Lugarno ch-24

by Peter Corris

  Her movements were forceful rather than graceful, but she attacked the bends and hammered down the straights with a determination that impressed me. Even more impressive was her disregard for the safety of others. She caused at least two spills and it slowly dawned on me that this was, at least partly, the name of the game. Fainter hearts soon left the track to Danni and five others who seemed bent on being the last one rolling. In their pants, T-shirts and helmets it was hard to tell males from females and it didn’t matter because no quarter was asked or given.

  The two lovers sneaked past me and I hardly noticed because I was drawn into the drama on the track. The skateboarders kept slamming away regardless but a small audience had formed for the knockout derby. Danni disposed of another competitor with a shoulder bump, narrowly avoided a swooping charge and saw the charger sail off the track to crash into something hard that hurt. It was down to two now — Danni and a tall, skinny boy with a wispy chin beard. They did a few laps side by side as if feeling each other out. Then the boy made his move, drifting up the track to make a downward swoop with one arm swinging. Danni sailed on below him seemingly unheedful but, as he made his descent she jumped forward, cocked her left leg back and tripped him. He went sprawling on his hands and knees ahead of her, she jumped again, cleared him and sailed on with her clenched fists held high.

  It was a fine, fearless, ruthless display. The audience cheered and I almost felt like doing the same.

  13

  Danni and a couple of the others did a few more laps with fancy flourishes and then retreated to the shadows for drinks and a smoke. Tailor-mades. I left the balcony; the kid at the desk was flicking through a surfing magazine now as well as listening to his headphones and keeping an eye on the TV. Multi-skilled.

  I got into my car and wound the windows down. The morning was warm but a coolish breeze from somewhere was helping. Where do you go after you’ve creamed someone on the rollerblade track? The pub, a video game arcade, the movies? I had no idea. Danni came into view with two other young women. They were walking and carrying their blades and skateboards. They seemed a little old and affluent for what they were doing but they were having fun. A car load of youths went by and whistled. Danni gave them the finger.

  Danni took the parking ticket she’d received from the windscreen, shoved it into her backpack without a glance, and was away. She drove like her stepmother, fast and well. Her head swayed and I guessed they were listening to music on what was probably a six-disc CD player. (The Falcon’s radio works but the cassette player had admitted defeat some time back.) The direction was south-east through Bexley and Carlton down to Ramsgate on Botany Bay. Not hard to see why — the foreshore park featured paths that could have been designed for skateboarding. Slightly cambered, they swept through landscaped gardens giving clear views of the water at high points and not too much of the industrial mess.

  Danni and her mates hopped onto their skateboards and sped away. I climbed a rise and watched idly as they swept around a bend. Danni was just as good on the skateboard as the roller-blades, with the same vigorous, hard-hitting style. She went at it strongly, doing all the dangerous-looking tricks you see the kids doing around the streets. She jumped and span, flipped and twirled. After a while she broke away from the other two, expertly foot-slapped the board up, grabbed it and walked to a point where she could look out at the water. The other two seemed to know to leave her be. I watched while she stood very straight, almost rigid, gazing out to the east. Then her shoulders shook and her head dropped. After a while she pulled herself together and turned back towards the path.

  She rejoined her mates and they headed back towards the car with me following at a safe distance. Then she stopped and reached into her backpack and pulled out a mobile phone. She held it to her ear for a short time then dropped it back in the bag. I was closer now and tried to read her expression. She was certainly thoughtful, possibly quietly pleased but trying to hide it. Or perhaps confused. She shook her head and looked up at the sky. She re-joined her companions and shrugged at their questions. She skated hard and fast back to the car.

  I hung back until it was safe to circle around to the Falcon. Then we were back on the road again heading along the coast to Brighton-le-Sands. I was very puzzled. I’d seen a strong, apparently healthy athletic young woman at play. Admittedly she was aggressive and went at things full tilt, but she didn’t have any of the furtiveness associated with some kinds of drug-users, nor the hectic, manic activity common to some others. She appeared to react with vigour to a challenge, to good news with joy. She seemed to me to be physically and emotionally in good shape.

  The Honda pulled in near a pub along The Grand Parade and the three women settled down at a table in a glassed-in area where it was easy to watch them from the bar. I ordered a beer and was drinking again earlier in the day than I’d intended — the game’s hard on the liver as many have found. Danni and her mates lit up and ordered what looked like rum and Cokes. The first round disappeared like a shower of rain in the desert and the second went down almost as quickly. They were on their third drink and hoeing into crisps before I’d finished my middy. Danni was hectic. She was motor-mouthing and waving her hands about, but it was just the alcohol fuelling her. There was no slipping off to the toilet, no nose-rubbing.

  I couldn’t see any point in sticking around. The only danger Danni appeared to be in that morning was getting picked up from DUI and that wasn’t my problem. I decided I’d have to have another talk to Price, because his image of his daughter didn’t stack up against what I’d seen. But maybe she was a different person at night or under a full moon. I drove to Darlinghurst to check on the office and consider my next move towards finding Ramsay Hewitt. I’d decided to ring Tess and bring her up-to-date. Maybe the information Prue Bonham had given me would be enough to satisfy her. I hoped so. Ramsay was old enough to take care of himself, and if he’d decided to finance a law degree by being a gigolo he probably wasn’t the first man to do it and good luck to him as far as I was concerned.

