The Coast Road

by Peter Corris

  Despite all the pressure and tension, I burst out laughing. ‘Marisha, they’re the worst lines I’ve ever heard spoken by a real live person. You must have translated them from some Mexican movie.’

  She went rigid and for a second I thought she was going to attack me; then she shook her tangle of hair and let out a long, slow breath. A throaty chuckle followed.

  ‘Yes, I went too far there.’

  ‘I was right, then. This is all a game?’

  She sighed, pulled the wine bottle from her bag, uncorked it and took a swig. ‘Not very ladylike, but then, I’m not a lady.’

  I took the bottle and had a drink. ‘And I’m not a gentleman. Tell me what’s going on or you’re out of this car right now.’

  ‘I knew Kristina would be with Stefan but I didn’t know where. I thought you might find them both.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you. Why did you disappear?’

  ‘You won’t believe me.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Kristina phoned me and asked to meet. She insisted that I come alone. She specifically said not to tell you or bring you and then she gave me . . . what is it? The runaround.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Oh, I know you won’t believe this, but it’s true. As in the movies. I was to go to a place and phone her. Then to another. I suppose they were watching me all the time. I got lost. I was frightened. It was terrible, Cliff.’

  ‘And what was the upshot?’

  ‘What’s that word you used—conflicted? I was. I’m guessing that this Karen Bach is another prostitute and she told you I used Kristina to lure Stefan. More lies from Kristina. It’s not true. It was all much more complicated than that.’

  I could get my head around that, just. ‘You didn’t answer the question.’

  ‘Yes, all right. I met her. I didn’t really recognise her.

  She was so different. So . . . It doesn’t matter now. She has a passport. Stefan has taken her to New Zealand.’

  ‘Marisha, she’s fifteen!’

  ‘No. She turned sixteen. Yesterday.’

  A fine rain had started to fall as we were speaking and Marisha was sobbing quietly. I watched the windscreen fog up from our breath and body heat and become opaque as the rain fell, more insistently now. On the one hand, I wanted to analyse and evaluate what she’d told me; on the other, I just wanted to believe her. The doubt produced another question.

  ‘So why did you come to my place tonight and . . . put on that act?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I know fuck-all, and that least of anything.’

  The sobbing slowed, then stopped. ‘I wanted to be with you.’

  I grunted and shook my head.

  ‘Cliff, didn’t it mean anything?’

  ‘It did, and then it didn’t.’

  ‘Because of what Karen Bach told you?’

  ‘I suppose so. I don’t know.’

  ‘I’ve told you the truth.’

  ‘Give me the bottle.’

  She handed it over and I drained it, hoping to get some kind of a charge. Didn’t happen. ‘Marisha, your daughter, you say, has gone off to another country with a paedophile pimp. And you . . .’

  She turned her face towards me. It was wan under its olive tint, tear-stained and makeup streaked, but there was life and hope in her huge dark eyes. ‘She told me she didn’t hate me. She said she loved me. She said she’d write and phone and that she’d see me again soon. My daughter.’

  If she had gone on about wanting me, I might have pushed her out into the rain. But now I wanted strongly to believe her. She had the look I’d seen before—when I’d located a runaway and brought him or her home. The hopelessness, displayed in the speech and body language of the parents, vanished in an instant on the doorstep and their world was back as something manageable, or almost, at least for now.

  ‘That’s good,’ I said.

  We sat quietly for a time while the rain beat on the car roof. I realised that, for all the deception and doubt and much of it not dispelled, I was glad she was there.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘you know I am what is called a drama queen.’

  I grinned. ‘You are indeed.’

  ‘Tell me why you are running away from your house.’

  ‘It’s complicated. It’s this other business I’ve been dealing with. I have to stay out of sight and try to work out what to do next. The police know where I live, so do the bad guys, probably. They know this car.’

  ‘Do they know of your connection to me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You could do your thinking at my place.’

  I was about to say no as a matter of instinct—emotional complication was the last thing I needed—when my mobile rang. I made an apologetic gesture to Marisha and answered it, expecting the cops or worse.

