Meeting Lamara
The first time I met Lamara it was in an office environment, she was the case worker for a young woman who'd been picked up by the uniformed branch for street walking. Whilst prostitution is legal in most states in Australia, sex workers need to be registered and either work for a massage parlour or an escort agency and submit to regular STD tests, and be drug free.
One of her clients Mylene had turned to freelance prostitution to pay for her drug habit and it was her intoxication that led the police to pull her up for a random drug test. She failed in spectacular fashion when she lost her balance and wound up on the pavement. That was when the officers saw the scars on her wrist where she'd attempted suicide. When they went through the shopping bag they found baby formula and some tinned baby food, stolen from a supermarket. Calls were made and two more officers arranged to meet Lamara at the flat in Beaconsfield Parade. One thing led to another and the task of liaising with the Social Welfare department was handballed to me, which was why I was sitting in Lamara's office two days later.
"She's in a bad way," Lamara eyed me over the rim of her coffee cup, "but we're hoping that with some timely intervention she might just make a clean break of it, but I'm curious as to why you're here, Senior detective Lisa MacDonald?" Lamara glanced at the card in front of her.
She looked up at me and smiled as she went on.
"She did steal baby formula and tinned food, but it hardly warrants a visit from the Major Crimes division," her eyes shifted to me, "is she a friend? Or are you doing someone a favour?"
"Neither," I shifted in my seat, "but the last time she appeared on the radar was when the police questioned this man," I tapped my tablet and placed it on the desk, "Raymond John Barrows, he's suspected for the murder of two rival drug dealers and he's also involved in a major ice distribution network."
"I've seen the face once or twice," she replied, "but what's Mylene doing with this character? He's a bit above her pay grade."
"He has a habit of keeping a younger woman around who can carry things for him that he'd like to keep hidden from the police, like drugs and guns."
"I see," Lamara flicked at her long blonde hair, "and you'd like to question her? What makes you think she'll talk?"
"That's why I'm here, she's obviously in a bad way and while we're under pressure to find a weak point we don't want to push her over the edge. The department has come under a bit of fire lately for the way we've handled investigations in the recent and not so recent past."
Lamara looked up as someone knocked on the door and a frown creased her brow as the door opened.
"Ms Ivanovich? The deputy wants to see you."
"Tell her I'm busy," she looked pensive.
"I told her that," the woman glanced over her shoulder, "she said it'd take five minutes."
Lamara sat back in her seat and let out an audible groan.
"I can come back if you like," I offered.
She considered this for a few moments before shaking her head.
"Stay," her eyes shifted, "Heidi, will you bring Detective MacDonald a coffee or tea?"
"Coffee," I replied, "black and strong."
"Like your men?" Lamara's eyes twinkled.
"More like my women," I grimaced.
She shot me a cheeky grin as she rose from her seat.
"To each their own," she tucked the cream-coloured blouse further into her skirt, "I'll be back in five minutes," she clicked the mouse to lock the screen, "I'm really sorry about this."
I wasn't sorry. I was enjoying sitting in her office. She'd been one of our main liaisons between Victoria Police and the people we were interested in. My superiors were older than me and they could recall times when a good kicking got results, but with human rights high on the agenda and the press ready to record every misstep, they'd started working with the Department. Usually it was one of the boys who dropped in to see Lamara or someone else in her department, but I'd drawn the short straw and I was counting my lucky stars today.
She was a psychologist, and from what my colleagues had told me over the last few years she spoke several languages. Apparently, Ivanovich was not her family name, it was the name she'd taken when she married Boris and when they divorced she just hyphenated Ivanovich with her maiden name, Svensson to create Ivanovich-Svensson.
Lamara was thirty two with a generous mane of blonde hair that fell to her shoulderblades. Her eyes were blue and she had an aquiline-shaped face and an hourglass figure that often caught the eyes of the guys at the station along with her impeccable dress sense. Today she wore a beige blouse that was open to the third button and a dark brown, three-quarter length skirt.
"I won't be long," she nodded at me, "the goddess is calling."
I smiled at the title, the goddess was the other name for Dr. Paulson, the deputy head of her department, those of us who'd been on the other side of the line to her had other more colourful names. Thus her use of that title was somewhat telling. I was left to my own devices, more or less and because I hate sitting on my arse I got up to examine the office. Once a cop, always a cop, I've gone back to a woman's house for a one night stand and never fail to examine her book collection, DVD collection, pictures and other things out on display.
Heidi brought me a cup of coffee about then and left me to my own devices. Lamara had her own office with its own lock, others below her pay grade shared an open plan office with cubicles. She had a doctorate in psychiatry and psychology along with several other degrees, one of which was in the field of Personal Relationships. I was still pondering what that was all about as I stood in front of a framed portrait of Lamara from a few years ago, judging by the longer hair and youthful look. She was wearing a black graduation gown over a white blouse, she had a plasterboard hat on and was holding a rolled up piece of paper.
"I was much younger then," Lamara spoke up suddenly.
I turned around suddenly, she must have crept up on me and then I recalled she'd not worn her shoes when she left the office, it was one of those things you don't see unless you're looking for it, I'm a cop I should know these things.
"I was twenty two when I graduated the first time," she advanced further into the office, "eighteen months later I was married and trying to work my way through a doctorate degree in psychiatry, eventually something had to give. Thank God it was my marriage and not my academic career," she moved past me and sat down in the chair.
"What was Personal Relationships?" I sat down again.
"Sex therapy to be blunt," she cracked a sly grin, "very entertaining course, my lecturer was one of those try anything types and there were a few students he tried to swing a leg over."
"And did you?"
"That's classified," she typed in her password to unlock the screen, "right, where were we?"
"Mylene," I replied, "we need to ask her a few questions."
"And what protection will you provide her?"
"That all depends on the information she provides us."
"I'll make this easy for you," she leaned on her elbows, "my main concern is the care and protection of anyone who is referred to us. We don't discriminate on the basis of race, creed, sex or even legal status. I've had people from Border Control in here on their knees begging for information and I've sent them back with fuck all. Don't let the pretty face fool you. If you try to pull a fast one over me you'd better be quick on the draw," she leaned back and folded her arms.
"So, now that we've laid out the rules, what protection will you give Mylene? Assuming she even wants to talk to you about anything."
I hesitated before replying.
"A full identity change, we'll even do a whip around to see if we can raise some money to help her buy a few bits and pieces," I examined my nails, "we don't have an unlimited budget though, so let's just put a cap on that one."
