by Tim Ayliffe
‘Jules, this is Father Joe Henley,’ Bailey said, struggling to keep Margie upright. ‘And this one’s Margie.’
‘Call me Joe, love.’
‘Hi, Joe. Thanks for helping us out.’
‘Don’t mention it, sport.’
Joe stood back, his experience with troubled kids telling him not to get in Jules’s face. Avoid over-familiarity. Girls like Jules usually had issues with trust. Joe knew that trust was something that needed to be earned.
‘Joe. Joe,’ Margie said, laughing to herself. ‘Hi there, Joe Joe.’
‘This one’s high as a kite,’ Bailey said. ‘Heroin.’
‘I see,’ Joe said, stepping close, examining Margie’s eyes which were rolling about like pinballs. ‘Let’s get her inside.’
‘Good idea.’
‘And Jules?’ Joe said. ‘I’ve got a room out back for you and your sister. Your own bathroom too. All to yourselves.’
‘Thanks, Joe,’ Jules said, juggling her and her sister’s backpacks. ‘I could do with a shower.’
* * *
The television in the kitchen had been tuned to the rugby league and Bailey felt less guilty about interrupting Joe’s night when he noticed that the Rabbitohs weren’t playing.
‘The stupid nine-a-side game they play in the pre-season,’ Joe said, pointing at the television. ‘Down to the finals. Battle of the Silvertails.’
Manly Sea Eagles versus the Sydney Roosters.
‘Barely watch this game any more,’ Bailey said. ‘Although with rugby in the toilet I might be forced into it soon.’
‘Those fools at Rugby Australia couldn’t organise a chook raffle. Bunch of private school boys who like sitting around in corporate boxes. Out of touch. No wonder your Wallabies can’t win a game.’
‘Don’t get me started.’
Bailey could have sat around talking footy with Joe all night but he needed to get moving. Annie Brooks had called him twice in the last half hour and he wanted to hear how her interview with Philip Lam had gone.
‘You okay with me leaving the girls here with you?’
‘Of course.’
Jules walked into the kitchen, ruffling her wet hair with a towel. She was wearing a clean tracksuit that Joe had dug out from all the sports clothes stacked in his cupboards.
‘Thanks for the trackie.’ Jules patted her hoodie. ‘Perfect fit.’
‘How’s Margie doing?’ Bailey stood up with his half-empty mug of tea, pouring it down the sink.
‘Sleeping it off.’
‘I need to get away,’ Bailey said. ‘You okay to stay here with Joe?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I think you should lay low. For the next few days, at least. Wait till all this settles down. What do you reckon?’
Jules hesitated, giving Bailey the impression that whatever answer she gave him, he probably had twenty-four hours before the sisters did a runner for Byron.
‘See how it goes.’
At least she was honest.
‘I’ll check in tomorrow morning.’
‘Okay. And thanks for –’
‘You don’t need to thank me, Jules. Just look after yourself. Get some rest.’
Bailey wrote his phone number down on a piece of paper and handed it to Jules. He knew she was in good hands with Joe, but Bailey wanted her to know that he wasn’t just another person who had abandoned her.
‘Call any time.’
She took the slip of paper and shoved it in her pocket, giving Bailey a smile that made him feel sad.
‘How about a hot chocolate, Jules? I’ve got a tin of Milo back there.’
Jules smiled at the old man. ‘I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.’
CHAPTER 27
Before Bailey had a chance to call Annie Brooks, a message came through on his phone. It was Jonny Abdo letting him know that Matthew Lam’s family had been pleased with the story that Annie had managed to pull together for television. ‘Community happy too,’ the message had read. Bailey was relieved because even though he had trusted Annie with the Philip Lam interview, he’d seen stories about racism backfire on reporters before.
Bailey dialled Annie’s number and she answered almost straight away.
‘I’ve been trying to call you.’
‘And I’m calling you back.’ Bailey tried to sound chirpy. ‘Were you ringing about your story?’
