by Peter Corris
She was standing outside the Beckett place when I drew up. I sucked in a breath at the sight of her, alluring in the black leather with a street light a little further down the road giving her a long, slender shadow. A high-top taxi pulled up and Max and Penny went through their routine. I stood beside the leather-clad woman and watched.
‘Are they an item?’ she said.
‘As of today.’
‘That’s nice. Max and Penny, right?’
‘Right. Max is stone deaf but he won’t have any trouble following you if he can see your mouth.’
‘Can he sign?’
‘What?’
The wheelchair was purring towards us now and she waited until it was close before moving into the patch of light and making gestures with her hands. Max stopped abruptly. The wheelchair kept going for a few metres before Penny stopped it. Max was moving his hands as if he was knitting.
‘She speaks sign,’ Max said. ‘Is this Claudia Vardon?’
‘Ramona Beckett,’ she said. ‘I only know a little bit. Polite stuff.’
Penny watched with a frozen face as they exchanged a few more signs. She swivelled around and looked at me. ‘Who is she?’
I shrugged. ‘She says she’s Ramona Beckett.’
‘Do you believe her?’
‘I want to see what Mrs Beckett says. A mother should know, wouldn’t you say?’
Max had regained his composure. He extended a hand and he and Claudia/Ramona shook formally. ‘This is Penny Draper, Ms Vardon,’ he said. ‘Where did you learn to sign?’
‘In a very good hospital in California. They did everything to rehabilitate accident victims—Braille, sign . . .’
‘Are we going in, Cliff?’ Penny said. ‘It’s cold out here for those of us without thousand-dollar leather jackets.’
25
After getting the all-clear at the gate, Max and I manhandled the wheelchair up the steps to the house. The small dark woman let us in and we wheeled and trooped through to the room where Gabriella Beckett and Wallace Cavendish had received me before. Max and Penny went in first and I followed. Mrs Beckett was sitting in the same chair, wearing the same dress and expression. Cavendish had changed almost out of recognition. His hair and suit, both formerly immaculate, were rumpled and his striped club tie was askew.
Mrs Beckett reached into the bag on her lap and took out a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles. She put them on and scanned the group of visitors.
‘Where is she?’
I hadn’t noticed but the woman in leather had hung back and not entered the room. Now she came striding in with her shoulder bag almost swinging.
‘Here I am, Gabriella, and here’s something for you.’ She stepped up close and dropped something in Mrs Beckett’s lap.
Mrs Beckett’s fingers fumbled for a second, then she held up a tiny gold locket on a thin chain. ‘Oh, god, Ramona. It’s you.’
‘You gave me that on my tenth birthday. Inside is a picture of my grandfather. You said he was the best man you ever knew. I’ve wondered all my life what you meant by that. Will you tell me now?’
Mrs Beckett came up out of her chair but the woman claiming to be her daughter stepped back.
‘None of that. It’s way too late.’
Mrs Beckett slumped back into her chair and slid the chain through her fingers. I was aware of what a brilliant strategy it was for someone in Ramona/Claudia’s position to present an item and pose a question. Too clever perhaps, I was still sceptical.
‘You are cruel, Ramona,’ Mrs Beckett murmured. ‘You were always cruel.’
‘I learned it right here. Hello, Wallace, you prick.’
Cavendish just stared at her, unable to speak. She turned away from them and faced us, Max, Penny and me. ‘I phoned Wallace this morning and gave him a description of our last fuck. Chapter and verse. That’s why he was so obliging to you, Cliff. How about we all sit down? Christ, I need to. I haven’t worn heels this high in years.’
Penny took that as her cue. She was already sitting down. While the rest of us squatted she wheeled up close to Mrs Beckett. ‘I’m Penny Draper, Mrs Beckett. I’m a consultant detective with the New South Wales Police Force. Do you acknowledge this woman as your daughter, Ramona Louise Beckett?’
‘I do, yes. She is Ramona.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Penny pressed. ‘If she was one of the people who kidnapped your daughter she could have extracted the story about the locket from her. She’s gone to great length with her appearance. Are you sure this isn’t a very clever impersonation?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Why?’
‘Her eyes. She has my father’s eyes. Don’t ask me to explain it, but I have never seen any other human being with such eyes.’
‘Contacts,’ Penny said.
Mrs Beckett shook her head. ‘No.’
