by Robin Storey
She met my gaze. ‘This is going to cost you money. And time.’
‘Yes.’
‘I still don’t know why you’re doing this.’
‘It’s a refreshing change for me. I’m quite enjoying being a private investigator.’
It was true. Right now, looking for Jacob was proving much more exciting than financial spreadsheets, filing papers for court and interpreting bankruptcy law. But that wasn’t the only reason. Or even the main reason. While my head was telling me this relationship, platonic though it was, would lead me into unknown and probably dangerous territory, the rest of me wanted to hurtle on regardless. I was incapable of stopping.
‘And you do this for all your pro bono clients?’
‘What can I say? I’m a generous guy.’
‘I guess I can’t argue with that.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Gotta go. I’ll work on my boss to get some time off. It’s going to be tough though; he’s one hell of a mean bastard.’
‘Use your feminine wiles. I know it’s not politically correct, but desperate times call for desperate measures.’
We parted ways at the entrance of the resort. ‘Where are you off to now?’ I asked her.
‘To the pub.’ She grinned. ‘Seeing as I haven’t got long to live, I’m partying hard.’
Chapter 10
‘SO, WILLIAM, how are things in the bankruptcy world?’ Vera Longhurst yelled in my ear above the din of conversation and music in the private function room of the Grand Chancellor Hotel.
‘Booming!’ I yelled back. ‘Lots of people going broke, so there’s lots of business.’
She nodded in that vacant way people do when they haven’t listened to a word you’ve said. ‘Nick’s doing very well, isn’t he? Fancy getting the opportunity to work in the International Court in The Hague! Such a step up for his career. And Stephanie getting that scholarship to the United States! That’s all your mother could talk about when she picked me up from the airport. I must go and find some more of those darling little pastries.’
She swept off in a cloud of perfume. I downed my beer. I was well used to people, including my parents and Mum’s cousin Vera, trumpeting the achievements of my older brother and younger sister over mine. It had hurt for a long time until I decided I was too mature to let it worry me. Most of the time.
Uncle Howard squeezed my shoulder as he passed. ‘How are you going, young Will? Your mother’s looking fantastic, isn’t she?’’
I looked over at Mum, holding court to a bevy of well-coiffured, bejewelled women and boozy, hearty men. This was her party, the occasion of her 60th birthday; and even from a son’s point of view, she looked pretty good. She worked hard to maintain her slimness and her face didn’t have that hard, cynical edge I saw in a lot of her friends. Dad was beside her, ostensibly joining in the conversation; but his hawk-like eyes constantly scanned the room to see if there was anyone of influence he should be talking to.
Someone shoved another beer at me. ‘How’s it going, bro?’
Steph was beside me, looking glamorous in a cocktail dress with her blonde hair in a French knot.
‘Better now I’ve got another beer, thanks. I suppose Dad’s going to give another one of his speeches, addressing us all as if we’re members of the jury.’
Steph grinned. ‘Guilty as charged. You haven’t forgotten dinner at the olds’ on Tuesday night?’
‘Is it next Tuesday?’
She punched me.
‘Of course I’m coming. Wouldn’t miss a last chance to have a couple of bourbons with you.’
‘And you’re coming to the airport on Wednesday morning?’
‘You bet. Got to make sure you actually get on the plane.’
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out. ‘Frankie’ was lit up on the screen. Steph peered over my shoulder. ‘Who’s Frankie? Have you turned gay on us?’
‘It’s a woman. ‘Scuse me, I have to take this.’
‘Hang on, Frankie, I’ll just get out of the noise,’ I said, as I pushed my way through the crowd and out the glass doors onto the terrace.
‘Am I interrupting something?’ Frankie asked.
‘It’s my mother’s 60th birthday. But I’ve got time to talk.’
‘I’ve got three days off work, from Wednesday to Friday next week. That’s the only time the boss would give me because he’s got someone who can cover me for those days.’
