The Other Side of Sorrow (9 page)

I wandered down the overgrown path and found a screened-in vegetable garden that told the same story—crude but solid carpentry, a considerable amount of earth moved, subtle touches.

‘What're you doing?'

I turned to see Tess on the verandah, shielding her eyes against the late afternoon sun. Her posture was tense, almost aggressive. I walked back, careful to avoid a rake that lay on the ground, teeth up.

‘I was getting out of your way while you were on the phone. Something bad?'

She nodded. ‘They're charging Ramsay as an accessory to unlawful death and opposing bail. I thought you said accessory charges didn't amount to anything.'

She was upset, looking for someone to blame. Lawyers are great at deflecting blame, I seem to have a knack for attracting it. ‘It depends. What does the lawyer say?'

‘He says he's working on it. Ramsay'll have to stay in custody tonight at least.'

‘It won't be so bad. He—'

‘Oh, he'll love it! He's been looking for it for ages. Martyrdom's just his style, the idiot.'

We went back into the house and Tess made coffee. It seemed to fit the new mood. She told me that her parents had died in a plane crash when Ramsay, who was ten years younger than her, was fifteen. She'd seen him through his adolescence, delaying her marriage to do so. Ramsay had spent the next few years as a part-time student of this and that, dropout, trainee at a variety of things and dole recipient.

‘Somehow, he just couldn't let go of me. Phillip, my husband, eventually got sick of it. I can't blame him. Ramsay'd turn up at just the wrong times. Stay too long. Cost too much. I don't know whether Phillip and I would've made a go of it anyway, but certainly not with Ramsay hanging on. He was a sort of catalyst for our breakup.'

‘Difficult,' I said, thinking:
spineless bludger.

‘This was our parents' house, where we grew up. I rented it out while I was married and moved back after the split. Phillip and I had a flat. That was sold and we divided the money. I had just enough to clear the mortgage on this place. Not enough to maintain it, really. Ramsay helped for a while, but he moved on, like always.'

So I'd read the signs wrongly. The teamwork had been between brother and sister, not husband and wife. I wasn't sure whether that was better or worse. It sounded as if Ramsay Hewitt had certain characteristics in common with Damien Talbot and that might explain their antagonism. That thought put me back on what was supposed to be my track, locating Megan French.

‘Tess, you've seen Megan French and Talbot together. What's the attraction? She seems to be a pretty smart kid and he's …'

‘I'm no psychologist. He's charming, persuasive.'

‘There must be more to it than that.'

‘Haven't you ever been attracted to someone who was wrong for you? I have.'

‘I suppose. But not that wrong.'

‘It'll be there in her background somewhere—some lack of love, abuse maybe. Some wildness. I don't know.'

‘And you've no idea where Talbot could have gone?'

She shook her head but I wasn't sure that she'd taken in the question. She was off on a path of her own. ‘No one in our family's ever been arrested,' she said. ‘I don't know anything about bail and things like that. Do we have bail bondsmen like they do in America? You know, like in
Midnight Run?'

‘No.'

‘How does it work?'

‘Someone usually guarantees the amount. Puts their assets on the line.'

‘Jesus. All I've got's the house. I can't lose the house.'

‘You're saying Ramsay'd jump bail on you? Surely not.'

‘There's no way to tell what Ramsay would do. It's not his fault, he was too young to lose his parents like that.'

I had my doubts on that score. Plenty of people took worse knocks and made out all right. And from what I'd seen Tess would have made a pretty fair substitute parent. Still, there's no knowing. I tried to tell her not worry and that the laying of the charge might be just a way to put pressure on her brother, to get him to steer the police to Talbot. And that if bail was required the amount wouldn't be too large.

‘How much?'

‘Tess, I don't know. Anyway, couldn't whoever's behind the protest put up the money?'

She was suddenly alert. She put down her coffee mug and turned on me. ‘What? Who?'

Wrong thing to say, Cliff
, I thought, but it was too late. ‘I was told that the Tadpole Creek protest has a backer of some kind. A supporter.'

