Detained

by Ainslie Paton

  “Moving now to your childhood, it’s a little known fact you were an orphan and you and your brother Peter adopted each other.”

  “That’s true. We even decided on a new name, Parker, because Pete was a mad keen Spiderman fan.”

  The only sign Darcy was surprised by his unrehearsed adlib was the tightening of her thigh muscles. She rolled with it.

  “You chose the name Parker? The name that now stands for one of the country’s most profitable companies.”

  “That’s right. I was born William Brown and Peter was Peter Vessy. You mentioned Tara, that’s where I lived with Peter and his father Norman, after my foster mother died and my foster dad shot through.” That was more or less the answer she expected without the admission of his other name.

  “He left you alone and you were sixteen.”

  “That’s right. I was your typical dropkick kid, and I had a learning disability, so I wasn’t the easiest to get along with.”

  “And Norman and Peter took you in.”

  Will nodded and then remembered he was supposed to speak. “Yes, that’s correct.” They’d hit a crucial turning point, he couldn’t afford to lose concentration and slip up like that again.

  “I want to ask you about your learning disability—you had a form of dyslexia?”

  This is what they’d agreed to focus on. New information about Will, something he could show he’d triumphed over, and in doing that give encouragement to others who might be suffering from it. He was all for that, but not right now. He used a politician’s trick, he re-routed the question, gave the answer he wanted.

  “It wasn’t helped by the stress of my living conditions. Norman Vessy was a violent man. He resented having responsibility for two ratbag boys.”

  Darcy’s chin dropped, she frowned, but kept rolling with it. Will felt a ripple of increased interest from the watching crew.

  “That must’ve been very difficult.” A comment not a question, she was giving herself think music, but he didn’t let her gather her thoughts.

  “Norman terrorised his son and me with regular beatings. Both Pete and I have a good collection of scars that are testament to his drinking and abuse.”

  “Are you comfortable talking about this?” She meant, what are you doing? Will reckoned he had about two more sentences in him before she shut him down, but his bet was Alan wouldn’t.

  “It’s not a comfortable subject. Physical abuse is an abhorrent offense. It wasn’t until Norman was killed that Pete and I were in a position to raise each other and start on our journey to build Parker Corporation.” He used the word ‘killed’ with precision, deliberateness, and he bloody well hoped she loved him enough to eventually forgive him for it.

  Darcy leapt to her feet so fast she might’ve snapped a heel. “I’d like a quick break.”

  Alan’s fat-laden voice boomed over the top of her. “Will, Mr Parker,” yeah, he was obsequious when he wanted something, “are you comfortable continuing? We’d like you to talk more about the abuse, the killing of Norman Vessy.”

  He looked at Darcy, watching him in horror. “I’d like to continue, please.”

  She slid to her seat. “Will, you don’t want to do this.”

  “Your next question Darce is, ‘How was Norman Vessy killed?’” called Alan.

  “No. I won’t ask that.” She didn’t trust him, but if he wanted any control at all, it had to be this way.

  Alan waddled into the well of light. “Mr Parker is comfortable, what’s your problem?”

  “I think Will needs a break.”

  Alan had the smell of blood in his thick nostrils. “I don’t think he does. Let’s not take up his valuable time with this any more than we need to. Continue.”

  “Will, please.”

  “Darcy, trust me.”

  “He says trust him. Ask the bloody question.”

  Darcy looked like he’d slapped her, and he had to clench his back teeth to get through this.

  She composed herself enough to say, “You said Norman Vessy, your guardian, your adopted brother Peter’s father, was killed. How did Norman Vessy die?”

  She’d phrased it so carefully, she wanted him to say Norman drowned, but she couldn’t trust him to leave it there. She’d abandoned her straight back posture and was leaning forward.

  “Norman drowned.” She sighed and her shoulders dropped. “In a shallow creek while I watched him.”

  “That was—” He raised his voice to cut her off.

