by Kaye Dobbie
But now wasn’t the time to be thinking of her past. She must stay focused—the camera was on her.
She shaded her eyes and gazed up the slight slope at the cottage within its garden. Another of the sculptures, a wind-direction finder with a guitar instead of a pointer, turned a little and stopped.
The gate creaked as Prue swung it open.
Hope went to follow and then paused. She didn’t want to but she couldn’t help it. Slowly she turned, looking behind her at the road stretching back, completely empty. No black car with a chrome bumper bar. Nothing to say that anything bad had ever happened when she was sixteen and in love and life was just beginning to be so good.
She shut down the memories before they could take hold. Not because the camera would pick up on her emotions—she was too much of a professional for that—but because what she was feeling was her own private business.
‘Miss Taylor? Can you walk up onto the verandah?’
Where were Samantha and Joe? If they didn’t turn up soon she’d look like a fool, and worse, she’d feel like one. Well, too late now. She stiffened her back and lifted her chin and moved towards her childhood home as if she was perfectly at ease.
There was a screen door blocking their way. From inside she could hear the sound of a radio, and then a cat approached and stared at them through the mesh. Its fur was a mixture of pale orange and cream and brown, which caught the light and had the appearance of a frothy cappuccino.
‘Mr Nash?’ Prue knocked and waited. She and Ken exchanged a glance, and then she knocked again.
And that was when they heard the vehicle coming up the road behind them. ‘It must be Mrs Cantani,’ Prue said with a hint of relief.
Joe, thought Hope, but then her heart sank.
It was Samantha and she was driving an appallingly disreputable ute. Dull patches of rust speckled the dirty white exterior and the door groaned ominously when she opened it. There was even a dog in there with her. Such a cliché! And when she stepped out … Hope’s heart sank even further at the sight of her niece’s dirty jeans, singlet top and dusty boots.
Last time she’d seen Samantha she had been barely an adult, edgy and difficult, her character still forming. Now she was a woman. The pointed chin and neat features, along with her fair, shoulder-length hair, reminded Hope of Faith, while her slim figure and height reminded Hope of herself.
And even from here she could see that her eyes were that clear, remarkable blue. Cantani eyes.
Her father’s eyes.
FAITH
August 1969, St Kilda
The police raid happened shortly after midnight, just when the Angel was really jumping. At first Faith didn’t even notice the police rushing in through a side door, not until there was a yell from one of the patrons, and then the uniformed cops seemed to be everywhere. Shouts of Don’t move! rang out above the din, but no one took any notice as they stampeded for the street. Her tray of glasses crashed to the floor before she could get out of the way.
As Faith knelt to gather up the jagged glass, a man in a rumpled grey suit nearly stepped on her. His face, from the brief glimpse she got of him before he turned his back, seemed just as rumpled. And grey—he didn’t look well. He was busy directing the uniforms, eyes everywhere, and she heard him say, ‘Right, get up to the top floor. No, don’t take the lift, but put a man on it in case anyone tries to leave. Now go, go!’
Moments later she could hear them pounding up the stairs to the Mezzanine, and then higher still. Doors slammed open so hard it was like a bomb going off. Earlier Faith had been up to the Mezzanine herself, looking for Kitty, and she’d heard a song drifting down from above—‘Touch Me’ by the Doors, being played over and over again.
Kneeling, Faith stayed where she was, too shocked to notice her stockings soaking up spilled cocktails and beer. She was in an alcove area usually reserved for those who wanted a bit of privacy, and no one seemed to be taking any notice of her. Rumpled Suit had disappeared, and she was thinking about leaving too when someone started shouting.
It was one of the prostitutes at the table by the door. She’d been too drunk to move let alone run, and no one had thought to help her. Now she was on her feet, swearing, as a couple of the uniforms attempted to grapple with her. Finally they managed to restrain her, and half walked, half dragged her out of the room. Her angry swearing faded and it was only then that Faith realised the lounge was empty. Apart from her.
She got to her feet, ignoring the crunch of glass under the soles of her boots. All the action seemed to be taking place above her head and she was too curious to stop herself as she made her way out of the Cocktail Lounge, along the dingy corridor and up the stairs that were the staff’s route to the Mezzanine. She peered into the big dining room and entertainment area and found them empty, too. Jared’s office, reached by a short staircase near the staff cloakroom, was also empty, the door swinging wide. His desk was a mess, as if the cops had been going through his paperwork.
Again she was distracted by the noise coming from the Penthouse. What had Kitty said about the upper floor of the Angel? Next stop heaven?
Standing on the landing, her hand tight on the balustrade, she listened as Jim Morrison’s voice was cut off abruptly, mid-sentence. A moment later another male voice filled the silence, demanding to be allowed to leave at once, while a woman’s sobbing punctuated his furious outbursts.
Was that Kitty? Her heart began to bump harder. If it was Kitty … well, for Kitty to cry then things must be very bad.
According to her cousin, the cops turned a blind eye when it came to the Angel. She’d said Jared and his bosses were in contact with the right people and paid them well enough to escape any official attention. They wouldn’t dare, she’d said.
Well tonight they had dared.
