The Unbroken Line

by Alex Hammond

  ‘The men who told me to stay in Queensland.’

  ‘Big men? Two of them? Look like they might have been soldiers?’

  ‘Could have been.’

  ‘Have you seen them outside the shop?’

  ‘No. Just a car, but there’s a mask on the dashboard.’

  ‘A mask.’

  ‘A blank one . . . like a disguise.’

  ‘What kind of car, Eloise? Can you see the numberplate?’

  ‘It’s a dark green Prius.’

  ‘Prius?’

  ‘You know, the half-electric ones.’

  Will looked at the seat. Eva was gone. The door to reception was open.

  He started to run around the table but stopped when he saw her bag on the floor at his feet. Eva walked back into the room with a concerned-looking Miller.

  ‘Is it Eloise? Let me talk to her,’ Miller said.

  Will put his hand over the receiver. ‘She says she’s being watched.’

  ‘Watched?’

  ‘Call O’Dwyer. Find out if he’s still nearby.’

  ‘O’Dwyer?’

  ‘Call him, Chris.’

  On the other end of the phone: ‘I need you to help me.’

  ‘Eloise, we’re calling someone now. Someone who works with us. He used to be a policeman. Have you locked the doors to your place?’

  Miller was on his phone and standing on the far side of the room, tapping his foot as it rang. ‘O’Dwyer,’ he said.

  ‘We’ve got him on the phone now,’ Will told Eloise. ‘Just hang in there.’

  ‘I don’t want the police involved,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be involved. I just want to know that I’m going to be safe again.’

  ‘Eloise, why wouldn’t you be safe?’

  Her voice was trembling now, short breaths punctuating her words. ‘One of the men showed me photos on his phone. Of,’ she said, starting to break down, ‘women. He said he’d done it to them.’

  ‘Cuts? Cuts on their faces?’ Will said.

  She said nothing, just the weighty silence of a yes.

  Miller chuckled from the corner of the room. ‘I understand, but she’s pretty stressed out, mate. Maybe you could dial it down a notch.’

  Eva stared at him, lines of worry creeping across her brow.

  ‘Eloise, just one second, please,’ Will said.

  Will flicked his head towards Miller. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘It’s O’Dwyer in the car. He got tired of waiting and decided to try some theatrics.’

  Will shook his head. ‘She’s freaking out here, Chris. They showed her photos of the women in Afghanistan.’

  Miller nodded. ‘I know, but we’ve found her now.’

  ‘They threatened her?’ Eva asked, her face turning pale.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Give me the phone, Will.’

  Her dark brown eyes bore into him with the weight of cold steel. Again that sense of dislocation set in, rolling across his mind like storm clouds in time-lapse photography. It felt as though she were not in front of him at all but seen down the length of an arched tunnel, the weight of silence all around them.

  In the corner of his eye, Miller was shaking his head.

  Will reached out his hand to Eva and she plucked the phone from it.

  ‘Hello. Eloise, right? My name is Eva. I’m a friend of Will’s.’

  Miller exhaled, still shaking his head as Eva walked out into reception.

  Will snapped his fingers at him. ‘Give me O’Dwyer.’

  Miller handed him the phone.

  ‘O’Dwyer?’ Will asked, as Eva continued to talk to Eloise.

  ‘Harris,’ O’Dwyer replied. ‘Paranoia – there’s nothing like it for prompting a witness.’

  ‘Why do you have a mask in your car?’

  ‘Granddaughter’s. It was left over after our last crafting day. The kid and I painted them up, put some stickers on them.’

  Eva came back into the room, clicking her fingers at Will.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said to O’Dwyer.

  ‘We can be there very soon,’ she said to Eloise. ‘We can move you to a hotel. The Langham. They’ve used it before.’ Eva started to walk to the door again, with Miller tagging along.

  Will returned to O’Dwyer as he grabbed his jacket from the hook behind his office door. ‘It was a clever move. But you’ll need to move on from there when we come by to get her. She can’t see us with you.’

