‘We lost,’ was all he said.
‘Oh no. I’m sorry, Andy.’
‘John Barrett was furious. I just want to get home and try to forget about it. What shall we do for dinner?’
She looked longingly at her half-formed ring. She didn’t want to leave just yet, but Andy needed her. ‘I’ll pick up a roast chicken,’ she replied.
She came home, showered, shedding metal filings on the floor as per usual, then changed.
‘What did Harris say about the case?’ she asked as she walked into the kitchen where Andy was dismembering the roast chicken and dividing its various parts onto two plates.
‘He just sort of grunted. He was not pleased.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She lay her palm on his back.
‘I don’t think that’s how he sees it.’ He was glum as he took the two plates of chicken to the table, and removed the cling-wrap from a bowl of potato salad.
‘It’s just one case. It will pass.’
Saskia poured two glasses of wine, handed one to Andy, then sat on his lap, put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
‘I’m not so sure. Maybe I should start making some calls. See what else is out there.’ He put his glass down and rubbed top of his nose, pinching the area between his eyes.
‘Do you really think it’s that bad?’
Andy shrugged. He had grabbed a quick beer with Hugh after work and told him about the case. ‘This is bad, Ando,’ was his response. ‘Really. Fucking. Bad.’
Saskia kissed him again.
They went to bed early and made brief, perfunctory, love. By ten, Andy had fallen into deep unconsciousness and was snoring ever so slightly. His nose sounded a little blocked, as if he was he coming down something. Saskia lay next to him, more awake than ever. After a sleepless half-hour she sat up, pulled on a T-shirt, boots and jeans, then picked up her car keys and headed back to her studio.
Day 163, Monday, March 23
Andy was sitting on his couch in his suit. He ripped off his tie and stuffed it into his pocket.
‘Good to see you, Rhino. It’s been too long.’
‘You too, Andy. I’m glad you called.’
‘You look great.’
Rhino’s fringe no longer flopped forward over his face, but instead was raked back, shorter and thinner, thanks to some decent barbering. He had lost weight too, or rather, redistributed it. The pounds that had previously bulged around his belly and the seat of his pants had shifted to his arms, thighs and chest, and were firm, instead of doughy.
‘Endorphins,’ he said to Andy, as they discussed his departure from HM&L. ‘That’s how I kept myself sane, it’s all about the endorphins.’
‘It’s working for you.’
‘Thanks. Shame about the House of Hiraani case.’ Rhino uncapped two bottles of beer he had brought over and set one on the coffee table for Andy. ‘Bright Box has got to be Mecca for that kind of work.’
‘Everybody knows obviously.’
‘I’m afraid so. But, it’s worse than that.’
‘What?’
‘John Barton from Bright Box was in with Bolt and Borsch this week.’
‘What?’
‘They’re going to appeal.’
‘You’re joking? I wonder if Harris knows.’
‘He could.’
Andy squeezed his eyes shut. ‘When he hears Bright Box chose another law firm to handle the appeal he’s going to burst a ventricle.’
‘That guy needs to do some yoga. He’s way too tightly wound.’
‘What’s life like at Bolt and Borsch?’
‘Not as much dick swinging. HM&L is a macho place to work. I didn’t realise how bad it was till I got out. How’s Krystyn holding up? I don’t know how she can stand it there. It’s like Mad Men without the sex and style.’
‘You know Krystyn. It only makes her more determined.’
‘I heard about her wage freeze.’
‘She wasn’t happy.’
‘It might be the thing that saves her job. A brilliant lawyer like her on a salary like that, they’d be mad to let her go. Still,’ he took a sip of his beer, ‘I wish she’d get out of there.’
‘She’s a hell cat.’
Rhino delivered his next line a little breathlessly. ‘She’s a Goddess.’ He caught himself, and stuttered, ‘If you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘Course not.’
‘I mean, you two were . . . I’d never want to . . . unless of course . . .’ Rhino sipped his beer contemplatively and changed the subject. ‘Bolt and Borsch isn’t as cut-throat. It suits me. They let me do my job, and at six o’clock I go home and I’m free.’
