Black Ice Read online

  She'd always worn her platinum blonde hair short, but this was the shortest shave yet. Other than the slightly bloodied abrasion above her beestung lips, her skin was flawless. Her huge blue eyes appeared clear and unguarded. Although she stood barefoot at five eleven, her rangy body and open countenance made her seem smaller somehow, childlike. That helped and it hindered where she came from. Men wanted both to save her and punish her for her innocence, and women wanted her far from their men.

  There was one man Seren was going to find as soon as she could. And when she did, he was going to pay. She walked back to the couch and sat, wanting to concentrate fully on her revenge fantasies.

  'Mr Dobell, I know I told you to do Carson's file first.'

  Seren turned towards the voice.

  A thick-set woman stood over the man at the desk, although only just: although the man was seated, the dark-haired woman's face was just a head above his own.

  'I had to finish the draft report for the meeting.' The man stooped his head a little, as though afraid to be hit.

  'And I told you to do what?'

  'Carson's file, but –'

  'And you did what?'

  'I'm sorry. I'll do it now. I don't need to go to lunch today. I brought something . . .'

  The woman stared at the crown of the man's head a moment longer as his voice trailed away. He seemed to scrunch lower in his seat.

  The woman looked up. At Seren. Staring straight at her, she lifted the folder in her hands as though to read from it. Seren could see her name lettered in thick, black ink.

  Without looking at the file, the woman called to the otherwise empty waiting room, 'Seren Templeton?'

  Seren smiled, and walked towards the desk.

  'Seren Templeton?' the woman repeated.

  'Uh, yes. I mean, present. That's me,' Seren said.

  The woman stabbed at a button on the wall and Seren heard the click of the door to the partitioned area. The door swung outward and the woman used her body to hold it open. She wore a knee-length chequered skirt and an egg-yolk-yellow silk blouse that could not contain its contents; Seren could see flashes of bra and skin between the buttons. A big silk bow tied at the neck did its best to regain some propriety.

  As she approached, Seren realised how tall she was in comparison. The woman had to tilt her head backwards to address her.

  'Ms Templeton. My name is Maria Thomasetti. I will be your probation and parole officer for the next twelve months. You may call me Ms Thomasetti and I will call you Ms Templeton. Follow me, please.'

  'You have some rights and you have some responsibilities out here, Ms Templeton,' said Ms Thomasetti from behind the desk in her office. 'I see that this was your first time in gaol, and so this is the first experience you will have had with Probation and Parole. You need to understand a few things very clearly.'

  Seren alternated between wanting to sit up straight in the swivelling computer chair, and to slouch down so that she wouldn't tower over this woman so much. She settled for stooping her head somewhat, but she kept her hands in her lap and her eyes intent on Ms Thomasetti to indicate attentiveness.

  'Firstly,' Ms Thomasetti continued, 'we can send you back to finish your sentence at any time. Your twelve-month probation is a privilege. You effectively remain in our custody and must prove that you are a fit and proper member of the community.'

  She pushed a sheet of paper across the desk to Seren. 'Can you read?' she asked.

  'Yes,' Seren told her.

  'Can you write?'

  'Yes.'

  'Humph. Well, you should get to know these four points right here on this paper especially well. They stand between you and the cell you left this morning. Number one.'

  Ms Thomasetti pointed with a pencil at a numbered line halfway down the page. Seren focused hard to distract herself from the dark moustache above Ms Thomasetti's lip. 'You will provide a supervised urine sample in this office each week. The presence of any non-prescription drug will send you back to prison to serve the remainder of your term. Do you understand?'

  'Yes.'

  'You were incarcerated for possession of crystal methamphetamine, Ms Templeton. That is an especially addictive drug. I would recommend that you attend an NA meeting as soon as you leave my office. A list of meeting locations is provided in this folder.

  'Number two,' she went on. 'You must not consort with known felons. This is a discretionary point, Ms Templeton. We understand that you may have neighbours who have also been in trouble with the law. This cannot be helped. If, however, we feel that you are associating too closely with known felons, and we suspect that you are at risk of engaging in criminal enterprise, you will return to Silverwater to serve the remainder of your term. Do you understand?'

  'Yes.'

  'Number three. You are to remain employed at all times. The Department has found a job for you. If you do not maintain this job, which includes having a satisfactory attendance and performance record, you will return to custody to serve the remainder of your term. Do you understand?'

  'Ah,' Seren began.

  '"Ah" is not an answer, Ms Templeton. Do you understand point three, or do you not?'