Max spoke for the first time. ‘This is easily decided. Ramona Beckett was twice convicted of driving offences. Her fingerprints are on file. Would you consent to a comparison, Ms . . . Vardon?’
She laughed and Mrs Beckett and Cavendish exchanged’ anguished glances at the sound. I knew what they were thinking. Ramona Beckett’s laugh was utterly distinctive, a pure peal, and this was it.
‘The voice of reason,’ she said, facing Max directly. ‘Max, I’d be glad to oblige. Got your ink pad with you? Urine sample, blood test, DNA. Whatever you like.’
Cavendish evidently felt he’d been out of the action too long. ‘This is Ramona Beckett, Hardy,’ he said. ‘Older and heavier, but no doubt about it.’
‘Thank you for nothing,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think you need to say another word until you’re asked. Cliff, convinced?’
Two could play at deflective strategies. ‘I wonder if we could have something to drink, Mrs Beckett?’ I said. ‘I think we could be in for a long session.’
‘Certainly. Call Nora would you, Wallace?’
‘What happened to Nolan?’
Mrs Beckett’s head tilted a little, her fine dark eyes swept over us and her reply was directed at us all. ‘The butler,’ she said. ‘Ramona hated him. He died.’
‘Good. I did hate him. You’re right.’
Cavendish left the room and I wondered whether he’d come back. I was pretty convinced by now but I wasn’t going to throw in the towel completely. ‘I’d like to hear some more about what you did . . . what you say you did after the kidnapping stunt failed.’
Ramona gripped the thick, black hair at the crown of her head and pulled. The wig came free. Her own hair was curled in a bun at the back. She released it and let the white mane flow freely. Mrs Beckett’s gasp was audible. Ramona looked ten years older without the wig but her mother seemed to have aged twenty years.
‘Reminds you of how old you are, doesn’t it, Gabriella?’
Mrs Beckett didn’t answer but she looked relieved when Cavendish and the servant came in, both carrying trays. Cavendish poured Hennessy brandy over ice for himself and Mrs Beckett, added a splash of soda, gave her the drink and took his back to his seat. Nora served the rest of us—whisky for Max and me, brandy for Penny. Ramona had a small glass of neat vodka.
‘I’ve already told Cliff about faking the kidnapping. I was hiding in Melbourne. I had some bad cocaine and then a very hard time getting off drugs. I was disgusted with my family and even more disgusted with myself, with what I’d been doing. I had half a dozen bank accounts and two passports. I just upped stakes and went to America.’
‘What happened to your beautiful hair?’ Mrs Beckett said.
Ramona sipped her vodka. ‘You are the most superficial person I’ve ever met. Appearances are all that matter to you, all that ever mattered. As long as I was the prettiest girl in the school everything was fine. The fact that I was the most intelligent didn’t mean shit. The hair? I was in an auto accident. I broke some bones and my hair went white. I was pregnant. I lost the baby, but that wouldn’t matter to you, would it?’
‘Oh, Ramona . . .’ Mrs
Beckett was half out of her chair again but her daughter’s fierce look drove her back.
‘That’s it,’ Ramona said. ‘That’s all you need to know. Now what I want to know is, who suppressed my note? Who paid off the police? Who wanted me dead?’ She finished her drink and looked at Cavendish. ‘I know you had a hand in it, Wallace. I can smell it. Did you know that, Gabriella? That your trusted legal adviser connived at the murder of your daughter? Or did the note only get as far as you anyway? Or was it Papa? Old big dick? Maybe him and Estelle? They were close. Weren’t they, Gabriella? Maybe Sean, who knew I knew he liked diddling little boys? Huh?’
Mrs Beckett shook her head and didn’t speak.
It was Penny who broke the silence that followed Ramona’s statement. She moved her wheelchair back and forth a little and the movement attracted everyone’s attention. I suspected it was a trick she’d used before. ‘I believe you’re Ramona Beckett,’ she said. ‘I believe that you did as you say you did. That makes you guilty of public mischief, passport violations and probably other things. You contributed to the corruption of several police officers as well, but that’s all small beer and old news. I want to know why you’ve come back, and you’re not going to learn what you want to know from Cliff or Max or me until you tell us what you plan to do with the information.’
Ramona looked at me. ‘You did the leg work, Cliff. Ten thousand for the name or names.’
I shook my head.
She turned to look at Cavendish. ‘Wallace’ll tell me for a blow job.’