Andy leaned back and appraised his friend. Rhino had some colour in his face. He seemed happy. ‘You look good. Healthier.’
Rhino, sheepish, rolled the bottle of beer in his hands. ‘I’m making an effort. That business with Carmelita made me realise that women think I’m a joke.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘They don’t take me seriously.’
“Carmelita didn’t write those messages, and in all likelihood it was a man. Probably someone like Bose, who is hardly a breed apart at HM&L. It could have been any one of the ambitious-to-the-back-teeth guys.’
‘I know, I know,’ said Rhino. ‘But it made me wake up to myself.’
‘And?’
Rhino shrugged. ‘I’ve been on a few dates. It’s hard to meet someone. You’re lucky. Where is Saskia? I’d like to see her.’
‘She won’t be home for some time yet.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. It’s the new world order. She works longer hours than me.’
*
Saskia trudged up the stairs to her studio door, laden down with plastic shopping bags full of supplies. Easter was approaching, bringing with it her Dressage deadline, and she had been spending too much time and money at cafes. She had stocked up on instant coffee, 2-Minute noodles, olive bread, milk, muesli bars, tomato juice, instant porridge, No-Doze and Band-Aids. She’d never been studious, so she hadn’t endured the long stretches of pre-exam confinement some of her high school friends had. She hadn’t seen the point. But she was ready to rise to it now.
She was fishing her keys out to unlock her door when she noticed it was slightly ajar. Her immediate response was curiosity, rather than alarm. She pushed it open and her heart started to thump. The place had been ransacked. The plastic shopping bags slid from her hand — glass smashed when one hit the ground — as she took in the sight of her trashed studio. Her stool was lying sideways on the ground. Loose pages from her sketchbook were strewn everywhere. Drawers were flung open, tools scattered. Her eyes flicked to the cupboard where she kept her silver and she was hit with a dagger of panic — the door was hanging open.
Saskia rushed to the cupboard and fell to her knees, searching inside. It was bare. The silver was gone. The gold was gone. Thousands of dollars’ worth of raw materials had been stolen, but worse than that, dozens and dozens of cuffs were gone too. She tasted vomit in the back of her throat. With tears prickling her eyes, she blindly felt the top shelf. Also empty. The Herkimer diamonds were gone. She made a noise like a frightened animal. Somehow losing the diamonds wounded her more deeply than losing the silver and gold.
She scrambled to her feet and searched her drawers like a woman possessed, madly hoping she’d stashed some jewellery somewhere. There was nothing.
She stepped backwards and felt something metallic underfoot — a padlock. It had a broken loop that had been snapped open with bolt-cutters.
*
Andy was pacing the lounge room, raking his hands through his hair as he pondered the problem of Barrett meeting with B&B. Harris was going to fillet Andy with a letter-opener when he found out.
He punched his fist into his palm, trying to figure out how he could minimise the damage. His focus was broken by a phone call from Saskia.
‘Hello.’ His stress made his voice terse.
‘Andy.’ Her voice was rent with panic, misery.
Andy’s throat tightened, his own problems forgotten. ‘Sas, what is it?’
She sobbed down the line: ‘I was robbed.’
‘What? Where are you? I’m coming. Are you okay?’ He pictured a dark alley, he pictured a knife, a man, maybe a gang of them. Or a woman with a pair of scissors. A syringe. Threatening his wife. He went cold all over.
‘I’m at my studio.’
‘Are you hurt?’
‘Hurt? No, I—’
‘Are you alone? I’m on my way. Is there someone who can stay with you?’
‘No, I’m fine, I’m fine.’
‘You’re probably in shock. Have you called the police?’
Saskia sniffed, but she was calmer now, having heard Andy’s voice. ‘I called you first.’
‘Okay. Sas, I’m going to hang up now and drive straight over. I want you to call the police. They’ll send a car around. Call me back as soon as you’ve done that. I’ll stay on the line with you until they arrive.’