  I played the messages. Tess, repeating what she’d said on the home phone and keen for news. The next message spluttered angrily on the tape.

  ‘Hardy! Where the fuck are you? I’ve been trying to get you on the mobile for an hour or more and it’s not fucking working. You said you might be watching Danni this morning, didn’t you? I hope to Christ you were. Ring me at home as soon as you get this!’

  I could account for the dead mobile easily enough — flat batteries. I was always forgetting to recharge the thing, probably because I hated it so much. Price’s voice was urgent but still I tossed up whether to call Tess first. I didn’t like being ordered around like that, especially as I was beginning to have my doubts about Price’s grip on things. Still he was paying, so I made the call.

  ‘Mr Price? This is Hardy.’

  ‘Hardy. About time. Where the fuck’ve you been?’

  ‘Knock it off,’ I said. ‘That line won’t get you anywhere with me. What’s going on?’

  ‘What’s going on? My wife’s dead! That’s what’s going on.’

  He said it as though it was my fault, but I let that pass. Grief and stress distort everything. I said I was sorry and asked where, how and when in as consolatory tone as I could muster.

  The anger went out of his voice and he said in what was almost a whimper, ‘An overdose of some kind. It must’ve happened between when I left for work and when the emergency service got the call about two hours ago.’

  ‘Who called?’

  ‘They don’t know. Someone found her in the house and called but they didn’t give a name and they didn’t stick around. Jesus, I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Is there anyone with you? Are the police there?’

  ‘They’ve just gone. No, I’m alone.’

  ‘Is there anyone you can get over?’

  ‘No, I don’t fucking need anyone. I rang Danni and told her what had happened and she said she’d be home soon. Where is she?’
<
br />   ‘What?’

  ‘You said you would find Danni today.’

  ‘I watched her for most of the morning.’

  ‘So where is she now?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Are you that dumb? Sammy died of a drug overdose, Jason’s dead, and the cops’re sniffing around Danni. What conclusions are they going to draw?’

  ‘Look, Mr Price, this is all a bit hard over the phone. I think we’d better talk face to face. There’s all sorts of things that don’t add up here.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about your adding up. Where’s Danni?’

  ‘I last saw her in a pub in Brighton-le-Sands drinking with some friends. This is after getting some news on her mobile.’

  As soon as I said it I realised what had happened and what the impact on Price was likely to be. The silence on the other end of the line confirmed my assessment. I heard him draw in a deep breath and expel it and realised that he was smoking again. Little wonder.

  ‘You’re not telling me she was celebrating?’

  ‘She wasn’t grief-stricken.’

  ‘Who’d have a family? I should have stayed in the army and rooted whores and looked after number one.’

  I could have told him a few things about men who did that but I suspect that he already knew them. Price was smoking and I wished I had a drink — it was that kind of situation. He took what I guessed was another deep drag and then I heard a different noise and he started coughing and I realised he was drinking as well as smoking. He coughed hard and then his voice cut in strongly.

  ‘All right, Hardy. This is a fucking mess and it might spell an end to my business, but I still want to protect Danni. She’s my flesh and blood and that makes a difference. I want you to find her.’

  ‘How? Why?’

  ‘Fuck me! Why? To get her out of the country. How? That’s what you blokes do all the time, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, but usually with something to go on. All you’ve told me is where she lives and where she skates. That’s it. I doubt she’s still at the pub and you said you didn’t know any of her friends. You’ve tried her mobile again?’

  ‘Of course. It’s switched off or out of range. God, friends. I don’t know…’

  ‘She was with two young blonde women today. Sisters or twins.’

  ‘Wait on, I know them. They are twins. Shit, I can’t think.’

  ‘That’s not surprising after what’s happened. Look, chances are she’ll come home soon. Why don’t you hang around, have another drink and get yourself together. You’re going to have to do a lot of unpleasant things. And make all sorts of arrangements. Sit tight. If she doesn’t show up try to remember anything you can about the twins. It looked to me as if they were planning to stick together for a bit.’

  His voice was bitter. He sounded as if he could swing from sorrow to anger to almost any other state within seconds. ‘To celebrate. All right, Hardy, that’s good advice. I’ll do as you say. I’ll give her till five and if she doesn’t show up I’ll ring you. What number?’

  ‘I can’t say. You’ve got all three. I’ll get the mobile recharged.’

  He hung up and I settled back in my chair. I wondered if he knew about Dr Feelgood. I wondered if he knew Danni and Sammy had been competitors for Jason Jorgensen’s affections. Did he know that his daughter behaved more like a daredevil on wheels than a druggie? I hadn’t told him about the secondment of the female detective to the Jorgensen case and what that might imply. I figured he didn’t need any more bad news just then.