  'Well, you know that I have a son – Marco.' Seren couldn't help but smile with anticipation. 'I can't wait to see him,' she said.

  Nothing.

  'I just want to make sure that I'm around to look after him when he's not at school. I need to know that I'm not doing night work or anything. You see, I don't have any family or friends who can look after him for me.'

  'You didn't think much about that when you got yourself incarcerated, did you, Ms Templeton?'

  'Hey, hang on a minute. I love my son.'

  'And where has your son been for the past twelve months, Ms Templeton?'

  Seren's eyes burned. Just speaking about Marco left a fist-sized knot of tears in her throat. It had been two weeks since their last visit. He'd had his tenth birthday out here without her. He'd been in two foster homes, sleeping in two different houses with people she'd never met. Over the twelve months she'd been inside, Marco had gone from clinging to her so hard that an officer had to intervene when the visit was up, to leaning away from her when she tried to hug him. This woman's comments were a knitting needle jabbed into her heart.

  Ms Thomasetti pressed her. 'Where has your son been these past twelve months?'

  'In foster care.' Seren scraped out the words.

  'And why is that, Ms Templeton?'

  A pulse began to beat in Seren's neck. Her nails made bloodred crescents on the palms of her hands.

  'Can you hear me, Ms Templeton? I think we need to address this issue.'

  'You know why my son was in foster care,' she said. 'You know why because that's why I'm sitting in here.'

  'And you, Ms Templeton, need to say it. Why did your ten-year-old son spend the last twelve months of his life in the care of the state?'

  'I was in gaol.'

  'And why was that, Ms Templeton?'

  'Look, I don't have to do this.' Seren tasted acid at the back of her throat. 'Why should I sit here and listen to this? You've given me the paperwork. I know what I have to do, now can I just get out of here? I need to see my son.'

  'Actually, Ms Templeton, you do have to do this. I'm your probation and parole officer and I tell you what to do. And you do what I tell you to do, or you go straight back to . . .'

  'Yeah, yeah, I know. I go straight to gaol, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.'

  '. . . Silverwater.' Ms Thomasetti completed her sentence. 'Now, I do not like to be interrupted, Ms Templeton, and the interruption will not divert our conversation. You will come to learn this.' She tugged a little at the hem of her skirt, trying in vain to cover her white knees. She gave up and tapped her pencil three times against the desk. 'Now, Ms Templeton, let's get back to it. What did you do to cause you to go to gaol, resulting in your son having to spend the past year in foster care?'

  Seren drew herself up to her full heigh
t and drilled a five-second stare into the rolls of fat around Ms Thomasetti's knees. She smiled inwardly when the woman brought the folder down to cover them.

  'Although I know you have it in that file right there, Ms Thomasetti, I will tell you again anyway. I was locked up for possession of ice. What you don't know, Ms Thomasetti, is that the ice did not belong to me, and that I hadn't used drugs for eight years before I was busted.' She stopped speaking aloud, but the rant continued in her head. You also don't know that the person to whom the drugs belonged was supposed to love me. That even when I was caught he promised he would never let me spend a night in gaol. That he told me he'd be my lawyer but didn't ever register, and didn't even bother showing up at my court case.

  Ms Thomasetti made a smile that looked as though she had a toothache.

  'Do you know, Ms Templeton,' she said, 'that I don't think I've ever seen a woman in here who was guilty? Isn't that peculiar? All of you, to a person, sit there and tell me how it was someone else's fault. And I think that's why so many of you end up right back where you came from. Denial, Ms Templeton: you'll learn about it in NA, if you bother to go. Unfortunately, attendance at the meetings was not made one of your bail conditions, so I have no way to compel you to attend, but I would urge you to seek help for your addictions.'

  Seren smiled sweetly. And you should try Weight Watchers, she said with her eyes.

  Ms Thomasetti tapped her pencil again on the paper.

  'And the final point. Number four,' she said. 'You must adequately care for your son and you must maintain your rental unit properly. The Department has obtained an affordable private rental apartment for you. This point, point number four,' she continued, 'includes – and this is vitally important, Ms Templeton – never missing a rental payment. Should a rent payment be overdue, you will have violated your parole conditions and you will return to prison. Do you understand?'

  'Yes, Ms Thomasetti.'

  'Very good, Ms Templeton. Now, please sign here.'

  14

  Tuesday 2 April, 11 am

  Frances Jackson plucked at the dressing gown she'd draped around her daughter's shoulders. The man's business shirt had been removed, and under the robe Cassie wore the thin, shapeless hospital smock used by patients preparing for surgery. The pale blue of the smock was a deeper shade of the bruises under Cassie's eyes.