Damn. It wasn’t a good time – I’d miss seeing Steph off on Wednesday and I had a court appearance on Thursday for a client. But what the hell, I didn’t want her to lose her job.
‘That’s fine. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll organise it.’
#
I told Louis I had to take some urgent holiday leave for family reasons. His brow rumpled.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘My sister’s leaving next week for a couple of years in the States and my mother’s not taking it very well.’ It was too lame, even though it was the truth, so I added, ‘and to make matters worse, my father’s just had a heart attack.’
It could easily happen, I told myself, to ease the niggle of guilt in my gut. He was a sitting duck – overweight, no exercise and a workaholic. Even in his down time as Head of Law at the University of Sydney, he was doing research and writing academic papers.
It was obvious Louis was irritated about the disruption this would cause but trying not to show it in the name of compassion. ‘All right, brief Jared on what you’ve got happening next week. It will be a good opportunity to see what he’s made of.’
Jared was our graduate law student, who’d only been with the company a few months. I briefed him on my main project, an upcoming court case involving a large construction firm, which had been declared bankrupt. The firm was owned by two brothers of Italian descent; each was accusing the other of financial mismanagement. I’d secretly nicknamed them The Bankruptcy Brothers; and at a recent meeting with them in my office, I’d had to step in to avert a brawl. I always seemed to end up with the cases that involved family disputes.
‘My advice is don’t let them get a word in edgeways,’ I told Jared. ‘Compared to their antics, court will be a no-brainer.’
As I was due to do my gig on Friday night at The Three Monkeys, I phoned Sarah and cancelled for that night just in case we weren’t back in time. There were plenty of performers who could fill in for me.
‘Where are you off to?’ Sarah asked.
‘Er – just to the Central Coast. With a friend.’
Which was true. Although Frankie probably wouldn’t call me a friend.
‘It’s about time you had a holiday. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, all relaxed and with a tan.’
Somehow I doubted that.
#
I steeled myself for the inquisition at the family dinner. We were seated around the dining room table – my parents, Nick and his wife Jaclyn, Steph and me – and were just about to tuck into our Atlantic salmon and asparagus salad when my father fixed me with his formidable gaze.
‘And you couldn’t put your holiday off for just a couple of hours to see your sister off at the airport?’
I could have, but Frankie and I wanted to get an early start in the morning – we had to make maximum use of the time we had. Anyway, I hate airport goodbyes – all the waiting around, everyone trying to better each other at travel disaster stories, and trying not to cry. But whatever I said would be inadequate.
‘You’re going away with Frankie, aren’t you?’ Steph asked.
My mother raised a well-manicured brow. ‘Who’s Frankie?
‘Just a friend I’m helping out.’
Nick smirked. ‘That’s a new name for it. Back in my day we called it a dirty weekend.’
‘Bonus points if it’s during the week,’ he added.
Jaclyn giggled dutifully as she picked at her meal. She was four months pregnant with their first child, not that you could tell, and she was determined not to put on an ounce more than
necessary.
I gave Nick my ‘you’re-so-lame’ look, which he ignored as usual. At thirty-four, his belly was already thickening and with the same shaggy hair and features as Dad, it was easy to see exactly what he would be like in thirty years’ time.
‘What did you think of the Anderson case in London?’ Dad asked Nick, changing the conversation to something more stimulating than my supposed love life.
After dessert, I went into the kitchen to help Mum make the coffee.
‘I’m glad you’ve got a girlfriend, dear,’ she said, as she poured boiling water into the plunger. ‘I was very concerned about you after Angelique left you. You took it very hard. I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I never did like her. She was very charming, but there was something not quite genuine about her. I thought you could do better.’
My relationships report card – Will tries hard with women but could do better.
‘You’ll have to bring Frankie over for dinner one night.’
I suppressed a smile. Frankie with her skinny jeans, heavy make-up and every second word being ‘fuck’. And ducking outside every half hour for a cigarette. It would be almost worth it to see the expression on my father’s face.
‘She’s just a friend, Mum, there’s nothing between us.’
