"For anyone."
"Who are you talking to about this?"
Marek harumphed. "No one. The crew - which means no one, I suppose. Oh, except you. I talked to you about it. Remember?"
Kit shook her head. "Marek, that was nearly a month ago. There's been two more since-"
"Tell me about it!"
"No, you have to tell someone; you've gotta get this out of your head, Jonno. Go see the department shrink or de-briefer. There must be one assigned to a case like this, or you'd all," she waved in the direction of the squad room, "be losing it by now."
"Some of the others have been talking to the Doc, but-"
"But what, Marek? You do not have to be tough and totally in-control machismo-man you know. You won't be any good to anyone if you take the denial route to self-destruction."
"You don't get it, Kitty."
"No, you don't get it Marek," Kit interrupted. "I saw a side of you out there a moment ago that I've never seen before and, despite all your previous and thoroughly hideous cases, never thought I would. You have to get this case off your lone and sagging shoulders. Use me if you want. Hell, I've heard, and now seen enough to at least have a clue where your head is."
That's right, O'Malley, she thought. Volunteer for nightmare watch. Like you need any more visions that aren't your own already.
Kit's gaze wandered over the body of evidence gathered on the table: hundreds of bags containing great and small clues and, no doubt, more than a few irrelevancies. There were easily identifiable things like bus tickets, necklaces, feathers and underwear; strange what-on-earth things like little pieces of metal and wire, small bits of green stuff and tiny coloured fibres; and gruesome things like a tooth, hair, and thumb-cuffs with spikes on the inside.
"This is not even the worst of it," Marek said softly. He was standing beside her staring, like she was, at all the evidence that had so far gotten him nowhere.
"Please get some help Jonno," Kit begged, "before it's too late - for you. Or before you lash out and accidentally deck one of your mates out there."
Marek let go a short laugh. "Harper is actually an imbecile."
"That may be, Marek, but he still doesn't deserve the brunt of your bad shit," Kit stressed, realising she'd been fiddling with one of the plastic bags. "What is this?" she asked.
"Don't know Kitty, but put it down; you really don't know where it's been."
That's better, Kit thought, welcoming the return of Marek's gallows-side smirk. "My big question for the day," she smiled, "is why let off steam at poor Harper when you've got up-Chucky in your squad? He is, after all, an unmissable target worth hurling your invective at."
"That's true," Marek smiled. "And if I beat the crap out of him, I won't need the shrink."
Kit gave him a disapproving frown.
"I'll make an appointment this arvo, I promise. Now, will you get out of here?"
"For you, anything." Kit opened the door.
"Do me a favour then? Tell Erin I'm not prone to violent verbal outbursts."
"She knows, Marek."
As Kit waited for Hector to return with his bugs and Enzo to get back from the loo, she glanced around Leo's Spaghetti Bar and wondered how it was that so many people could be just sitting around socialising at only 4.30 on a Friday arvo.
Does everyone in St Kilda get off work early; or is this a secret life for those in the know?
You're here working O'Malley, she reminded herself. Maybe they are too.
"More coffee?" queried the out-of-thin-air waitress, startling Kit quite unnecessarily.
"Ah no, I'll have a Cascade and a foccacia with sundried tomatoes and cheese, please."
"Are your friends coming back?" The waitress began clearing the table of coffee cups.
"She's not," Kit pointed to Erin's now empty chair. "But the other two are."
Kit returned to the deliberation of her next move, or moves - she did have two cases on the go after all - now she was at least satisfied she'd done her best to prevent anything untoward happening to Carrie McDermid, either through naivety or inexperience.
Like that was really any of your business, O'Malley, she thought.
Which was kind of what Erin had muttered when she'd asked the favour of her. Actually, Erin had said, 'why do you care?' - with the emphasis on 'you' not 'care'.
'Someone has to' was a lame reason but apparently good enough for Ms Carmody because, after she'd been filled in on the little Kit knew about the death of Gerry and its consequences so far, Erin called her counterpart on the North Star. She pointed out to 'Barry sweetheart' - in no uncertain terms - that apart from using 'his alleged common sense, he had a duty of care to ensure that his young reporters were properly briefed on the pros and cons of dealing recklessly, or in any way, with Melbourne's biggest crime family - goddamnit!' She rang back a heart-beat later, to say: 'and don't you dare take her off the story to cover your arse'.
Erin had then left Kit and the boys to rush home and prepare a romantic banquet for her 'spunk monkey'; a term of endearment that Kit could not reconcile with Jon Marek no matter how she tried - which admittedly wasn't very hard, because she really didn't want to begin to imagine what it might mean.
Kit spotted Enzo, wending his way back from the gents via cheery chats with several people who apparently knew him and vice versa, then spied Bill and Ben the Feral Feds in situ near the glass dessert cabinet. Enzo hovered behind his government antagonists, while they pretended to be wooden chairs, and then he continued on to another table where he whispered in the ear of a guy who looked like a refugee from a seventies rock musical.
All of which prompted Kit to contemplate the men in her life: first by acknowledging the activity as an alien concept and wondering whether she'd ever done it before; and second by laughing that it wouldn't take long, as there were only three of them. As she rarely saw her crazy brother Michael, or old workmates like Nick, she didn't include them in the tally.
Worth counting, in many more ways than one however, were Enzo McAllister, Jon Marek and Hector Chase - men who had little in common with each other, but for whom Kit would do anything; and, hopefully, vice versa. They were dear friends she'd scored through fate, good fortune, great management or, as she most liked to believe, because they deserved each other. While she often had these thoughts about her women friends, it dawned on her how wonderful it was to also have these three guys on her balance sheet.
A quick calculation told her she'd known Jon Marek for thirteen years now; since she joined the force. He'd been her senior-ranked partner while in uniform, her colleague in the fraud squad when she'd made detective, and then her partner again during her brief stint in homicide before she left the job. The divine Enzo she'd known for only a few months; but Kit recognised valuable treasure when she came across it. And then there was Hector, a juvenile-d she'd once arrested for a bottle shop robbery; but who, even then, had more integrity and maturity than most adults Kit knew. He also had the will, and the sheer grit necessary, to overcome his shitty-life start and make something of himself. He was now twenty-three, a computer game designer, all-round techno-whiz, and Kit's semi-official sidekick.
And now two of her boy friends were about to discuss work with her here at Leo's, while others played. Enzo had found a plausible way for her to check out Gregor Tereshenko in person but, as they couldn't discuss their the job while Erin was still there, Hector had dashed home to pick up his new surveillance toys.
The waitress delivered the beer and food at the same time as Enzo and Hector returned to their seats, whereon they placed their own drink orders and agreed to share Kit's foccacia.
"Given the chance," Enzo confided, "my long-haired