The Summertime Dead

by Robert Engwerda

  She would only be there briefly anyway; maybe ten minutes at most. She’d just pop in and say hello.

  But as she neared the Casablanca a greater anxiety gripped her – that Gene Fielder might fob her off or plead having to go to bed early. As though his dropping by her house had simply been a courtesy visit to the wife of a fellow officer and nothing more, as he’d said, and an embarrassing misunderstanding on her part. That reminding her of his invitation at the station was his usual, silly banter.

  She paused and took a deep breath. She pushed her hair back with her hands and hoped it wasn’t as unruly as it felt. At least she’d washed it this morning, and put on her best underwear without even thinking about it. She drew another breath and then turned the corner back into Main. Her heart beat faster when she saw the motel.

  The room entrances were on the rear side of the building where the car parking was, Gene’s right at the end, and she slipped along it, pressing her ear close by the wall briefly to see if she could hear anything. There was a soft hum of music, maybe a radio or television.

  She stood outside Unit 12, gathering herself. Was her dress alright? What had possessed her, anyway, going to visit him at this time of night? But then, when else could she?

  Here goes nothing, she thought, as she knocked timidly on his door, all aflutter when she wasn’t even sure why she was doing it.

  The door opened to admit her and she stepped inside, Gene Fielder seeming neither surprised nor delighted to see her.

  ‘It’s so warm tonight,’ she explained. ‘And I was just out for a walk and thought I’d see if you were in. Just for a moment. I hope it’s not too late.’

  He put a hand in the small of her back and steered her to the chair by the window. The blue baize curtains were open but the lace one was drawn, yellow streetlight filtered through it.

  ‘It’s not often you get company here,’ he said, and she couldn’t decide if the smile he gave her was genuine or tired. ‘And I don’t count Marco and John as company. Look at this joint.’

  He waved his hands at his possessions and clothes scattered through the room, his suitcase open beneath the larger bench.

  ‘I suppose it’s not like home,’ she ventured.

  ‘And I can’t just click my heels to make it so,’ he said. ‘What’s your poison?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘What would you like to drink, Audrey?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think I … I mean if I …’

  ‘I’ll give you a mint before you go home,’ he said. ‘No one will smell anything on you. Guaranteed.’

  He took ice from the tiny refrigerator, filled two glasses with generous splashes from a gin bottle, added some soda and used a pocketknife to pare crescents from a lemon. It made no difference to him that his drink slopped over the carpet.

  ‘You need ice in a climate like this,’ he said, passing a drink to her. ‘It’s even melting in the cooler.’

  ‘In a room like this too,’ she said, peering around. ‘It’s so hot.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. She saw the music she’d heard outside was coming from a portable record player on the smaller bench, a stack of long-playing records beside it.

  ‘My one home comfort,’ he said, following her gaze. ‘Frankie Sinatra. Deano. I like those guys. The Los Angeles, Hollywood guys.’ Sinatra singing Night and Day was spinning on the turntable as he said it. ‘What about you, Audrey? What do you like listening to?’

  She held her drink tightly, tentatively taking a sip.

  ‘I listen to the radio mostly, so it’s a bit of everything I suppose,’ she said apologetically. ‘I like popular music. Frank Sinatra too. His voice is so …’

  ‘Mellow?’

  ‘Mellow and soft. Romantic.’

  ‘Those guys make their records not so far away from where I grew up.’ He flicked his ash into the glass ashtray beside him on the bed. ‘I’d like to go back there some day. See how much the old place has changed. See if some of my old school buddies are there. They’re probably all making squillions in Hollywood.’

  ‘I’d like to go there too,’ she said. ‘America sounds like a grand place.’

  ‘Have you ever travelled?’

  ‘Not in an aeroplane. But I’d like to.’

  ‘Maybe you could come with me some day then,’ he said, his eyes smiling through exhaled smoke.

  She didn’t know what to say, so she looked at her hands.