  “Norman Vessy chose to be a drunk and a child abuser. I didn’t kill him, but I could have saved him and I choose not to. I chose to let Norman Vessy drown.” If this had been a legitimate business interview Aileen would’ve been pleased he’d nailed his key message. Shit, he hoped Aileen didn’t quit over this.

  “Will!”

  Darcy was on her feet again. This time he stood with her. There wasn’t anyone in the studio who didn’t understand Will Parker had virtually confessed to aiding and abetting the death of Norman Vessy, hadn’t lined himself up for a manslaughter investigation, and done it on camera knowing this was for broadcast.

  He reached for her but she recoiled in shock. She looked towards Alan. “We’re not broadcasting that. Will did not mean what he said. I’ll ask the question again, or we can cut after he says, ‘Norman drowned’?”

  Alan, Merrit and other members of the crew had surrounded them. “Do you wish to answer that question in a different way, Mr Parker?” said Alan, and Will knew this was heart attack cause territory for that lard tub.

  “No, I’m perfectly comfortable with that response.”

  Alan would’ve danced for joy if his knees had allowed for the motion. Will had just handed the bastard the scoop of the year.

  “Are you comfortable talking about what happened next, Mr Parker?” said Alan.

  “No, he’s not,” snapped Darcy. “He’s clearly not. We have a moral obligation not to let Will incriminate himself.” She turned from Alan and stepped up to him. “Will, don’t do this. Peter can get an injunction to stop them broadcasting. We can stop everything right now.”

  He took her hand, stone cold and shaking. “It’s okay, Lois. This is what I want. Better out than in. I’ve had enough of hiding from it, and I wanted to have some control of the message.”

  “You’re sick, Will, you’re not well. I’m going to call Peter right now. We’ll fix this.”

  He leant down, spoke low only for her. “I love you, and I’m sorry I did this to you. I need this Darcy. I want this.” She was trembling all over. “Don’t give them what they want. Don’t crack. Be as angry as you want with me, but be true to you. This is your next headline, my darling, and I want you to run with it.”

  48. Responsibility

  “I want you to be everything that's you, deep at the centre of your being.” — Confucius

  Darcy asked the next few questions as if she was absent from her body. All the light was gone from her eyes. She might’ve been a Spider Slayer robot with damaged circuitry. This, right now, was the hardest part. The part where Will had to trust she loved him enough to come out of this.

  He told her how he buried Norman, leaving Pete out of that scene. He told her how they used Pete’s inheritance to get out of Tara and start their new lives. He didn’t think skimping on the detail would matter. He didn’t think this part of the interview would even air. Aileen had taught him well, they had their sound bite.

  When Darcy finally failed to ask another question, Alan waddled in and ended the interview, telling her he’d script a close to camera for her to read, not trusting her to be able to do it herself. At least he knew his business.

  The crew vaporised so cleanly Will knew mobile phones were getting a work-out, and every journalist mate or police contact in the city owed a favour would be getting a call.

  He had one to make too. But he had Darcy to consider first, and he no longer cared if they looked like more to each other than friends for life. He’d just abused her trust in the worst way
possible, on top of all the grief he’d already given her, and she needed to be cared for if he had any chance she’d eventually see this his way.

  She was still sitting in her lounge chair, she had her eyes closed as if meditating, but she looked anything but in a state of grace.

  He touched her knee and she rocketed out of the chair. “Don’t Will.” Both hands came up defensively. “I can’t talk to you. I don’t even want to look at you.” Then she put her fingers to her mouth as if to wipe away his last intimate touch.

  “I cannot understand why you did that. I thought when I left you in Tara you were well, whole, but that’s clearly not the case. You’re...I can’t even...you’re not stable...there is no way to...”

  She stopped, closed her eyes, and when she opened them Will could see her confusion had dropped away. “That you would do that to me, after what we agreed. That you would do that to someone you say you love. You bring a whole new meaning to the word ‘essential’. It appears to mean anything you can use to your own advantage.”

