by Gary Kemble
Harry walked back to a bench and sat, huddling against the cold wind. Harry wondered why Johnny hadn’t suggested meeting at a cafe or a pub, like most of his contacts. But of course Johnny wasn’t here to talk shit – he had finally decided to lift the lid on his traumatic childhood.
Harry looked up from his phone and saw a man walking up the hill. Early twenties. Blond hair whipped about by the wind. Tall but not lanky. Finely chiselled features. He just had jeans and a t-shirt on, but the cold didn’t seem to worry him. Muscles rippled under the t-shirt. Shit. He looked like a male model.
‘Harry Hendrick?’
Harry stood, and they shook hands. The calluses told Harry the tan was from working outside, and not a salon.
‘That’s me. Johnny?’
‘Yep.’ Johnny looked away when he spoke, as though ashamed of his own name. ‘Did you go and visit the groundsman?’
‘Yeah, I did,’ Harry said. ‘Hey, shall we get out of the cold?’
Johnny nodded. They walked back to Harry’s car. He saw a battered ute in the car park and took it to be Johnny’s. The tray was filled with bags of cement and concreter’s tools. Harry got into his car. Johnny looked around and followed suit.
Harry pulled out his phone and opened the voice recorder. ‘Are you okay if I record this?’
Johnny didn’t look so sure, but Harry needed the record. He also found that sometimes getting out the recorder made it real for the interviewee. They knew they wouldn’t be able to back down on what they said.
Eventually, Johnny nodded. ‘Yeah. Fuck it,’ he said, then shook his head and stared into his lap.
Harry set up the phone and put it on the dash. A gust of wind shook the car.
‘I think we’re gonna get some rain,’ Johnny said. He shifted uncomfortably on the seat.
‘I went and interviewed the groundsman,’ Harry said.
‘Yeah? And?’
‘Well, you couldn’t really call it an interview, since he didn’t say anything. But you know what?’
‘What?’
‘He didn’t deny it,’ Harry said. ‘I gave him every opportunity to tell me I was lying. But he didn’t. He just looked shocked. The school contacted me the next day, threatening legal action.’
Johnny nodded. A bitter smile touched his lips, then faded. ‘The school – they don’t give a shit, they just don’t want it to come out.’
Harry watched the kids rolling down the hill. The dad had finally got the kite ready. The toddler was holding onto it, not sure what to do.
‘When did it start, Johnny?’
‘First year I went there. Just funny remarks, you know. From a couple of the teachers. Inappropriate remarks. I was thirteen.’
‘What kind of remarks?’
‘Things about my body. Things about their bodies. You know, like “nice arse”. Or, “I bet you’d like some of this?” It was always when there weren’t any other kids around. They were grooming me. Seeing how I’d react. I was too scared to do anything. I was on a scholarship. I was an outsider. So I just used to grin, try and ignore it.’
Johnny shook his head again.
‘Then it moved to the next phase. I found a gay porno mag in my locker. I was called to one of their offices and found a European porn video on the desk. There were kids on the cover – I realise now they were kids. But probably not actually illegal. Like borderline, you know? And when they saw me looking they’d put it away.’
‘You didn’t report it?’
‘When you’re a kid, you feel like you’re on your own, you know?’
Harry nodded. He could relate.
‘I was in the school rugby team. Glengarry was the coach. After training one day, when all the others had gone, he called me aside. Invited me over to his place on the weekend – said he had some training videos he wanted to go through. At the time I thought it was for the whole team. It didn’t occur to me how he’d waited until everyone else had gone.
‘So, that weekend, the parents were both working, as per usual. I rode my bike over to his place. He made some comment about how sweaty I was, but how that didn’t bother him. I think now that I saw the hunger in his eyes but I just ignored it. I didn’t listen to the sirens going off in my head.
‘He sat me down, got me a drink. I thought it was water until I sipped it. Vodka and lime. He said it would relax me. He put a DVD on then said he was going to get himself a drink. It wasn’t a training video. It was porn. Not kiddie stuff. That came later. A man, taking a woman from behind, up the arse.
