The Naked Room

by Diana Hockley

  We arrived at 4.15 when the building which housed the headquarters of the orchestra was all but empty. Somewhere deep in its bowels, a cleaner whistled as he dragged his equipment around. The sound of our footsteps resounded off the walls as we walked along the deserted corridors. I resisted the compulsion to tip-toe.

  The incredibly tall Sir James greeted us with English upper-class reserve and the charm of an Antarctic ice berg. I am not a small woman, but the top of my head just reached his armpit. Ben Taylor is tall, but his eyes were level with Sir James’s chin.

  The conductor ushered us into a comfortable room lined with books and sheet music scattered over a grand piano, which took up most of the space. So he too, was an accomplished musician, as well as a celebrated conductor.

  He waved us to upright chairs in front of his desk. ‘Well, Detective Senior Sergeant Prescott, I haven’t got much time to spare, so what can I do for you?’

  Crushing a spurt of anger, which wouldn’t have helped my mission, I fired off the same questions we had put to Kirkbridge.

  Sir James stared at me, obviously surprised by my confrontational attitude. He folded his lips as though he was going to refuse to answer, and then appeared to think better of it.

  ‘One thing at a time, if you don’t mind, Senior Sergeant. Let me see? First question: my relationship with Ms Carpenter is as mentor, conductor, her immediate boss, if you like. She is a brilliant concert pianist who will go far in her profession.’

  He paused and I imagined him thinking, ‘If she’s alive to pursue it.’ He blinked, and made an obviously major effort to focus back on us.

  ‘I’m not privy to her social life. I do know she has several close friends in the orchestra.’

  He went on to corroborate what everyone told us, but I sensed he was being deliberately evasive. As we rose to leave, pretending an after-thought, I asked him about his relationship with the pianist. I wasn’t surprised to see the familiar red tinge stain his cheeks. Was this another case of an old goat thinking he could get to base with a young chick? Well, a twenty-five year old would seem young to him, though he was only in his late forties.

  We’d been searching through parks, paddocks, al-leys—everywhere possible—for four days. If the victim of abduction doesn’t turn up within the first forty-eight hours, they’re probably dead. Sorrow squeezed my heart. Somehow this young woman had touched me personally. Was it the feeling of familiarity I had when I looked at her? I closed my eyes and my mind of all but a prayer. Please God, keep her safe.

  A sharp crack jerked me back to the present. A piece of burning wood split in the heat and tumbled over the edge of the grate onto the hearth. I got up stiffly and dealt with it. Harry had flown to Sydney to try and obtain family information from his ancient cousin Emily, who was in a nursing home. If he verified our suspicions of who Eloise Carpenter really is, I might be obliged to withdraw from the case.

  CHAPTER 20

  Hide and Seek

  Brie

  Tuesday: 7.00pm.

  The little rat-shit vehicle I borrowed from a mate felt as small as a sardine tin. A permanently-broke jazz musician, he hated the colour of his car which had been bought for him by his parents. ‘It’s a girl’s car,’ he’d whined. I was grateful; dull bronze meant camouflage. I’d swapped my sleek, black Nissan 360Z drop-head coupé for the little hatchback, because Jess would recognise it. My mate was ecstatic. I told him the same story as when I had asked him to borrow the bug I planted in Jess’s kitchen from his parent’s security business: I wanted to check whether my latest girlfriend was cheating on me. Now I wish she had. At least she would be safe.

  I parked under the Moreton Bay fig tree around thirty metres from her house and out of range of the streetlight. When she left, I was determined to follow. If she had a visitor, I would find out who it was. I picked up my water bottle and took a sip, but I needed to be careful. Sooner or later I would need to dive into someone’s hibiscus bush and take a piss. Being chased by a family dog with my cock flapping in the breeze would hardly be cool. A woman stopped nearby to let her dog baptise a gatepost. I shifted impatiently and made a show of glancing at my watch. Just waiting for my girlfriend to reveal her true colours, madam.