‘Who told you that?'

I saw where this was heading but I had no escape route. ‘Someone from the security firm.'

‘What the hell are you doing talking to those Millennium bastards? God, I should have known it. You're a plant, a bloody spy. Ramsay was right.'

I tried to tell her that the Millennium people had come to me, not the other way around, and that I wasn't a spy or anything like it.

She shook her head, stood up, and her body went tight as if she was setting up a physical defence against me. ‘I don't believe you. Ramsay might get a lot of things wrong, but he's got an instinct about people. He knows his enemies and he reckoned you were one.'

I was getting angry. I'd already made my judgement about Ramsay and he was right—I wasn't sympathetic, but not for the reasons he imagined. ‘He's wrong this time.'

‘I think you'd better go.'

I knew what was coming next and I was dreading it. An agitated, near-hysterical message from Cyn was on the answering machine when I reached home. She'd got the news on the radio and television and the name of one of the people the police were looking for had hit her hard. I had a shower, pulled on an old tracksuit, poured a stiff Scotch, drank half of it and called her number.

‘Cyn, this is Cliff.'

‘Where the hell have you been? Out screwing some low-life slut I suppose.
Go
!'

The old Cyn. The old complaint, scarcely ever justified. That ‘Go' puzzled me, though.

‘I've been working. What does “go” mean?'

‘Not you. Never mind. Hang on.'

I heard sounds on the line—voices, a door, but couldn't make anything of it. Cyn was away for at least ten minutes and she went straight on the attack when she got back on the line. I stood it for a while and then threatened to hang up if she didn't stop.

‘Don't hang up. You didn't give me all the facts, did you? You didn't tell me this Talbot was a serious criminal no-hoper.'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘Why the hell not? Trying to spare me I suppose.'

‘Yes.'

‘Fuck you, Cliff. When someone's dying you don't have to spare them. They're facing the worst thing there is, the end of everything. When you've faced up to that, you can face up to anything else. Are you too stupid to understand that?'

I finished the drink and immediately wanted more. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘You're sorry. Fat lot of good that is. Where
have
you been?'

‘I've been with the sister of the leader of the Tadpole Creek protest. She was there and saw some things and heard others. There's a good chance Megan wasn't …'

‘Wasn't what? And don't try to bloody spare me.'

‘Wasn't involved directly in the death and was taken against her will.'

‘Okay, okay. Just a minute. I have to take a pill. Stay there.'

I nearly tore a knee ligament bolting for the bottle, the glass and the ice cube tray. I was drink in hand when she got back on the line after what seemed like a long time.

‘I've still got some money, Cliff. I can hire lawyers. Oh, what about that friend of yours? Cy …'

‘Cy's dead. He was murdered.'

‘Oh, God. The life you lead.'

‘We don't need to talk about lawyers yet. This isn't a Patty Hearst situation. Megan's not …'

‘She's on the run and being named on radio and television. She must be frantic. We
have
to do something.'

I improvised. ‘I'm going to look for her. Talbot's possibly left a bit of a trail. Maybe I can track him.'

‘You don't sound very sure. Why aren't you doing it now then?'

‘Cyn, I'm human. I'm tired. I …'

I was cut off by a heavy knock at the front door. ‘What?'

‘Sorry, there's someone at the door.'

‘Thank God. Let him in, Cliff. That's all we need to say for now.'

She hung up and I sat there with my drink in one hand and the receiver in the other without the faintest idea of what was going on.

‘Hello, Mr Hardy. I'm Geoffrey Samuels. It sounds a bit silly to say this, but my mother sent me.'

The porch light is dim and he was standing back a bit so it took a few beats for me to recognise him. I hope my jaw didn't drop too far. I shook the hand he held out and registered almost nothing except that he was about the same height as me.

‘She said you'd recognise me from your surveillance.'

‘Geoffrey. Yes. Right. Well you'd better come in.'