  ‘Really, Harris? I thought I’d pop on the mask and offer to give her a lift into the office myself. I’m not a fuck’n’ moron.’

  ‘So that’s a yes, then?’

  ‘How will you get here?’

  Will tried to keep up with the others as they rushed down the narrow staircase and onto the street. Eva stepped out in front of an oncoming taxi, flagging it down.

  ‘A cab. We’re on our way now.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  Miller was framed by the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the brightly lit geometric shapes of Federation Square. It was in sharp contrast to the organic darkness of Alexandra Gardens beyond. Will sat on a curved white chair that looked as though it came from the set of a 1960s science-fiction film. These chairs were positioned strangely across the hotel room: in corners, under lamps, at the foot of the bed. The minibar was open, its empty bottles scattered across the writing desk where Eva had left them each time she had refilled two glasses before returning to the bathroom.

  The sun had set long ago. The room would have been dark were it not for the light from the bar fridge and window. They had been here for two hours now, patiently restless – the same enforced pause of a hospital waiting room.

  Miller turned to Will, his hands in his pockets, his jacket and tie removed. Weariness had pushed unflattering lines across his face. ‘Why is it always the bathroom?’

  ‘What?’ Will asked.

  ‘Women. They always disappear into the bathroom to talk. Me, I like to get in and get out. Try not to linger. It’s probably because they don’t have urinals.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘They probably smell better than the men’s.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true, Chris.’

  ‘With what authority can you say that?’

  ‘They’re in a hotel bathroom. It doesn’t even have a urinal.’

  ‘You’re missing the point. What I’m trying —’

  Eva pushed open the door, the bathroom behind her briefly revealed. Eloise was standing, eyes running with mascara, her hand testing the temperature of the bath. Eva pulled the door shut.

  ‘She’s going to take a bath.’

  ‘And?’

  Eva walked over to the bar fridge and pulled out a beer. She popped off the cap with the end of her lighter, letting it drop to the floor.

  ‘Eva?’ Miller asked again.

  She took swig. After wiping her hand across her lips, she spoke. ‘She’ll do it. She’ll act as a witness.’

  Miller’s body slackened and the tension lifted from his face. He walked over to Eva and grasped her hand, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Thank you. I really appreciate it. There’s no way I could have talked her round.’

  ‘She can see that I understand where she’s coming from,’ she said, placing her hand to the cheek he’d just kissed.

  ‘Do you think it would be okay if I talk to her?’ he asked.

  ‘You can ask her yourself.’

  Miller moved over to the door and lightly knocked on it. A faint sound from the other side was followed by his pushing it ajar and slipping through to Eloise lying in the bath, her head emerging from a layer of foam. The door shut and the room darkened again.

  Will pulled the bottle of painkillers from his pocket and swallowed one.

  ‘Beer?’ Eva said to Will.

  ‘Sure.’

  She did the same trick with the lighter and handed him a dark green bottle.

  ‘You’re still taking those, then?’ she asked.

  ‘Why? Aren’
t you?’

  Eva shook her head. ‘Stopped after the first week. You should have as well.’

  Will rattled the bottle at her. It clattered with a single pill. ‘Last one, no more scripts. So it seems as though I’m about to stop myself.’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘Not really. They help.’

  Eva reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pill bottle.

  ‘Here,’ she said, tossing it to Will.

  Will looked at the bottle. The label read Codeine.

  ‘Not as strong as what you were on. But that’s probably for the best.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He tucked it into his pocket and took a sip from the beer.

  ‘Thank you for helping us out, too. I know you came here for other reasons and I’m grateful that you put them aside,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t have to like it to realise it’s the right thing to do. So, I’ll sit with Eloise until Monday. That’s when you and Chris are visiting the cops, right?’

  Will nodded.

