One Night (24 page)

‘And was it?’

A flat stare. ‘You could say.’

Elva Spears murmured, ‘That poor
girl. No wonder she was so upset on Friday.’

‘I was right,’ I commented. ‘She
found out all about you, didn’t she? Good reason to get rid of her.’

He gave me a long look. ‘Maybe. But
not on Saturday. Not then. I needed her. If you have a brain, you’ll see that.’
He waited a moment but when I didn’t react, he continued: ‘I left the cottage
at that point. I went up to the old house and the cellar to get my money.’

I remembered the torn parcel on the
floor of the cellar under the derelict house. I had to concur with this statement.
‘I saw the packets on the floor.’

‘Yes. Well, in volume like that,
it’s hard to count at a glance.’

‘You were going to short pay them?’

He grinned suddenly. For a moment
his pale face looked goblin-like, incredibly ugly. ‘You’re not slow, baby shoes,
I’ll give you that.’ He shook his head. ‘The point is that when I came back to
the cottage, Mona was gone. And my car was gone.’

Elva was staring at him. Her eyes
had never left his face from the moment he’d entered the room. She said, ‘Mona
would never have left without Sticky.’

‘Well, that was the point. She
hadn’t left. But I didn’t know that. I could only make assumptions, right?’

We stared at him in silence.

He went on, ‘I couldn’t figure it
out. Because she’d left the dog behind. I thought maybe the car had been stolen
and she’d gone to look for me. So I went to look for her.
Christ
, I
looked for her! Phoned a hundred times. No answer on her cell. I went all over
the place, back into the woods, up again to the old house thinking she may have
gone up there and I had missed her somehow. Then I came back to get
her
car and lo and behold – you’re there with your bloody car parked behind hers.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know you
were there? Why didn’t you say something?’

‘That’s the stupid part. Maybe I
should have. But you know – I just couldn’t face you with your prissy little
face pointing at me with all sorts of accusation and criticism. Just couldn’t
face it. I thought maybe everything was a plot against me. That she’d left the
dog with you and taken her opportunity to bugger off. I took my money and began
to walk. Decided bus and train without questions was preferable.’

‘I’m sorry I have such effect.’

‘With those eyes you could flay a
man at forty paces.’ There was, somewhere in his dispassionate face, a vestige
of respect.

‘Thanks for the vote of
confidence.’

‘Get on with it!’ Elva’s voice was
at breaking point.

‘So I took the road. And there’s my
bloody car with its bonnet in the air sitting on the side of the road! And you
know what?’ He was almost gloating. ‘I thought:
serve her right
. What do
you call that? Poetic justice!’

‘Oh!’ said Elva, in a sort of
shout. She put her hand over her heart. ‘Oh, my goodness!’

‘None of this is sounding very good
to me,’ I began. But he went on as if I hadn’t spoken: ‘I went down to Wally’s
place. I knew he was good with cars and it was just about outside his gate. It
took us a while to get it to his place where we tinkered around for ages.
Eventually – it was pretty late – I went back to the cottage to see if Mona had
returned. And then I saw Max and Ron arriving – and I just wasn’t in the mood
for all that. And I saw you – in the shed.’ He paused then, his eyes searching
the room as though there was something else he should see, and maybe the answer
lay here in a quiet little suburban flat filled with pictures and ornaments; all
the poignant reminders of a life taken violently in the midst of living. His
expression held something I couldn’t quite read: regret, sorrow perhaps. A
touch of distaste that was not quite horror.

Elva and I were silent, both shaken
by old visions freshly brought to mind.

Brent said: ‘So I decided to
scarper. I could see how things looked – how they would look to you. I went
upstairs to look for your car keys. Then you came in. I heard you grabbing
stuff and running out – and suddenly I realized that taking your car and
running was hardly the right thing. I needed to explain to you before you went
and blabbed your mouth off. I needed to stop you and get things straight.’

I found my voice. ‘It’s a good
story, Brent. It could fly.’

His look was pure frustration. ‘It
does
fly. Because I saw Matthew Bunting in the woods while I was up at the old
house. I knew full well it was him. In fact, I debated calling the police – but
they were hardly the visitors I wanted at that point. I followed him for some
way to make sure he wasn’t looking to ferret around in my stuff. Then I lost
him and I let it go.’