  It had been a hard day, ending with Jess and Michael’s five o’clock arrival at the pub. Pamela and I were sitting at a corner table, plotting ways to find Ally. I was just about to confide my budding career as a sleuth when they walked in the door. Jess’s expression was thunderous; Michael’s cold and remote, putting me immediately on the alert.

  Pam bore in straight away. ‘What’s the matter with you two?’

  I knew she was hurt Michael hadn’t followed up Friday night at the club with a date, but fucking hell, life had hardly been normal since then.

  ‘What business is it of yours?’ snapped Jess. She dumped her handbag on the table, dragged off her coat and slung it over the back of a chair. Michael scowled at her, and then asked us if we wanted a drink.

  ‘Not yet mate, but there’s some here for you two,’ I replied, realising he hadn’t noticed the extra beer and glass of wine on the table. He took his coat off, folded it methodically, put it over the back of his chair and sat down. No one said anything for a moment and then we all started to talk at once.

  ‘Are we having dinner here?’

  ‘What’s the matter with—?’

  ‘Anyone want to—’

  ‘How are we going to—?’

  It ended in an impasse. A nasty smile hovered at the corner of Michael’s mouth. Jess pouted and took a big gulp of wine. Pam glanced nervously at me. It was shaping up to be a fun evening.

  ‘Anyone want to work on the Triple tomorrow?’ I asked. Beethoven’s Triple Concerto scheduled for a concert in three weeks time. I didn’t dare mention Ally.

  ‘Why? We’ve got plenty of time yet,’ Jess objected flatly, ‘and in any case, there’s no one available to play it.’ Her deliberate omission of Ally’s name was more shocking than if she’d actually said it.

  ‘No. Well—’ I suggested that the music tutor for the orchestra might stand-in.

  ‘Richie? That idiot?’ Jess slammed her glass down on the table. ‘I wouldn’t give him house room. I don’t know why you all like him so much because he’s a first class prick.’ That probably meant he had called her bluff at some time or another.

  ‘I’ve never had any problem with him,’ I remarked mildly, ‘but if you don’t want him, what about asking Vern? He might be available.’ Vern was a pianist who occasionally practiced with members of the orchestra.

  Michael baited Jess. ‘Well, does milady approve of the fair Vern?’ he asked, running his hand through his long hair, pretending to be precious. Pam and I swapped apprehensive glances. Jess swelled visibly, a flush of rage suffused her face and her eyes blazed.

  ‘Fuck off, Michael! If you can’t say anything constructive, shut up. And I don’t give a stuff about the Beethoven’s Triple Concerto.’

  ‘Come on, Jess! He was only joking,’ said Pamela, always the peacemaker. Jess took a huge gulp of wine, which went down the wrong way, then proceeded to snort it all over the table. We jumped up, pulling out handkerchiefs; Pamela grabbed a handful of tissues out of her bag. People nearby turned around to enjoy the show.

  ‘Listen, I’m going. I can’t be bothered sitting here, I’ve got a date tonight.’ Jess jumped to her feet, brushed the remnants of wine droplets from her sweater and skirt, snatched up her belongings and stormed off toward the exit. We watched her go in an awkward silence.

  ‘Well,’ said Pamela after a moment, scrunching up wine-sodden tissues, ‘I wonder what set her off?’

  I had recognised Jess’s fleeting, satisfied smirk. She didn’t want to be there with us and chucking a tantie was a good way of making her exit. Everything had gone exactly the way she wanted it.

  ‘I heard her on her mobile bollocking someone this afternoon. She wasn’t happy, that’s for sure,’ I reported.

  ‘What did she say?�
� Pam asked, curiously. Michael looked at me through narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

  ‘I don’t know, I didn’t hear enough, but she was furious.’

  Michael snorted and jumped to his feet. ‘Jess always thinks she knows best. Anyway, who cares?’ He picked up his coat and shrugged into it.

  ‘You’re going too? You’ve only just got here.’

  ‘Don’t feel like it, mate. My round next time, okay?’

  We made eye contact, his cold and hostile. I felt as though a horse had kicked me. In the last couple of minutes something disturbing had surfaced, but I didn’t understand why. Yet.

