The Unbroken Line

by Alex Hammond

  Will mirrored her as she took another sip.

  ‘How much did you stick your neck out on this?’

  Brennan held her thumb and forefinger a few centimetres apart.

  ‘Of course, it’s more likely to bite you than me. What’s this I hear about a professional conduct hearing?’

  Something flooded through him – guilt, embarrassment. He couldn’t be certain with the tramadol in his system.

  ‘There’s no saying that will happen. Actually, I’m expecting it won’t. Again, it’s politically motivated.’

  ‘That’s what they all say. But in your case I could probably believe it. You are the walking embodiment of a red rag. Still, no one wants even a whiff of one of those. Lowers the ol’ credibility.’

  ‘Well, luckily for me I know a private investigator whose business is growing. So there’s an alternative career path.’

  ‘Better than representing all those crims, though. It’s all a bit grim. I don’t know if you could pay me enough to run defence.’

  ‘But they do pay me. Anyway, you’ve got victims to deal with. That has to be grim.’

  ‘Sometimes. Yeah, it can get very dark. But usually our solicitors take care of the families if necessary. I get the briefs and make sure they play out in court.’

  Will took a drink from his glass. ‘I have to say, I’m surprised you’re here. I thought you didn’t have much time for Miller and me?’

  Brennan laughed and swirled her glass. ‘For Miller, I don’t. Professionally he’s fine. He’s a great barrister, no doubt, but a bit too quick with the compliments. I’m not really sure he understands or respects women. Which makes it so strange that you and he work so closely together.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘There’s no question that you get women.’

  ‘I have to say that it doesn’t feel like that.’

  ‘So no Eva, then?’

  ‘No. She’s in New York. I can’t say I blame her. She wants to move on with her life. Being on the other side of the world is one way to do it.’

  Brennan shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe it’s more a case of you getting that you don’t get women. But your buddy Chris thinks we’re just something for him to collect along with the suits and the cars. No wonder he and Eldon became friends. The gossip sites were all over them. Thick as thieves, with gothic strippers on their arms.’

  ‘Burlesque dancers,’ Will muttered, as he stared into his glass.

  ‘Oh, excuse me.’ Brennan laughed. ‘Burlesque dancers . . .’

  Dancers. Two of them.

  There was more than one way to catch a lead on Eloise. There was the other dancer, Leah.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ he asked.

  Brennan laughed again. ‘I’m talking to you. But I don’t think some networking over dinner would be out of the question.’

  Will was thinking fast, chasing the fading trail of neurons as they flashed ahead of him.

  The club.

  ‘Do you want to grab a drink somewhere else? Guarantee that you and I will be the only lawyers there. I need to find someone, for a case. You haven’t been to a place like this before.’

  ‘That’s incredibly vague, Will. You’re not going to get me caught up in a knife fight in a tunnel?’

  Will paused. Eva. Was Brennan baiting him or . . . something else?

  Her green eyes flashed as she smiled.

  ‘No, I save that for the second date.’

  He wasn’t sure why he’d said it. But there it was.

  Brennan laughed, and then finished the whisky in one hit.

  ‘Well then, Mr Harris. A vague invitation to watch you chase leads for your job? How could a girl refuse?’

  Eva cut up because of him, because of Miller. She was the innocent bystander epitomised. And yet the joke had felt liberating. To make it at her expense. Fuck it. He had enough trouble here in Melbourne without his mind being dragged towards New York. Throughout the short cab ride Brennan had kept a wry grin on her face, speculating about where they were heading. Will insisted she observe the rules of cross examination if she were going to interrogate him.

  It didn’t take long for her to catch him.

  ‘Is one or more of those burlesque dancers involved in this establishment?’

  ‘Yes,’ Will said across the roof of the cab, as they stepped into the night air.

  ‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ Brennan said, shutting the car door.

  ‘Calls for a conclusion, Your Honour.’

  ‘What is this place?’ Brennan asked, staring up at the three-­storey terrace.

