Inconsolable

by Ainslie Paton

  “Foley, hello. Heard you went home crook yesterday. Should you be here?” Roger really was the nicest man. But the fact he’d hired Gabriella made Foley feel like slapping him every time she saw him.

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  Roger pulled the door shut behind him and closed her in. Seems she was staying.

  “I’ve seen the papers.” He sat. “He’s mentally ill, this man. I assume the police know that? Is this harassment? Do we know if this is not a case of rounding up the likely suspects?”

  “The paper reports the victim named him,” said Hugh.

  “And we know how fallible they are,” said Roger. “With respect for the victim, if you get any sense that this poor fellow is being set up for this, I want to know.”

  “Foley can tell you all about the man,” Gabriella said, slow loris like, secreting her poison, licking her talons. She smiled at Roger as if he were cake with frosting. Roger smiled back.

  If Foley had eaten anything she’d have barfed up on them both. Roger shifted his focus to her. She sat. “He, ah. He.”

  “Go on, you’ve been close to him,” said Gabriella. “You know about his mental state.”

  Foley shot her a look at the implication that was so awkward it made her mouth go dry. “I. Ah. He’s complicated.”

  “But mentally ill,” Roger queried. “Disabled in some way? I wondered if he was a veteran maybe, but I spoke to Nathan Rosen. He said, no, they checked with the Armed Forces.”

  That was news to her, but he’d never seemed like a military man. “He’s intelligent. Had a good education. Went to university in London. Speaks at least two languages. He was some kind of businessman I think. He’s compassionate. Funny. Keeps himself clean, he’s incredibly healthy. He meditates. He doesn’t take welfare. He does odd jobs for cash. He reads.” She stopped because her voice warbled on reads, she’d been going to say classics, and Hugh was looking at her strangely.

  “You do know him, well.” Roger said, choosing the descriptor carefully.

  “It was Foley’s job to get him to abandon the cave,” Gabriella waved a hand as if that was of no consequence. “I guess we’re lucky she has such a good insight.”

  “But he’s still living in the cave, isn’t he?” said Roger.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” said Gabriella.

  “Yeees,” said Hugh and his mouth flatlined in annoyance. An expression Foley hoped Gabriella had not yet learned to mark. “But after the second petition and the sculpture walk, there was no further incentive to move him on.”

  “Well, that’s not the whole truth,” said Gabriella. “It’s just that it may have reignited the issue, what with the action group and Walter Lam being so passionate and vocal.”

  “Oh that bloody Lam character and his cooked-up action plan.” Roger made his chair rock. “I’m grateful you’ve kept him out of my hair, Hugh.”

  Gabriella was the one who needed to be grateful Hugh had kept it from Roger that Walter was council’s own Frankenstein.

  “Right so, what do we know about the victim? She’s not a local is she?”

  “Not a local, a casual staff member of one of the catering firms supplying the sculpture walk,” said Hugh.

  “Is there any liability for us here?”

  Hugh shook his head. “No, but legal are briefed.”

  “What are we saying to the media?” said Roger.

  “Nothing,” said Hugh, overly loudly, but to cut across whatever Gabriella was about to say. She pouted. He went on, “There’s no reason for us to have a voice in this. It’s a police matter.”

  Roger acknowledged that. “What are we doing about that damn cave?”

  “We’ll clean it out and board it up,” said Hugh. He looked to Foley. He didn’t need permission, but he wanted her agreement. She nodded. She should’ve done her job more effectively to begin with and maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

  Roger stood. “What’s our position if, when they charge him?” He looked at Hugh, so Hugh answered.

  “Still a police matter.”

  He looked at Foley. “Do you think he did it?”

  She felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Goodness me, Foley, you look dreadful. You shouldn’t be here.” Roger went to the sideboard and poured a glass of water, Hugh and Gabriella stared at her, distrust in Gabriella’s eyes, concern in Hugh’s. Roger brought the water over. “I shouldn’t have asked you that question.”

  She took the glass but didn’t drink. She had to say it, if she said it, it would be real. Everyone was still looking expectantly at her. “I think. I think—”

  “Oh, he had to have done it. They have pretty damning evidence,” said Gabriella. “The victim is the one who deserves our support.”

  Roger didn’t smile at Gabriella this time. “Foley?”

  “I think it’s possible. He’s not a violent man. Apart from his attachment to the cave he doesn’t present as unstable. But he’s hiding from something so I.” She couldn’t say it. Gabriella was likely right, and Drum was guilty about something, but if she said it, she was giving away all hope. She put the glass to her lips and Roger put his hand on her shoulder, a gentle touch, something like her dad would do.

  “I’d like us to be right on top of this. Go home, Foley, get some rest.”

  “I’m fine, really. I’d like to go hang out at the station, if that’s okay.”

  “Not your job,” said Gabriella.

  “Good idea,” said Roger. He looked at Hugh. “Keep me informed.” Then he made for the door.

  Gabriella stood. “Media is not her job.” She looked at Hugh.

  “I think Roger just made it her job for today,” he said.

  “No, no.” Gabriella went for the door. “I’ll go talk to him. He’ll want my view.”