  ‘Hardy.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Dr Farmer, I’m sorry. I was going to call you. It’s been a hell of a night. I had to leave Tania at the casino. She had plenty of money to get home. Isn’t she—?’

  ‘No, she fucking isn’t. Who did you leave her with?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m speaking English, aren’t I? You’re not telling me you left her standing at a roulette wheel with a pile of chips in her hand.’

  ‘No. She was playing the poker machines and she’d struck up a conversation—’ ‘With a woman?’

  ‘Yes, an Aboriginal woman named—’ ‘I don’t want to know her fucking name. Aboriginal. Jesus. Well, thank you very much.’

  She cut the connection and I stared blankly at the phone.

  ‘Dr Farmer,’ Marisha said. ‘Your other client?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘An angry man?’

  ‘An angry woman.’

  ‘That’s worse. Come on, Cliff. It’s a terrible night. You look troubled and you don’t know what to do next. Have you got a better offer?’

  20

  Marisha’s apartment was warm and welcoming. We went to bed and made love, not with the passion of the previous occasion, but looking for and finding mutual comfort. I slept. My mobile rang a couple of times and sometime in the night I crawled out of bed to switch it off.

  ‘That might be important,’ Marisha said.

  I slid back into the rough, deep red cotton sheets, pulled her towards me and wrapped myself around her small body. ‘All the more reason to ignore it. I can’t deal with anything important right now.’

  She stiffened momentarily, then relaxed. ‘I understand.’

  I dug my hand into her mass of hair and put my face down to inhale its smell. ‘Do you?’ I said. ‘I wish I did.’

  ‘You’re making no sense. Go back to sleep.’

  But, strangely, I wasn’t tired anymore. I lay with my arms around her, staring up at the ceiling. A certain amount of street or moonlight or both filtered into the room through the matchstick blinds. I began to run over the various strands of the Farmer case in my mind and found myself able to separate them out and look at each with some clarity. Minutes slipped by as I did the sort of analysis I could usually best manage when charged up with caffeine or alcohol. Without those stimulants I was still physically worn but mentally alert. Good sex can have strange effects. Marisha muttered and pulled away from me. I let her go.

  There was something big stirring in the Illawarra. Big enough to warrant two deaths already—Frederick Farmer and Adam MacPherson—and an attempted third, mine. The Wombarra land owned by Sue Holland and Elizabeth Farmer was somehow at the centre of it. Outlaw bikies were involved and, more than likely, some of the local police. I couldn’t put Barton’s behaviour down to incompetence or antagonism. Behind it all was some big contractor paying out big money—a sizeable chunk to Wendy Jones—tied in, probably, to the acquisition of Sue Holland’s land. Was Elizabeth Farmer’s land still targeted?

  My sources of information were De Witt, Purcell and possibly Farrow. Marisha was right. I couldn’t afford to be out of touch. I switched on the
mobile. The calls had been from Farrow first and then Elizabeth Farmer. I didn’t want to talk to Farrow just yet and whether Tania had come home or not, there was nothing I could do about it.

  Marisha was deeply asleep. I dressed quietly and went back to where I’d left my bag. I plugged in the laptop and booted it up. The solitary message was from Purcell. It read: Hardy, I’ve got a line on what’s happening down here. If you want in on it, meet me at the pub just up from that crummy motel you were in—tomorrow at 10.00. Like before, wipe this.

  I deleted the message and cleared the trash. Annoying not to be able to reply, ask for more detail, but it was a different Hotmail address from the one before and my guess was that he used them once only. I shut the computer down and leaned back in the chair to think. I was confused. I couldn’t see why Purcell would want me to be in on anything, let alone guess what it might be. And he couldn’t have known when he sent the message, at 9.16 pm, that the events of the night would make me a hot property in the Illawarra.

  Every cautious instinct said stay away. Every curious instinct, backed up by professional pride, said go there. No contest. I’d left my watch by the bed and didn’t know the time. The digits on Marisha’s stove and microwave blinked on double zeros and I knew what that meant. She hadn’t reset them after a power failure. Not unknown at my place.