Andy grabbed his keys, pulled on his shoes and seconds later was behind the wheel of his car. As he aimed the key at the ignition it occurred to him that he’d had four beers. He had never in all his life gotten behind the wheel of a car if he’d had more than two standard drinks. He and Rhino had knocked over two beers each, then Rhino had left, leaving the remaining two beers on the table, which Andy had also guzzled.
He looked at his watch and tried to tally up how long it had been since his last beer. Whatever the answer, he knew he’d be well over the limit. A slideshow of drink-driving cases he’d prosecuted sped through his mind. He didn’t let these fleeting thoughts settle. His wife had been attacked and he needed to be with her.
He told himself he’d stick to the backstreets and started the engine. He sped to the end of the street, turned the corner and raced through an amber light on Toorak Road.
*
Saskia was on her knees trying to organise her papers when the intercom buzzed. Two minutes later Andy burst breathless into her studio and wrapped his arms around her.
‘Are you okay? Tell me what happened?’ He kissed the top of her head and said again, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just walked in to find it . . .’ she broke off.
‘Jesus, Sas.’ Andy raked a hand through his hair. ‘I thought someone had attacked you. I thought you’d been mugged with a knife, or a gun.’
‘No, someone stole the silver from my cupboard. I wasn’t here.’ She opened the door as evidence of its bare insides. Her voice grew high-pitched and shaky. ‘Do you think I would have let them take my stuff if I was here?’
‘If they had a gun, yes. You said you were robbed.’
‘I was robbed.’
Andy exhaled a jagged gust of air. Under the law, a burglary is when someone steals from a property, while a robbery has occurred when a threat is made against a person. But Saskia wouldn’t be aware of the distinction.
‘All my jewellery.’ She sunk to her knees among the wreckage. ‘Hours and hours of work.’
‘Sas . . .’ He tried to sound diplomatic, pragmatic, but he was still reeling from the panic he’d felt as he’d rushed over. ‘How could you let this happen?’
‘How could I let it happen? I was robbed!’
He bristled at her use of that word again. He’d been so scared. He’d driven wildly across town, taking sharp corners and running red lights while over the limit. He knew what a blow this was for her, but right now all rationality was being eclipsed by anger at the risk he had taken by rushing over. His career was in very real jeopardy, and he — a lawyer — had broken the law by driving under the influence.
‘Don’t you have locks? Security?’
‘Of course it was locked.’
‘Well, how did they get into the building?’
‘I don’t know. People are coming and going all the time.’
Andy sighed. ‘How much was the silver worth?’
‘About a thousand dollars worth of silver. More in gold.’
‘There was gold too?’
‘And gemstones.’ She stopped short of telling him they were Herkimer diamonds.
‘Saskia.’
‘You’ve bought suits for less.’
‘That’s not the point. The point is, this isn’t the way to run a business.’
‘Have you ever run a business before?’
‘If I did I wouldn’t leave my products in a cupboard where anyone could just walk by and help themselves.’ With this final jibe, his anger left him.
Saskia was hugging herself, red-eyed, as she looked around the ruins of her workspace.
‘Sas, I’m sorry.’ Andy went to her and put his arms around her. ‘I was so scared, so scared, something had happened to you.’ He swallowed. ‘I’ve been worried about Bright Box, and I had a few drinks, then when you called . . . I’m . . . I’m really sorry.’ He could feel her tremble as he held her and his remorse redoubled. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, then asked gently, ‘Did you call the police?’
Instead of her answer he heard the buzz of the intercom. Saskia got to her feet and brushed off her jeans. ‘Yes?’
‘Constable Maloney, Brunswick CIU.’
Soon two uniformed officers were surveying the studio and asking Saskia questions.
‘I found this.’ Saskia handed Constable Maloney the broken padlock.
‘That’s great,’ he said, taking it with a gloved hand. ‘We could finally get some prints on this guy. You know yours isn’t the first studio to be robbed in this building?’
‘It’s not?’
‘There’s been a spate. If I were you, I’d think twice about leaving anything of value here.’
