To start at Part 1 click on the link.
I glimpse a flash of red, the mankini, point. Red races after him, shoulders aside dripping teenagers their arms around each other, hugs, kisses, tears. A girl with wet hair, wet uniform, wet lips wraps her arms around a uniform cop, kisses him. He gently pushes her away, gives her a smile, front of his pale blue shirt now dark with seawater.
Janet comes to tell me the news. “Dead teacher, gunna call it in, get it up on the web.”
Janet thinks she’s a big-time investigative reporter, since she got her break. She forgets it was my case, me who did all the real work, the dangerous work, all she did was write a story.
“Red’s chasing down the kid in the mankini, might be a link.”
I point. Red’s on the beach, sand kicking up behind her, charges towards a group of chanting Schoolies. The kid in the mankini sees her, makes a break. He’s young, fast, but Red’s determined. She launches herself, grabs one of the mankini shoulder straps. It pulls back like a rubber band, then snaps, the kid lands on the sand, exposed, hands grip the ripped red lycra around his privates.
She frog marches him across the sand, up the steps to the cops.