by John Kelly
Melbourne: the same day
'I still don't know how you did it,' George Balwyn said to a relaxed Janet Ryan as they enjoyed a quiet drink in the mystery room after most of the staff had gone home. They had just received advice from Amanda Blackburn that she was returning to Hiroshima that day, and would travel across to the island of Miyajima and meet with Shigeko the following day. Amanda had been diligent in her emails to Janet, making sure she reported her every move. Janet, in turn, relayed proceedings to George who anxiously awaited a daily briefing.
'Tracking down old soldiers is not exactly my strong suit, George,' Janet answered, 'but what with army records, the RSL, and Google, pretty much anything is possible these days.'
'Not to mention some excellent work by Jimmy Bayswater,' George replied, and added, 'do you think Avers is after the same thing?' George asked.
'Who knows? Perhaps he is. Then again, perhaps our Mr. Avers is an altruistic fellow who simply wants to right a wrong, correct the record as he says, and leave it at that.'
'I didn't know such people still existed,' George mumbled.
'How is your father?' Janet asked.
'He's holding up,' George answered.
'He does understand why I was unable to attend Elaine's funeral, doesn't he?'
'Of course. Don't concern yourself about it.'
'It has all worked out one way or another, hasn't it?' Janet said.
'Yes, I would say so, one way or another. Derek Avers reputation will be restored; my father's journal together with Amanda's assignment should make for a best-seller. In all likelihood, Maclean and Patterson's efforts will come to no good. Nobody can say we haven't been completely fair and above board.'
As the two architects of an ambitious plan sat basking in their achievements, believing that good planning would always produce good results, Janet's mobile phone rang.
'Janet, it's Sarah Whelan at reception.'
'Yes Sarah.'
'I have a Mr. Quentin Avers her to see you. Are you here in the building or have you gone home?'
It was the last thing Janet wanted to hear. Quentin Avers had no idea Janet Ryan was the same woman he met three months ago at the book launch where she offered to help him clear his father's name.
'HERE! Jesus. Wait..er what does he want?'
'He asked for either you or Mr. Balwyn.'
'Hold on just a minute.'
Janet had turned white. 'It's him. He's here.'
'Who?'
'Avers. He wants to see either me or you. He can't see me. He thinks I'm someone else. He'll recognize me. Christ! That would blow us wide open.'
'Don't worry,' George replied, calm and relaxed. 'Tell Sarah I'll see him. Ask her to show him into my office.'
Janet quickly regained her composure.
'Sarah, Mr. Balwyn will see him. Would you take him up to George's office and ask him to wait? Mr. Balwyn will be there shortly. And don't say anything else to him.'
'Okay,' Sarah replied.
As Janet turned to George she could see his mind was working overtime. 'What the devil does he want?'
'Maybe he simply wants to chat about how things are going,' Janet suggested.
'Maybe, but he could have done that with you over the phone. Why come here and at this time of the day?'
'Do you want me to stay?' Janet asked.
'Yes, you'd better stay here. I'll go see what he wants and come back. Don't worry, he can't hurt us. Make yourself at home.'
As George made his way upstairs he scanned his brain trying to think of anything that had been overlooked. To the best of his knowledge there was nothing. And, he thought, even if there was, how bad could it be? Minutes later, he entered his office to greet Quentin Avers.
'Good evening, my name is George Balwyn, and you, I believe, are Quentin Avers,' he said boldly.
'Yes,' Avers replied standing up. 'Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.'
'No problem, I was just winding up one or two things downstairs. Can I offer you anything? A drink?'
'No thank you. I won't stay long,' Avers replied.
'Then how can I help you?'
'I think it's more a case of me helping you, Mr. Balwyn.'
'Oh! How so?' George asked, somewhat intrigued.
'I'll cut to the chase Mr. Balwyn, and let me say at the outset, you are not going to like what I have to say.'
George Balwyn, not used to being the target of threatening language of any kind, moved uncomfortably in his chair.
'As you know,' Quentin Avers began, 'some months ago, my father received a journal in the mail, written by a soldier serving with him in Japan in 1946. The author of the journal did not identify himself, but made certain allegations as to my father's integrity and morality. Before my father died, he shared some additional information with me about that journal.'
'Like what?' George asked.
'Like who wrote it for a start. Like what parts of it were true and what parts were, shall we say either an invention or a fabrication? Did you really think you could fool him?' Avers replied, studying George's reaction. There was none. 'My father was ill Mr. Balwyn, but his mind was sound.'