It was starting to make sense. Cyn had despatched him as soon as I'd answered the phone. He'd made good time from Crows Nest, but why? He eased past me and went down the hall to the sitting room. He had a long, loose build in boots, jeans and a leather jacket. The shoulder-length hair was dark and tangled. I caught the glint of an earring. Athletic stride. I padded along after him, feeling at a decided disadvantage in bare feet, tracksuit and with a glass of whisky in my hand.

‘Have a seat. What's this about, Geoffrey?'

He gave the room a neutral glance, sat and pulled out a packet of tobacco and papers. ‘D'you mind?'

I shook my head and put an ashtray near him. ‘Would you like a drink?'

‘No thanks. I don't drink much.'

Well, I don't smoke,
I thought.
So we're even.
He made the cigarette expertly and I caught the faint whiff of marijuana as he lit up.

‘Does your mother know you smoke dope?'

‘Yes. She tried it herself for the pain and to relax her but she didn't take to it. Pity.'

I sat down and took some whisky for the relaxing effect. ‘I suppose Cyn's told you what I'm doing for her?'

He nodded. ‘At first I thought it was crazy. Then she told me what you've found out and it didn't sound so crazy.'

‘I haven't found out much. I still don't know whether Megan's your sister.'

‘Your daughter, you mean. That is, as well.'

I shrugged.

‘You don't think so?' He took a deep drag, held it and let the smoke out slowly.
Cough and you'll ruin the effect
, I thought, but he didn't.

‘I just don't know. It seems possible but there could be some other explanation. The birth dates don't quite match.'

‘One day.'

He was impressively on top of his brief and handling himself well. He took another drag, pinched out the butt and put it away in his pocket. I finished the drink, thought about another and decided against.

‘I still don't understand what you're doing here.' He drew a deep breath and tossed his head to get some of the long, lank hair out of his eyes. ‘Mum wants me to work with you on this.'

‘I don't think so.'

‘She insists.'

‘She can't insist.'

Suddenly, despite the good articulation, ease with dope and general self-assurance he looked very young. ‘She's going to die, Mr Hardy.'

‘I know.'

‘I can't say no to her. I suspended from uni today as soon as she asked me to do this. She says you used to say that you could get through things quicker and better if only you had reliable help.'

‘
I
said that?'

‘Yeah. When you were married.'

‘How long have you known about that?'

‘Oh, we knew she'd been married before. So had Dad. But I guess we weren't interested in the details. It didn't seem to matter. I only found out who you were and all that today.'

I decided that I didn't want to give the kid the wrong impression, so I reached for the Scotch bottle and gave myself a refill. ‘Look, if I said that, I was lying. Cyn didn't like what I did for a living and looking back I don't blame her. I wasn't around when she needed me. I would've said that just as an excuse.'

‘It doesn't matter. She reckons you're going to need help with this if you're going to find … Megan before Mum dies.'

‘I don't understand. I thought … months …'

He shook his head and the hair flopped down, concealing his eyes, but I knew he was close to tears. ‘Latest report,' he said. ‘Weeks. Maybe days.'

I made coffee. He went to the toilet and the bathroom and had re-gained his composure when he returned. I spiked my coffee and invited him to relight his joint. He did. He was taking in a lot more of his surroundings now—books, tatty carpet, worn furniture, good fax and answering machine.

‘You and Mum lived here?' he said after drinking some of his coffee.

‘A long time ago.'

‘It's a good house. Must be worth a bit.'

‘It wasn't then.'

‘No, I suppose not.'

‘A freeway was supposed to go through it. That's how we got it cheap.'

He nodded. The idea of a freeway going through Glebe must have seemed bizarre to him. How he felt, with his father dead and his mother on the way out, about the past I'd shared with her, was hard to judge. He finished his joint and the coffee and put the roach in his pocket. He was slumped, tired. My wallet was in the jacket hanging over the post at the foot of the stairs. I took Cyn's cheque out and waved it.

‘I haven't even banked your mother's cheque.'

He sat up. ‘You're not going to pull out?'

‘No, I'm just making a point. I don't let clients dictate to me.'