Faith knew she had to go up there and make certain Kitty was safe. Only a coward would sneak off home. The elevator went all the way from the Cocktail Lounge, via the Mezzanine, to the Penthouse, but unless there was a party going on the door was locked at the very top, preventing it from opening. Even then some of the customers preferred to use the stairs so that they wouldn’t be seen by anyone who might tell tales. But she remembered she couldn’t use the elevator anyway, not with the police in charge of it.
Slowly Faith began to climb.
The third floor was used for storage, and there were a couple of rooms where the staff could stay over if necessary, or some of the customers if they’d drunk too much and needed to sleep it off. The fourth floor was another matter. Jared held his private parties up there, with the emphasis on ‘private’. Girls came and went, and sometimes a band played, but mostly it was music from the record player. If food and drink were needed then Kitty handled it. Faith had yet to be asked to waitress up there, and she had a feeling her cousin might have something to do with that. Kitty could be surprisingly protective when the mood took her.
She thought Faith didn’t notice what was going on, but Faith was no fool. She knew about the prostitutes Kitty paid and took upstairs, she knew about the illegal drugs Lenny handed out—the little pills she’d guessed were LSD, among other things. She knew a great deal. It was only that she chose to pretend she didn’t.
Faith could see that the door at the top was slightly ajar, and as she drew closer the smells of cigarette smoke and booze drifted out. The sobbing grew louder and, overcome with relief, Faith leaned on the handrail. It wasn’t Kitty. And then she reminded herself that Kitty was still up there and she needed to see for herself that her cousin was okay. Cautiously, she reached for the door and pushed it further inward, just enough so that she could see inside without being seen herself.
The walls were painted in psychedelic colours and the furniture was minimal. There was a large silver statue in one corner that could have been an archangel … or a devil. A colourful sea of cushions spilled onto a thick pile rug in the middle of the floor, and Faith noticed the scattered remains of food and drink. Discarded clothing lay about—t
here was a tie just inside the door, as if whoever had arrived last had simply stripped off and dived in.
By now there weren’t that many people in the room, despite the noise they were making. She could hear the elevator operating, taking a few of them at a time downstairs to whatever fate awaited them. One man stood closest to the door, looking as if he wished he could disappear, his belly hanging over his Y-fronts. The man who was doing all of the shouting had no clothes on at all, although a frustrated cop was trying to persuade him to get dressed. Faith recognised him from the Cocktail Lounge—his face at least, and his loud voice. He owned a real estate business in town and was always boasting to the girls how much money he made.
The rest were women. She recognised three of them; they were from the group who sat on the table by the door, and she’d seen Kitty leading them upstairs on previous occasions. Right now they were busy pulling on their clothing. A hiccup caught her attention. It was the woman who’d been crying, except she was more of a girl. She’d made an attempt to look older, caking on the makeup, but Faith—who had the same problem herself—could see past that.
She was huddled in a chair, wearing a grey woollen coat that looked like it was once part of her school uniform, and her eye makeup was running in black streaks down her face. ‘The money was good,’ she mumbled, her mouth sullen, like a child’s. ‘So why not?’
‘Because you’re under age, love. Can you explain what—’
‘How was I to know she was only fifteen?’
The interruption came from Kitty. She stepped into view and Faith was so relieved she must have made a movement. She might have thrown caution to the winds and gone to her cousin’s side, but Kitty saw her.
Her green eyes flared, and Faith saw shock and anger and concern, all rolled into one, and then she took a couple of paces to the side, taking the attention of the cop with her, and away from the door. Quickly Faith moved back again, out of sight, but not before she’d noted with relief that Kitty was fully dressed.
‘You could have asked her,’ the policeman was saying in a disbelieving voice.
Kitty put her hands on her hips. ‘Didn’t think I had to. I expect people to tell me the truth.’
He snorted.
Kitty ignored him. ‘Where have you taken Jared?’ She lit a cigarette, and Faith wondered if anyone else noticed her hands shaking. She hadn’t looked Faith’s way again.
‘Your boss is helping us by answering a few questions.’
‘I need him here to sort out this mess.’
‘The sooner you cooperate the sooner—’
‘Who’s your boss? Someone is going to be in big trouble over this, you know that? Jared has friends, important friends, and when they hear what’s happened tonight … Well, I wouldn’t want to be you. So why don’t you just go!’
The last word seemed to be aimed at her, and as Kitty obviously didn’t need her help, Faith decided to do just that. She shuffled away from the door. She was thinking about getting her coat as she turned to hurry down the stairs, planning her way out of here before anybody noticed her.
But there was someone standing behind her.
She gave a strangled gasp and almost fell. A hand fastened on her arm, steadying her. It was the tall man in the crumpled suit, the plainclothes detective. He put a finger to his lips to hush her, and then shot a glance over her head, into the room.
He was middle-aged—late forties or older—with deep, weary lines bracketing his mouth, and a hard-eyed stare. His face had a grey tinge to it, due to tiredness or ill-health, or maybe both. He listened to the questioning, but he didn’t seem to want to join in, and after a moment he reached out and shut the door with a firm click before turning back to her.
