Crooked Leg Road

by Jennifer Walsh

  Was he here after all, she wondered fleetingly, hiding somewhere in the house? She imagined a secret room in the cellar, or in the attic, like Anne Frank in the story Moshe had told her. Or what if he was hiding in the bomb shelter under Tarcoola? But the tunnels under Tarcoola were all sealed off now, and the great sprawling house was a beehive of builders and architects. Anyway, why would David want to run away?

  As they finished putting the letters back Andrea gazed up at her father’s painting on the wall with its rich, glowing colours and the signature he had scrawled on the bottom.

  On the way home she thought about the painting, with the house crouched in the trees and white cockatoos in the sky above. It reminded her that what she had really wanted to do when she had planned to run away herself was . . .

  She looked up. She was nearly home, and Kitty was standing outside her house with Skender beside her.

  ‘Tell her what you told me,’ said Kitty to Skender.

  25

  THE rain had held off, and the sky had cleared to a deep velvet blue when David came back down the slope to the house. Adam was on the back verandah, treating himself to a beer.

  ‘Glorious evening,’ he remarked. ‘Had a nice run?’

  ‘Great,’ said David. ‘I think I saw a kangaroo, but it was gone before I got a good look. That’s the trouble with running, you make too much noise.’

  ‘You’re sure it was a kangaroo?’

  ‘It wasn’t human, Adam. Not way out there in the bush.’

  ‘Nah, we’re pretty right here.’

  David splashed water over his face and neck from the tap over the sink. After a moment Adam followed him into the big kitchen–living room. It was rough but comfortable, with a scrubbed table in the middle and a narrow wooden couch piled with faded cushions along one wall. The doors and windows were all different shapes and sizes, probably reclaimed from old buildings, thought David, some with colourful stained glass. Every bit of available wall space was covered with paintings, all with the same signature scrawled on the bottom – Adam McKinley.

  ‘There’s enough of that curry thing left from last night,’ said David, peering into a pot on the back of the stove. ‘We could just have that with some rice.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ agreed Adam. ‘Those frogs are making a racket. It’s not raining, is it?’

  26

  SKENDER paced up and down Andrea’s living room while he talked.

  ‘I shouldn’t say my real name,’ he said, ‘but Kitty already found out what it is. I am Bekim Hassan, and I come from a small country in Eastern Europe called Dardania. Please, you must swear not to say these things to anyone else.’

  ‘Except Martin,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Okay,’ said Andrea.

  ‘We are in a witness protection program,’ explained Skender. ‘They send us to live in a new place and they change our names and everything about us. We must not tell anyone who we really are.’

  ‘We can keep secrets,’ said Kitty.

  ‘What did you witness?’ asked Andrea.

  ‘It’s really my parents,’ said Skender. ‘We got out of Dardania and lived in Italy for a while, then we were allowed to come to Australia, to Perth. It was great. Only a couple of months ago some friends of my parents, people from a different part of Dardania, said they had given all their money to some man to invest, another Dardanian. They said the man would make them rich, and that my parents should give him their money too. My father was suspicious, but he said he would meet the investor man and find out the details.’

  ‘What was the man’s name?’ asked Andrea.

  ‘One minute. You will hear all of it. So, they were going to meet at a cafe, for coffee, but when my father was about to go in he looked through the window and saw the man, sitting with his friend; and the man looked up and saw him.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘My father went straight home, calling my mother on the way. He told her to pack some things, quickly, and be ready to leave as soon as he got home.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Andrea.

  ‘He knew this man,’ said Skender, ‘from our own country. This was a very dangerous man. He was in charge of a group in Dardania that did terrible things, especially to Muslim people like us. He should have been arrested, but he disappeared, and the police couldn’t find him.’

  ‘So he came to Australia?’

  ‘Yes, with a lot of money that he stole from the people in our town. He changed his name in Australia, of course, but my father had been to school with him and recognised him at once. Filip Aleksijevic. My father said he was always a bully, even when he was five years old.’

  ‘So your parents left Perth?’ said Andrea.