‘Yeah. I think it went well, but you never know.’
‘It went well.’ Bailey reassured her. ‘Got a message from Jonny Abdo. Family’s happy. Community too. Sounds like a lot of people watched it.’
‘That’s good. Where are you, by the way?’
‘On the way home.’
‘Might want to re-think that one,’ Annie said. ‘The other reason I was calling you, there’s a TV crew parked outside your house along with a reporter from the Tele. They’re chasing a comment about the AFP charges still hanging over your head despite the whistle blower investigation being canned.’
Bailey hated being the story and the last thing he felt like doing was running a gauntlet of reporters at his own front door.
‘Hungry?’
‘Starving.’
‘Meet you at The Paddington in fifteen. I could murder a chicken.’
Annie laughed. ‘See you there.’
* * *
It was after 8.30 pm by the time Bailey was walking up Oxford Street towards the restaurant. He wasn’t much of a cook and The Paddington was the type of place he went when he was looking for a hearty meal to replace all the breakfasts and lunches he’d been skipping. The guy at the front door recognised him and directed him towards the back of the dimly lit restaurant where Annie was already sitting at a small wooden table beneath a painting of a cow.
She noticed him just as he reached the table, standing up and giving him a hug. ‘Hi, stranger.’
‘Annie.’
Just as they were sitting down a waiter arrived with two glasses of iced water, depositing them on the table before letting them know that he’d be back to take their order soon.
Annie tapped Bailey’s glass, smiling. ‘On the rocks, right?’
Alcoholics were allowed to joke with each other about elephants in rooms.
‘You know me too well.’
They each sipped on their drinks, leaving the buzzing noise of the mostly full restaurant to occupy the awkward silence that Bailey hadn’t expected.
‘Well done with the interview,’ he said, eventually.
‘Thanks for setting that up. Led Inside Story tonight. You see it?’
Bailey took another sip of his water, draining almost half the glass. ‘Not yet. What’d he say?’
‘Philip Lam? Nothing overly surprising. Spoke lovingly about his son, how what happened to him has caused pain for the broader community too. Nice man. Eloquent. He’s hurting, though.’
‘Any change in Matthew?’
‘Philip was hoping they might wake him up tomorrow. Could be a couple more days though. Doctors are worried about brain damage.’
‘Poor bastard.’ After his conversation with Lam at the hospital, Bailey figured the interview had run exactly as Annie had described. ‘Speak to anyone else at the hospital?’
‘Just the lawyer, Abdo. He seemed pretty eager to get on camera, to be honest. Knowing he led that protest the night Matthew Lam was bashed, interviewing him made sense. Didn’t hold back though. I’ve already had a couple of newspaper journos call me chasing his number.’
‘What’d he say?’
‘Just some big statements about racism. The hidden cancer in Australian society. People too proud and defensive to talk about it.’ Annie paused, taking a sip of her water. ‘Had some good one-liners. Wouldn’t be surprised if we start seeing a bit more of him in the media. A natural.’
Bailey went to say something but he was interrupted by the waiter who had returned, notepad and pen in hand, ready to take their orders.
‘What would you like, madam?’
Anni
e looked at Bailey. ‘This place was your idea, why don’t you order for the both of us?’
Bailey smiled, not bothering to look at the menu in front of him. ‘Half a chicken, fries and some broccoli to share. And better get some of that gravy you guys do on the side.’
‘Good choice.’
Annie laughed as she watched the waiter walk away with their menus. ‘Chicken and chips?’
‘I’m a simple man.’ Bailey finished his water, crunching a piece of ice between his teeth. ‘Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.’
‘I’ve got something for you too,’ Annie said, the smile on her face flattening, before morphing into a frown. ‘I didn’t want to mention it on the phone. It’s about Harriet Walker.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve got a contact close to the investigation. She wasn’t killed in a robbery.’
‘Never thought she was.’
Although Bailey didn’t have any evidence to prove it.