'I'm sorry to hear about your father,' George Balwyn conceded.
'Spare me your hollow sympathy,' Quentin replied tersely, and continued.
'As a result of matters referred to in the journal, I decided to do a little investigating of my own. After establishing a connection between the author and Balwyn, Lester and Merricks, I tried to think up a scheme to draw the two of us together.'
'What connection are you talking about?' George asked. 'Don't be coy with me, Mr. Balwyn. It doesn't suit you. Without too much trouble I tracked down one or two soldiers who were a part of the 67th Battalion; Len Patterson and Ronnie Maclean to be precise. The BCOF veterans are a closely knit group, but then I'm sure you already knew that.'
'Do continue,' George said, ignoring the opportunity to implicate himself.
'Each of the gentlemen I contacted had also received a copy of the journal.'
'Really?' George asked.
'Then, lo and behold,' Quentin Avers explained, 'I happened to attend a rather lavish book launch. It occurred to me that this might be a way of finding someone to correct the record; having an alternative version of the journal written, so I went along thinking I might even meet a publisher.'
'Did you?' George interrupted, not liking where the conversation was going.
'Yes. As it happened, I met your employee, Janet Ryan, although that is not the name she gave me at the time. Funny about that! She seemed so willing to help, and I had hardly told her why I had come. When she recommended Amanda Blackburn, I thought, why not? I was happy to go along with anything at that stage. So I made an approach to Amanda's supervisor. And this was where your little scheme fell over, Mr. Balwyn.'
'I've no idea what you are talking about,' George interrupted. 'Don't you. Well let me explain. I'm a phonetician, Mr. Balwyn. Do you know what that is?'
George was momentarily stunned.
'Don't worry I'll tell you,' Avers continued. 'I recognize voices Mr. Balwyn. I have a gift for it. I have been retained by the police on occasions to help them identify criminals by their voice. When I spoke to Janet Ryan over the phone, I realized it was the same person who recommended Amanda that evening at the book launch.'
'Well, good for you,' George said sarcastically, as he tried to regain the high ground.
'When I realized that Amanda Blackburn worked for the same organization as Janet Ryan, it suddenly dawned on me that I was being courted, or should I say, set-up. Imagine how I felt when I realized the very people whose attention I was trying to attract, were actually shadowing me? It convinced me that there was more to the story than I first thought. I decided to go along with it.'
'Mr. Avers, I don't know what you're after, but at the end of the day, I don't care. There has been no crime here; no one has suffered, indeed, if it all goes to plan everyone will come out in front, including you.'
'Is that all that matters to you?'
'What matters to me is producing a best seller, one that people will want to spend money to read. That's my bottom line,' George replied confidently.
'Never let the truth get in the way of a good story; is that the way it goes?' Avers asked.
'The truth is subjective, Mr. Avers. Your truth is not necessarily my truth,' George snapped back.
'The truth, Mr. Balwyn, is what you believe. When you no longer believe it, it is no longer truth.'
'Spare me your backyard psychology. Tell me something I care about,' George said.
'Really! And what about your father, Michael Balwyn? Do you care about him? Is he included in your bottom line?'
'My father has just lost his wife of nearly sixty years. Of course I care about him.'
'I'm glad to hear it. How much do you really know about your father, Mr. Balwyn? How would you feel if it became known that he was the primary cause of the deaths of many innocent Japanese civilians?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'I'm not surprised. Your father lost his memory didn't he?'
'My father was involved in a horrific train accident that could have killed him. It deprived him of his memory for decades.'
'Yes, and perhaps it was just as well, considering that he caused it.'
'What?'
'You heard me.'
'You'd better explain yourself Mr. Avers.'
'I will, but the bottom line Mr. Balwyn is that your father, in writing his journal, suffered a severe case of selective memory recall. Of everyone involved, you and your father are perhaps the only two people who don't seem to know what really happened.'
'Then perhaps you'd better tell me,' George said, banging his fist down onto the desk angrily.
Quentin Avers relished George's loss of poise.
'Could I suggest that if Janet Ryan is in the building, that she be invited to hear what I have to tell you? Let me assure you, Amanda Blackburn will learn the truth within the next twenty-four hours, and may or may not be sending an email with all the detail shortly afterward. Actually I'm not sure how Amanda will react when she discovers that you have deceived her; you and Janet Ryan. She's a smart lady. She may not want to have anymore to do with you.'
24.