Am I Right or Am I Right?

by Barry Jonsberg

  I tell you, with this degree of thinking going on, it was a muddle-headed Calma who opened the door to greet Jason when he turned up at five-thirty.

  “Where do you want to go?” Jason asked, jingling the car keys in his hand and looking preternaturally spunky. “The world is our oyster. Provided we’re back by seven-thirty. There are highlights of the Premiership weekend fixtures and Liverpool kicked butt.”

  “Two hours to explore the oyster of the world and then back to watch soccer? Boy, you’re a real smooth operator, Jason. You could charm the birds out of the trees, you know?”

  His face fell.

  “We don’t have to watch football,” he said earnestly. “Not if you don’t fancy it.”

  I squeezed his arm.

  “I’m kidding,” I said. “I’d love to watch soccer with you. There are some pressing questions you can answer about gonads, the offside trap, and the role of flying snot.”

  Jason parked downtown and suggested we go to one of the cafés on the main strip. I suggested a walk. I had to get this done. I couldn’t sip hot chocolate and make small talk. My stomach was doing flips and they were getting worse the longer I delayed.

  I led Jason up Smith Street, a road running parallel to the main street. It was a good neighborhood. Expensive condos, with balconies and views over the city and ocean. Carefully tended palms arched over us as we walked. There was a chatter of lorikeets in a nearby tree. It was peaceful.

  Number thirty-seven was a block of apartments like the others, well-tended, with gleaming screen doors and taut awnings. I was dismayed to see the entrance to the apartments was through a locked gate—one that operated electronically, with an intercom. I didn’t want to buzz Mr. Collins. I wouldn’t know what to say. Can you let me in so I can insult you?

  As it turned out, my luck was in. Or out, depending on your viewpoint. A woman came down the steps of the apartment block and pointed a remote control at the gate, which slid noiselessly open on its tracks.

  I grabbed Jason’s hand and we ran the last twenty yards before the gate closed. If I’d thought about it, I’d have worried that Jason would be getting seriously bothered by my habit of running for no discernible reason.

  We managed to slip inside the gate with seconds to spare. Jason gave me an odd look. His cigarette had fallen out of his mouth and he glanced back at it, smoldering on the road, with longing and regret. I made a resolution that when this was done, I’d turn my attention to his unsavory addiction.

  “What’s going on, Calma?” he said.

  “Nothing,” I replied. “I just have to make a quick visit. Stand here. Don’t move. Watch me at all times.”

  The door to apartment five was on the ground floor, facing the gate. Convenient. Jason was clearly puzzled, but I didn’t allow him the opportunity to give me the third degree. Firming up my resolution, I marched to the door and knocked loudly.

  I am not ashamed to admit it. I was praying no one would be in.

  The door opened almost immediately and a man filled the available space. I opened my mouth to speak but forgot how you go about it. Nerves, probably. All I could manage was a strangled grunt.

  While I waited to see if my nervous system could resurrect the correct procedure for speech, I took the opportunity to examine him more closely. He was in his forties and his most distinguishable feature was long, wavy hair. It had probably been blond at some stage but now it was streaked with grey.

  The word is distinguished. He had a Richard Gere look—that old actor who still manages to give women over the age of fifty palpitations. The Fridge would probably have been putty in his hands, but I thought he was in desperate need of a haircut. If I got the opportunity, I’d recommend Allessandro’s. Tearing my gaze from his hair, I met his eyes. They were blue and weak and sitting too close to his nose. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could see cruelty swimming just beneath the surface.

  He was well dressed and had a fairly good physique. He gave the impression of having lifted weights, but in the past. Even so, he could probably blow me away with a sneeze. Suddenly, the presence of Jason behind me didn’t offer any comfort. It felt like I was confronting a charging rhinoceros with a koala for backup.

  There was something familiar about him too. Maybe it was the family resemblance to Vanessa. There was something about the set of his eyes and the way his nose turned up slightly. Plus he had freckles.

  All this observation took place in less than a second. I tried the mouth again and, to my surprise, it had finally reported for duty.

  “Mr. Collins?” I said.

  “Yes?”

  This was my chance to say something like, I was wondering if I could interest you in a time-share opportunity in a new building development on the Gaza Strip. But I didn’t take it.

  “I’m a friend of your daughter. Vanessa Aldrick.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “I know. It was you I wanted to see.”

  “What for?”

  “I wanted to tell you, Mr. Collins, that I know what you’ve been doing to Vanessa. And I’m telling you to stop it. She doesn’t know I’m here. She doesn’t even know I know about it. She kept it to herself. But I do know. And if you lay a finger on her ever again, then you will be sorry. Keep away from her, Mr. Collins.”

  I didn’t have a clue what would happen next. To be honest, I was so glad to get the speech off my chest, even if it was a crappy, weak-kneed speech, that I didn’t care too much. If he punched me, so be it. At least I’d had my say.

  He didn’t punch me, though. He stared at me. The feeling of familiarity grew. Something about his expression. He gave a tight smile. It was scarier than a punch.