Day 155, Wednesday, March 25
Driving back from the prefabrication factory in Reservoir with her bags of ready-made silver shapes sitting on the passenger seat, Saskia felt numb, resigned. She had just collected a hundred silver castings that she would mould into Hero cuffs. If she worked without a breath between now and Easter she would be able to deliver the order to Dressage. But they wouldn’t be hand-cut and the victory would feel hollow.
After the robbery she had been able to cover the cost of the raw materials herself using some of her profits. She’d taken the cash for the prefabrication work from the joint account.
‘How much to do these prefab things cost?’ he’d asked as they drove home after the police left her studio.
‘I’ll have to get a quote,’ was all she said.
They had reconciled, but the resolution wasn’t complete, and when they’d made love it had been brief. As Andy had lifted her nightdress without removing it, she had almost said, ‘We don’t have to if you don’t want to, excusing him from their pact. But beneath her irritability and disappointment, her desire burned bright, and she found her lips refused to form the words.
She parked now and carried her bag of cuffs up to her studio, feeling wary. Constable Maloney’s question played in her head. Do you have any idea who might have done this? Someone who has access to the building?
Ignoring the name her instincts were shouting — because it really was nothing more than a hunch — she’d said she couldn’t think of anyone. They’d dusted for prints and told her they’d let her know if anything turned up.
She went to her desk and tipped out six silver castings that looked like jigsaw pieces. She placed one on her peg, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was now going to have to work twice as hard for a result that would be half as good.
She had barely started when she was interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘June?’
Her friend looked pale and rundown. Saskia had never seen her without her signature winged eyeliner and red lips.
‘Can I come in?’ June was wearing a beat-up pair of Nikes and black leggings. A grubby backpack hung over her shoulder.
‘Of course. How are you?’
‘Not great. I heard about what happened to your silv
er,’ June said, but wouldn’t meet Saskia’s eye. ‘The police come to our flat.’
‘June, I didn’t tell them it was Ziggy.’ Saskia realised as she said the words that she knew it was him.
‘But you think it was him?’
‘No . . . I . . . I just meant, if they came it wasn’t because of me.’
‘I know.’ June shook her head. ‘They said they found his prints.’
‘Oh.’
June grabbed Saskia’s hand. ‘Sas, please don’t press charges. He’s already got a few strikes against him. He might have to do jail time.’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘Maybe that will help dry him out. It’d be cheaper than rehab.’
‘He’s in rehab?’ Saskia asked quietly.
June nodded. ‘His father’s paying. I chip in where I can.’
Her skin was waxy and her upper lip dotted with sweat. It was clear her recent nights had been spent having urgent, difficult conversations, rather than sleeping. She slid the backpack off her shoulder and pulled out a pillowcase. ‘He sold your silver and gold, but I found these.’ She held the pillowcase out to Saskia.
Inside were dozens and dozens of Hero cuffs, Sol Invictus cuffs, and some rings.
‘June,’ Saskia breathed, overwhelmed with relief.
‘Sas, I’m so sorry. That must have been so much work.’
‘Thank you for bringing this back. It can’t have been easy.’
‘I’m so embarrassed.’ June hid her face with her hands.
‘Don’t be.’ Saskia put an arm around her friend. ‘Is it . . .?’
A tear rolled down June’s cheek. ‘You name it. Speed. Cocaine. Ice.’
‘Ice?’ Saskia gasped. The mere word was chilling.
June started to cry in earnest now. She pressed a ball of tissues against her eyes. ‘It’s been so awful. I wish I could tell you we’d pay you back, but I don’t—’ Her voice broke off into a hiccup.
‘Here, sit,’ Saskia said. ‘Do you want a cup of coffee? Tea? Water?’
‘No, thanks. I’d better go. Oh, I almost forgot.’ She reached into the pocket of her hooded windcheater. ‘I found these on the coffee table.’ In her palm were seven Herkimer diamonds.
Saskia hugged June and whispered into her ear. ‘You keep those,’ she said. ‘They’re not worth a whole lot. But you might be able to get a bit of cash from a gem dealer.’
The First Year Page 22