  ‘Good. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get cold feet. And then after that, after Miller’s arse is out of the fire, we’ll have our conversation and then I’ll go back to New York.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘She gave me a description of the two guys. She should probably give the same thing to the police.’

  ‘What did they say to her exactly?’

  ‘“Don’t go back to Melbourne if you know what’s good for you.” Then they showed her the pictures. Well, one of them did.’

  ‘So why did she come back?’

  ‘She didn’t have any money.’

  ‘What was her description of them?’

  ‘She couldn’t place their ages. Maybe in their thirties. One is tanned, with sandy-coloured hair and a beard. The other has red sunburnt skin, dark hair cut short – shaved down – and a tattoo on his neck. He’s easy to recognise because he has . . .’ She paused, exhaled and took another swig from the bottle.

  ‘He’s easy to recognise because he has these.’ She held her finger above her left cheek and ran it downwards, hovering above the scar. She repeated the same gesture on her right cheek.

  ‘He was the guy who showed her the photos?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘They’re on his phone?’

  ‘They are.’

  Will looked around the room, with its tightly tucked bed, trendy fittings and large LCD screen. They’d booked the adjoining room too, and the dark doorway connecting them loomed at Will on his moulded plastic chair.

  ‘You’re thinking something,’ Eva said.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The guy who held me down, he tried to stop it. The . . . cutting.’

  ‘He did? I don’t remember that part.’

  ‘He did. I saw it on the footage Haigh showed me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they were told to leave you alone but the other guy couldn’t resist.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a racial thing? I could pass for Middle Eastern.’

  ‘No. I think it’s a woman thing. Perhaps that’s how he got his own scars in the first place. Who knows?’

  Eva kicked off her boots and sat down on the bed, crossing her legs and arching her lower back. He’d seen her do this a hundred times. Under her dark new look – the cloak for her injuries – she was still the same beautiful woman. The half-light gave the room a dreamlike quality. On an empty stomach the alcohol was going to his head, the numbing buzz evoking memories of their last meal together.

  He laughed to himself.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s so deeply and ironically fucked up.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Us.’

  She looked at him, her face blank.

  That was a mistake. You’ve crossed the line.

  But she shook her head and smiled, the scars curving around the dimples on her cheeks. ‘We’re very fucked up.’

  She slid off the bed and walked towards him, the stiffness gone from her body, a gentle swagger returning to her step. She clinked her bottle against his and tried to raise it to her mouth, bumping a tooth and laughing. That unaffected, rolling laugh.

  ‘How much have you had to drink?’

  ‘Not so much, thanks, Mum.’ She placed a hand on his face. ‘Not so much that I don’t know I would regret this tomorrow.’

  She bent forwards and touched her forehead to his. He closed his eyes, letting this be the farewell she’d denied him. After a few moments she exhaled. ‘You’d better go. We’re not so fucked up that we’d let ourselves make this situation any worse. Go be with your woman, Will.’

  She kissed him on the cheek, took the bottle from his hand and walked him to the door.

  FORTY

  A grey haze brushed the tops of skyscrapers, like a ceiling to the earth. It made everything feel pressed in and immediate. As Will walked back to his apartment, he saw token acknowledgements to the American holiday – some snap-on devil horns here, a mask there. As he reached the gate to his building, he passed a group that had gone all out in an Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland theme – Alice with her apron and blue petticoat, flanked by two young men with the bulbous striped bellies of Tweedledum and ’Dee, while behind them a tall drag queen in a red brocaded corset and geisha-style lipstick was the Queen. Peculiarly, all their clothes were splattered with blood, and realistic-looking prosthetic cuts adorned their bodies – the décolletage of the Queen, the faces and arms of the twins, the legs of Alice.

  Despite several messages and texts he hadn’t been able to reach Teresa. In some ways this was a relief; he was too emotionally numb, too psychologically drained by Eva’s presence to begin to patch together an apology. Pulling off his tie and sitting down on the Eames chair in his library, he had planned to read over the police statements for the Barnett brief, until he found himself waking from a dreamless sleep. His head was in a bad position, papers across his lap like a blanket. His phone was glowing with a blue light, in contrast to the amber of the lamp on the table beside him.