  “Gab, if he wanted your view he’d ask for it.”

  “You don’t understand, Roger and I—” She dead-stopped, frowning.

  “Go on,” said Hugh. “What about you and Roger?”

  “He and I, well, he, um.” Foley had never seen Gabriella so lacking in composure. “It’s personal.”

  “It’d better not be personal and if it is I’d better know about it,” Hugh growled. He tapped the tabletop for emphasis.

  Foley sat very still. If they wanted to forget she was alive that was all right by her.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “You think we’re having a thing, an office romance.”

  “Nope. I think you think you can have a thing with Roger. I think you want people to think you are. I know he’s much married, moral and daddied up to his eyeballs. Go do your job, Gabriella.”

  Gabriella made a noise of complaint and slammed the door behind her. Hugh made a face.

  “I think that was a flounce,” said Foley. “Yep, I’m sure it was.”

  Hugh put his head down on the table and thumped it once. “I went too far. I’ll have to apologise.”

  “Damn.”

  He lifted his head. “You go do your job too. You got exactly what you wanted. Go look after your caveman.”

  Foley knew a serious instruction from Hugh when she heard it. She knew he was embarrassed he’d argued like that with Gabriella in public and betrayed his own feelings about her. She gulped the water and made for the door.

  “Foley.”

  She turned back. Hugh had stayed seated but swivelled his chair around to face her. “It’s not your fault.”

  She ducked her head. “I know.” But it sure felt like it, and Hugh had no idea how compromised she was.

  He shook his head. “Yeah, like I know for sure Roger wouldn’t with Gab.”

  “He wouldn’t.” It was a horrible thought. She opened the door.

  Hugh palmed his head. “We think we know people. We only know what they let us know.”

  “He wouldn’t,” she repeated. She meant Roger, she meant Drum, because she still couldn’t believe Drum w
ould attack a woman, and it wasn’t because she’d kissed him like her continued living depended on it, it wasn’t because he didn’t resist her accusation, it was because she’d put her faith in him and she didn’t do that easily.

  “I know it’s not my fault but it feels like it is. I don’t think he did it, Hugh. I’ll hang with Nat. I’ll keep you up to date.”

  She scooted past her desk and noted Adro’s PC wasn’t on, which meant he was missing too. Hopefully sick though that was a nasty thought, but better than thinking he was out interviewing again. He’d missed out on the Opera House job, but he was determined to leave.

  She avoided eye contact with Gabriella and went out to her car. It wouldn’t start. It had character building hail dents in the bonnet and an anxiety inducing flat battery. She got the guys from maintenance to give her a push and clutch started it, then drove the long way to the station to give the engine a chance to build a charge.

  She pulled up as the media pack outside the station came to life, rushing the police car that drove into the adjacent car park. Foley got out and stood at the back of all the movement. She couldn’t see Nat. Two policemen escorted a woman towards the station doors. They tried to shelter her from shouted questions, microphones and cameras stuck in her face, but she stopped and faced the pack.

  A journalist shouted, “Alison, what happened?”

  Foley stepped forward to listen. This was the woman Drum attacked. She was mid twenties, heavy-set and carried herself with an air of importance. She was dressed in brightly coloured, ill-fitting clothing, too lightweight for the weather. There was a lot of skin on display. Her hair was a tangle of snarls in a never brushed fashion that’d never been fashionable, and one arm was covered in silver bangles from wrist almost to her elbow. But it didn’t matter what she looked like, or what she said now, no woman deserved to be attacked.

  “The caveman assaulted me. It was unprovoked. He’s a danger to every woman, anyone who uses Marks Park,” she said.

  Questions flew. “Where did it happen?”

  “What time did it happen?”

  “Why were you in the park?”

  “Are you sure about who attacked you?” That was Nat.

  Alison’s answers were drowned out by other shouts. The whole thing took less than two minutes before the police ushered her inside the station.

  Foley made her way to Nat, but before she got close another cop car pulled in. The media pack converged on that car as well. Another two cops got out, but there had to be more going on. Foley moved so she could see around a TV camera crew.

  Drum got out of the car and the shouting started again. He ignored it. He was taller than both cops. He didn’t slouch or hunch into himself, he didn’t seem to see the crowd of media jostling for his attention, but he saw her. Their eyes locked, the connection so powerful, it almost pulled her forward, before he dropped his gaze, and let the cops clear a way to the door.

  The moment left Foley shaken, the next moment rocked her further. A journalist shoved a handheld recorder in her face. “Who are you?”

  A hand pushed it aside. “My flatmate.” Nat to the rescue.

  The guy focused on Foley. “You know him? The attacker, the accused.”

  “Fuck off, Toby,” said Nat.

  Toby gave Nat the finger. “Where do you know him from? Did he do it? How do you know him?”

  Nat got in Toby’s face. “Fuck off and die.”

  “What’s it to you? You trying to keep a source to yourself, Nat. That’s not collegial.”

  “She’s my flatmate and friend and she has nothing to do with this.”

  “What’s your name, honey?”

  That woke Foley up. “It’s not honey, that’s for sure.” The TV crew was leaving, so were most of the radio folk.

