Jill Jackson - 04 - Watch the World Burn by Leah Giarratano Page A
Authors: Leah Giarratano
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days.’
‘Damn,’ said Chris. ‘Unlucky.’
Jayden walked towards the front door, a bulging backpack over his shoulder.
‘You want some chicken, Jayden?’ asked Troy.
‘No,’ said Jayden.
‘What’s in the bag?’
‘My dick,’ said Jayden.
The white boy pissed himself laughing, and Chris failed to stop a snigger.
‘So you wear a strap-on, then, Jayden?’ asked Troy. ‘What, you just got a pussy in those pants?’
Chris and the white boy both shouted with laughter. Jayden gave him a death stare, and Lucy spoke from the kitchen.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘This is just the kind of inspiring conversation I look forward to each evening. Opinion on world affairs, discussions about literature.’
Chris grinned at her. ‘Save me some chicken, sis,’ he said. ‘Later.’
9
Friday, 26 November, 7.30pm
Jill paid for her salad roll and iced tea and walked quickly to the doors of the college cafeteria. Almost out, she heard Roseanna call out behind her.
‘Jill, wait up.’
Jill turned, forcing a smile. Roseanna’s cop-issue shirt strained at the bust; like most of Jill’s classmates, she rushed to the Australian Graduate School of Policing straight after her shift.
‘Toni’s just talking to Gamble about the assignment,’ continued Roseanna, in the queue to pay for her food. ‘I told her we’d wait for her.’ She curled behind her ear a ribbon of dark hair that had escaped its ponytail. Her tray held a meat pie with sauce and a bowl of chips with gravy.
You’re gonna need to go up a size in uniform after that meal, thought Jill, and then mentally slapped herself for the bitchy thought. Michael Westlake didn’t seem to mind the curves. Next in the queue behind Roseanna, he leaned forward over her shoulder and whispered something close to her neck. That’s gotta be quite a view, Jill thought. Roseanna’s quick giggle was music. Jill was pretty sure she’d never laughed like that.
‘Yeah, and then you woke up, Westlake,’ Roseanna threw back over her shoulder.
‘I got some calls to make, Rosie,’ Jill called over to her, another foot out the door. ‘See you in the next class.’
Professor Gamble’s psych class had tonight focused on non-verbal cues as indicators of stress. Gamble had emphasised to them that should they ever find themselves interviewing a psychopath, they had to assume that almost everything said would be a lie. What was his line again? She tried to remember. ‘It’s never a question of if they’re lying, but why.’ Gamble had listed some behavioural indicators of deception, and Jill had found herself feeling frustrated and then anxious. Frustrated because Gabriel had taught her far more about the principles of kinesic interrogation than Gamble seemed to know. And anxious because that’s how she always felt lately when she thought about Gabriel.
Which was a lot.
She slipped quietly through the shadowy corridors of the college. With just the one class here tonight, most of the old weatherboard building slumbered. The scented Manly evening breathed in through the open front doors.
In front of the building, Jill stepped out of her thongs and gathered them up in her hand. The tarred pathway held stubbornly on to the heat of the day. She padded barefoot over to the frangipani tree, its blossoms just beginning to burst in the dark green foliage. She threw her hoodie down onto the grass underneath and sat upon it, cross-legged. Took out her phone. Stared at it. Put it down.
Gabriel.
Scotty.
For twenty-two years she’d tried everything to convince herself that not all men were dangerous, that some could be trusted. But although by adulthood she’d accepted this intellectually, her body had never agreed. Dating was worse than the dentist, and given the choice between eating offal and having sex, she’d quite happily have sat down to a plate of boiled brains.
But then a couple of years ago, Scotty had snuck halfway under the radar. Her sensors had finally detected
‘Damn,’ said Chris. ‘Unlucky.’
Jayden walked towards the front door, a bulging backpack over his shoulder.
‘You want some chicken, Jayden?’ asked Troy.
‘No,’ said Jayden.
‘What’s in the bag?’
‘My dick,’ said Jayden.
The white boy pissed himself laughing, and Chris failed to stop a snigger.
‘So you wear a strap-on, then, Jayden?’ asked Troy. ‘What, you just got a pussy in those pants?’
Chris and the white boy both shouted with laughter. Jayden gave him a death stare, and Lucy spoke from the kitchen.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘This is just the kind of inspiring conversation I look forward to each evening. Opinion on world affairs, discussions about literature.’
Chris grinned at her. ‘Save me some chicken, sis,’ he said. ‘Later.’
9
Friday, 26 November, 7.30pm
Jill paid for her salad roll and iced tea and walked quickly to the doors of the college cafeteria. Almost out, she heard Roseanna call out behind her.
‘Jill, wait up.’
Jill turned, forcing a smile. Roseanna’s cop-issue shirt strained at the bust; like most of Jill’s classmates, she rushed to the Australian Graduate School of Policing straight after her shift.
‘Toni’s just talking to Gamble about the assignment,’ continued Roseanna, in the queue to pay for her food. ‘I told her we’d wait for her.’ She curled behind her ear a ribbon of dark hair that had escaped its ponytail. Her tray held a meat pie with sauce and a bowl of chips with gravy.
You’re gonna need to go up a size in uniform after that meal, thought Jill, and then mentally slapped herself for the bitchy thought. Michael Westlake didn’t seem to mind the curves. Next in the queue behind Roseanna, he leaned forward over her shoulder and whispered something close to her neck. That’s gotta be quite a view, Jill thought. Roseanna’s quick giggle was music. Jill was pretty sure she’d never laughed like that.
‘Yeah, and then you woke up, Westlake,’ Roseanna threw back over her shoulder.
‘I got some calls to make, Rosie,’ Jill called over to her, another foot out the door. ‘See you in the next class.’
Professor Gamble’s psych class had tonight focused on non-verbal cues as indicators of stress. Gamble had emphasised to them that should they ever find themselves interviewing a psychopath, they had to assume that almost everything said would be a lie. What was his line again? She tried to remember. ‘It’s never a question of if they’re lying, but why.’ Gamble had listed some behavioural indicators of deception, and Jill had found herself feeling frustrated and then anxious. Frustrated because Gabriel had taught her far more about the principles of kinesic interrogation than Gamble seemed to know. And anxious because that’s how she always felt lately when she thought about Gabriel.
Which was a lot.
She slipped quietly through the shadowy corridors of the college. With just the one class here tonight, most of the old weatherboard building slumbered. The scented Manly evening breathed in through the open front doors.
In front of the building, Jill stepped out of her thongs and gathered them up in her hand. The tarred pathway held stubbornly on to the heat of the day. She padded barefoot over to the frangipani tree, its blossoms just beginning to burst in the dark green foliage. She threw her hoodie down onto the grass underneath and sat upon it, cross-legged. Took out her phone. Stared at it. Put it down.
Gabriel.
Scotty.
For twenty-two years she’d tried everything to convince herself that not all men were dangerous, that some could be trusted. But although by adulthood she’d accepted this intellectually, her body had never agreed. Dating was worse than the dentist, and given the choice between eating offal and having sex, she’d quite happily have sat down to a plate of boiled brains.
But then a couple of years ago, Scotty had snuck halfway under the radar. Her sensors had finally detected
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