‘What happened?’ The words were out before she knew it. She hadn’t meant to interrupt him.
He looked at her as if he’d just remembered her presence. She got up and walked over to him, to lessen the sudden distance between them. Two steps away from him she stopped, waiting for a sign, but he gave her none. She returned to her chair.
The muscles in his face worked. ‘I waved Mother and my stepfather goodbye when they sailed and dutifully chaperoned the girls to an endless parade of the gay, reckless parties everybody seemed to be having. When I’d had my fill, I asked Bluey to keep as close an eye on them as he could. Then I chucked in my engineering job at the roadworks and set off inland to try my hand at fossicking.’
‘Did you get lucky?’ Frances interrupted him, not so much because she wanted to hear the answer – she could guess well enough – but because he felt so far away from her.
He moved a step closer. ‘Did I strike gold, you mean? Oh yes, in a small enough way. I had gathered enough experience, digging trenches, to know what to do with a shovel and a pickaxe, and I’d dabbled a bit in geology at uni. It was bloody lonely though, but that suited me well enough. And I knew the girls would get through their allowance fast. Including my darling mother. They all liked their bit of fun. So, I knew all along I’d better make some serious money while it was good.’
He rubbed his neck again. ‘I’d dig a bit, go to Perth, hand my finds over to an assayer and send a postal note, transferring money to the girls. That’s how Dolores knew where to find me when the bastards got to Rachel.’
Frances’ mouth went dry. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I told you about the parties, didn’t I? Some of them were incredibly hot. We’d all been through hell, and everybody got that sense that time was running out. People began to cram more into their remaining hours, more laughter, more excitement, more fun, more love, more pain. All fuelled by drink and drugs, to mask the stench of fear and loneliness.’
He took a wallet out of his jacket, flicking it open and flung it to Frances. ‘That’s Rachel.’ The photograph was small, maybe two by three inches, but it showed every exquisite detail of the girl’s oval face. Her brows were very dark and straight under her fair hair that she wore bobbed short enough for the tips to grace her cheek. Her mouth was generous and curved upwards, and she had the same look in her eyes as Jack.
‘She’s gorgeous,’ Frances said. ‘She and Dolores must have turned heads everywhere.’
‘Yes,’ Jack said, the pain naked in his face. ‘I shouldn’t have left her. I should’ve seen how vulnerable she was. She always had this intense hunger for life, and adventure, and when she fell in love with the wrong guy, there was no holding her back. Dolores didn’t know until Rachel’s boyfriend tried to get to her hooked on snow, too. Thank heavens she’s got her head screwed on right. She begged me to come home straight away.’
Tears stung in Frances’ eyes. She wiped them away. Poor Rachel, she thought, and poor Jack. ‘Why would anyone give his girlfriend drugs?’
‘Money. First what the girls could pay for the snow, and then what others would pay for the girls.’
The implication sank in with the force of a hammer. ‘Oh my God.’
‘I shouldn’t have told you that,’ he said. ‘I keep forgetting how young you are.’
‘Poor Rachel,’ she said. ‘What did you do?’
‘Salvaged whatever I could. She was in a pretty bad shape for a while, and she fought me with every breath, but we did it. I took her to my mother’s cousin in New Zealand, and she’s been there ever since. She’s fine now. Not much temptation out there on a sheep station, only peace and solitude, and half a dozen people watching over her.’
‘What happened to her boyfriend?’
‘His sins caught up with him. Last I heard he was rotting in jail.’ A grim smile appeared on Jack’s face. ‘He got caught trying to sell his wares to the wrong person.’
She had a hunch. ‘Did you have anything to do with it?’
‘Rachel’s my sister. I protect my own people.’
‘Was Dolores never – tempted?’ Frances hoped she didn’t sound as disturbed as she was.
‘I don’t know, and I didn’t ask. All I know is that without her, Rachel might as well be dead.’ He gave her an appraising look. ‘I told you I owe her. Especially since she came within a hair of having to appear as a witness against the boyfriend, which would have damaged her reputation without a hope of repair. Nobody’s got a longer memory and a filthier mind-set than those who were most properly brought-up.’