He was looking at her properly for the first time and whatever he saw seemed to startle him. He stiffened, shaggy brows coming down over his hazel eyes. Confused, Faith wondered what it was he was seeing, but before she could ask he’d shaken off whatever was troubling him and was speaking to her in a low, gravelly voice.
‘What are you doing up here? Who are you?’
‘Faith Taylor.’
She wondered in hindsight if she should have lied. Kitty would call her naive and stupid. But—she glanced at him sideways—she had a feeling he would have known at once if she hadn’t told him the truth.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I work in the Cocktail Lounge. I was downstairs when the cops … you arrived. I heard the commotion up here and wondered …’ Her voice trailed off.
His mouth quirked into what might have passed for a smile if his gaze wasn’t so humourless.
Behind the door there was a crash as something—or someone—went flying, and then more shouting erupted.
The detective gave a weary sigh, as if he had seen it all before. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking her arm again, and began to lead her down the stairs.
She tried to shake him off. ‘I need to go home. You’ve no reason to keep me. I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘You can go home in a moment, but I want to talk to you first.’
They’d reached the third-floor landing and he looked along the gloomy corridor with its single light bulb. ‘Is there somewhere here we can talk, Faith?’
‘Are you arresting me?’
He smiled properly this time, and his whole face changed, so that he looked much more approachable. ‘No, I’m not arresting you.’
Faith hesitated, but it was obvious she wasn’t going home until he’d had his talk to her, so she led him along the corridor to the first door.
It looked like Gaz used this room for his tinned food supplies, but it had also been a spot for some staff member to skiv off work, going by the overflowing ashtray on a table by the window. The detective walked over and pushed up the sash. The sounds of the street flooded in, along with the wet smell of the bay a few blocks away.
‘Sit down,’ he ordered, without looking at her.
There was a cheap moulded plastic chair opposite the table, so she sat in it. Just for a heartbeat Faith considered making a run for it, but there didn’t seem much point. She’d told him her name, and even if he couldn’t catch her, he’d find her. Besides, why should she run? She’d done nothing wrong. And then she remembered she was still seventeen and actually he could charge her with being in licensed premises and under age. Probably charge Kitty, too, for employing her.
Nervously, Faith clenched her hands in her lap and tried to compose her face into what she hoped was the same hard-as-nails expression her cousin had just been wearing.
He’d turned, his gaze flicking over her, and she saw a gleam in his eyes. Evidently her play-acting was amusing him. He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out some cigarettes, offering them to her. When Faith shook her head he lit one for himself, taking his time.
‘How long have you worked here?’ he said.
‘A while.’
‘Where did Jared find you?’
‘He didn’t find me anywhere. I needed a job and a friend suggested the Angel,’ she explained grudgingly.
‘A friend? Does that friend have a name?’
He couldn’t know that Kitty was her cousin, and she certainly wasn’t about to enlighten him.
‘What does it matter? You don’t know her.’
He’d been leaning back against the windowsill, narrowed eyes on her face, but as she spoke the last word he seemed to relax. As if she’d relieved his mind of some unease.
‘You obviously didn’t know what was going on up there, did you?’ he asked, with a jerk of his head towards the ceiling. ‘Don’t pretend you did. I saw your face.’
‘No. I didn’t.’
Her answer seemed to please him. ‘Right, well, there might come a time when they ask you if you want to earn some extra cash. If they do you’ll know what to expect. After tonight, do you think you’ll say yes?’
Faith shook her head jerkily. She felt sick at the thought, but she hardened her expression again, not wanting him to k
now how shocked she really was. Kitty had accused her of being an innocent little miss, and it seemed she was right.
‘You’re a clever girl, Faith. I bet you see things, hear things. You know what goes on here, don’t you?’
‘I do my job,’ she said woodenly.
He nodded, but he wasn’t really listening to her, he was working out what to say and she straight away understood what he was about. He was going to ask her for something, and he was working up to it by frightening her.
Faith relaxed a little. Whatever it was he wanted she would say no.
‘Some men like to be entertained with booze and drugs and women. They pay well for it. The people who run the Angel, they use Jared as a front because they’re criminals, Faith, underworld names you’ve probably never heard of, but they have their fingers in a lot of pies. There’s money to be made and where there’s money then there’s always the chance someone will get hurt.’
‘Hurt?’ She heard herself say it even though she didn’t want to. Curiosity again.
‘Killed. Hurt or killed,’ he said in a matter-of-fact way, but he was watching her, reading her conflicting emotions, drawing her in. By now Faith had forgotten all about pretending to be like Kitty.
‘Killed?’
He nodded. ‘There was a girl …’ He hesitated again, choosing his words. ‘She was young, like that girl upstairs, but her hair was fair. Like yours.’ The hazel eyes fixed on hers and she couldn’t look away. ‘She looked very much like you, Faith. When I saw you just now it was the first thing I thought. Melanie. That was her name. She worked in the Cocktail Lounge, too, but then Jared offered her more money to work upstairs. Serving drinks, he said. But it was more than that. She’d caught someone’s eye and this someone is an important man. He gets what he wants.’