  ‘They drove to our schools and picked us up straight away, me and my two little brothers, then we drove and drove. We drove for days, and we didn’t stop until we got to Sydney.’

  ‘What would have happened if you had stayed?’ asked Andrea.

  ‘On the way,’ said Skender, ‘we stopped in a little town and my mother called our neighbours to ask them to look after our dog. We had a nice dog, he was so funny . . . Anyway, the neighbour said someone had broken into our house and messed everything up, and the dog . . . They killed the dog, our poor little Alonzo.’

  ‘No!’ said Andrea.

  ‘They cut his tongue out.’

  Kity gasped, and Skender glanced at her.

  ‘We think he was already dead,’ he said gently.

  ‘But why would they do that?’ asked Andrea.

  ‘It’s a message. It means don’t talk.’

  ‘And . . . and . . . it was Filip Alexi . . . ?’ Andrea stumbled over the name.

  ‘Aleksijevic doesn’t want anyone to know who he really is,’ said Skender. ‘He would do anything to stop my father identifying him. Anything.’

  ‘But where does David fit in?’ asked Kitty. ‘What does this Alexi person want with him?’

  ‘When we got to Sydney my parents contacted the police and told them everything,’ Skender explained. ‘The lawyers who are going to prosecute Aleksijevic took over then, and got us new names and a place to live. But lately my parents have heard that Aleksijevic is in Sydney, so we will have to move again. My father has given our passports to one of the lawyers so he can arrange to change our names a second time. Last night I heard my parents talking about this lawyer, and I heard his name: Alex Newman.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Andrea. ‘Your father put the passports in the Newmans’ letterbox, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, because he couldn’t risk going to the office. He is scared to be seen. But when I heard that name, I remembered what Kitty had said about David Newman and the men you saw. I told my father, and he is very worried. He said Aleksijevic always has – what do you call them? – men who do what he says.’

  ‘Goons,’ said Kitty. ‘Henchmen.’

  ‘So they really did go there to kidnap David?’ said Andrea. ‘But why?’

  ‘It’s what they do,’ said Skender. ‘They find someone in the organisation who’s got a child. Then they take the child and say to the parents, “Tell us what we want to know, or else.” Why wouldn’t Alex Newman tell them where we are, when it might help to get his son back?’

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ said Andrea.

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ said Kitty.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Skender. ‘If they send him a recording of his son screaming, or maybe one of his son’s fingers, what do you think he’ll do?’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Andrea, horrified. ‘They’ve taken David somewhere safe.’

  ‘Nowhere is safe,’ said Skender. ‘Someone must have told Aleksijevic that Alex Newman knows where we are. Maybe the same person will tell him where David is.’

  ‘I wish we knew where they’ve sent David,’ said Kitty. ‘Can we try calling him again?’

  ‘He hasn’t got his phone,’ said Andrea. ‘I saw it at the house.’

  ‘Then let’s tell David’s family we know about this, an
d ask where he is, just, you know, to be sure it really is a safe place.’

  ‘Moshe made me promise not to ask,’ said Andrea.

  ‘I have to go home now,’ said Skender. He handed Kitty a piece of paper. ‘Here’s my number. Please, call me if you find out how to contact David. I want to tell him he must be careful. I want to tell him what these people are like.’

  ‘Did you really promise?’ asked Kitty, once Skender had gone.

  ‘I promised not to ask,’ said Andrea, ‘but . . .’ Suddenly she could see what she had to do. ‘I didn’t promise not to find him!’

  ‘Has he ever talked to you about his relations?’ said Kitty. ‘About where they live?’

  ‘He can’t be with relations,’ said Andrea. ‘That’d be too obvious. He’d have to be with someone nobody would think of.’

  Something was niggling at her brain – about running away. That’s right, her father’s painting on the wall had jogged her memory. She had wanted to go there, to his house in the middle of nowhere, where no one would find her. The house in the painting, shadowed by tall trees, hugged by the bush. Two tall trees by the gate, like twins . . . Twin pencil pines.

  27

  MARTIN came running downstairs when he heard the front door open.