  Cassie slept, or pretended to.

  Robert Jackson, Cassie's father, sat in the chair recently vacated by the psychiatrist, Dr Lambton. Jill stood behind her father, leaning against the wall, her face hidden from the door by the currently unused monitoring equipment next to her sister's bed.

  'At least she won't need any further treatment,' said Frances.

  'Well, she needs some sort of bloody treatment,' said Robert.

  'What I mean is that we get to take her home,' said Frances.

  'I'm not sure that she should be at home at all,' Robert stated. 'We're going to have to try to find her some sort of rehab clinic.'

  'Do you really think that's necessary?' Frances asked.

  'Are you bloody serious?' Robert's voice carried, and Jill winced. 'They pumped her stomach, and she was having some sort of psychotic episode when she got in here. Naked. I can tell that nurse is not convinced she wasn't trying to kill herself.'

  'Of course she wasn't!' said Francis.

  'She had enough drugs in her system to kill her easily. You just heard the shrink say that, Frances! I think this is the bloody problem,' he said. 'You've mollycoddled her all along. You make excuses for her all the time.'

  Frances leaned over Cassie. From where she stood, Jill saw that her mother was trying to hide her tears. Still trying to protect them all.

  'I can get you some numbers,' Jill said. 'Places she can go. There are two types,' she added. 'Pretty cheap, with huge waiting lists – if you can get on a list – or God-awful expensive.'

  'We'll get her the best, if she wants to go,' said Frances.

  'Oh, of course we will,' said Robert. 'We're made of bloody money, after all. Even though we're retired now, and on a fixed income, but if Cassandra needs to go to some special resort for junkies . . .'

  'Robert!'

  'Mum. He's right.' Jill's voice was as cold as the stainless steel splashback behind the bed. 'Cassie earns plenty of money, and she got herself into this mess.'

  Jill's mouth tasted sour. She couldn't believe that her sister, who had every opportunity life could afford a woman, was lying in the emergency department simply because she could deny herself nothing she wanted, even if what she wanted could kill her. The words: pathetic, degenerate drug addict ran through Jill's mind as she stared at the bed. What the hell did Cassie have to run from? A jetsetting life travelling the world, photo shoots that often netted her Jill's yearly salary, a face and figure that had made people stop and stare since she was fifteen years old.

  The ferocity of her thoughts caught Jill by surprise. She gazed down at the sad, beautiful face of her little sister; watched their mother bending over her, appearing older than she ever had in her life, and her eyes brimmed with tears. She was ashamed of her thoughts, and lifted her hand to reach over to the bed. At that moment Cassie's eyes opened and she stared straight into Jill's.

  'So compassionate, big sister,' said Cassie. 'I can hear you, you know. I'm not in a bloody coma. And no one asked you to be here. I got myself into this mess, after all.' She parroted Jill's last sentence in a singsong snarl.

  Jill's tears dried instantly. She opened her mouth to retort, to comfort, to scream at her sister. As usual, at times like this, nothing came out.

  Frances clutched Cassie's hand, but Robert's face turned to the floor, his spine ramrod straight. Cassie stared Jill down, her eyes spitting venom.

  And then Scotty walked through the door.

  Scott Hutchinson. Jill hadn't seen him for three months, since the day she'd started this assignment. The doctor had told them Scotty identified Cassie last night, but Jill hadn't thought he'd show up again this morning. She wasn't ready to see him – not now, not here.

  Scottie wore a big smile that animated only the lower half of his face; she recognised his worried eyes. Carrying an enormous bunch of pink oriental lilies, he walked right into the middle of the tension that seemed to further chill the frigid air of the hospital room. His stride faltered and the smile dropped with the outstretched flowers.

  'Jacksons,' he said.

  Frances burst into tears.

  Jill scrabbled for something to say. Got nothing. Bolted from the room.

  15

  Tuesday 2 April, 1 pm

  'This place will be great, Marco, you'll see,' Seren enthused as she dropped the box she carried and hurried to take another from her son's arms.

  'Yeah, great,' he said. He looked folornly around the empty unit, blue eyes blinking behind his glasses. She almost shook with the effort it took not to run to him, lift him into her arms, and sob into his silky black hair. When he'd pushed her from him, hard, at the Department offices, it had felt as though someone had rammed their hand down her throat and ripped her heart from her chest. She wasn't sure she could take that rejection again.

  'I know there's nothing in here yet,' she said, 'but we'll go shopping. I've still got some money in the bank, and they told me to come up to St Vinnies to get some new things.'