‘He came back and was all, like, whoops, sorry about that. But he didn’t turn it off. He was watching my reaction. “Does this bother you?” he said. I was thirteen, at a boys’ school. Everyone’s paranoid they’re gonna be accused of being a homo if they don’t like porn. So he sat next to me and . . . y’know.’
Johnny made a wanking gesture with his hand. He choked back tears, then thumped the dashboard.
‘Fucking prick. Afterwards he told me there was nothing to be ashamed of. All this bullshit about the beauty of the human body. He . . . he touched me. Through my pants. I bolted for the door. And the prick just laughs at me. I was going to tell my parents . . .’ Johnny shook his head. ‘But I didn’t. I was ashamed, and scared, because I thought there was something wrong with me.’ He took a deep breath.
Outside, the rain was easing. The wind whistled over the car. Harry let Johnny’s silence play out. He wasn’t in a rush.
Gradually, Johnny told the full story. It wasn’t just Glengarry: he was part of a paedophile ring. There was another teacher from the school, a science teacher, who had since been convicted of child porn possession charges and was serving time in Arthur Gorrie, west of Brisbane. There were other men he could name, but they’d dropped out of sight in the years since. Johnny was raped on multiple occasions. Sometimes at school. Sometimes at Glengarry’s place, which had a soundproof room.
‘Sometimes, there was this house, out west. Darra, I think. There were girls there too,’ he said.
Johnny had dates for a lot of these assaults. The rapes continued until he left school. Shame prevented him from revealing what was going on, then fear.
‘They told me that if I said anything, they’d kill me. One of the guys, he was fucking scary. This old dude. Bushy grey hair. Prison tatts. Said he’d murdered a kid a few years back. Said he’d done time, would be worth doing a few extra years just to nail a snitch. I thought he was bullshitting, until he showed me the photos.’
‘Why have you decided to break your silence?’ Harry said.
Johnny sighed. ‘I . . . I thought Glengarry was the ringleader. After I left school, I kept my ear to the ground. I told myself that if I heard a squeak that it was still going on, I would go to the cops. Nothing. I thought that maybe that day in the changing rooms, Glengarry realised they’d gone too far, how close he’d come to being caught.’
He stopped, wrapped his hands together in his lap. Looked out the side window.
‘A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from an old friend. Hadn’t seen her since when I was at school. She was another of their . . . she was abused. It’s still going on. Not at the school. But . . . do you know the name Marcus Wilson?’
It set off a spark in Harry’s head, but it didn’t catch.
‘He’s a cop. You would of heard of him during the . . .’
‘Flood clean-up.’ A few years earlier, the city had been hit by a massive flood. Marcus Wilson took charge of the recovery effort.
Johnny nodded. ‘That’s him. He’s one of them. He was there. I didn’t know he was a cop at the time. He never made a big deal of it, for obvious reasons. But it explains a lot of things. I think he’s more than just a part of it. I think he’s in charge.’
Harry stared out the windscreen. Shit.
‘You think I’m crazy, right?’
Harry shook his head. ‘No. I’m just thinking about how we can prove this. This friend of yours, is she willing to talk to me?’
�
��Maybe. Also, they took photos. I can remember someone with a camera at most of the sessions. They were probably selling them. I don’t know if any of those photos still exist. But if they do, there’s your proof.’
Harry considered. He reached for his phone and turned it off. ‘Johnny, thank you for having the courage to . . .’
Johnny reached out, put his hand up. He was staring out the window. Lip quivering. ‘Just get the pricks, okay?’
Johnny got out of the car, slammed the door, and trudged back to his ute.
CHAPTER 16
‘This is nice,’ Bec said.
Harry looked around. He hadn’t really taken in the restaurant, he was so transfixed by Bec. Had been since he’d met her on George St. She was wearing a deep blue dress, high heels, a delicate silver necklace and matching earrings. The blue in the dress set off her eyes, which could look blue or grey depending on the day – and sometimes, Harry thought, her mood.