  ‘Where’ve you been, Kit?’ he demanded. ‘I’m starving.’

  Kitty picked up a pad of yellow post-it notes from the sideboard and started writing.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Martin.

  Kitty stuck notes in appropriate spots around the kitchen: microwave, fridge (home of food), plates, cutlery.

  ‘There you go,’ she said kindly, as if to a small child. ‘We’ll be in the study, looking up some stuff on the net. But you’d better get three plates, ’cos Andrea’s having some too.’

  Martin heaped food onto plates and wasted time looking for a tray, as she hadn’t thought to use a label for that. When he came into the study, Kitty beamed up at him.

  ‘We reckon he’s at Andrea’s dad’s,’ she announced.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘David.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Yeah. Who’d have guessed?’

  ‘My dad’s friends with Alex and Linda,’ said Andrea, ‘but only since Christmas. Probably no one knows. And my dad lives way out in the bush.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Somewhere in the Blue Mountains, out past Glenmaloi.’

  ‘How did you work out that David might be with him?’

  ‘On that Monday night, just before he disappeared, I heard David’s dad on the phone saying, “Twin pencil pines, left”. And I remembered when we went there, the way to find the place was you had to look for two tall trees and turn left. My mum and my auntie kept arguing about it.’

  ‘We have to talk to him,’ explained Kitty. ‘They’ve taken him there to get him out of the way, but Skender says he wouldn’t be safe somewhere like that. He should be further away, with someone who’s got absolutely no connection with Skender’s family.’

  Kitty filled Martin in on Skender’s story while they all ate.

  ‘Okay,’ said Martin when she had finished. ‘Have you got your dad’s phone number, Andrea? Let’s call him.’

  ‘It might not be that easy,’ said Andrea.

  They dialled the number, but there was no answer.

  ‘It’s not even going to voicemail,’ said Kitty.

  ‘He doesn’t use voicemail,’ said Andrea, ‘and he doesn’t have an answering machine. Actually, he leaves the phone off the hook a lot of the time.’

  ‘That wasn’t the engaged signal, though,’ said Kitty. ‘It rang out.’

  ‘You also get that sound if the phone’s cut off,’ said Martin, ‘or if you pull it out from the wall.’

  ‘Either way, we’re not getting an answer,’ said Andrea.

  ‘What’s your dad’s address?’ asked Martin.

  ‘I don’t exactly know,’ said Andrea, ‘but I sort of know how to find the place.’

  ‘We’ve got the phone number, let’s see if we can find the address in White Pages. What’s his name?’

  ‘Adam McKinley.’

  The White Pages website revealed no A. McKinley anywhere near Glenmaloi.

  ‘It’s because of those nuisance calls,’ said Martin. ‘Everyone has silent numbers. It makes it really hard to find people.’

  ‘Have you got a map?’ asked Andrea. ‘I’ll show you where it is.’

  ‘What’s the point, anyway?’ said Kitty. ‘We can’t go there.’

  Martin was already pulling up Glenmaloi on his screen.

  ‘What can you remember?’ he asked Andrea.

  He zoomed and panned in satellite view until they found a road that she recognised.

  ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Of course, I remember now. It’s called Crooked Leg Road. See, it starts in the town, but it’s sort of behind some houses. My mum and auntie had trouble finding it.’

  Martin followed the road into an area of dense bush, zooming in and out.

  ‘Too far, too far,’ Andrea would say. ‘Back. No, not there. Yes, up that track. No, that one.’

  ‘The detail is amazing,’ said Kitty. ‘You can see the trees.’

  ‘You can’t see how tall they are,’ said Andrea. ‘But look, those could be the two pencil pines. They’re sort of a different colour from the other trees, a darker green, like the ones in the painting.’

  ‘And if you turn left there,’ said Martin, ‘that track leads to two buildings, in the trees there.’

  ‘I remember a house and a studio, right in the middle of the bush,’ said Andrea. ‘I really think this is it.’

  ‘It must be,’ said Martin. ‘This looks like a national park. Look, there aren’t any other houses anywhere around. Would that be right? Does he live in the middle of a national park?’