  Will weighed up his options. Darcy’s anger was controlled, tempered by flaring outrage, deep disappointment and resentment. She wasn’t likely to listen to anything he said. But he couldn’t leave her like this.

  “Look at me, Darcy.” He used his command tone, and in spite of trying to ignore him by resolutely keeping her eyes on the floor, she glanced up. He moved then to cup her face, feeling her resist, but she was trapped by the lounge chair behind her knees and the idea that Alan and Merrit were still in the room, and to pull away would cause a worse scene.

  “I’m the same man you left in Tara, a better man than when you arrived. I wouldn’t do a thing to hurt you, or the possibility of us. But I had to do this, and I hope you’ll come to understand that in time.”

  She tucked her chin down to break eye contact, and twisted to move past him. “I’ll never understand it. I’m through here, through with this. Goodbye Will. I’d wish you good luck, but you don’t need it. You’ll find a way to get what you want, some essential person you can string along and manipulate. I understand now that’s what you always do.”

  She turned away. “Alan, I’m ready to shoot the close.”

  She left him standing in the circle of light, feeling freshly bruised.

  He put his hand in his coat pocket. Fought the urge to run after her and plead his case on bended knee. He was prepared to do it, but his chances of success right now were severely hampered by his pending arrest. Not that they’d call it that officially, but the tabloids, websites and social media would give the concept a thorough workover. Starting right about now.

  Merrit was there. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll find my way. I’m sure you’ve got other things you’d rather be doing.” He was very sure Merrit and Alan wanted him off the premises pronto so they could get their promo package to air without him threatening an injunction.

  Merrit backed away with a platitudinous thank you. Though given the gift Will just gave him and the network, maybe it was real gratitude and just sounded like the kind of toadying response he’d have once wanted to physically strike from someone’s mouth.

  Phone in hand, he moved towards the studio door. He knew Darcy was aware of him from her poker stiff spine, and the way she turned from the sound of his shoes on the cement floor. He refused to even contemplate that might be the last chance he had to look at her in the flesh.

  In the corridor he speed-dialled Pete.

  “You never could do anything quietly could you?”

  “Not really my thing, quietly.”

  “She better be worth it. I assume she scratched your eyes out, and you’re in need of medical attention again.”

  “Funny guy. No, but she’s deep in the hating of my guts period as expected, and I’m not sure how long the ice age will last.”

  “You’re all over the radio news. ‘Tycoon possible manslaughter rap’.”

  He’d reached the reception area, and came face to face with the vision of himself playing on the big flat screen saying, “I chose to let Norman Vessy drown.” Barbie was trying to hide under her desk while taking a photo of him with her phone. He smiled at her, gave her a clear shot. Might as well. The days of avoiding the limelight were well and truly over.

  “Oh yeah, I’m a headline junkie, and we know what the next one will be.”

  “Aileen has money on, ‘Parker Implicated in Stepfather’s Death’. Quickly followed by, ‘Abused Parker Cleared of Charges’.”

  Will sighed. Sounded like Aileen was still on board. “Not bad, but I’m going with, ‘Parker Arrested for Murder’. Far more brutal, and far less accurate, so it’s got to be a winner.”

  “You know I think I liked it better when you were paranoid about avoiding the press.”

  On the other side of the glass doors, Will saw a dark coloured Ford pull up, the flicker of red and blue lights across its back window. “Gotta go, I think my escort is here.”

  He buttoned his jacket, put his sunnies on, stepped out into the car park and smiled. Not for the boys in plain clothes, but for the army of photographers already assembled and shouting his name.

  The taller of the two detectives said, “This way, Mr Parker,” ushering him into the car, as if he was vying for Bo’s job. When he was seated in the back, the man said, “We’re taking you to area command in Surry Hills,” and then nothing more was said.

  Will thought about trying to make conversation, but figured they were annoyed enough with him and antagonising them further was probably a dumb thing to do. They rode in silence for a good half hour through the early peak hour traffic.

