The Evidence

A cool trickle of blood slides down the centre of his index finger. He watches the crimson liquid catch on the edge of his palm before licking the line away. The metallic taste coats the tip of his tongue, distracting him from the tightness wrapped around his chest.

The piece of metal responsible for the cut stares back at him from the edge of the payphone. He’d been told not to touch the phone until it rang, but he’d been curious. He’d never seen a payphone before, they are obsolete these days, something from the past. His curiosity had won over the strict instructions and he had wrapped his hand around the handle, his finger splitting open under the sharpness of the metal.

He studies the open wound now and laughs. Maybe this is one of Hedge’s pranks. She’d told him not to touch the phone, but they both knew he wouldn’t follow orders. He never has before. It’s one of the reasons Hedge trusts him. His behaviour is too erratic, too unpredictable, to be premediated.

He shifts awkwardly inside the glass box. The broken streetlight above him casts eerie shadows across the emptiness of the street. He’s the only one here. Alone and exposed in the darkness of the night – a sitting duck. A tingling sensation works its way across his skin and prickles the back of his neck. Inside his left jacket pocket, the black book burns a hole against his chest. The pictures inside of it flash in front of him.

The skin.

The clothing.

The girls.

The names.

He shakes his head, dissolving the thoughts. He can’t think about them. Not now.

The clock above the phone flickers as the time changes – 1:47 am. They’re 17 minutes late. His eyes hastily scan the area, looking for signs of life. Nothing. Sweat drips down the back of his neck and soaks the neckline of his jacket.

The loud ringing splits through the silence of the night. He startles, his shoulder making a muffled ting as it bumps into the metal box. The phone dislodges from the holder and swings into the empty air. He watches it swing from left to right – a pendulum. The loud rushing of blood in his ears sends his head spinning.

“Hello?” A deep voice filters through the silence. It’s distorted and thick, making it impossible to identify.

He hesitates momentarily. A fist tightens around his neck, making it difficult to breathe. This is his final chance to back out. He can walk away now, take the book with him, return home, and fall asleep to the sound of his monotonous fish tank filter.

The book jabs into his ribcage, like a spear to his chest. The girls. He can’t back out.

He wipes his palm against the edge of his wrinkled jeans, smearing them with blood and sweat, before dragging the phone to his ear.

“Yeah?” His voice shakes with the exhale of the word.

There’s a heavy grunt from the other end and then, “Look to your left.”

He scrunches his brow as his teeth capture his bottom lip. “Why am-.”

The line cuts out. The rest of his sentence falls dead on the tip of his tongue. His fingers shake and the phone slips from his hand.

Look to your left.

He turns his head slowly. The simple rotation taking hours instead of mere seconds. He squints into the darkness. Tall eucalyptus trees line the asphalt and shield the buildings behind from view. There’s a shift of movement and he startles.

At the bottom of one of the trees, stands a figure. The grey silhouette almost invisible. He rubs at his eyes, certain it’s not his imagination. The figure raises its hand, beckoning him.

He gulps down a large breath, feeling the book crackle against the expansion of his ribcage, before squaring his shoulders and trotting across the road. His shaking hands disappear into his pockets. He can’t let them know he’s afraid.

The figure steps into the light. The moon highlights the sharpness of their jaw, the steel in their eyes, the silver badge clipped to their belt loop.

“Do you have the book?” Detective Hedge asks. She offers no pleasantries or small talk. They’re on a time limit. The hourglass is about to empty.

“You’re late,” he says, trying to delay the inevitable.

“The book.” Hedge extends her hand. Thick callouses mar her palm.

He swallows thickly. The saliva clings to the back of his throat and coats his tonsils. Sweat continues to drip down the centre of his back, even as the cool air flutters across his skin. He thinks about running. But it’s too late.

He slides the book into view. Fresh blood stains the edges of the crisp pages. Hedge gasps; her eyes opening wide as she zones in on the cover. Fingers shoot forward, eager to collect the evidence, but he pulls it away.

“The money,” he says. “We had a deal.”

“Right. Yes, of course, the money.” Hedge never takes her eyes from the book as he produces a thick, brown package. The corner is torn, the green notes inside evident.

$5,000

That had been their arrangement. $5000 for the evidence.

The fist around his neck slowly loosens. He grapples for the package at the same time Hedge launches at the book. Neither trusting the other. The stakes are too high for both parties.

The wad of cash is a brick against the softness of his palms. He shreds one of the corners, using his teeth to expose the contents. He hastily thumbs the notes, checking their legitimate, checking the amount is correct. It isn’t. Something is wrong. There are too many notes. He counts again and the result is the same.

There’s $20,000, not $5,000.

He studies Hedge, wondering how she’d make such a mistake. She purses her lips together and nods. It’s not a mistake. He slips it underneath his jacket before she changes her mind. The cool plastic a sharp contrast to the heat of the book.

His eyes lock on Hedge, watching as the detective flips through the pages. Her face twists as the horrors of the book's contents finally registers.

“This-.”

“Is it enough to put him in prison?” he cuts her off.

Hedge hesitates, the book flips open to a young girl with her clothes torn. He casts his eyes to the cracked asphalt.

“You promised,” he says. “That was the deal. I get you the book, in exchange you give me $20,000 and send my father to prison.”

Hedge opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. Like a fish gasping for air. She looks at the book and then flicks it shut with a thud.

“I’ll do my best,” She says. “These girls, they deserve justice. But your father, he’s powerful. Once this gets out, once we arrest him,” her eyes shift to the left side of his jacket, where the money resides, “it won’t take him long to find out it was you and we both know he’s an unforgiving man. The extra money is to help you leave. If you truly value your life, you’ll take it, leave this town and never come back.”

Their eyes meet - steel blue and soft brown. His eyes glance at the book one last time and then Hedge is gone. Her silhouette like a gust of wind in the night.

His fingers brush against the notes, feeling them flutter against his skin. He takes one last breath, one last spin on his heel, and disappears.