The ice cubes clinked softly and Jill leaned back into the couch. Ten breathed heavily as she slept. The peal of a phone suddenly split the silence, and Jill snapped forward, grabbing for her bag.
'Jackson,' she said.
'Yo, J.'
'Scotty! What do you want?'
'What do I want? Nice. I have to want something now to say hi?'
'Sorry, Scotty. I didn't mean to say that. It came out wrong. How're you doing?' Jill stood and walked with the phone, acutely aware of Gabriel staring at her openly, as though she were a live stage show, or a scene from a riveting movie.
'Okay, but I miss you. Well, I miss beating you at things. It's not the same thrashing Robbo on the bike. He doesn't try as hard as you, and he never gets as pissed when I teach him a lesson.'
She smiled wryly.
'Jackson. You still there?
'Yes, Scotty. I'm still here. You don't always win, you know.' She found herself almost whispering.
'What are you doing now? I could whip your arse with a game of squash and then we could have a swim?' He cleared his throat. 'Or, maybe we could get something to eat?'
Jill's stomach lurched a little at the sudden vulnerability in his voice.
'I, ah, I already ate. I just finished working.' Why did she feel guilty?
Right then, Gabriel called from the kitchen.
'Jill, you want some ice-cream?'
'Ice-cream,' said Scotty. 'Working hard?'
'I said I just finished.'
'Uh huh. So who was that?'
'Gabriel Delahunt. New partner.'
'Gabriel,' said Scotty. 'Girl's name.'
Jill sighed. Oh for goodness' sake. 'Look, I was just about to head home. I think I caught a cold today. I just want to get to bed.'
'Yeah, well, don't let me keep you, Jill. I'll catch you later.'
'I'll call you next week.' She closed her phone.
'I think we should go to Balmain first thing Monday morning,' Gabriel said when she joined him in the kitchen. 'Speak to Joss and Isobel before they go to work. What do you reckon?'
'Yep. Good idea,' she answered sleepily. She drained her cup.
'So, you want some dessert?'
'No thanks, Gabriel.' Her voice sounded formal to her ears, and she felt suddenly shy, then annoyed that she should feel this way. 'I'm going to head home.'
'No worries. So, we'll make it six on Monday then?'
She nodded and moved to leave, determined to get out of there, her thoughts churning. Why did she feel like she was cheating on Scotty when she didn't think of him that way? And why should she feel like she was cheating at all when she barely knew Gabriel? They'd only eaten together, for heaven's sake.
She climbed into her car and threw her bag onto the seat next to her. That's why it's easier not to get too close to people, she told herself. These confusing feelings.
She buzzed her window all the way down as she drove, the evening breeze helping to dispel some of the dullness that smudged her senses. She still could not believe she'd fallen asleep in someone else's house.
Not counting her parents' home, that was a first.
Chloe returned to the house in Cabramatta at eight-thirty that night. The black Magna had left and she could see a green late-model Falcon sitting in its place. She chewed her lip.
What was the good of knowing about this place if she didn't get some more on this guy? Investigative journalists are like detectives, she reminded herself. They've got to have a cover and they've got to take some risks.
She knew by the end of this year there'd be a hundred new journalism graduates hungry to take her spot. That was not going to happen. Chloe got out of her car and opened the gate out the front of the small fibro house.
Cutter's house.
Mrs Tu Ly Nguyen wasn't sure what she should do. Although her English was limited, she knew enough to know that this lovely young girl wanted to speak to Henry. Henry had always told her never to speak to anyone about him. And her daughter-in-law and children were out visiting this evening.
It would be best to say nothing, to close the door, and she determined to do so. She sighed. The girl was so pretty.
Mrs Nguyen worried so much about her first-born grandson. He should have had a wife, a family by now to take care of him. She had hated leaving him in that room under the stairs. He should have more friends like this one.
She looked up at the girl on the porch. So tall. So beautiful! Something told her she could trust this girl. But she worried that Henry would be angry. She sighed.