I went rigid in the chair. ‘You
saw
Matthew?’

‘Yes. And the police believe me
even if you don’t. Matthew had apparently taken pictures of Mona – had dozens
of her up on his wall. He had stolen her underwear off the line. He had been
around our place and left fingerprints at windows. He was stalking her, waiting
for an opportunity when she was alone. Maybe he saw me in the woods first – ’
he shrugged ‘ – who knows? But he’s the person I saw in the area on the
afternoon Mona was killed.’

‘But there’s no-one to corroborate
your sighting.’

‘I don’t give a fuck what you
think, princess. That’s what happened – and all the evidence points to that.’

Elva began to weep quietly into a
tissue. Brent and I sat staring at one another. The air bristled with
animosity. The afternoon sun had slid and the light had a metallic dullness to
it, a threat of darkness in the middle of the day.

At last he said, ‘I’m not going
down for murder.’

‘You phoned my office and left
threatening messages.’

He didn’t deny this. ‘Just keeping
you in line, sweetheart.’

‘Even if you didn’t murder Mona,’ I
challenged. “You would turn to violence without compunction. You attacked me. You’re
no better than Matthew Bunting.’

He held out his large, ghost-white
hands. ‘I have a bit of a temper, I’ll admit. And
you
, darlin’, have a
way of bringing it out.’

‘You’re despicable.’

‘Maybe,’ he said without a trace of
remorse. ‘But right here, right now, I’ve told you the truth. I did not kill
Mona.’

I left Elva’s flat shortly after Brent, giving him hopefully enough time to
disappear. Elva had recovered herself soon after he’d gone. I could see she
wanted desperately to believe him, and I didn’t want to upset her by expressing
my doubt. I think she was as relieved to see me go as I was to get away.

‘Here,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Take
this.’ She shoved a book at me.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s Mona’s doodle diary. Things
about school and teenage stuff – you know – pictures of film stars and lots of
little pictures that she drew. You feature a lot and I thought it would be
something you might like to keep.’

I was looking at a scrapbook of
drawings and pasted pictures. Scribbled poems and comments surrounded sketches
like an uneven map of an unknown country. It was a book that reflected the
artistic, spontaneous side to Mona we rarely saw. There was grace and form to
her drawings of animals and people. Lots of faces – mostly hers and school
friends. I featured prominently with wide, doll-like eyes. On one page, over
and over, she had begun the drawing of a man’s face and then stopped. Just lines
and smudges. No more than a ghost of a shape. Each one had a number underneath.
I looked closer and saw it was a date. A different date for each attempt at the
drawing.

I looked up at Elva. ‘Are you sure
you want to give me this?’

‘It’s mostly about you and her.
Your school years and such. And I’ve got enough.’ Her dark eyes were penetrating.
‘More than enough.’

I took the bus. It was not yet evening but shadows were lengthening. Being
Sunday, traffic was quiet but there were still plenty of people about. The
light had a glow about it as I marched up my road. Outside one of the houses on
the opposite side of the road a girl was repacking a suitcase which had fallen
open. A young man and an older woman were watching her. It made me think that anywhere,
at any time, private drama was unfolding.

I entered the foyer. I was relieved
to see a woman standing in Mr Corbett’s open doorway, talking to him. Although
I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I’d been nervous all the way home.

‘You working overtime?’ I called
cheerily.

They both turned to me and I
recognized Thelma Clark from my floor.

‘Oh, Casey. There you are. Are you
having a problem with rain leaking in under the windows?’

‘Not that I’ve noticed. But I’ll
have a look if you like.’

‘My whole north window is rotting
where water is coming in. I’m just complaining to poor Mr Corbett.’

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ Corbett
said, smiling. ‘I’d get bored if someone didn’t come and complain.’

‘Can’t have that,’ I said. ‘I’ll
see if I can rustle something up.’

‘You’re a cheeky one and no
mistake.’ His eyes twinkled.

Thelma Clark and I rode up in the lift.
She was a tall woman with old red hair turning white, and a doughy, pasty skin.
Her eyes were colourless as silver. She said, ‘Your dog’s been barking.’