  ‘It’s a private club. Owner’s name is Roberta Grange. Council is sabre-rattling over its residential status when it’s clearly being used to make money. They run private parties, which muddies up the whole liquor licensing and smoking regs.’

  Will paused and leant in closer to Brennan so she could hear him over the music coming through the front door. ‘We’re looking for Susan Ferguson, aka Eloise.’

  ‘The dancer Miller was with?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Brennan was giving him her full attention, the streetlight throwing her soft Celtic features into angular relief. A crossroad. Prosecution barrister and defence solicitor – it was all a question of trust.

  Brennan is participating in your enquiries.

  But if she wanted to put him over a barrel . . .

  Fuck it. Take the leap.

  ‘Eloise is missing. I need to track her down to contest the evidence against Miller. Let me know if any of this is a conflict of interest for you.’

  ‘Fuck it if it was. This is much more interesting than anything I ever get to do.’

  Inside the terrace was the same woman on the door taking money. Will paid for both himself and Brennan and led the way up the stairs. The second storey was busier than the last time he was here.

  The crowd was so dense that it was hard to move towards the narrow bench with three Eskys that stood in for a bar. Will bought two beers and handed one over to Brennan, who was staring around her.

  Many of the women wore bright, oversized jewellery – giant hoop earrings, fluorescent pyramids on pendants – with loose shirts, print leggings and tall heels. Others were in vintage wear – fitted pencil skirts with button-up blouses, structured dresses of polka dot and leopard print – or high-waist Levis and brothel creepers. The men wore T-shirts and jeans, with the usual array of thin moustaches, truckers’ caps and beards.

  ‘Wow. You’re right. Not a lawyer on deck,’ Brennan said, taking a swig from the bottle.

  The stage in the centre of the room was empty until the lights dimmed and three women in 1940s USO uniforms marched on and stood saluting. The crowed cheered as the girls started to dance in a military-style formation.

  Will scanned for Leah as Brennan watched the performance. He looked through the gutted building frames, charred and blackened by fire, to the sitting area. Across the couches and divans lounged performers and patrons smoking water pipes.

  Will sipped from the beer, flicking back through his memory. He could place the towering Eldon, while Eloise was memorable with her dark curls and heart-shaped face. Leah had been a natural blonde, tanned with pale blue eyes. Not features he tended to notice.

  She had a sprained ankle.

  Will turned back to the stage.

  Each woman was dressed in a short black skirt and fitted khaki shirt. Below their small side caps, their hair and make-up was identical. Platinum blonde bangs, bright red lips.

  ‘Are those wigs?’ Will asked Brennan.

  ‘Definitely not natural,’ she said, smirking. ‘Neither are those.’ Brennan winked towards the middle woman as the three dancers ripped their shirts open. Dozens of buttons rained over the audience, far more than could have been attached to their clothing.

  Will looked harder at the dancer at the end of the formation. She arched her back and lifted her leg, like a swan neck, pointing her toes towards her head
. Her ankle was wrapped in a skin-tone brace. Although she wore heavy make-up, her features started to become familiar.

  ‘It’s her. On the end.’

  Brennan nodded.

  They watched as the performance drew to a close. The dancers lifted the woman who looked like Leah up onto their shoulders. She saluted, then tucked her legs under herself, jumped and landed in the linked arms of the other two dancers. The three of them bowed and the crowd applauded.

  Will nodded towards the edge of the stage and he and Brennan followed the dancers as they put on silk robes and left the room. The corridor was starting to fill. A thick-necked bouncer with stretched earlobes and a mohawk was keeping patrons from sitting on the stairs.

  Will watched as the dancers jogged upstairs to the third storey. Brennan followed them at a distance. He saw the bouncer watching her go up the stairs. She was out of place with her grey pinstripe jacket and braid. Less so the black patent-leather heels and seamed stockings.

  Will walked behind her. This level of the house had not been converted. The corridor contained four doors; the one at the end was open and revealed a black and white tiled bathroom. A closed door with a chalk sign reading Office was at the other end of the corridor.