  ‘Yes, I think that’s it,’ said Andrea. ‘I’ve heard them talking about it . . . It’s just that the place is pretty old and his uncle had it first. If Dad ever leaves they’ll tear the place down and no one will ever be allowed to live there again.’

  ‘I’ll print some maps,’ said Martin. ‘Close in and further out.’ He turned on the printer and got to work.

  ‘But I don’t see how you could get there,’ said Kitty. ‘That’s a long way out of the town. It’d take hours to walk.’

  ‘I could get a taxi,’ said Andrea. ‘There are always taxis near train stations.’

  ‘Yeah, and what would that cost?’

  ‘Give me a minute,’ said Martin, busy with his mouse. After a couple of false starts he found a taxi fare calculator. The place where Andrea’s father lived didn’t seem to have a name, so he chose a small town about the same distance away from Glenmaloi.

  ‘Looks like about forty dollars.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ll have to ask my dad to pay the driver when I get there.’

  ‘Plus we’ll need train fares,’ said Martin. ‘And bus fares to Central.’

  ‘What do you mean, we?’ said Andrea.

  ‘I’m coming too.’

  ‘How are you going to get out of school?’

  ‘That’s not going to be a problem,’ said Martin. ‘They’re having the big hoo-hah tomorrow with the Premier and Anthony Yu, so you can imagine what school is going to be like. They’ll all be running around practising and getting things ready, and no one will notice if we’re not there. They probably won’t even call the roll. Or if they do it’ll be at the big assembly at the end of the day, just before the big nobs all arrive, and we can try to be back by then.’

  ‘Could work,’ said Andrea.

  ‘The only people they’ll care about are the Premier and Mr Yu and Joe Rozman.’ said Martin.

  ‘Joe Rozman?’ asked Kitty. ‘Isn’t he the man who never shows himself?’

  ‘Exactly, but he’s going to be right there with Anthony Yu. Apparently this is supposed to show how important they think our school is.’ Martin chortled.

  Kitty returned to the train timetable, frowning.
r />   ‘I can’t see you getting back in time,’ she said. ‘The train trip’s more than two hours.’

  ‘Well, this is more important than school,’ said Martin. ‘We’ve just got to get home before Mum and Dad.’

  ‘Okay, great,’ said Andrea. ‘What money have we got for the bus and the train?’

  ‘I’ve got about twelve dollars,’ said Kitty. ‘You can have it all.’

  ‘I’ve got nearly twenty,’ said Martin. ‘What about you, Andrea?’

  ‘Ummm . . . nothing, really.’

  Martin drummed his fingers on the desk, weighing it all up in his mind.

  ‘Listen, Andrea,’ he said, ‘are you really sure your dad will have enough cash for the taxi? And are you totally sure he’ll definitely be there? Or that it’s positively certainly a hundred per cent the right place?’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘Or that a taxi driver will really take a couple of kids way into the bush, just on the promise that someone at the other end is going to pay?’

  ‘I think he’s right,’ said Kitty.

  ‘But . . . ’ started Andrea.

  ‘I’m going to call Sam,’ said Martin.

  ‘Sam?’ said Kitty.

  ‘If anyone’s likely to have money it’s Sam. If she’s got any, I’m sure she’ll lend us some.’

  ‘No,’ said Kitty. ‘Not Sam!’

  ‘What’ll we do if she hasn’t got money?’ demanded Andrea.

  ‘She will,’ said Martin with a confidence he did not feel.

  ANDREA was delegated to pick up the money from Sam on her way home. Oliver answered the door, barely looking up from the electronic game in his hand, and Andrea was annoyed to find her mother in the kitchen with Vicki. They were wearing colourful sarongs and mixing something in a big glass jug.

  ‘Hey, honey,’ said Andrea’s mother. ‘We’re making margaritas. Are you going to have dinner with us?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Andrea. ‘I’ve just come to see Sam.’

  ‘She’s in her room,’ said Vicki. ‘Go on in. We’ll be out by the pool if you need us.’

  Sam was sitting on her bed, reading. She looked up, her face flushed with excitement.