  As Pamela gathered up our glasses and headed for the bar, I thought about Michael’s reaction when I mentioned Jess’s angry phone call. Could it have been to him? Or about him? It was then I phoned my mate and arranged to exchange cars for the night.

  Deep inside, my knot of cold fear grew. I wriggled around trying to get comfortable. My feet tangled with the pedals as I attempted to stretch. On impulse, I opened the glove box and fossicked amongst the collection of receipts and empty sweet papers. Then I got lucky; there was one toffee left. I took it out, carefully unpeeled what remained of the wrapping and picked some fluff off the sweet before popping it in my mouth. Tucking my coat tighter around me, I leaned my head against the door pillar and sucked, prepared to wait as long as it took for something to happen.

  Fear for Ally’s safety constantly flared, sending shock-waves of fright through my body. I leaned my head back against the door pillar and thought about what had attracted me to Ally, but couldn’t come up with anything major. It was mainly the small things I could remember, like the way she moved, cleaning, cooking—I could and had watched her sewing, the economical movement of her hands. But most of all, what turned me on was her kindness to everyone, young and old.

  A week ago, I hoped we’d have a passionate affair. There was no point in commitment. In a few months time, Ally would be in Canada to do a concert tour, and I would finish my contract with the Pacific Symphony and go to Europe. We might hear of each other through the grapevine and maybe come across each other sometime. If we were both unattached, we might have dinner and end up in bed. Who am I kidding? I’d make sure we went to bed.

  Or she would have a bearded husband who’d be wearing a baby in a sling and Jesus sandals…shit. And maybe in a few days, a week or a month, I’ll be standing by her grave.

  I guess I “do” terror after all.

  At the age of fifteen, I was introduced to the delights of sex by the seventeen-year-old daughter of our neighbour, employed as a junior roustabout by my farmer father. The sheep shearing season lasted for several weeks, so my extensive tuition in the wool bins after dark was highly successful and a godsend to the skinny, pimply kid I was at the time. Since then, I had pretty much gotten whatever I wanted from women, so being put in my place by Ally was, when I recovered from the shock of being stymied, a refreshing challenge.

  Now, a vision of the future without her stretched before me. I wanted to roar with anguish, to punch something, or someone to assuage the feeling of helplessness. If I could get the bastards who’d taken her, I’d tear them apart with my bare hands.

  The back door of Jess’s cottage opened, and I could see her walking to the garage in the beam cast by the sensor light mounted on the corner of the house. I started the car and gently revved the motor, keeping the lights off. She drove around the side of the house and out onto the road. I kept my head down as she roared past, heading for the city. I put the lights on, did a U-turn, and followed cautiously.

  Trying to keep a car-length or two back from her small Honda was tricky in the evening traffic. We headed onto the freeway and drove for a good ten minutes before Jess turned off.

  The road got steeper and narrower as we reached the foothills of the mountains. The number of vehicles had decreased. I was worried she’d get suspicious about the same car lurking at the rear, so dropped back until I was about fifty metres behind as we climbed into the range. A car coming toward me had its lights on high beam, forcing me to slow down until I almost stopped. When my eyes adjusted to the night again, Jess had disappeared. I panicked and put my foot down, which didn’t get me too far in the ancient heap of metal.

  It soon became apparent she had turned off somewhere. Homes are hidden all over the mountains, many at the end of narrow lanes where someone can vanish within seconds. I traced my route back to where I almost stopped, turned and drove slowly, peering into the bushes on either side of the road.

  If you stare at something for long enough, the object becomes so familiar you could pick it out of a heap, so I had no trouble recognising the tail-lights of Jess’s car moving down a long driveway to the left. I switched my headlights off, turned in and crept slowly after her. When she slowed and stopped, I pulled into a space off the driveway, killed the motor, rolled down the driver’s side window and waited. A motion-sensor light came on at the house. Jess climbed out of the car, gathered up what looked like an overnight bag and walked toward the front door.

  An older, tall, dark-haired man came out onto the verandah. I watched as she ran up the steps and walked into his arms. Down the well-lit hallway behind them a dark-haired woman stood and watched. Was the man her father? Not likely. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her parents for years. Could Ally be here? I weighed the likelihood of that with the success of walking up and knocking at the front door. Zilch. Headlights blazed in my rear-vision mirror.

