Chapter Twenty

TWENTY

THE PHONE TRILLS. I open my eyes, and the screen light leaps into the stillness and dark of the morning. I reach for it and see the time: 6:12 am. Who the hell is calling me this early? With a pang of guilt, I realise it’s not early at all. Until all this started with Joe, I was up every morning and running by 5 am. It’s a private number. A storm is brewing in my stomach. This, I know, isn’t good. Sitting up I bring the phone to my ear.

‘Hello,’ I say.

‘Mrs Scott, my name is Jennifer McVeigh. I’m calling from the Richmond police department.’

‘Yes, hi.’

‘I’m calling to let you know that unfortunately there has been an incident at your property in South Yarra.’

‘My property?’ I think about our house, gutted by fire. Does she mean the clinic?

‘What is it?’ Gabe says.

I roll over, sit up.

The woman continues speaking. ‘Between 1 and 3 am your practice was targeted by an arson attack.’

I feel sick, the storm inside growing turbulent. ‘Shit. Alright, I’ll come down.’

‘There’s no rush to get to the property. Firefighters have the blaze under control.’

‘No, I want to come. I want to see.’

‘Sure,’ she says.

Gabe has a hand on my shoulder, watching me. The call ends and I turn to him. ‘It’s happened again. Someone firebombed the clinic.’ I’m crying now.

He sits up suddenly. ‘You’re joking?’

‘I wish I was.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘I’m going down there. They’re on top of it, but I want to go.’

‘Give me a minute,’ Gabe says, rolling over, feet hitting the carpet. ‘Is it too early for coffee?’

•

It’s a black shell. The front window has detonated inward. Flames have blackened the walls and the ceiling but the structure is intact. The fire service have cordoned off the street. Is this Joe’s retribution for reporting him to the police? He’s systematically ruining my life, scaring away clients, destroying my home, my practice.

‘Shit,’ I say, as Gabe drapes his arm across my shoulders and pulls me against him.

‘It’s all insured: loss of business income, building, contents, everything. It’ll be okay.’ He’s already thinking like an accountant.

‘I’m not worried about that,’ I say. ‘He’s targeting me.’ I feel his arm tighten but he doesn’t speak. He can’t deny it.

I expect to see Simms but he’s not there, just a couple of uniforms, an ambulance, for what purpose I don’t know, and two fire engines. Stepping from Gabe’s grip, I walk up to the yellow tape blocking one half of the road.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, calling one of the cops over. He turns and regards me. ‘This is my business. Can you tell me what you know?’

‘You own this property?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘What happened?’