‘But you didn’t go back to your dig.’
He stared at the sky. ‘You need to know when to walk away. There’s only so much solitude I could take, and I’d had my fair share. That’s when I came to Adelaide.’
‘With Dolores?’ That came out wrong. Her cheeks grew warm.
‘Sure. I couldn’t leave her behind and have one of the thugs who were in the cocaine racket take revenge on her, could I?’ Jack folded his hands behind his neck. ‘Apart from the fact that I promised Simon I’d look after her, and she’s a jolly talented singer. She’d had enough training to make it on any stage, so I built up the Top Note around her talents.’
He must have taken a small army along. Bluey and the Barkers had all along been part of the set-up from what she’d gathered, doing odd jobs first for Jack’s mother, then for Rachel and Dolores. Frances was impressed at how he’d managed to support them all.
‘I thought they’d be protected enough.’ Jack seemed to marvel at his own naivety. ‘There was always someone, except when the girls went out to meet friends or go to a fashionable club. They couldn’t very well have a chauffeur or housekeeper trailing after them, could they?’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t notice if anyone’s getting hooked on something until they’re pretty far gone. Otherwise Bluey would have taken the fellow apart before he could get to Rachel. Or I would.’
Frances felt sick inside, sick and numb at the same time, as if her mind had put up a barrier to keep thefts, drugs, and murder at a safe distance from her.
‘You look as if you’re close to fainting,’ Jack said. ‘I shouldn’t have told you this, but I thought it might help you understand.’
She pulled her feet up on to the seat, hugging her knees to her. She stared at his calm face. ‘Have you often hurt people?’
‘When I had to. Do you want me to go?’
‘No.’ She lowered her feet to the ground and sat up straight. ‘At least – I don’t think so. But, Jack? What shall I do?’
He sat forward in his chair. ‘What advice would your father have given? Or your brother?’
She paused. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. The night seemed to have swallowed any sound apart from Jack’s soft breath and her heart beating. ‘They’d have told me that I’d need to do something. Standing by, letting bad things happen, makes you guilty as well. That’s what my dad used to tell us.’ Her voice took on a high pitch. ‘And he was talking about pilfered sweets or someone riding the tram without a ticket.’ Her hand trembled as she touched his sleeve. ‘But how can I be sure we’re talking about the same victim? You haven’t told me anything.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Here’s what I know. On Good Friday, some shopkeepers used the public holiday to get a few things done in their shops, book keeping, or a stock-take, or other chores that needed to be done outside shop hours. Among them was a jeweller, who was rumoured to keep his most precious pieces in a safe in his house in Glenelg, taking them to his shop by appointment only.’
Frances’ stomach lurched.
‘He’d set up such an appointment for yesterday morning, with a person unknown. When he left his house to walk to his car, someone struck him from behind repeatedly, with enough force to split his skull.’
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered.
‘The police found an empty jeweller’s tray, covered in black velvet, half buried under the body.’ Jack rubbed his chin. ‘There’s one thing,
though. During the last year, there’ve been a number of stick-ups, involving jewellers. That’s safer than a bank job. Loot’s easy to carry, easy to sell, and there are no guards to deal with. I’d have said it’s another of those, gone wrong, if you hadn’t overheard that phone call.’
Her heart beat faster. She pressed her hand on her ribs to prevent it from bursting out of her chest.
Jack stood up and put both hands on her shoulders. ‘You could talk to Phil about Croaky, kiddo.’
‘No.’ She shook her head wildly. ‘He’s with the police and he’d have to write a report. I’d lose my job, and we’d all be on the street. Or else he’d lie for me, and how can I trust him, if he’s corrupt enough to do that?’ She looked straight into Jack’s eyes. ‘There must be another way, and right now you’re the only one I trust.’
‘Although I’m a lawbreaker?’
‘Uncle Sal says you're an honest crook. That’s true, isn’t it?’