My heart sank. Poor Sticky. He
hadn’t been out all day. This was getting bad. Not to say unfair. Soon my
mother would be talking about me giving him to somebody who had more space and
time for a dog. And she wouldn’t be wrong.

‘I’m sorry. He needs a walk. I’ll
take him now. That’ll settle him.’

‘I think it was because of the
young man who was looking for you.’

I felt as though the breath had
plugged tight in my throat. ‘What did he look like?’

‘Tall, dark. Nice-looking. Gave me
a lovely smile.’ She gave an oddly harsh laugh.

‘Did he leave his name?’

‘No. I told him you were out and I
didn’t know what time you’d be back.’

‘Oh, I see. Thank you.’ I looked
away. Then I couldn’t help myself. ‘What time was this?’

‘Well, I can’t be exact. But it was
about an hour ago.’

‘Did you see him leave?’

She looked nonplussed. ‘I’m sure he
left. Why wouldn’t he leave?’

‘I mean, you didn’t see him hanging
about again?’

Her look was shrewd. ‘Is he someone
you’re trying to avoid?’

‘Perhaps,’ I said reluctantly. ‘I
would say so.’

She considered this a moment, then
said, ‘As a matter of fact, I did see him again. He was in the café down the
road. Didn’t really think anything of it. That was about twenty minutes ago.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, feeling
suddenly weighted down, as though my clothes were too heavy.

‘If you have any trouble,’ Thelma
said sharply. ‘You know you can call on me.’

‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’

‘No, I mean it,’ she insisted with
vigour. ‘I may not look it but I’m an excellent shot.’

I gawped at her. ‘You have a gun?’

‘A shotgun.’ Her look was
triumphant. ‘I can take the head off a pigeon at fifty paces.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, unnerved. ‘I’m
sure that will be very useful.’

Sticky, of course, was keen for action. Cloud had pulled up from the west and
it was darkening. His eyes held mine: hopeful, a little recriminatory. I
debated. My stomach tightened at the thought of the walk to the park, the quiet
that would have fallen among the trees and along pathways. The light failing.

I couldn’t do it. Sticky would have
to wait until morning. I paced. No –
damn it
– why should I give in to
that man’s threats? If I let him frighten me now, it would be forever.

‘Wait, Sticks! I’ll be back!’ I
raced downstairs.

‘Well, I’m not staying long,’ said
Mr Corbett. ‘I just wanted to get some papers straight before tomorrow.
Ship-shape like. Only way to work.’

‘I’ll be about forty minutes,’ I
said.

I was trying to be calm but Mr
Corbett was a wise man. He could read my suppressed mix of anxiety and
embarrassment at having to ask.

‘Tell you what,’ he said at length.
‘If you give me ten minutes to finish up, I’ll come with you. Could do with a
walk and bit of fresh air.’

‘Mr Corbett! Thank you.’

‘Ten minutes, mind. I’m not hanging
about.’

On the way to the park, Mr Corbett told me his life story. I listened with half
an ear, keeping a wary eye out for Todd Pennington. I knew a line had been
crossed. His view that I may have orchestrated his freedom for my own dark
purposes was horrific. The idea of him thinking I had some sort of interest in
him sent a shiver down my spine.

It was gaining dusk as we entered
the park. Mr Corbett and I strolled like an old married couple while Sticky
spent a happy twenty minutes in the greenery.

At some point Mr Corbett turned to
me and said: ‘Are you sure you can manage a dog like that in your apartment?’

‘Oh, yes. He’s usually no problem.’

‘Little unfair, don’t you think?
Alone all day.’

I nodded. ‘Well, I suppose I have
to think of something better for him at some stage.’

‘We’re not all that happy about
dogs in the complex, but the Board understood your circumstances. You know –
with what happened to your friend and all.’

Apartment. Complex.
Circumstances.

The concierge was sounding very
grand. I wondered if he had used the walk as an opportunity to put forward some
unpleasant points. Before I could answer, he said: ‘My wife will take him
during the day, if you like.’

I stopped. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Do him good. He’ll have some
company and we’ve got a small garden for him to lie about in if he likes.’

‘Mr Corbett, you’re my knight in
shining armour!’

‘You’ll still have to walk him,
mind.’

‘Of course, of course!’