  I didn’t have time to duck as a car roared up the driveway. It drew level and the man driving turned his head and looked straight at me. The vicious glare would have cut me in half had it been a saw.

  Christ! Get out of here.

  As he swept past, I started the motor, threw the little car into reverse, put my foot down and backed up the driveway to the road. I couldn’t see to steer properly. My hands jerked on the steering wheel, swinging the car violently. Small branches caught in the side mirror. Leaves showered through the window; a twig raked my cheek.

  I risked a glance in the mirror. The other car was turning around fast. I put the headlights on and gunned the tiny motor down the main road. The little car gave an astonished leap and took off.

  My heart pounded; blood trickled from the stinging cut on my cheek. For a few minutes there was no sign of a follower, and then lights appeared in the rear-view mirror.

  He was rapidly closing the gap.

  I crouched over the steering wheel, urging the Suzuki car on. Drivers coming the other way leaned on their horns as they fronted my headlights. The car behind me caught up and settled right on the back bumper, forcing me to take more chances. It swerved and began to draw alongside, until I could see the dark shape of the driver in the side mirror. I did a lightning inventory of what was in the car. Nothing available for a weapon. Can’t out-run him. Need to turn off but where?

  I slammed back into second gear and squeezed the brakes. My pursuer swept ahead and rounded the next corner. A white letter box indicated a driveway a few metres away. I swung the wheel to the left and turned in, almost side-swiping a guide post. I slid the car into a small clearing behind the trunk of a huge gum tree and switched off the headlights and ignition.

  The only sounds were of my own breathing and ticking as the motor cooled. I wound the window almost fully down so I could hear anyone coming and sat perfectly still, listening to the sounds of the night.

  So was he Jess’s new boyfriend? Maybe he thought I was a bloke stalking her. Well, I was, but not for the reason he might imagine. A minute or two passed and then I heard a vehicle approaching slowly along the main road. Some instinct made me lock the doors, before I slid down as far as possible below the level of the windows.

  My hearing became super-tuned, my pulse raced. Minutes passed, but the engine faded. I waited a minute or two longer, but as I began to sit up, I heard it coming back.

  I raised my head a fraction and peered out. The driver paused at the entrance to the driveway, then turned in
and stopped, idling quietly. I flattened myself along the front seat. The floor smelled of joggers, rubber mats and discarded Macca’s French fries. A stinking paper wrap rustled under my foot. The beam of a powerful torch swept the bush, passed over the trunk of the gum tree…hovered…came back, swept higher, scanned again …moved further on over the bushes to my right…then flashed along the driveway.

  An owl flew low overhead, momentarily caught in the light. The driver flashed the torch around for a few more moments and then turned it off. I heard the car door close; the engine rev and the car back out onto the road to move slowly away.

  I stayed where I was, counting until I reached five minutes. Then I sat up and breathed freely again.

  Shit, that was close.

  My throbbing cheek reminded me I was walking wounded. I took my handkerchief out of my pocket and started to wipe the cut, peering into the rear vision mirror.

  A hand came through the window and grabbed me by the throat.

  My lungs strained to suck air as I struggled desperately to find the button to power the window up.

  No button.

  Fuck! This car had a wind-up handle.

  A blast of hot breath blew into my face; I snorted in Aramis.

  His eyes burned into mine as he leaned closer to get leverage.

  His hand slipped, releasing the pressure on my windpipe not a second too soon. He fought for a better grip as I punched wildly at his face. The window was almost up.

  He grunted and tried to bite my hand before I could rip it away.

  I shoved him hard, trying to break his hold on my throat.

  He squeezed harder.

  I got my hand up again and lashed out, trying for his nose.

  He jerked backwards, letting me go.

  I held my throat with one hand, started the motor with the other as I fought for air.

  He lunged again and caught me by the shirt collar.

  I wound the window back against his arm, rammed the car into gear and slammed my foot onto the accelerator. It shot forward, dragging him with it.