Jack’s eyes softened. ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Here’s what you can do tomorrow …’
17
Jack’s plan had sounded so simple. All Frances had to do was figure out where she’d put the plugs to get the required connection.
She eyed the switchboard wearily. She’d been busy all morning, moving the plugs in a hectic dance dictated by speed, speed, speed. Now, that Easter was but a fading memory, it felt as if the whole country wanted to catch up on the telephone with whatever deal or dream needed pursuing, and every second call involved her switchboard, leaving her hardly a moment to think. Cold sweat trickled down her armpits. She must figure it out before it was too late. Think, she told herself as she eyed the switchboard. She thought back. She’d accepted the call from the operator, Clara had left, and she’d plugged the jacks in – where?
A tap on her shoulder made her start.
‘I have talked to the General Postmaster,’ Mr Gibbons said. ‘The powers that be have decided, for economy’s sake, not to hire a new girl. Instead we will make up a roster dividing up the hours in question among existing staff.
‘I did wonder, under these circumstances, if you are still willing to put your name down for a few extra hours again? I realise you’ve done more than enough already, filling in, but still.’
‘I’m glad to help, and of course I can do with some extra shillings, but if there is someone else who really needs the hours, don’t mind me.’
Mr Gibbons pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘Clara’s wee brother is poorly and needs to see the doctor every couple of days.’
‘She’ll need every penny, then,’ Frances said. ‘Don’t worry about my family. We’ve got a new lodger now, so we’re all right.’
‘Good. But there is one more thing. I understand it is none of my affair,’ he said with an apologetic note in his voice, ‘but I did know your father very well indeed, and I feel it is my duty to tell you that certain, ahem, things have come to my ears.’
She kept an eye on the switchboard, hoping he’d get to the point. ‘Yes?’
‘There’s been talk, I’m afraid, about a certain person paying attention to you; a gentleman whose business is not quite reputable, if the rumours are true.’
Frances swivelled around, ignoring the blinking light. ‘You’re talking about Jack Sullivan.’
His worry lines deepened as he nodded.
‘But …’ She paused. ‘What about him? He’s an old war mate of our lodger, Mr Anderson, who happens to have transferred from the Melbourne police. He invited Mr Anderson and my family to a picnic so they could share memories of friends they’d left behind.’
Unexpected anger rose in her. ‘If there’s anything wrong with that, feel free to tell me. And if there’s anything specific that should make Mr Sullivan unfit for my mother’s company, I’d like to know.’ She took a deep breath.
‘It’s not the gentleman himself who attracts criticism, my dear, but his line of business. But if he’s an old friend of this Mr Anderson, that’s different. Be glad, Frances, that you’re too young to remember much about the war. Those were terrible days, terrible.’
‘You lost someone? I’m so sorry.’
‘My son. Eddy had just turned eighteen.’ Mr Gibbons took off his spectacles and blinked helplessly. ‘All you get is a letter, telling you that your boy won’t come home.’ The poor man.
‘Mr Gibbons?’
‘Yes, my dear?’
‘If you’d like me to, I could ask Mr Sullivan if he can find someone who’s been in the war with your son.’
‘Gallipoli,’ Mr Gibbons said. ‘Eddy served on the peninsula. And, Frances?’
‘Yes, Mr Gibbons?’
‘Thank you.’
∞∞∞∞
The light no longer blinked. Frances rubbed her temples. What a small place Adelaide was! How often had she been out with Jack? Well, once would probably have been enough to set vicious tongues in motion. She put the headset on and concentrated on the task at hand. By the end of her shift her throat felt parched and her eyes smarted, and still she couldn’t pinpoint the exact spot on the switchboard. But at least she’d narrowed it down to a few possibilities. That was the good news. The bad news was, those few plugs serviced over a hundred phone lines.
She massaged her right shoulder. It hurt, from carrying a shoulder bag containing the iron horseshoe Jack had given her instead of a half-brick. It made a good weapon, but it also weighed a ton.