‘Well, I can confirm your instinct was right. When the police found her she had all of her valuables. Watch. Necklace. Bank cards. Her killer wasn’t interested in making a quick buck. They just wanted her dead.’
‘Why are the police still calling it a robbery?’
Annie shrugged. ‘My contact’s just as confused about that as you are. Someone from higher up made that call, could have been the feds. Don’t know why. Don’t know who.’
Bailey knew of police putting out misinformation in murder investigations before. A tactic often deployed to play mind games with a killer.
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Annie shook her head, leaning forward on her elbows. ‘That’s all I know.’
Bailey folded his arms, staring at Annie without responding.
‘I can see your mind ticking over from here,’ she said. ‘Anything you’d like to tell me?’
‘Harriet Walker was investigating right-wing extremists. Neo-Nazis. I shared some information with her and we were due to catch up again to go through what she’d found. Instead, she turned up dead.’
‘Shit, Bailey. I’m sorry. But you can’t… you’re not –’
‘Hat was a senior investigator in the AFP,’ Bailey said, sharply. ‘She knew what she was doing.’
He didn’t want to admit that he felt at least partly responsible for Hat’s death. Another person who had died because of him. Annie Brooks understood Bailey well enough to know about the demons inside his head. The faces of the dead. Now he had one more.
‘Who do you think killed her?’
‘I can’t answer that. But I suspect there’s someone on the inside who was working against her. Undermining her investigation.’
And about an hour ago, Bailey had been told by a frightened teenage girl that a Neo-Nazi called Benny Hunter had a friend in uniform. State or feds, he had no idea. But the revelation had been bothering him. Sending his mind spinning in different directions.
‘Maybe Hat was getting too close?’ Bailey said, lowering his voice. ‘Maybe the raid on my house had nothing to do with my source from those stories about Afghanistan?’
‘That’s a hell of a conspiracy, Bailey.’
He shrugged, looking around to check that none of the other diners had cottoned on to their conversation and were listening in. ‘That contact of yours in the cops, you talking state or feds?’
Annie paused, considering her response. ‘State.’
‘Trust him?’
‘He’s old school. Been around even longer than you and me. Never got caught up in that dirty shit back in the eighties. As far as I know, he’s squeaky clean.’
‘So you trust him?’
‘Yeah, I do.’
‘Good. Because I might need your help with something down the line.’
Bailey was thinking about Jules and Margie. The sisters were being guarded in Redfern by an 82-year-old priest. At some stage, they might need more help. Protection. If Annie had someone inside the New South Wales Police that she trusted, that person could come in very handy indeed.
‘Care to tell me any more about that?’
Bailey was relieved to see the waiter arrive with a plate of roast chicken and a bowl of fries.
He smiled. ‘You beauty.’
‘Greens are on the way,’ the waiter said.
‘Thank god for that,’ Annie said. ‘I’m going to need to jog an extra lap of the park in the morning if we get through all this.’
Bailey smiled, popping a chip in his mouth. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get through it.’
The waiter returned with the broccoli and Annie waited for him to leave before returning to the topic at hand. ‘What were you about to tell me about the police?’
‘Let’s eat.’ Bailey ignored the question, cutting into the chicken, offering to deposit some onto Annie’s plate. ‘Breast?’
‘Sure. We done with shoptalk, are we?’
‘I reckon.’
Once he’d finished stocking Annie’s plate with chicken, chips and broccoli, Bailey piled most of what was left on the plate in front of himself.
‘You’ve got to try some of this.’ He held up the gravy boat he’d just indiscriminately poured over all of the food groups on his plate.
‘I’ll pass.’
The two reporters spent the next few minutes eating in silence. Bailey didn’t want to talk about work any more but he didn’t want to get personal, either. Annie was more than a colleague and there was a period in their lives when she had also been more than a friend.
The conversation turned to small talk. Annie’s son. Bailey’s daughter. The extraordinary length of the bushfire summer. Inevitably, they started reminiscing about Lebanon.