She gave me one of her ‘you-can’t-fool-me, I’m-your-mother’ smiles and handed me a tray of coffee mugs.
#
As I pulled up in my garage, I heard my phone signal a text message. I waited until I was inside before opening it. Unknown number. ‘Stay away from Eddie’s missus pretty boy or I’ll come after you and you won’t look so pretty.’
I was tired and had intended to go straight to bed. Instead I made myself another coffee and sat on the front deck. It wasn’t just the sea breeze that chilled me to my core. How did this anonymous piece of shit know of my contact with Frankie? Perhaps she was right after all and Eddie had organised for one of his so-called mates to follow her, which had led them to me. Was there someone following me as well? Or tapping my phone? All my contact with Frankie had been on my mobile phone. I knew it was possible to tap a mobile phone, but it required a level of technical expertise that I doubted a run-of-the-mill thug would have access to.
I was wide awake when I eventually went to bed, all those questions still churning in my mind. I couldn’t cancel the trip to Gosford now – Frankie was relying on me to help her and I couldn’t let her down. I wouldn’t have time to report the message to the police before we left in the morning, although how much they could find out was questionable. If the sender had even a modicum of sense, the phone they used to send the message would have been purchased under a false name and discarded as soon as it was used.
The other possibility was that the message was a bluff, on the assumption it would be enough to scare me off without having to ‘come after me’. But even if it wasn’t a bluff and someone did follow us, what could they do? Shoot us in broad daylight?
I resolved to be extra vigilant for both Frankie and myself, and make sure we didn’t leave ourselves vulnerable to attack.
Chapter 11
AT 7 AM, I pulled up in a loading bay a couple of blocks away from Central Station and texted Frankie to tell her where I was. Already the sun was breaking through the cloud and was hovering on the brink of a shiny spring day. I hoped it would lift my mood – I was wrung out after my disturbed night’s sleep and early morning. I gulped down the coffee I’d bought on the way from the drive-through at McDonald’s. The passenger door was wrenched open and a figure in jeans, bright patchwork coat and boots jumped in. She hauled in her overnight bag and threw it onto the back seat.
‘The bloody train was late,’ Frankie said. ‘And then this guy came and sat next to me, reeking of booze. Just what you need at 6 am.’
She wriggled out of her coat and clicked on her seatbelt. ‘Swanky car. Don’t think I’ve ever ridden in an Audi.’
‘The boozy guy. Did he get off at Central too?’
‘Nope, he went to sleep. Why?’
‘Just hoping he didn’t hassle you.’
‘Bullshit, you thought he might be following me, didn’t you? Now who’s getting antsy?’
‘It must be catching,’ I said, trying to keep a casual tone. I’d decided not to tell her about the text message – I didn’t want to make her any more frightened than she already was. And she might cease all contact with me, something I definitely didn’t want.
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ she said. ‘I got off at Canterbury and walked towards the exit then just as the train was about to take off again, I made a run for it and jumped back on. The door almost closed on top of me; so if anyone was following me, they wouldn’t have had time to get back on.’
‘Good work,’ I said. ‘Your talents are wasted - you should be in the MI5.’
‘Yeah. In another life it could have been fun.’
As I pulled out into the traffic, she turned around and threw her coat onto the back seat, next to her overnight bag and my guitar in its case.
‘You play the guitar?’ she asked.
‘I thought we could have a singalong after dinner, just to relieve the boredom.’
She looked at me as if not quite sure if I was serious. ‘I’ll just watch telly, thanks.’
She slumped down in her seat and stared out the window. ‘What’s that music you’re playing?’
‘Amy Winehouse. You don’t like it?’
‘It’s too sad. I hate sad music.’
I fast-forwarded on my iPod to Red Hot Chili Peppers, figuring that would be more her taste. When we reached the Pacific Motorway, I put my foot down and we flew past a kaleidoscope of green fields, farmhouses and sheep, as pretty as an illustration in a child’s picture book.
‘So, how did you persuade your tyrant of a boss to give you three days off?’ I asked.