  ‘My mother used to be a great one for entertaining,’ he continued, the mention of his mother seeming to tug him in another direction. ‘When I was a boy our house in Los Angeles looked down on our neighbours’ roof below us on the hill. At night I’d sneak out on our deck and stare down at them wondering what they were all doing, wondering if there were boys my age and if I might wander down to join them.’ He drew pensively on his cigarette. ‘When we got to Australia my mother didn’t know what had hit her. Suddenly there was no family, no friends, living in a clapped-out old weatherboard house in Oakleigh in the dullest of suburbs. My Dad was full of this and that, all his big ambitions, but not much seemed to work out for him.’ She watched the hand holding his cigarette gesturing expressively as he spoke. ‘He couldn’t match the ideas in his head with the reality of his life out here. Spent the rest of his life looking for a reason why he’d come. And my mother tried to carry on doing what she’d been doing in Los Angeles, but in the end I think she realised her heart just wasn’t in it.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘Maybe all the time she was pretending she was still in Van Nuys.’

  ‘I admire people who go to another country to start a new life.’

  ‘My mother didn’t admire my father for it,’ he said, glancing up. ‘But what can you do? You have to make the best of it. And I was just a kid so what did I know about anything? When you’re a kid you’re just a kid and all that matters is games and fish and chips and trying to blow things up on Guy Fawkes night.’ He looked back at her. ‘But that’s a lovely dress you’re wearing.’

  She laughed at the unexpected turn in the conversation.

  ‘Oh, it’s just an everyday one.’ She sipped from her drink. ‘I suppose once the case is over you’ll be straight back to Melbourne?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  But a change had come over him, she saw. Perhaps it was the talk of America making him homesick.

  ‘I’ll get some more ice for your drink,’ he said and went to the refrigerator, scooping blocks of ice from a tray.

  ‘Raise your glass, Audrey,’ he told her and he slid two blocks gently into her drink, keeping one in his hand.

  The record had ended but the needle kept turning dully on the disc.

  They sat silently and she saw the ice block melting in his hand, dripping onto the carpet.

  He got up then and her eyes followed his as he came to stand behind her. She felt wet fingers on her forehead, her arms suddenly that limp she feared dropping her glass. As if anticipating her, he reached across and took the glass from her and set it on the floor.

  ‘There’s an artery that runs just here,’ he said soft and soothingly, his fingers cool and damp on her neck. ‘I could follow it all the way to ...’

  His fingers stroked the skin just beneath her ear. She felt him touching her drop earring, her ear lobe, so she closed her eyes to give herself over to whatever was going to happen next.

  ‘You’re silk Audrey, you know that?’ There was a long pause. Only the tips of his fingers touched her. He said, ‘Do you like having your neck kissed?’

  She felt a flush come into her face but didn’t move, couldn’t answer, his hands lightly on her shoulders now as his lips brushed the bottom of her ear and breathed kisses on her.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about this a long time,’ he whispered.

  ‘Have you? I mean, really?’ she asked.

  ‘Of co
urse I have. Just like you have.’

  She felt him standing taller behind her then, his hands gone from her and she heard the zip of her dress being gradually drawn down, feeling it as though it was barely anything to do with her.

  He pushed the dress slowly off her shoulders and down her body, let her arms slip out of it until the dress fell around her waist. She felt the slightest touch of his hands as he unhooked her bra, taking it slowly away from her as he’d done with her dress.

  Then time stopped, everything still, waiting, until all she heard was his breathing. It felt like an eternity before his hands came to touch her again, for the tips of his fingers to cup her breasts and caress them.

  ‘Oh, Gene,’ she murmured. ‘But …’

  ‘You’re a woman. It’s what you deserve,’ he said, moving to stand before her now as she stood too.

  She shook her head but her hands reached for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them. Her dress slipped to the floor. They brought each other to the bed and she glanced to the window, properly aware for the first time of what was about to happen, but unable and unwilling to do anything about it.