  “Tell me, Calma,” he said finally. “What makes you think you can come to my house and make wild, reckless accusations? What gives you the right?”

  I straightened my back and kept my eyes fixed on his. I couldn’t let him see any weakness. Did he call me Calma?

  “I will not hesitate to call the police, Mr. Collins. Even without Vanessa’s knowledge or permission, I will notify the authorities.”

  The thin smile was still there, and when he spoke, it was with a terrifying softness.

  “Well, that should be interesting. You see, I am the police, Miss Harrison. I’m surprised you don’t remember me.”

  And that was the moment it all fell into place. The plainclothes officer in the interview room. The guy who was mentally undressing me while his colleague was off typing up my statement about the robbery at Crazi-Cheep. The realization clubbed me on the back of the head. It left me feeling sick, angry, and defeated. I stared blankly at him, only dimly aware of a woman’s voice coming from the depths of the apartment.

  “Mike? Who is it?”

  Vanessa’s dad turned to the side and I could see into the room behind. This whole experience had made me sick, but things suddenly took a turn for the worse. The Fridge walked out from a room and moved toward the front door, her expression changing from mild concern to shock as she recognized me.

  I turned and ran.

  See Calma run.

  Chapter 23

  Trying to move the Fridge

  I sat on the floor in front of the television, watching a program on the mating habits of the aesthetically challenged lesser spotted newt. The male of the species, despite its appearance, didn’t have problems attracting females. It cavorted around, waving disfigured limbs and inflating cheeks until it was touch-and-go whether its head would explode, and the females were falling over themselves, getting all hot and bothered and clearly thinking, Phwoar, what a stud! It’s a strange business, nature.

  Mind you, there were boys in my year who were similarly hideous yet also had no problem scoring.

  I was waiting for the Fridge to get home.

  Fact File

  Common name: The Fridge

  Scientific name: Rustus westinghousius

  Habitat: Not often found in domestic houses, despite its common name, the Rustus westinghousius is mo
st comfortable in undesirable places of employment, where it will remain for long periods of time, often to the detriment of its offspring. An elusive creature, it can occasionally be sighted during those infrequent moments when it rests.

  Mating habits: Mates once and then gives up the whole business as a bad job (see Baldus shortarsius). However, recent research indicates its libido can hibernate for years, springing back to life when placed in close proximity to a hairy slimeball.

  Appearance: Careworn, solid, given to dowdy outfits from cheap department stores, and in desperate need of a makeover.

  Toxicity: Can occasionally paralyze with one blow of its tongue at distances of up to twenty yards, but generally harmless.

  Status: Deeply worrying.

  Jason had come round, but I’d refused to answer the door.

  After the grisly appearance of the Fridge at the home of Vanessa’s father, I’d simply run. I couldn’t remember pushing past Jason at the gate. I can’t even remember how I’d got through the gate. Maybe I’d vaulted it. Maybe I’d run right through it, like they do in cartoons. All I could recollect was sitting at the side of a road, head in hands, lungs screaming for air. People walked past me like I was invisible.

  Eventually I got the bus home. I still didn’t have keys, but there was a window round the back that was slightly open and I wriggled in. Jason turned up half an hour later. I wasn’t ready to talk to him, though I knew he deserved an explanation. It would have to wait.

  The phone rang a couple of times and I heard the click of the answering machine. Eventually, in case it was the Fridge calling, I went and played back the messages. Two. Both from Jason. Both asking that I call him as soon as possible. I turned down the volume and went back to the living room. Waited.

  I was angry. I had plenty to be angry about. Nothing was working out at all. Everything was falling apart. And at the center of the chaos was the Fridge and Vanessa’s dad. The trouble was, I didn’t have much in the way of hard information. All I had were questions. What was going on between them? Was it romance? How could the Fridge, even with her tragic history of choosing the wrong guy, go for someone like that? And what if I was wrong about Vanessa’s dad? There was no evidence. Nothing, as the saying goes, that would stand up in a court of law. All I had were feelings. The sensation when I felt his eyes running over my body in the police station. The coldness when he looked at me outside the apartment. Scratches on his daughter that could have happened in a number of different ways but which felt wrong. The atmosphere of nervousness in Vanessa’s house, a chill history of repression and violence you could taste.

  Only feelings. But sometimes that’s enough. The feelings swirled in my head now, dark clouds building to a thunderhead. And one thought circled, again and again, splitting the brooding darkness like a flash of lightning. The Fridge had seen me at the apartment. She had seen me running. But that had been two hours ago. Didn’t I matter to her at all? By the time I heard tires on the driveway, the clunk of the car door closing, and the grate of her key in the lock, I was a tight ball of resentment. I didn’t get up. I stared at the television screen, though I’d long since stopped watching. There was an explosion bottled within and I knew the slightest thing would trigger it.

  I sensed the Fridge behind me but didn’t turn.

  “It’s about time we had a talk,” she said.

  I pressed a button on the remote and the screen blinked into darkness. There was silence. I got up from the floor and sat in a chair. I didn’t look at her. The Fridge slung a bag off her shoulder and sat down wearily in the chair opposite. She sighed and rubbed at her eyes with both knuckles. I could pick up a lot from the edges of my vision.

