'd taken a liking to the goey too. When he pissed off with her best friend, there'd be another man, more violence, and the speed was no longer enough. Valium, Serepax, pot, and the piss of course, but if she fell in love with heroin, as many of these women did – so good for making everything feel like nothing – then DoCS would take the kids and she'd take up with a pimp.

Jill understood that everyone has choices, but she was also aware that some have more options than others. Although she was hardly a true friend to these women, she knew that what she was doing was right. Drugs screwed people's lives and she was making it harder for the poison to get around.

When the meeting wrapped, Jill left the station – theatrically spitting on the pavement out the front for the punters – and walked back the couple of blocks to her unit. She tried not to be dispirited by the sight of some of her new neighbours – a filthy couple screaming at each other in front of the takeaway shop, a youth on the nod at the bus stop. Every day gave her another chance at pulling in someone big, and in the meantime she was putting a lot of mid-level dealers out of action for a while.