  It made me feel friendly towards her as I crouched down by the bed to retrieve the watch. It scraped harshly on the polished floor but she didn’t stir. I slipped the watch on and stood, looking down at her. Her dark hair was spread out on the red pillow and one hand was cocked up near her mouth as if she was speaking on a phone. I realised that I had no idea what I thought about her. It was five forty-five, still dark and a blanket of quiet and stillness hung over this part of Sydney. I could get on the road, stop for breakfast and a shave somewhere along the way and be in the Illawarra early enough to consider exactly what to do. Except that . . . Marisha’s bag sat on the floor, gaping open. I dug into it, feeling around, and came up with a set of keys. The car keys were attached to an NRMA tag carrying the make and registration number. A Hyundai. I detached the car keys and pocketed them. I went into her work room and found a pad and paper. The note I left told her I’d borrowed her car and would get it back as soon as possible. I said I’d left my car keys but she wasn’t to use the Falcon except in an emergency because the police would be looking for it. I felt I owed her that much at least.

  The Hyundai didn’t have a lot of power but it handled well and I made good time south as daylight dawned. I’d only had a couple of hours sleep but I felt almost fully charged. I caught an early news service on the radio—the usual stuff, the government under attack for lying and lying some more in response. A major marijuana haul up north had the police puffing out their chests. The weather was going to be fine along the coast and the bright, slightly cloud-streaked sky told me the same.

  I stopped at a servo in Heathcote, topped up the tank and went into the restaurant. I ordered coffee and toast and had a quick wash and shave. The coffee was surprisingly good and the toast was unsurprisingly limp and soggy but I lingered over it anyway, trying to work out my next moves. I flicked through a local paper lying around and found an article on the closure of the coast road. The state government had allotted forty million dollars to fix it and the project would take two and a half years to complete. Locals were protesting that there were more accidents on the freeway in fog than on the coast road from falling rocks. I wondered about the crack. I decided it was a good omen.

  It was the best time of the day to come down the Bulli Pass. The sun was above the horizon, but not by much, and a mist was lifting off the water and the land. The townships to north and south were spread out before me with the sand and the sea as an immense backdrop punctuated here and there by Norfolk Island pines.

  I pegged Sue Holland as an early riser and I was right. When I’d steered the little car down the rutted track and pulled up in front of her cottage there was smoke rising from her chimney and Fred the old dog was moving freely as if he’d been up and about for a while. He barked, but he had my scent memory-logged, and he didn’t give me any trouble. Sue Holland came around from the back with a steaming cup in her hand. She had on a long, loose sweater over red flannel pyjamas, fluffy slippers.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ she said. ‘What d’you want?’

  There, under the escarpment, the temperature was low. I rubbed my hands together. ‘Beautiful morning, isn’t it? How can you bear to leave?’

  Her aggression dropped away and a shadow of sadness passed across her face. She raised the cup to her mouth and took a long sip. ‘Just what I need,’ she said. ‘Someone to bore it up me.’

  ‘I don’t want to give you a bad time, Sue. And I’m grateful for what you told Elizabeth to pass on to me. Very useful. But I need a bit more. Can we go inside? It’s a bit parky.’

  ‘What? Oh, cold. I haven’t heard that expression in a while.’

  ‘I’ve got a few, like taters. No idea where they come from. My grandma used to say she was “starved with the cold”.’

  ‘The old Hardy blather and bullshit. Okay, come in. I can give you a cup of coffee, but I don’t know what more I can tell you.’

  I gave Fred a pat and followed her back to the rear of the cottage and into the kitchen. It was warm and smelled of coffee and tobacco. Sue drained her cup and refilled it from the pot on the combustion stove. She filled a mug for me and put it on the table. Then she picked up the makings in a clear plastic pouch and rolled a cigarette. She lit it with a disposable lighter, puffed smoke and slumped down into a chair.

  ‘I started again. Seven years off, and I’m back into it.

  Chop chop. At least it’s cheap.’

  I shrugged. ‘Might be healthier, too. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how much the offer is?’

  ‘No. High six figures, very high.’