  He answered it still groggy, not catching who was calling him.

  ‘It’s me,’ said a slurred female voice on the other end.

  ‘Eva?’

  ‘No, dickhead. The other woman,’ she said, laughing. ‘Come out with me. Take me to a bar while I’m drunk and in a forgiving mood.’

  ‘Teresa.’

  ‘Get dressed and take me out. We need to talk.’

  ‘Fine. Hold on,’ he said, rubbing his eyes as he got to his feet. ‘Do I still need to come in fancy dress?’

  ‘Not unless you want to join me in some public humiliation.’

  He pulled on his shoes and grabbed the first coat he found in the cupboard, an old three-quarter-length pea coat. Double-checking he had his keys to get back in, he walked downstairs to the courtyard.

  He could see Teresa at the security gate before he reached it. Auburn hair tied up off her neck, woven in place on top of her head with a dozen plastic snakes. She wore a green dress with a low neckline in the style of the Ancient Greeks. As he got closer he could see the glinting armbands, earrings and necklace made up of golden coins. Her skin had been dusted with gold powder. Over her eyes she wore contact lenses with red irises.

  ‘Wow. You went to a lot of effort. You look amazing.’

  ‘I know, and you would have looked amazing too. Your costume was Perseus. It was ironic. Proper irony, not what passes for it these days.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  She put her finger to her lips. ‘Bar first. It’s cold,’ she said, rubbing her hands over her bare arms. Will placed his jacket over her shoulders.

  He led her through the connecting laneways that intersected the main streets, back down the slope of the hill that rolled towards the Yarra. It was twelve-thirty a.m. and he knew of only a few decent places that would be open past one.

  They descended the stairs into a simply f
urnished basement with small, round tables and a large counter made of iron and glass. It was still busy, but there was space at the bar. Will sat on a stool next to Teresa and helped her remove the jacket. A few of the patrons, perhaps those equally ignorant of the American holiday calendar as he was, stared at Teresa. She didn’t notice. Teresa waved down the bartender – a platinum-blonde woman with a crisp undercut and sleeve tattoos – and ordered two Lagavulin whiskies.

  ‘People were interested to see if you’d show tonight,’ Teresa said.

  ‘People?’

  ‘Other lawyers. No one quite hits the highs and lows as rapidly and noticeably as you, Will Harris. Some of the legal commissioner’s staff were there.’

  ‘Have you been looking into me, Teresa?’

  She held her finger to her lips again and smiled. ‘You’re the one being cross-examined. Do you know how long I waited for you outside your place, dressed like this? You live on Bourke Street, mate. Not some quiet suburban back street.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  The bartender placed the glasses on coasters in front of them, along with a small bottle of still water. Teresa slipped fifty dollars out of her bra and handed it over without breaking eye contact with Will.

  ‘I understand the work bit. Just a quick text letting me know you wouldn’t make it. That’s all I wanted.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Again? Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous?’

  ‘I don’t know. Is it?’

  ‘Well, I mean, we’re fuck buddies, maybe, at best. What makes you think there’ll be other indiscretions?’

  ‘I . . . What’s up?’

  ‘Do you still have feelings for Eva?’

  Behind the bar, out of Teresa’s field of vision, the bartender was polishing a martini glass. Will saw a shift in her expression as she discreetly listened to their conversation.

  ‘That’s difficult to answer.’

  ‘Is it? Honestly?’ She winked. ‘I’m a hard-as-nails prosecutor, senior counsel by the time I turned thirty-three. They don’t come tougher than me. Be as honest and direct as you can manage, darling.’

  ‘Why do you want to know this?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to dick over another woman.’

  The bartender laughed to herself and shook her head.