  Brennan sauntered up to a door where a feather boa framed a chalkboard marked Dressing Room. She tapped twice, pushed it open, and went inside. Will waited, watching. The wooden floorboards were warped and the corridor seemed to slope to one side. In some places the old wallpaper had started curling towards the floor. Behind it, brittle glue and old paint flaked to the ground.

  He waited for five minutes.

  Eventually, the dressing-room door opened again and Brennan emerged with Leah, her blonde bob tightly controlled by pins and a hairnet. Her blue silk robe was embroidered with a peacock. Despite the tan she looked pale, her black eyeliner having run in thick streaks down her face. In her hands she clutched one of Brennan’s cards.

  Brennan winked at Will from behind Leah. ‘You’ve met Will Harris before.’

  ‘Yes,’ Leah said. Gone was the indifferent bravado of their first meeting. ‘You’re Chris’s friend.’

  ‘I am,’ Will said. ‘I’m also helping him with his defence. We’re looking for Eloise.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her. Not since Mark died. Not since Chris was arrested. It’s all so fucked up.’

  Long shot.

  ‘You weren’t there on the night that Mark passed away, were you?’

  ‘No.’ She started to sob again.

  ‘I know this is tough, Leah. But do you mind if we ask you a few more questions?’

  Leah nodded.

  ‘Have you spoken to Eloise’s family? Her housemates? Her other friends?’ Brennan asked.

  Leah nodded again. ‘They haven’t seen her either. Do you think something has happened to her?’

  ‘To be honest with you,’ Will said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a card, ‘we have no idea. There’s no reason to suspect anything bad, but she is involved in something that has the attention of a lot of people. She could just be hiding to keep away from the press.’ He handed her the card.

  ‘The four of you were seen together a few times,’ Brennan said.

  ‘The police talked to me. I told them I hadn’t seen Mark since the Tuesday before he died. After that they didn’t seem interested.’

  ‘How do you guys get paid, if you don’t mind me asking? Cash in hand or into an account?’ Brennan asked.

  ‘Cash in hand. It’s supposed to be each week but Roberta’s usually behind. She had to catch up three weeks last pay.’

  ‘Friday night or Saturday night?’

  ‘Whichever night is our last booking.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Will stood close to Brennan, whispering into her ear.

  She placed her hand on his shoulder, leaning in even closer. ‘If Miller flew the girl up to the resort on a Friday night, then she might not have been paid. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in prosecutions, it’s to —’

  ‘Follow the money.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘That’s clever,’ Will said, looking towards the office door.

  ‘Oh, you’ve got no idea how clever I can be.’ Brennan was smiling at him now, her eyes glinting.

  ‘Is that where we’ll find Roberta?’ Will asked Leah, pointing in the direction of the door.

  She nodded.

  Brennan smiled at her. ‘Thanks for helping us, Leah. If you want to ask us any questions, please use the number on either of those cards.’

  ‘One last thing,’ Will said. ‘You don’t have any idea who might have reported to the police that you, Mark, Chris and Eloise were taking cocaine on the night we met? The last time they were in here?’

  Another long shot.

  Leah nodded. ‘I think so.’

  ‘You do?’ Brennan stared at him with wide eyes.

  ‘I saw Tao talking to two cops about a week ago.’

  ‘Tao?’ Will asked.

  ‘The bouncer.’

  ‘The one downstairs? With the mohawk?’ Will said.

  Leah nodded again.

  Will scowled. ‘This is very important, Leah. Was he here on that night? I don’t remember seeing him.’

  ‘He wasn’t. He only works Wednesdays to Saturdays. Glynn is on Sundays and Tuesdays.’

  ‘Do you know why he would lie about something like that?’ Brennan asked.

  ‘I don’t know. He says he hates the 1 per cent. But I think he just really didn’t like Chris.’

  Brennan laughed. ‘Who could blame him? Plenty of us share that opinion.’

  Leah continued. ‘He used to date Eloise. He wasn’t happy when they split up.’