  ‘And this won’t just be just a oncer?’ her voice came quickly.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  She felt the clash of their teeth, Gene so close against her now she could barely see him. He was just this man now shucking off the rest of his clothes, kissing and touching her, his hands roughly sliding down her pants. He loomed naked over her, staring down at her with startling intensity.

  ‘I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you, Audrey,’ he said, his hands back to her breasts. ‘If I had a million lives after, there’d never be another like this one now.’

  She dared look into his eyes as he moved on top of her. She felt a flash that wasn’t quite fear, but something like it as she felt him enter her, as she felt him moving inside her before she closed her eyes and held him tight and gave herself over to it.

  *

  She had no idea what time it was when she woke. Gene was still sleeping soundly beside her. She hurriedly fumbled her way back into her clothes, found the bathroom mirror and in the dim tried pushing her hair back into some kind of order.

  Not wanting to wake him, she slipped quietly outside, back out to the street and skipped along Main Street, crossing over it and making a beeline for home as quickly as she could, her heart pounding.

  When she arrived at her house she took off her shoes and held them in one hand, holding her breath too as she opened the unlocked door. She crept noiselessly down the passageway and into the spare room, closing its door behind her with only the faintest click. She undressed and smelt her clothes for any trace of him.

  It was pure relief then. She sat on the edge of the bed almost crying until her heart settled.

  A flood of emotions surged through her. She felt terrible guilt. She felt exhilarated. That a man like him would want her so badly. That a life so lacking was opening up into happiness. But there was Terry asleep in the other room too, and even if he did ignore her she doubted he ever did it intentionally. He was a good man, wasn’t he? Or was she being too kind to him? She thought of Gene kissing her again, how he had made love to her and her heart began racing again. What would she do if he wanted to take her away?

  She could barely think straight. For every emotion she felt, a countering one flew straight back at her.

  She put on a nightdress and crawled into the single bed in the dark, trembling with her feelings. It took her a long time to fall asleep again, and when she did it was a shallow sleep she slipped into. As her eyelids twitched, she dreamt she was riding with Gene in his car, alone in some rugged place along the Californian coast, watching out over a sunlit expanse of sea and thinking this would be forever.

  Chapter 19

  Lee Furnell made his way to the London Milk Bar for a break from the grease pit.

  ‘What happened to your face?’ Ruby Bunn asked.

  ‘What?’ Lee said, raising his hand to his mouth.

  ‘Your lip. You been in a fight?’

  ‘Oh, that. That’s nothing.’

  ‘You want a milkshake?’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, ambling slowly to a seat, still feeling the smart of his latest treatment by the Melbourne detectives.

  Ruby brought him his drink and he had his head down over it when Conor Quade happened to enter the milk bar.

  It took him only a few seconds to spy Furnell by the window.

  ‘Can you smell that?’ Quade said loudly to Ruby Bunn. ‘A dead rat or somethin’?’

  Furnell sipped from his straw, trying to ignore Quade.

  Ruby was wiping down tables. She laughed, ‘Yeah. They’re at Johnson’s café down the road, too. Rat poop in the sugar bowls. My dad even saw it himself one time.’

  ‘Nah, I reckon it’s in here somewhere,’ Quade said, sniffing the air. ‘Definitely around here.’

  She watched him sniff his way across the milk bar until he stood near Furnell’s table.

  ‘Conor …’ Ruby started as what was happening began dawning on her.

  ‘I reckon it’s stronger over here,’ he said.

  Lee Furnell looked up.

  ‘I didn’t have nothing to do with it, Conor,’ he said.

  ‘It’s bad over here,’ Quade said to Ruby. ‘Real bad.’

  ‘Take it easy mate,’ Ruby warned.

  ‘Well, look at it!’ Quade exclaimed. ‘I think I found where it’s coming from.’

  He almost stood over Lee Furnell now, who had kept his seat. Furnell shook his head.