Certain now that she was doing the right thing, Cutter's grandmother turned away from the door and walked back into the house.
She returned thirty seconds later with a piece of paper and an orange.
Mrs Tu Ly Nguyen pressed the fruit and the scrap of cardboard into Chloe's hand. Upon the paper was scribbled an address. A street number in Baulkham Hills.
No one should live under the stairs, Mrs Nguyen thought, shuffling back inside to pray to her ancestors at her shrine.
27
KAREN MICEH WAS torn. Her parents had taught her to share, to treat others with respect, and she wanted to pass the same morals on to her daughters. It was Henry's first weekend living downstairs, and before she'd met him she'd always intended to invite the new tenant to Sunday lunch with her, her brother Ken and the girls. She and Ken had kept the Sunday ritual going after their parents died, although her dropkick husband had often stuffed things up by getting stoned and trying to start an argument with her brother or hitting on whichever girl Ken might have been seeing at the time. The lunches since Eddie had been gone had been lovely. She had thought that inviting the new tenant along would be a pleasant addition to their party. She loved to cook.
But then she'd met Henry. Something about him made her uneasy, although she felt guilty about that. Her grandmother had always told her not to judge people by their appearance alone, and she tried to live by that saying, finding that she'd met many beautiful people who maybe hadn't seemed respectable at first glance. When she'd seen Henry with his hair tied back for the first time, his tattoos visible, she had freaked. But it wasn't just the tattoos – even Ken had tattoos – although the beautiful tiger on Ken's deltoid was hardly the same thing as spiders on one's neck, she thought. She hoped that she wasn't a closet racist. She'd heard you could be such a thing without even knowing. Her good friend, Jamie, who was a lesbian, had told her that, saying that even members of the gay community could be closet homophobes. Ashamed of their own sexuality, even when they were out and supposedly proud! Imagine that.
That decided her at last. Karen had always prided herself on denouncing racism, and if it did turn out to be bigotry that was holding her back from giving this man a chance, then she'd face it and fix it.
Besides, she thought, twisting at the hem of her apron, it would give Ken a chance to meet Henry, to see what he thought.
Karen stood at the door a few moments before knocking. She was pretty sure he was in there – her front gate made an awful squeak when it was opened, and she hadn't heard it this morning, so she reasoned that he couldn't have gone out. She raised her hand to knock, and then lowered it again, her stomach flip-flopping.
She looked around her yard, stalling. It was a beautiful day. The sun was warm and she could hear the bees in the lemon tree. She had to get the first load out on the line soon and get on with the day, or no one was going to be eating lunch. She stepped closer to the door and knocked firmly.
'Henry,' she spoke to the door, smiling. 'I wonder, have you got a minute?'
She suddenly worried that he could be asleep, and she could have slapped herself. It hadn't occurred to her that someone could still be asleep at ten o'clock in the morning. She hadn't slept that late since she was a teenager. But it was Sunday morning, she chastised herself – not everyone is up at six o'clock like her.
'I can wait,' she sang through the door. 'I'll wait for a moment. I just wanted to invite you to lunch.'
&nb
sp; She heard nothing from behind the thick door and thought about retreating. Maybe he was coming, though; she must've already woken him up. She remembered when she'd been painting the room that sounds from outside were deadened. Maybe he hadn't heard her. She could just walk away.
She stood a moment, studying her nails, and, hearing nothing from inside, turned to go. Maybe he doesn't want much to do with us anyway, she thought. That would be a relief, she decided, if he'd come to that conclusion himself.
Karen's thoughts had turned to her washing, and she had taken a step away when the door scraped open behind her, and she raised a hand to her mouth.
'Oh, Henry,' she said. 'I hope I didn't wake you.'
The man stared at her from those curiously black eyes, and she could read nothing in his expression. He didn't say a thing. He seemed to be wide awake, though, as far as she could tell, and thank goodness, he was fully dressed. She noticed a nasty smell from the room behind him and blushed in embarrassment.
