Excerpt: The Elephant's Child

“Let me in, fool. You know I hate talking to you through this damn intercom ...” and he tapped it hard, knowing the sound it would make and sure enough, the doom doom bashed my ears, making me wince. Next to me, I felt Lucy stirring. heard the slight whuffling breath as she nuzzled my toes. I reached down with my left hand, patted her. Easy there, girl. It's OK. I hope.

“I'm tired, Tom. And busy." I pushed the wrapper of the cheeseburger further down, felt the greasy paper slip through my fingers. It was the first thing I'd eaten all day. "Just tell me what's up?”

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something evil this way comes,” he intoned and then snorted. “Just open the fucking door, padre.” I wasn't going to be able to keep him out. I slid my finger to the right, heard the staccato buzz buzz followed by the clicking of the front door. “Come on in, and don't forget to take your boots off—” Too late. The closing of the door reverberated all the way through the house to my study at the back, followed by Tom's heavy booted feet thudding on the floorboards.

I pushed myself backwards in the chair, felt it bump against the wall and leaned to the right. The cool draft of the passage air brushed my face.

“Your boots!” You'd think that after nearly twenty years of friendship, Tom would be able to remember at least once in a while.

The stomping stopped. “Sorry.” I heard one thud, followed rapidly by a second, then the soft sussing of socks on polished wood.

Tom's a big guy. Probably somewhere round 110 kgs with a beer belly that he nurtures with care when he's off duty. When he walks into a room, there's a rush of warmth and slight smell of sweat, Old Spice and garlic. Makes him easy to pick out in a crowd. Today, though, I'd guess lunch was a long time ago—he was slightly tetchy and out of breath when he arrived in my room.

“Yo, man.” Sometimes he likes to act like he's a kid in the 'hood again, usually when things are getting tough at work. It's a retreat for him, a little time out.

“Yo,” I replied, lifting my hand and feeling him high-five me with minimal enthusiasm. “What's up, friend?”

“It's bad.” He eased himself down into one of the leather chairs and I heard the subdued hiss of escaping air. “Never thought we'd see something like this down here.”

I scooted back toward the desk, felt the wheels of my chair passing over the rippled mat that lay in front of the desk. I reached forward and brought myself to a stop right in front of my laptop. Lucy roused herself once, reached out and snuffled my hand. I rested a hand on top of her head, feeling the smooth fur gentle beneath my fingers. Lucy had been with me almost three months now and we were starting to get used to each other. She nuzzled me once more, then lay down again, her rump pressed against my leg.

“Bad as in?”

Tom hoisted himself in the chair, and once again the leather settled itself beneath his bulk with a faint hiss. “Bad as in someone took a little girl. Three year old named Holly Rudyard, lives out in Sunshine Bay. Babysitter took the kid to the dairy to buy ice-creams around four thirty, got talking to some friends. Next thing she looks up and the kid's gone. They wasted about twenty minutes hunting for her, mucked up the place real good, inside and out. Then someone thought to call us.”

“And it's now …?”

Tom's jacket rustled as he pulled back his sleeve. “Just coming up seven.”

Oh god. Two and a half hours was a lifetime in cases like this. She could be—well, she could be any number of things, but as I thought about the horrors that could be befalling her, memory and training kicked in and I slammed the shutters down.

Focus. First things first.