  “Look, he’s a dirty scumbag rapist. He should be strung up for what he did. You saw Alison, did she deserve to be attacked? If you know something about him, it’s a public service to talk. I saw the way he looked at you. If you won’t talk to me, at least talk to the cops.”

  Foley looked at Nat who said, “Did you bring my lunch?” She blinked in confusion then caught on.

  “Yeah,” she patted her bag. “That you left at home.” She turned to Toby. “I’m just here to give Nat her lunch.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. That wasn’t about leftovers for lunch.” He transferred his attention to Nat. “The way to get out of a suburban newspaper is to make contacts at a metro. You’re not helping yourself, sweetheart.”

  Toby laughed as he walked away and Nat fumed. “Could’ve told me you were coming.”

  “Would you have rolled out a different welcome wagon?”

  “I’d have had a better explanation for why you were here. Wish you did bring me a sandwich.”

  “I’m here for council.”

  “Oh.” Nat was placated. “I thought you were here for you.”

  Foley shook her head. “Official business.” By the skin of her teeth.

  Nat tapped her on the head with her notepad. “Well, you need to officially stop looking at the accused as if you’d die for him, unless you want to become the news.”

  Foley sighed. “It was shock seeing him, that’s all. What happens now?”

  “They’ll question both of them.” Nat looked across at the remaining media pack milling about. “If they can make a conviction stick they’ll charge him. Don’t look so gutted, it’s not over yet.”

  “Your mate Toby has Drum in a jail cell already.”

  Nat grunted with annoyance. “Would you want him to blame the victim?”

  “No, no. But Roger wants to know the police aren’t harassing a homeless man.”

  “You need to tell Roger Drum’s lack of an address doesn’t make him innocent. You’re too close to this. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Nat.”

  “I’ve got to go.” She pointed at a bench outside the station. “If you have to be here, sit there and don’t talk to anyone. Pretend you’re a blind, deaf mute.”

  Foley sat, she nurtured her hunger and her anxiety and watched Nat work, making and taking phone calls. Neither of them had lunch, though Nat probably could’ve eaten. She phoned an update to Gabriella’s voicemail, left another message for Hugh, kept up with work email on her phone.

  People with everyday business in the station went in and out the sliding glass doors with curious over the shoulder glances at the waiting media. Foley didn’t leave the bench seat. She didn’t talk to anyone. She especially avoided Toby. And she prepared herself for the worst by hoping for the best.

  24: Word Against Word

  Checking Toshber’s teeth was a reflex. A useful distraction from the doubt and horror Drum had seen in Foley’s eyes during that frantic, loud moment when they brought him inside the station. Coming to watch his downfall was fitting, but that didn’t match the expression on her face. She didn’t look triumphant. He’d felt her fear and shock as if they were a physical force, a king hit. It almost stuck him to the spot. He knew he had to keep a lid on how it distressed him, so he checked Toshber’s rabbit teeth for lipstick and was oddly disappointed not to find any coloured stains.

  It was useful to note her ankles were still thick and Pagonis’s jaw was still stubble dark, though it was relatively early in the day.

  “Did you sleep well, Drum? We have a big day ahead of us.”

  He’d barely closed his eyes. He’d dared not return to the cave and the floor of the foyer was intolerably hard, his dreams more than unusually unsettling. He watched Toshber arrange a bunch of files on the desk. Her grey roots were showing down her centre part. It was hard to imagine what she hadn’t seen on the streets, in interview rooms like this, in courts and jails. She was a reasonable person; everything about her suggested she expected to have a shitty day.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to talk again like we did yesterday. It might be that you remember things differently after a good slee
p. You might want to share what you remember with us and we’ll take it from there. Do you understand?”

  He understood he’d taken Foley’s trust and compassion and made a funeral pyre of them. “I understand, but I’m not aware of any repressed memories surfacing overnight.”

  She laughed. “For an unemployed homeless guy, you sure have a mouth on you.” She slid a photograph across the table. “Do you know this woman?”

  And now the flame was lit. A lie would make this go easier. It was the woman from the park, the one he’d seen wandering through the sculptures, same as he’d been doing. If he wasn’t careful the vultures would have all of him. “I’ve seen that woman. That’s the extent of my knowing her.”

  Toshber tapped a blunt fingernail on the photo. “Where?”

  “In Marks Park.”

  “You met her there?”

  “Met implies something organised.” He looked from Toshber to Pagonis, trying to read their moods. “We were there at the same time. But so were thousands of other people, looking at sculpture.”

  “How many times have you seen this woman?”

  He shrugged, it wasn’t like he’d counted. “A couple of times while the sculpture walk was on, then once on the day it was being packed up and trucked away.”

  “Did the two of you talk?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t exchange remarks about the sculptures or the weather?”

  “No.”

  “Yet you remember seeing this woman there. What made you notice her?”

  “She wore bright clothing, flyaway fabrics. Most people come to the park in workout gear or shorts and t’s or directly from the beach.”

  “You noticed she looked different.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you like the way she looked?”

  Drum folded his arms, sitting back further into the chair. Toshber’s questions were designed to trip him up. “I wasn’t thinking anything about the way she looked.”

  “But you remembered her.”