'Henry, it smells like the mould's coming back in there,' she prattled, unnerved by his silence and slow-blinking eyes. 'Ken and I – he's my brother, I think I told you – we did our best to get rid of it all in there, but I think it must be coming through the paint. I'm sorry about that. We'll get onto it again.'
He said nothing, continued to study her.
'Anyway,' she continued, overly bright, 'I thought you might like to come to lunch with me and the girls. Oh, and Ken, that's my brother. Although of course if you don't want to . . . it's only a roast. I don't want to be intrusive; I thought I'd just ask, but . . .'
'Lunch would be lovely. Thank you, Karen.'
He smiled. She wished he hadn't.
'Okay, great then, that's great,' she said, backing away. 'Well, we eat at twelve, usually, although some people might think that's a bit early. It's the girls . . .'
'Twelve's great, Karen. I'm really looking forward to it.'
Karen Miceh managed a weak smile and half ran up her back steps to her laundry.
In the end, the roast was dry, because she wasn't sure whether he'd like it medium, as she and Ken did. The girls always preferred the crunchy edges anyway, but Karen felt miserable carving the juiceless meat. She smiled at her guest, who'd changed into a collared shirt and tied his long hair back into a ponytail. Somehow, his attempt to appear civilised rendered him even more alien.
'So, Henry, were you born in Australia?' she asked. Good one, Karen: go the race card already.
'Yes,' he said, 'and you?'
'Yes, yes. Ken and I were both born here. Our parents were proud Macedonians, but they wanted us to be Australian. They thought the names Karen and Ken were as Aussie as you could get.' She gave him a wry smile as she passed him a plate.
'Thank you,' he said, accepting the sliced roast lamb from her. 'Looks delicious. I'm glad it's well cooked. I can't stand blood.'
Her smile was forced as she fixed Ken with a stare. Great, so she and her brother should eat overcooked meat every Sunday now? Why does it have to be so hard to be neighbourly?
'You have beautiful daughters, Karen. You must be very proud.'
'Yes. Thank you,' she said. 'Maryana, sit up straight in your chair. You know better than that. I've told you twice already.'
Karen frowned. Her oldest daughter usually swamped strangers with questions and chatter, and it was all Karen could do, typically, to stop her little girl climbing all over them. Today, Maryana seemed almost to be trying to hide under the table. Eva prattled away in her highchair, playing with her potatoes.
'So, Henry, what do you do for a quid?' Ken spoke up. 'Are you in a job at the moment?'
'In and out, Ken. I'm in sales. I do a lot of door-to-door work.'
Karen almost snorted. No wonder he didn't get a lot of work. Most people wouldn't want him in their house. Damn Eddie for putting me in this situation, she thought. Still, Henry seemed to be nice enough now that she was getting used to the way he looked.
Karen finished serving and began to eat. She listened to Ken and Henry speaking for a while and tried to encourage Maryana to settle down, but her daughter had eaten none of her lunch.
'What's the matter, little Maryana, don't you feel well?' Henry asked during a break in the conversation with Ken.
Maryana squirmed in her chair, her hair covering her face.
'Did something make you feel sick?' he said.
Maryana started to cry.
'Oh baby, what's wrong?' Karen stood and went to her daughter. 'Henry, I think you're right.' She reached down and scooped Maryana into her arms. 'She's all hot. Are you feeling sick, darling?'
Karen took Maryana from the room, her daughter clinging to her like a baby. She settled her into bed and smoothed her hair a little until she stopped crying.
She returned to the table when Maryana had relaxed under her quilt, tired out by her sobs.
'Is she okay, Karen?' asked Ken.
'I don't know what's wrong with her,' she said. 'I gave her a Panadol. I'll let her sleep now and take her up to the medical centre this afternoon.'
Maryana Miceh felt a lot better.
As soon as she got away from that Henry, she didn't feel so woozy. He was probably a very nice man, she told herself. It was just that the sore on his tummy made her feel really sweaty and hot. She kept thinking about what she had seen him doing through the crack in the wall. Maybe she should tell her mum?