  “What’s going on, Calma?” she said eventually.

  “You tell me. I’m in the dark. Just where you want me to be.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I haven’t got time for stupidity.”

  The trigger had been squeezed. I stood up.

  “No, of course you haven’t,” I said. “You never have time. It’s in very short supply. Hey, if you’ve got somewhere to go, don’t let me keep you. I never have in the past.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did, Mum. You did.” I was pacing now. I needed movement. Energy sparked from me and I couldn’t control it. “It’s exactly what you mean. And I’m supposed to be grateful you can spare me a few precious moments. I’m your daughter, for Christ’s sake. Your daughter. What am I supposed to do? Make an appointment?”

  I couldn’t stop the tears pricking my eyes. I hated that. It made me angrier.

  “Calma, you’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. All right?”

  I kept pacing, but the Fridge was at the center of my vision. She seemed smaller somehow. Maybe it was the size of my anger that made her appear that way. I forced my tears to stop.

  “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” she continued. “Not until we’ve talked everything out. That’s a promise. I know I haven’t been around enough. I know I should have talked to you before. You deserve that. I’m sorry. All I can say is I’m sorry. Can we talk, Calma? Please?”

  I didn’t say anything as I paced. Apologies are so annoying. They chip away at your anger. I let the silence stretch. The Fridge leaned back in her chair and scratched at the palm of one hand, her eyes downcast. Little lines of worry were etched into her forehead.

  “I’ve been seeing Mike for about three weeks now. I wanted to tell you about it. I was going to tell you about it. Tonight, in fact.”

  I snorted.

  “It’s the truth,” she said.

  “Out of curiosity,” I said, “why didn’t you tell me before? I mean, it’s a fairly big deal, isn’t it? I’m assuming that when you say ‘seeing,’ you mean a romance. Yeah?”

  The Fridge didn’t reply and my stomach lurched at the tacit admission. I hurried on.

  “So what is it about me that meant you couldn’t say anything? Come on, Mum, I can handle it. What huge character flaw do I possess that makes it impossible to share important information with me?”

  She didn’t stop the palm scratching.

  “You’re not the easiest person in the world to talk to, Calma.”

  “I suppose I’m not. Talking requires people to share the same space. Or are you saying it’s difficult to be around me? Is that it? You can’t even bear to be in the same room as me?”

  She snapped her head up.

  “Of course not. I’m not saying this is your fault. It’s not. It’s mine. But at the same time, you’ve got to admit you make judgments quickly, and they’re not always nice or fair. I should have told you. But I wanted to find the right time. I’m sorry.”

  “Did you know he’s Vanessa’s father?”

  “No. I just found out. He told me he had a daughter, but he never mentioned her name. It didn’t come up.”

  “All right. Give me the sordid details. No, on second thought, just the bare bones. Where you met, how you met, where it’s heading.”

  The Fridge pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from her bag and lit one. She sucked the smoke into her lungs hungrily.

  “We met at the casino,” she said finally.

  “How romantic!”

  “Please,” she said. “You wanted to hear and I’ll tell you. But I could do without the sarcasm.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “There’s another reason I didn’t mention him to you,” she continued. “Mike is a police officer. You know that. He told me he interviewed you after the holdup at Crazi-Cheep. Well, he was at the casino for work. Now, you mustn’t say a word about this to anyone, Calma. You’ve got to promise me.”

  I gave a slight nod.

  “The police are investigating the casino. Money has gone missing and they suspect at least one of the employees has been siphoning it off. Trouble is, they didn’t know how and they didn’t know who. Mike was undercover, observing what was going on. He’d been watching me. A suspect, I suppose. Anyw
ay, it seems that after a while he knew I was in the clear. So he approached me, asked if I’d help with investigations, an inside line of inquiry. But I couldn’t tell anyone. They were all under suspicion. I’ve been passing stuff to the police through him and apparently they’re close to making arrests.”

  She got up, fetched an ashtray, and continued.

  “He made me swear I wouldn’t tell a soul until the investigation was wrapped up. I couldn’t tell you about him. But then something else happened. I’d meet him regularly, in secret, to give information. Neither of us intended it to happen, but…well, we discovered…feelings. We were developing…a relationship. We were trying to be professional, but it got to the stage where we had to admit how we felt. That was two weeks ago. I suppose I could have said something to you then—not about the investigation, but that there was someone in my life. I’m sorry I didn’t. I guess I thought it would be better to wait until the whole investigation was over before letting you know.”

  Not only was this the longest speech I had heard from the Fridge in years, but it was the longest silence I’d maintained in the same period of time. I didn’t know where to start. Slapping her round the face was the obvious option, but I restrained myself.

  “Tell me, Mum,” I said. “This ‘investigation’—does anyone else know about it? Apart from you and Sherlock, I mean.”

  “Of course not. Not at the casino. I told you—it’s a delicate operation.”

  “So the only way you know a dastardly crime has been committed is because Inspector Morse told you?”

  “I asked you to cut the sarcasm, Calma.”