  At the police complex, Will was led into an interview room, and offered a glass of water, tea, or coffee. No one had tried to intimidate him, hit him, cuff or gag him, or so far, accuse him of anything. He was ‘co-operating with a police investigation’. Things in his career as a criminal were looking up.

  “Mr Parker. We’d call you Mr Brown, but we’re aware you did a legal name change.”

  “Call me Will.”

  “Will, I’m Max Zarova. This is my colleague,” Max indicated the taller man, “Trent Deeves.” The two men sat opposite Will. “We’ll be interviewing you today. One of the more unusual cases we’ve been involved with wouldn’t you say, Trent?”

  “Man phones police to report his involvement in a death by drowning eighteen years ago, and requests a lift to lock-up. I’d say that’s unusual, Max. Bloody unusual. And who’d have guessed the same man had very recently been arrested on charges of murder? Of course that was in China, and he was declared innocent, but still, makes you think doesn’t it?”

  Will looked from beefy Max to tall Trent. Bastards were enjoying this.

  “Might say the man was very arrogant,” said Max.

  Talking about him in the third person was getting boring. “I’d agree with that, gentlemen.”

  “You would?”

  “I would.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to tell us what happened?” said Trent.

  Will grinned. Now they were getting down to it. He noticed they weren’t going to ask if he wanted a lawyer. They’d noticed his suit was probably worth a couple of mortgage payments, it was all quite fair really.

  He started at the beginning, with Margaret Dunn’s death, and Robert Dunn palming him off on Norman Vessy as a labourer and childminder. He got to the part where he drove himself and Pete, without a licence, to the hospital, might as well lay it all out there, when the door opened. He said, “You’re late,” as Pete came in.

  Pete breathed irritation. “You couldn’t wait ten minutes?” He turned to the two detectives and put his hand out, his blue-faced Harry Winston flashing, ‘hello, seriously expensive lawyers watch’ as his suit coat and cuff shifted with the extension of his arm. “I’m Peter Parker, representing Will Parker.”

  “You’d be the former Peter Vessy,” said Max, consulting a folder in front of him before he stood to shake Pete’s hand. Trent followed h
im, Pete saying over the top of the handshake, “Where are we up to?”

  “Your client, your adopted brother, admitted to watching your father, Norman Vessy, drown, in what was probably no bigger than a bathtub in your backyard.”

  Pete dragged his chair out and sat, deliberately elbowing Will in the process. “Did you say the creek was a bathtub?”

  “No.”

  Peter sighed with great fanfare and focused on Max and Trent. “For the record detectives, it was a waterhole, fed by a creek. The size of your average backyard swimming pool in which plenty of people drown every year. In fact, around three hundred people drown every year in Australia. Nearly forty percent of that total are fatalities in creeks, rivers and streams.

  “I assume Will made you aware of the circumstances: his age, the fact that I was beaten, and he was protecting me, that he was badly burned, the long-term threat and provocation and Norman’s drinking. I’m sure you’ll recognise this as a clear case of self-defence even without considering Will was a minor under severe mental strain.”

  “So you’re a criminal lawyer licensed to practice in Australia, Peter?” asked Trent.

  Pete smiled his master deal negotiator smile. “No. I’m a corporate lawyer, but I have back-up outside in case we need it. And I have evidence.”

  “Evidence. What evidence?” Will’s chair leg barked on the floor as he shifted to look at Pete.

  “Shut up, Will. And I mean that in a legal sense. I have statutory declarations in support of Will’s and my injuries at the hands of Norman Vessy. I have declarations attesting to mental abuse, as well as Norman’s violence and his history as a suspect in cases of grievous bodily harm, theft, and fraud in two states.”

  “Fuck, Pete, where’s this stuff coming from?”

  Pete didn’t even turn his head. “We were two kids living with the town drunk in a shipping container. You don’t think people noticed what was going on?” He continued addressing the two cops, the exasperation disappearing from his tone, as his lawyer mode kicked in. “Furthermore, I have autopsy evidence, so there can be no suspicion of foul play.”