  It was early in the afternoon and I’d missed lunch. I didn’t want any but on the way back from getting the mobile from the car I bought a large black coffee, put two spills of sugar in it and made do with that. I drank the coffee slowly and felt it pick me up gradually the way it does. Not for the first time I thought there might be something to this emailing. I’d have far rather tapped out a note about Ramsay and his doings and waited for Tess’s written response than talk about it. I had no idea of her university schedule but I rang her anyway and got the machine. An easy out. I left a message that said I’d learned certain things and would tell her when I could but that I was also busy on another matter.

  I updated my notes and my diagrams without getting any flashes of insight into either case. I tidied some files. I emptied the w.p.b. A couple of faxes arrived and I replied to them. Likewise with three phone calls. Hilde Parker invited me to dinner a week ahead and I said I’d let her know. We’re old, old friends who have never been lovers although we came close. She married Frank Parker, once my main man in the police force.

  ‘You sound tense, Cliff,’ she said.

  ‘Busy.’

  ‘Make it if you can. Peter wants to ask you something about surfing.’

  I plugged the mobile charger into the mains and made the connection. I killed time. At five o’clock sharp, just as I was expecting the phone to ring, Price walked through the door I usually leave open.

  ‘I couldn’t stay at home any longer so I thought I’d… No sign of Danni and the mobile still doesn’t answer.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Sit down. How are you?’

  He lit a cigarette. I could smell liquor on the smoke he expelled but he seemed sober enough. ‘Ratshit.’

  ‘Did you have any thoughts about the twins?’

  ‘Yeah. It came to me just before I left. Gretel and Anna Larson. Danish.’

  ‘Where do they live?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ve got a phone number. Danni scribbled it down on the telephone book one time and I remembered it being there.’

  He read the number off the palm of his hand and I wrote it down. Price didn’t strike me as the sort of man who’d normally write numbers on his hand but I had to make allowances for circumstances. He was smoking pretty furiously, obviously shaken to the core. His colour was bad and he couldn’t keep still.

  ‘So what’ll you do?’

  ‘If the name’s not in the book I can crosscheck phone numbers and addresses. One of the tricks of the trade. What’s wrong?’

  Price had jumped from his chair and was pacing the small space there was to pace in. He stopped, looked around for an ashtray and I slid the w.p.b. towards him with my foot. He bent and stubbed the cigarette out. ‘I… I didn’t tell you everything when we first spoke.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. The police are treating Sammy’s death as suspicious.’

  “They always do that with overdoses.’

  He lit another Camel and blew smoke impatiently in my direction. ‘No. This is to do with the phone call that alerted the emergency service. Someone was in the house. Someone…’

  ‘Take it easy.’

  ‘They always suspect the partner, don’t they?’

  I nodded. ‘It’s generally a safe bet, but you’re in the clear. You were at work.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, God help me, I wasn’t. I was at Junie’s.’

  14

  Price dropped his cigarette on the floor and hid his face in his hands. I came around the desk, retrieved the cigarette and stubbed it out. I wanted to comfort him in some way but didn’t know how. I touched him briefly on the shoulder and went back behind the desk. He was wearing an expensive suit like the ones I’d seen him in before, but now his tie was slipped down, the lapels of the jacket were wrinkled from its being thrown somewhere and there was something spilled on the front — at a guess, cigarette ash and whisky. His thick, dark hair was awry; he was one of those men with sinister dark-blue beard shadows, like Richard Nixon, and he was well overdue for his second shave of the day. He looked a mess.

  I tried a firm but friendly tone. ‘Marty, you need to go home, swim in your pool, eat something, have another couple of drinks and get some sleep.’

  That was a slip — how was I to know he had a pool? But pool owners don’t usually object to people assuming they have them and, anyway, he wasn’t listening.

  ‘I don’t want to get her involved.’

  With adulterers,
as I know from personal experience, a statement like that can be code for, I don’t want to be found out. But that didn’t seem to fit Price’s case just now. I made a gesture intended to be sympathetic. ‘The police will want to question her to confirm your whereabouts,’ I said. ‘All being well, it shouldn’t go any further than that. Have you made a statement?’

  He looked sullen and in his dishevelled state that gave him an aggressive, threatening appearance that wouldn’t go down well with the cops. ‘Not yet, but they said I’d have to make one. It’s obvious you don’t know who Junie is.’

  I was wavering in my reaction to my troubled client — between respect, sympathy and dislike. ‘No, Mr Price,’ I said, ‘I don’t. Should I?’

  ‘She’s Jade Delaney’s sister.’

  I switched off from music round about Dire Straits and couldn’t tell the Spice Girls from Bardot, although I know the names. Jade Delaney was something different again. The media billed her as a cross between Joni Mitchell and Janis Joplin, both of whom I’d liked, so I’d taken the trouble to listen when she came on the radio and had even seen a video clip once. She was a tall blonde with white hair and a long jaw that was almost misshapen but wasn’t. Stick-thin in black leather, she was erotic, anorexic, neurotic-looking, an assemblage of jangled nerve images that compelled you to look at her. All that combined with a voice that threatened to cause your head to explode and part you from your senses. I could see the similarity to Junie — the pallor and the face structure, the huge eyes.