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About the Author Patricia Hughes was
born in Brisbane and has become a full time writer after having started her
career six years ago with her best selling narrative Daughters of Nazareth. She
followed her success with another
non-fiction named Enough and has now
moved on to crime thillers, something she has always wanted to do. ONE
The bright white Nikes didn’t go with the rest of his outfit. The teenager with greasy hair to his waist was sporting torn denim jeans, a black t-shirt with a skull and crossbones emblazoned across the front and a generic stain, which I really didn’t want to know about. The pristine shoes squeaked on the floor as his feet shifted nervously under the table. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’ Davey Sutton’s trembling began with his chin and his voice wobbled uncertainly as if he was going to cry at any second. ‘All I wanted was his wallet. Why’d he have to fight me for it? There was only ten dollars in it anyway.’ He looked from me to Inspector Grayson and back again at me. ‘I’m sorry. OK? I can’t take it back what I did, but I just gave him a little push and he hit his head on the pavement. I never meant to kill him. You have to believe me.’ Then he began to cry. The inspector stood up. ‘Do you know that the man you killed had a two year old boy who will never even remember his father and a wife, who was pregnant with their second child? Do you know why he only had $10 in his wallet?’ Sutton shook his head and shuffled his feet some more, like a sulky schoolboy, which is what he was. ‘He had just put his wife’s anniversary present in the car and he was going back to buy her flowers with what was left in his wallet.’ There was silence in the interrogation room as Davey sniffled and shuffled some more. ‘I said I was sorry.’ The inspector leaned across the table. The skin was tight around his mouth. ‘Hey! I don’t give a shit how sorry you are. I’m not wasting my time on you to see how sorry you feel. I’m here to let you know that you killed a man in the act of committing a crime and I personally am going to see that you do NOT get off doing any less time because you’re bloody SORRY.’ Davey put his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. The inspector looked calmly at the teenager for fifteen seconds or more before saying flatly. ‘If I were that man’s wife, I’d want to put you away for life.’ Davey Sutton moved his balled-up fists from in front of his face to reveal moist, red eyes. The inspector turned to me. ‘Put this piece of shit in a cell and book him.’ Something between a gulp and a gasp escaped from Davey’s mouth before he dropped his head back on his hands and gave full vent to his emotions. His lawyer got to his feet and another detective stood up and walked towards the teenager. The inspector turned to the lawyer. ‘He’s very good, you know. I hope he has an agent with talent like that.’ He turned to the boy. ‘Good show, Davey,’ he said. He raised his hands and began to clap. The lawyer stared, his mouth opening and closing, and a shocked expression on his face. ‘Just a min…..’ The inspector continued unfazed. ‘What do you do for an encore, Davey? Maybe you should finish with a song…’ ‘If you’re quite finished, Inspector,’ the lawyer interrupted. ‘I think you’ve said enough. This is bordering on harassment.’ ‘Oh by all means, let’s protect your client,’ the inspector said. There was a knock on the door and Detective Peter Bridgman poked his head inside. ‘Excuse me Inspector. Could I speak with Detective Curtis for a moment please?’ I excused myself and walked into the corridor. ‘What is it, Pete,’ I asked. ‘Just had a
call from Sam at the scene of a fire. Sounds
like one for us.’
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