  ‘It’s a great big pile of lying, murdering shit,’ Quade said and threw a punch that caught Furnell flush on the cheek sending him reeling, his milkshake splashing over the floor.

  As Ruby cried out, Quade dragged Furnell from the table and kept laying into him, Furnell trying to defend himself until he managed to let fly with a few punches of his own.

  ‘You bloody weak mongrel dog, Furnell! Why don’t you admit you did it?’ Quade spat as they grappled and wrestled on the floor

  ‘Stop it, stop it!’ Ruby shouted and tried pulling Quade away, but Quade had gone berserk and someone was bleeding and spitting and they were no longer boys she knew but wild animals.

  Only two burly shire workers coming into the milk bar stopped it from getting even further out of hand, the men pulling the boys apart and sending Conor Quade out into the street, Quade still yelling, ‘Admit you did it, you bastard! Admit it!’

  They sat Lee Furnell on a chair, blood streaming from a cut above his eye, his lips already puffed.

  ‘This the Furnell kid?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ruby answered.

  ‘We’ll leave you to it then,’ they said and walked from the shop.

  On hearing the commotion Ruby’s father came from the house behind the milk bar and telephoned Ray Furnell to come and collect his son.

  The mechanic duly arrived and only nodded as he helped his son to his feet and out to the car parked in the street.

  Once he had settled his son at home, Ray Furnell drove on to the police station, demanding to see Cole.

  ‘I want him charged, sergeant,’ he seethed. ‘Conor Quade laid into my boy for no reason, clear as day. I got the doctor coming soon and I want that boy charged.’

  Seeing how worked up the mechanic was, Cole led him out the back of the station and let him sit alone a minute to quiet down while he made him a cup of tea.

  ‘Here you go, Ray. Drink this. I can see how bad this is for you.’

  ‘Bad and getting worse. Getting worse all the bloody time.’

  The man was red-eyed and looked about to cry.

  ‘I don’t know what I can do for you, Ray,’ Cole said. ‘Only keep Lee out of sight for a while. It’s no answer to anything, I know. I’ll speak to Conor Quade in the meantime.’r />
  ‘Why don’t you find out who did it, get everyone off his back?’ Furnell pleaded.

  ‘It’s up to the Melbourne boys now, isn’t it?’

  ‘And you wash your hands of it just like that? You’re part of this town aren’t you? Don’t you know how things go in a place like this?’

  ‘I do, Ray. But this is different. It’s not like anything we’ve had before. It has to work itself out when it’s ready to.’

  ‘Those detectives. What’re they doing all day?’

  ‘They’re doing their best.’

  But it sounded hollow, even to him. Furnell slumped on his chair, his hands on his knees.

  ‘No one even coming to the garage any more but a few known me a long time. I stand out the front by the bloody bowser waitin’ to fill but no one comes. It’s like the town’s already decided. They declared my son guilty and now they want to hang him for it.’

  ‘It’s not going to come to that.’

  ‘You don’t know. How can you promise it won’t?’

  ‘I can’t. But you’ve got to believe in people, don’t you? That they’ll come around and do the right thing.’

  When Furnell eventually left the station he appeared more settled, calmer, but nothing Cole had said to him had quelled his own disquiet.

  Looking for a diversion, Cole munched on a sandwich at his desk as he spread out the form guide for the following day’s races at Flemington. With a pen he marked the horses that caught his eye, checking past form, weight and who was riding them. He always had a soft spot for Roy Higgins, and where all other things seemed equal, he’d punt on horses the Professor rode.

  Constable Whittaker sauntered by.

  ‘Any hot tips, boss?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t gamble,’ Cole answered grimly without looking up.

  Chapter 20

  On Monday morning at the police station, Cole sat hunched over the daily edition of The Sun.

  ‘What are they saying about the murders?’ Holloway asked.

  ‘A bit more than they were. Whoever the journalist is, he says the detectives are close to making an arrest. And here, he’s as good as spelt out Lee Furnell by name.’