immediately.
âYou know how it is, Basil. Duty calls,â I slurred and he gave me the thumbs up. Standing up wasnât a good idea, and I knocked over a chair when I tried to navigate my way to the door. Limping slightly, I hailed a passing taxi and headed for home and some food to counteract the tequila. Food. I needed food.
Scrambled eggs on toast with cheese and chilli sauce and a cold beer was an excellent idea. Cooking wasnât. I burnt the eggs and the toast, which set off the smoke detector and its earpiercing alarm and I couldnât find the broom to hit the button to shut it up. Then I spilled thebeer when I fell through the toilet seat that I was standing on while opening the bathroom window to clear the smoke. It all seemed so logical at the time.
I vaguely remember falling into bed around 2am, feeling no pain.
My nightmares were impressive.
chapter eleven.
Next morning I had a foggy headache and Bert the budgieâs body was on the floor. Rather, what was left of him was on the floor, surrounded by feathers. His cage was on the ground. Door open. Oh shit. Another murder, which might explain my wild dreams last night.
The bathroom was a mess. The kitchen was a mess. I was a mess. A shower sort of helped, but not much. Had I killed Bert in my drunken stupor? I could understand setting fire to the kitchen â that had happened in the past â and I have been known to knock over his cage at times, but I couldnât work out how I had killed him. I just hoped I hadnât trodden on him. He didnât look squashed. Just limp, with his little head flopping to one side and no tail feathers. Had I killed him and then plucked him? I wrapped Bert in paper towels and tiptoed outside to bury the body in the little park across the road.
I picked up some emergency hangover cures from the convenience store and hobbled back home. A glass of chocolate milk, two Panadols, a slice of buttery vegemite toast and a can of diet Coke later, I felt well enough to die. I had just taken myself back to bed when my doorbell intercom rang.
âGo away,â I croaked. âI donât want any.â
âMaddie. Are you OK?â It was Constable Jack.
âYes, Iâm OK. Just having a bit of a lazy morning.â Brilliant repartee, but it was the best I could do.
âIâve been leaving messages for you on your phone, but you havenât called me back. Can I come in?â
Oh shit. He couldnât see me like this. There were bird seed and feathers everywhere, and I must have looked really scary, because I felt really scary and the place smelled of burnt eggs. âUm, no. Whatâs up?â
âThey want us for an update at eleven oâclock. Can you get yourself there?â
âShit. Canât we have one day off?â I whimpered.
âDetective Griffiths, I do believe you have someone in there with you. Sprung. Tell you what, Iâll go get some coffee and pick you up at 10.45 and we wonât tell anyone.â He sounded positively pleased with himself.
Oh great. Now he thought I had a lover stashed away in my bed. Well, at least when he saw me heâd think my condition was from too much sex, not a Force 10 hangover.
I found my mobile phone and cursed flat batteries. Then I scalded myself in the shower. Then I over-corrected the tap and blasted myself with freezing water. So far, my day was just about perfect.
Of course, I then proceeded to cut my finger with a razor blade while trying to extract the last smear of moisturiser from the tube. Couldnât find a Band-Aid, so I used sticky-tape instead. I was now officially out of everything.
Constable Jack rang from the car at 10.45 precisely. At least one of us was on the ball.
He wasnât happy that his RDOs had been cancelled, but weâd both get over it. This bloody case, however, was getting completely out of hand. We talked about how the pollies were driving us mad because the
âYou know how it is, Basil. Duty calls,â I slurred and he gave me the thumbs up. Standing up wasnât a good idea, and I knocked over a chair when I tried to navigate my way to the door. Limping slightly, I hailed a passing taxi and headed for home and some food to counteract the tequila. Food. I needed food.
Scrambled eggs on toast with cheese and chilli sauce and a cold beer was an excellent idea. Cooking wasnât. I burnt the eggs and the toast, which set off the smoke detector and its earpiercing alarm and I couldnât find the broom to hit the button to shut it up. Then I spilled thebeer when I fell through the toilet seat that I was standing on while opening the bathroom window to clear the smoke. It all seemed so logical at the time.
I vaguely remember falling into bed around 2am, feeling no pain.
My nightmares were impressive.
chapter eleven.
Next morning I had a foggy headache and Bert the budgieâs body was on the floor. Rather, what was left of him was on the floor, surrounded by feathers. His cage was on the ground. Door open. Oh shit. Another murder, which might explain my wild dreams last night.
The bathroom was a mess. The kitchen was a mess. I was a mess. A shower sort of helped, but not much. Had I killed Bert in my drunken stupor? I could understand setting fire to the kitchen â that had happened in the past â and I have been known to knock over his cage at times, but I couldnât work out how I had killed him. I just hoped I hadnât trodden on him. He didnât look squashed. Just limp, with his little head flopping to one side and no tail feathers. Had I killed him and then plucked him? I wrapped Bert in paper towels and tiptoed outside to bury the body in the little park across the road.
I picked up some emergency hangover cures from the convenience store and hobbled back home. A glass of chocolate milk, two Panadols, a slice of buttery vegemite toast and a can of diet Coke later, I felt well enough to die. I had just taken myself back to bed when my doorbell intercom rang.
âGo away,â I croaked. âI donât want any.â
âMaddie. Are you OK?â It was Constable Jack.
âYes, Iâm OK. Just having a bit of a lazy morning.â Brilliant repartee, but it was the best I could do.
âIâve been leaving messages for you on your phone, but you havenât called me back. Can I come in?â
Oh shit. He couldnât see me like this. There were bird seed and feathers everywhere, and I must have looked really scary, because I felt really scary and the place smelled of burnt eggs. âUm, no. Whatâs up?â
âThey want us for an update at eleven oâclock. Can you get yourself there?â
âShit. Canât we have one day off?â I whimpered.
âDetective Griffiths, I do believe you have someone in there with you. Sprung. Tell you what, Iâll go get some coffee and pick you up at 10.45 and we wonât tell anyone.â He sounded positively pleased with himself.
Oh great. Now he thought I had a lover stashed away in my bed. Well, at least when he saw me heâd think my condition was from too much sex, not a Force 10 hangover.
I found my mobile phone and cursed flat batteries. Then I scalded myself in the shower. Then I over-corrected the tap and blasted myself with freezing water. So far, my day was just about perfect.
Of course, I then proceeded to cut my finger with a razor blade while trying to extract the last smear of moisturiser from the tube. Couldnât find a Band-Aid, so I used sticky-tape instead. I was now officially out of everything.
Constable Jack rang from the car at 10.45 precisely. At least one of us was on the ball.
He wasnât happy that his RDOs had been cancelled, but weâd both get over it. This bloody case, however, was getting completely out of hand. We talked about how the pollies were driving us mad because the
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