Cavendish removed the show handkerchief from the pocket of his suit coat and wiped his face. ‘You’re disgusting.’
Colour flooded into Ramona’s face and she clenched both fists. I thought for a second that she’d attack Cavendish in some way, verbal or physical, but she visibly fought for control. She relaxed her hands and took one deep breath, then several more, then she closed her eyes and dropped her head. It looked like some kind of ritual. She lifted her head and she was looking straight at me. ‘Remember the way I was, Cliff? Seventeen years ago?’
‘I remember.’
‘What would you expect my motive to be, if I was still like that?’
‘Revenge,’ I said.
‘Right. Well, it’s not so. I’ve been in therapy for quite a few years now. My therapist saw that I had a great deal of anger inside me, an unhealthy amount. I was running on anger and not much more. It puzzled her because of course I hadn’t told her the truth about me. Eventually, I did tell her the truth. The whole goddamn story.’
As she talked the stiffness left her body and the aggression went out of her voice. As her features relaxed, aggression was replaced by confidence and composure. I wondered what sort of effort it took to effect this transformation and how long it could be kept in place. I was still sceptical but also confused. The beating she’d arranged for me and the lies and the manipulation were the work of Ramona. This was Claudia again and I remembered making love with her—the warmth of her mouth and the smoothness of her skin. There was no million dollars and I didn’t care.
There was only her, and no one else in the room mattered to me. Her words, I don’t bate you any more, were whispering inside my head.
‘That’s very interesting, Ms Beckett,’ Penny said. ‘But you haven’t answered the question.’
‘I’m not interested in revenge or a pound of flesh,’ Ramona said. ‘My husband, the father of the child I lost, was killed as well. He was rich and now I’m rich, too.’
‘Good for you,’ Penny said. ‘That makes three rich people in this room and three poor ones. The poor ones want an answer to the question.’
‘Ramona,’ Mrs Beckett said. ‘Your father died believing that you had been abducted and murdered. Until today I believed it too.’
‘Good, Gabriella. That’s good.’
Penny shifted impatiently in her wheelchair and opened her mouth to speak.
I interrupted. ‘What’s the answer, Claudia?’
She smiled at me. ‘It’s a nice name, isn’t it? The answer is that I have to know who it was who hated me that much so that I can forgive that person. So that I can tell him or her that it’s over. All finished, forgiven and forgotten. That’s all. And I’ll be doing it for utterly selfish reasons—for me, not for him or her.’
Cavendish gave a derisive snort. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I think I do,’ I said. ‘Sean suppressed the note. With Cavendish’s help he paid off the police. I suspect that Cavendish has been blackmailing him ever since.’
‘Thank you, Cliff,’ Ramona Beckett said.
26
Cavendish, Bryce and Lane sent me a cheque that more than covered all my expenses in the Ramona Beckett matter. A note from Mrs Horsfield said that the firm was acting under instruction from some corporation I’d never heard of. I banked the cheque and rang Wallace Cavendish. He told me that Ramona had left the country two days after our meeting. He was no longer acting for Mrs Beckett. His last service for her had been to draw up a will in which certain charities nominated by her daughter were beneficiaries. Ramona had threatened her mother that, if she attempted to name her in the will, she would publish every last detail about the family’s misfortunes.
Cavendish was still acting for Sean Beckett who, he told me, had had a long meeting with his half-sister. Ramona had made absolutely no demands on him other than to make him promise not to divulge anything about her to anyone.
Max chafed at being unable to close out the Beckett case but he saw that there was no way to do it. Neither Mrs Beckett nor Sean Beckett nor Cavendish would offer support to any report he might prepare. Me, either. He had his consolation—he and Penny were married about a month after the business finished. Colin Sligo was dead by then. Bob Lowenstein reported to me that Satisfaction was still going strong under the able management of Peggy Hawkins.
I checked out a loose end in the person of Leo Grogan to see if he had any whiff of what might have really been behind his meetings with the mystery woman and Barry White. He couldn’t have cared less. He’d got some kind of a compensation payment for his accident and was steadily drinking it and his life away.
Sometimes I see a dark woman in black leather in the street and I catch my breath. Or I glimpse a woman with a mane of white hair and the same thing happens. I’ve even been known to follow them for a block or two, but they never turn out to be Ramona Beckett or Claudia Vardon. I never saw either of them again.