  ‘Nice. Especially as they say prices around here might drop depending on the effect of the road closure. Care to name the buyer?’

  ‘How dumb do I look, Cliffo?’

  The coffee was about five times as good as the last one. ‘Not very.’

  ‘I did a bit of an internet search. It’s a maze. But I’ll tell you what. The deposit cheque cleared and they’re not interested in a building inspection or a pest report or any of that shit.’

  ‘Dream run.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘Why did you go up there and tell Elizabeth about the sale?’

  She took a deep drag, sucked the smoke in and let it out slowly. The technique was coming back to her fast. ‘Shit. I had some crazy idea I might . . . You said you didn’t know whether she had anyone or not. Just a chance. Then I saw how happy she was . . . Did Liz tell you anything about me?’

  ‘No. Yes, she said you’d know the sound of a motorbike if you heard it.’

  ‘You bet. I was a dropout bikie chick. Chains, tatts, speed, dope, the works. Then I met her and everything changed. I got educated and employed and then I lost her. I got a little nest egg, like I told you, and bought this place. And now I’ve got a big one and I don’t give a fuck where it comes from.’

  I finished the coffee while she was talking and put the cup quietly down on the table as a gesture of acceptance.

  ‘Fair enough. Just one more question. The settlement is when?’

  She took a drag on the cigarette and flicked the ash on the floor. ‘In record time, baby,’ she said.

  I rejoined the coast road at Coledale and stayed on it until Fairy Meadow where I picked up the freeway to Nowra, bypassing the city. I took the turnoff and was passing the Warrawong motel shortly after nine o’clock. Time to kill. I drove down towards the Port Kembla steelworks and got as close as I could to the port itself. The harbour was basically artificial, formed by two long breakwaters. A couple of container ships were berthed at the jetties and there were some fishing boats and leisure craft. Seagulls squatted on the boat masts and the rusty machinery on the docks. As I wat
ched, a couple of pelicans flew over from the direction of the lake and settled on the water. Peaceful scene.

  I drove back the way I’d come and spotted Purcell’s old Land Cruiser in the hotel car park. The pub had just opened and there were a few early drinkers’ cars parked but none close to the Land Cruiser. I drove in and parked about twenty metres away. I could see Purcell behind the wheel and I decided to let him make the first move. If he wanted to meet in the bar, well and good. If he wanted a fresh air conference that was okay by me as well. I sat for five minutes and he didn’t move. I got out of the little car and stretched. An alert type like Purcell would certainly see me and make his move.

  Nothing happened. A couple of cars pulled in and parked, still a fair distance away. The sun was high now and I stripped off my jacket and slung it inside the car. I walked towards the Land Cruiser and felt a tingle in my spine as I got closer. I was well within his field of vision now and he still hadn’t moved. I reached the vehicle on the driver’s side. The window was down. Purcell was strapped into place by his seatbelt and his head was thrown back. The hair at his temple was matted with blood. His eyes were open but he wasn’t seeing anything and never would again.

  21

  I didn’t stay close to the Land Cruiser for one second more than I needed to. And I didn’t back away. Nothing looks more suspicious than backing. I walked around the front of the car as if I was interested in its age and condition and then veered away towards the pub. The low calibre execution of Purcell was a professional job, carried out within the last hour and possibly within minutes of my arrival in the car park. Presumably Purcell had got there early and the killer had followed him and decided it would be as good a time and place as any. If I’d shown up maybe he would have put the matter off, or maybe he would have decided to make it two for the price of one.

  I’ve seen a lot of death but it never fails to register in some part of the brain as a shock. The way you do, I’d built up a picture of how my meeting with Purcell might go. He’d been alive in my imagination and in a way he still was, but now he wasn’t alive in reality and it took a bit of adjusting to. I went into the bar and ordered a scotch and a middy. No eyebrows raised. There are some serious drinkers in the Illawarra. I downed the scotch and took the beer out the side door to a verandah that gave me a view of the car park. The early crowd was evidently in place because no more cars came in. The dirty old 4WD still stood, semi-isolated.