  ‘Enough to perjure himself?’ Will asked.

  Leah blinked at him.

  ‘Would you be prepared to say all this in court? To testify? There are people claiming there’s a connection between Chris Miller and Mark’s death,’ Will said.

  ‘That’s fucked up.’

  ‘But you don’t hold Chris responsible? You don’t blame him for Mark?’

  ‘The police said he knew that Mark had overdosed and left him to die,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That doesn’t sound like Chris. Mark was the one who was hard into drugs. I only met Chris a few times but he was a nice guy. He drove me home one night when I got too drunk. He walked me up to the door, made sure I was fine . . . I guess I could say something.’

  ‘That would really help us.’ Will took out his phone and handed it to her. ‘If you could give me your number, I’ll let you know if I need you to testify.

  ‘He’ll also call you if he finds Eloise,’ said Brennan.

  ‘Of course.’ Will nodded.

  Leah typed in her number and handed the phone back to Will. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  She nodded once more and then returned to the dressing-room.

  Will held the phone against his chin as he turned to look down to the closed door at the other end of the hallway.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Brennan asked.

  ‘I think we should stick our heads into that office.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Brennan strode down the skewed corridor. There was something about the swagger and eagerness of her movements.

  Is she enjoying this?

  Will followed and knocked on the door.

  ‘Enter.’

  A large desk filled most of the office. Behind it French windows framed a glowing nightscape dominated by the dark monoliths of council flats. In the room every available surface was covered with dusty towers of paper. Among these were scattered random antiques – unmatched candlesticks, framed insects, a statue of a feasting Buddha, African carvings, a stuffed mongoose – all struggling for their own real estate. A path through the papers led around to the back of the desk, currently occupied by a small grey woman making notes in a dog-eared ledger.

  ‘Roberta Grange?’

  ‘Yes?’ she replied, looking over Will and Brennan. ‘Those
suits are too well tailored for you to be from the council . . .’

  ‘We’re not, Mrs Grange,’ Will said. ‘We’re lawyers. We were wondering if you could help us.’

  ‘Oh?’ She took her hand off the ledger and slid it under the desk.

  ‘We’re looking for Susan Ferguson. Eloise. She may be able to provide a witness statement that would help my client,’ Will said, as Grange placed her pencil down on the desk. It vanished into the clutter.

  ‘Your client? This wouldn’t have anything to do with Mark Eldon’s death?’

  ‘It would,’ Will said. ‘My client stands accused of negligent manslaughter.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there. And this is not really a convenient time.’

  ‘Just one thing please, Mrs Grange,’ Brennan said. ‘We’re quite concerned about Eloise’s safety. She’s missing. Her family and friends haven’t heard from her in a week. If you do hear from her, say – if she comes in to collect her pay – could you ask her to call my colleague here?’

  Will handed Brennan a card.

  She reached a long arm over the desk and slipped it in the top of a turquoise water pipe.

  ‘It’s important.’

  ‘If I see the girl, I’ll pass on your information.’

  There was a bang on the door.

  Will turned around to see the bouncer with the mohawk. He had two new additions to his jeans and West German army coat – a padded grappling glove on each hand.

  ‘You need to go,’ he said, pointing a finger at Will.

  Roberta Grange sat back in her chair and smiled. ‘You’re not welcome in this establishment again. Private club. Private residence. If you return, you’ll be trespassing and I will call the police.’

  ‘We’ve been very reasonable, Mrs Grange,’ Brennan said. ‘We were on our way out anyway. Why the threats?’

  ‘I’m not required to explain myself to you. Tao?’

  His right hand flew forwards, grabbing Will by the collar of his jacket. He miscalculated the distance as he did so and the back of his padded hand cracked against Will’s cheek.

  Will twisted inside Tao’s grip. The bouncer stared at him with wide eyes as Will clenched his left fist and threw two quick punches into the bouncer’s diaphragm. They had little precision and even less artistry. But each burned with the rage that had been building since the attack in the tunnel.