She decided it would probably be best to ask Jasmine Hardcastle tomorrow before class started. Even though Jasmine thought she was better than everyone else, she did seem to know a lot of stuff. Maryana didn't want to get in trouble for spying on Henry, but maybe her mum should know about his stomach. Maybe she could get him some bandaids or something. And he didn't have a car. Maybe he needed to get a lift to see Dr Kim at the medical centre.
Alerted by a sound out the window, she scrambled up and knelt on her bed.
Wow, she thought. There's a pretty lady on the lawn. She's coming to our house!
Maryana slipped off her bed and padded through the hallway to the front door. She pulled the door open and walked out onto the front steps. She held her hand up to her face to stop the sun hurting her eyes. The lady waved. Maryana could see that the lady couldn't open their gate.
'That gate's stupid,' said Maryana, hopping on one leg down the path that ran from the steps to the fence. 'My dad was supposed to fix it, but Mummy said he's stupid too.'
'I've come to visit Henry,' said Chloe Farrell, smiling. 'Does he live here?'
'No, silly!' Maryana laughed.
'Oh . . . okay.'
'He's renting!'
'Uh huh.'
'You know you can just climb over that gate. Uncle Ken does that. He says my dad is stupid too. Do you think that's rude?'
Chloe stepped over the low fence easily.
'My name's Chloe,' she said.
'I wish that was my name,' said Maryana. 'I'm Maryana. Everyone's in there having lunch.' She pointed back inside. 'Come on. I'll show you where Henry is renting.'
Maryana ran around the side of the house.
Chloe followed.
Chloe now felt certain that the police had this all wrong. She'd been told that the first suspect police investigated was most often the wrong one, and it was with this in mind that she'd decided to risk asking after this Henry person at the house in Cabramatta. The fact that he hadn't been brought in for questioning also strengthened her doubts that the police seriously thought this guy was one of the killers. And then she'd met Henry's grandmother, and she was so sweet! But it was little Maryana and this gingerbread house that finally convinced her. Would a bloodthirsty psychopath be eating Sunday lunch with a family in Baulkham Hills? She didn't think so.
So it was all good for her. She could get an interview with a police suspect and show that they were still a long way off the mark as far as solving the case. She wondered if this bloke even knew he was under surveillance. She suspected that the cops didn't even know that he'd moved on from the fam
ily house in Cabramatta. She smiled to herself as she followed little Maryana's chubby legs into the backyard of the home. Maybe she'd get to present a piece live to camera. The anchor, Deborah, would burn.
'Maryana!'
Chloe heard a call come from inside the house.
'That's my mum,' the little girl said. 'I gotta go. His room's in there.' Maryana pointed to a door tucked beside the stairs leading to the house above them. 'You wanna come up?'
'No, that's okay, Maryana. I should go back around the front and knock on the door. I should introduce myself to your mum properly.'
'Okay, then,' said the little girl, giving her a quizzical look. She ran off.
Chloe decided to have a quick look around before going back to the front of the house. She was surprised at how easy it had been to find this guy and wanted to think of a few questions to put to him before they met, but she wasn't sure whether the little girl would tell her mum she was down here. Chloe didn't want to meet these people that way. She quickly ducked around the side of the rented room and realised that it was partially dug into the ground. She spotted a window on the back wall and tried to peer through. She could see nothing.
She made her way back around to the front of the room.
'Lunch was great, Karen, Ken.' Henry stood. 'Thank you. I might just use the bathroom before I go.'
Ken stood as well. 'You might have to go downstairs, mate. I'm just on my way to use the toilet up here myself.'
Karen smiled at her brother, grateful. For some ridiculous reason she didn't want this man becoming too familiar with her house.
'I don't know why everyone needs the toilet all of a sudden.' Karen tried to laugh. 'And Maryana feeling sick too. I hope it wasn't my cooking. Where has that child got to?' she said, calling to her daughter again before seeing Henry to the back door.
Voodoo Doll Page 17