‘Beirut feels like a long time ago now,’ Annie said. ‘Remember that little bolthole apartment you had above the market near the US embassy? I don’t know how you stayed in that shoebox for so long. How long were you there in the end? Three years?’
‘Six. I loved that apartment. So close to everything. May not have been flash, but it had everything I needed. Back then newspapers had smaller budgets than you TV people. Living in a five star hotel for months on end wasn’t exactly roughing it.’
Annie laughed. ‘Wasn’t my decision.’
The Australian commercial television networks mostly based their international correspondents in big gateway cities like London and Los Angeles and they’d only spend time in places like Beirut when they were covering an ongoing story or investigating a new one. Lebanon in the 1990s seemed like the centre of the world. Political assassinations. Tensions with Israel. Iraqis flooding into Lebanon after fleeing Saddam Hussein’s brutal regime. Ongoing military battles between Lebanon and Syria. Hezbollah seemingly at war with everyone. Annie had good contacts and she was the type of reporter who broke stories. It was also why she had gotten on so well with Bailey.
‘The world seemed crazy back then,’ Bailey said. ‘Sad thing is, it’s even crazier now.’
A squinty smile spread across Annie’s face. ‘Remember that day the windows blew out in your apartment? I was in the bloody shower, you had to carry me out of the bathroom because of all the broken glass.’
How could Bailey forget? The morning after another bender. They’d been out most of the night drinking at the Marriott Hotel with a bunch of United Nations guys, stumbling back to Bailey’s flat for a nightcap. The unspoken arrangement back then was basically booze and sex. No more, no less. Moments of intimacy to remind each other of what life was supposed to be about.
Bailey could still picture her in the shower. She had a habit of leaving the door open just enough so that he could glimpse her naked body inside. Annie’s not so subtle way of reminding him that he was one of the luckiest men in Beirut. Annie Brooks was beautiful back then. She was beautiful now.
‘Lucky it was summer. I had to sleep with open windows for almost a month, it took so long to find someone to fix the glass.’
‘Life’s a bit of a blur from those days,’ Annie said. ‘We h
ad good times though, didn’t we?’
‘Yeah, Annie. We did.’
Bailey wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed but he was suddenly feeling uncomfortable, shifting in his chair, looking for the waiter.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Fine.’ He answered without looking at her. ‘I’m just buggered. Been a long day.’
Annie kept talking but Bailey wasn’t listening any more. He was holding up his hand, trying to get the waiter’s attention. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with this guy?’
Annie reached across the table, touching his hand. ‘Bailey? Did I say something wrong?’
The touch on Bailey’s skin brought him back to the woman sitting opposite, painfully aware of his sudden change in mood.
‘Sorry, Annie. It’s just…’ He stopped talking, tapping the table. ‘It’s just that I haven’t had a dinner like this in a long time. Not saying that this is anything. Not saying that we… it just got me thinking, y’know.’
Annie’s arm was still stretched across the table and she rested her fingers on top of his hand. ‘It’s okay, Bailey. I get it. I know things have been hard.’
‘Yeah.’
After another period of silence he slipped his hand from under hers, sitting back in his chair. Staring at the woman on the other side of the table. The wrinkles around her eyes and her cheeks adding stories, making her even more interesting for a guy like him. Only Bailey wasn’t ready for Annie Brooks. He wasn’t ready for anyone.
‘Hey, Bailey,’ she said, waiting for him to look at her. ‘It’s okay to talk about her, you know that, right?’
‘Yeah.’
How could Bailey talk about Sharon Dexter when he was still having daily conversations with her in his head?
‘Have you thought about speaking to someone? Sometimes it helps.’
‘Did that. I’m good.’
Bailey noticed the waiter heading towards their table. Finally.
‘How was everything?’
‘Good, mate. Can I get the bill?’ Bailey said. ‘We’re done here.’
CHAPTER 28