‘I said I had to have a minor operation.’
‘He was okay with that?
‘I gave him a medical certificate. We need one if we have more than one day off.’
‘How did you persuade your doctor to give you that?’
‘I didn’t, it was forged.’
‘Shit, Frankie what did you do that for? What happens if you get caught?’
‘Chill out! I had to. It was the only way I could get time off. And I didn’t write it, a friend did. Well, not really a friend, just someone I know.’
‘That makes no difference ¬– you’re still guilty of fraud.’
‘I know that! But I won’t get caught; he barely even looked at it. And anyway, the end justifies the means.’
Her lips twitched with a self-satisfied smile. I refrained from replying. The strains of The Cure’s ‘Friday I’m In Love’ rang out, and Frankie dug into her handbag and pulled out her phone.
‘Hi babe.’
After a couple of minutes she said, ‘Yeah, fine.’ She glanced at me. ‘Just about to leave for work. How are you, anyway?’
A pause. ‘I gotta work this weekend, so I can’t come out. But next weekend I will, I promise.’
Another silence. ‘I’m fine, honest, babe. Don’t worry about me.’ She gave a stilted laugh. ‘Of course I’m not going out – I’m so tired when I get home from work I’m falling asleep in my dinner.’
Then softly, ‘Love you too. Talk to you soon.’
She put her phone back in her bag.
‘How often does he phone you?’ I asked.
‘When he’s allowed to. Depends which screws are on duty.’
‘So how did you two meet?’
‘On the dodgem cars at the Royal Easter Show. He kept ramming my car and pretending it was an accident but it was so obvious it wasn’t. When we’d finished the ride, I walked away and he came running after me with some fairy floss. So it just kind of went from there.’
‘The old sweeten-her-up-with-fairy-floss trick. How long have you been together?’
I remembered too late that in court David Levenson had said they’d been to
gether for seven years.
‘I was eighteen when we met, so seven years – on and off.’
‘Anyway,’ she added belligerently, ‘what business is it of yours?’
‘None whatsoever. I promise I won’t ask any more questions.’’
Frankie rummaged in her handbag, took out an iPod, stuck the earplugs in her ear and stared out the window again. I got the message and didn’t initiate any further conversation. In any case, I was preoccupied with checking the rear view mirror to see if we were being followed. If we were, they were too far back for me to notice.
#
We arrived at Gosford at 8.30 am. We were both ready for breakfast by then, so I stopped at a bakery and bought us both a coffee and croissant. There was a chemist next door, and on impulse I went in and bought a packet of face wipes. When I got back into the car, I handed them to Frankie.
‘You’ll have to take your make-up off. You look far too healthy.’
‘But I look crap without make-up!’
‘You’re supposed to look crap – you’re terminally ill, remember?’
She sighed heavily and tore open the packet, took out a wipe and rubbed it over her face. She surveyed herself in the passenger mirror. ‘I’ve left a bit of eye make-up on. It looks better – more of a contrast.’
She turned her face to me. She was right. The eyeliner she’d left on emphasised her pale, wan complexion. Her lips looked colourless without their usual iridescent lipstick, but they were full and perfectly shaped. Without her make-up, she looked defenceless – I felt as if I were seeing the real Frankie, that I could look inside her and see her soul. I sensed she felt it too as she turned her head away, slid her croissant out of the paper bag and began munching.
I demolished my breakfast as I drove along the busy streets, which every now and then flashed a teasing glimpse of the shimmering turquoise ocean. The dulcet directions of my GPS led us to the Northwoods State Secondary College. It was bedlam – cars and buses banked up and packs of students swarming everywhere. I found a car park a couple of blocks down the road and turned off the engine.
‘This is the plan,’ I said. ‘We’re going up to the administration centre and hopefully Amanda, the woman I talked to on the phone, will be there. And let’s hope the principal won’t be hovering around. I’ll do all the talking, and your job is to say nothing and look as if you’re on death’s doorstep.’