She let herself out the back door. Her throat felt even worse than before, because she hadn’t had a drink all day. She slid a hand into her skirt pocket. This once the spare pennies she kept there wouldn’t end up in a beggar’s bowl but in the nearest café.
∞∞∞∞
This was a far cry from Balfours, Frances thought as she took in the peeling paint on the wall and the lack of lighting. Most of the light bulbs in the two fly-dirt spotted chandeliers were burnt out, but then the place was cheap.
She ordered a pot of tea from the placid waitress who stared at her with a puzzled expression. She gave Frances another close look as she brought the tea. It was unsettling, but at least the tea was hot and strong and Frances’ tongue no longer stuck to the roof of her mouth.
She cradled the half empty cup in her hand. Two other tables were taken, one by two elderly nurses and the table next to hers by two men. They didn’t give her as much as a glance. She planted her elbows on the table and looked out of the window, trying again to remember what the operator on the other end had said. She reached out for the cup as her elbow slipped and her handbag fell off the table.
‘Bother,’ she said under her breath as she bent down to pick it up.
‘The job came off without a hitch,’ she heard a man as she crouched half under the table. ‘But I swear, mate, next time I’ll do it lakeside.’
Frances let out a startled shriek. That voice, she knew that voice. And those words! Look at them, her head told her, look at Croaky, but her body wouldn’t listen. Blind panic engulfed her. She grabbed her bag, righted herself and fumbled for her money. She put two pennies on the table, keeping her face turned away from the other table.
‘Hey, you there,’ the voice said in a harsh manner, and she heard a chair scrape over the floorboards.
‘Now I know you.’ The waitress put a hand on her hip, shielding Frances from view. ‘You’re a switchboard operator, right? You used to work with my cousin, Gussie.’ The bell on the counter rang. ‘Coming,’ she yelled, as she turned around at snail’s pace.
Stumbling, Frances fled into the daylight. Her blood pounded in her ears. She looked frantically around her. If the man really was Croaky, talking about a murder, and he’d heard her shrieking, he might go after her. Or he'd go after her mum and Uncle Sal. She couldn’t go home. He might follow her there. She couldn’t go back to the telephone exchange either, because then he’d know for sure that she worked there.
She dashed across the road and around the corner to seek refuge in the O’Leary’s shop. The small pa
rt of her that wasn’t numb with fear listened out for pursuing footsteps, but none came. She breathed more normal now, as she regained her composure. She needed to get a grip on her imagination.
She pushed the shop door open.
‘Frances, my dear.’ Tilda peered at her with short-sighted eyes. ‘What a nice surprise. How can I help you?’ She gave her a closer look. ‘Are you all right, love?’
Everything was as it should be. A huge wave of relief flooded over Frances. She thought quickly. No need to alarm the old dear, and there was something she'd wanted to buy anyway. She held up her shaking hands. ‘Gloves,’ she said. ‘I can’t wear these old things with my gorgeous new dress, can I?’
Tilda gave her a sly glance as she took one of Frances’ hands in hers, fingering the darned spots. ‘Lovely stitches, really well concealed,’ she said. ‘But these are things to wear to work and not for an evening in the Top Note.’ She moved her head closer to Frances. ‘Tell me, my dear, is the club really that fast? I’ve never been to a night club, but one does hear such exciting stories.’
‘Much exaggerated. Don’t pay them any heed,’ an amused voice said behind Frances’ back. ‘My mother’s debutante balls were a much hotter affair from what I’ve been told.’
‘Jack!’ Frances gave a start. ‘My goodness, you frightened me half to death. What are you doing here?’
‘Hoping for an introduction.’ His teeth flashed as he winked at her.
‘Of course.’ Frances said, feeling weak with relief. Whatever happened, he’d promised to keep her safe. ‘Jack Sullivan, I’d like you to meet Tilda O’Leary.’
Jack bent over Tilda’s hand. ‘My pleasure.’
Tilda’s left hand fluttered to her chest. A flush crept into her cheeks. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
A Matter of Love and Death: a historical mystery you don't want to miss Page 15