‘Yeah, it is,’ he said. He looked around. Crisp white tablecloths. Muted lighting. A candle on each table, creating a sense of intimacy. All the men were in suits. All the women in close-fitting dresses.
The staff hovered, anticipating the diners’ needs. After seating Harry and Bec, they’d made themselves scarce before returning with the wine list. Harry let Bec do the ordering – she had always been better than him at that sort of thing – and he was very satisfied with the full-bodied red the waiter returned with.
He took a sip. ‘Do you remember that time in France?’ he said.
Her eyes lit up and he saw she knew what he was talking about. They’d hired a car and gone on an ill-fated camping trip, where the rain seemed to follow them wherever they went. Just outside of Marseilles they’d pulled into a little town and were coaxed into a small winery to sample some wines. Bec looked at the price tag and saw the bottles were a hundred euros each – about their weekly budget at the time. The guy working there was unperturbed, offering them credit, offering to ship the bottles back home for them. In the end, they’d waited until he went into the back room to get some brochures for them, then bolted.
‘I thought he was going to follow us,’ she said. ‘“Your bro-sewers. Your bro-sewers.”’
Harry laughed. ‘Just letting you know, that is the worst French accent I’ve heard.’
She slapped him playfully on the arm.
‘I’ve never told you this,’ Harry said, leaning in. ‘But I’m pretty sure I saw him at Gare du Nord when we left, running alongside the train.’
Bec laughed. Harry sipped his wine. He’d spotted the restaurant a couple of weeks earlier, filed it away in his mind, hoping he and Bec would get to this point.
‘So you pulled up okay after last weekend?’
‘Yeah. I’m going easy on it tonight though,’ she said. She played with her glass, then glanced at Harry. ‘Don’t want to get too drunk.’
He felt her foot, under the table, brushing his calf. He wanted to grab it. He wanted to leave the restaurant right now, take her to her place, tear her clothes off.
‘I wish you could have stayed longer, last weekend.’
‘Me too,’ he said. He stared into her eyes. Thought again about just blowing the joint. But she would be furious. He was capable of being a grown-up, was capable of delaying the gratification, just a bit.
‘How’s work?’ he asked.
‘Ah, you know, same old same old. You?’
He nodded, guarded. He thought about the week he’d had. Interviewing Johnny the day before. The visit to the strip club. The horrific reason why he’d been dragged away from Bec’s place the previous Saturday. He searched for something he could share, something that wouldn’t drag the evening down. Couldn’t think of anything.
They ordered dinner, then filled the silence with small talk. Around them were the sounds of muted conversation, and the clink of cutlery and crockery. They talked about music, about movies that were out, brushed upon the news of the week.
Harry had the steak. It went perfectly with the wine, and pretty much melted in his mouth. Bec had the lamb, and from the look on her face at the first mouthful, it was just as good.
‘Are you okay?’ Bec said, out of nowhere.
‘How do you mean?’
‘You seem a little quiet. Like there’s something on your mind.’
Harry watched her for a moment. ‘It’s just work, just turning the pieces over, trying to make them fit.’
‘Anything I can help with?’ She took another mouthful of dinner.
‘No, but thanks for offering.’
Bec laid her knife and fork on the edge of the plate. ‘Harry, this isn’t going to work if you can’t open up to me.’
Harry dabbed his mouth with his napkin. Nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. It’s just been a heavy week, I don’t want to bring you down.’
She took his hand, interlaced her fingers with his.
‘I promise, I’ll tell you everything . . . over breakfast,’ Harry said.
Bec smiled. ‘A bit presumptuous. But, okay.’
Harry’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. He recognised the number immediately. It was the same one written on the back of the business cards.
I understand you’re looking for me?
He slid the phone back in his pocket. She could wait.
‘Is that your other girlfriend?’ Bec said.
‘Yeah,’ Harry deadpanned. ‘Which is really annoying, because I specifically told her I’d be with you all night.’
Bec mock-laughed.
They finished dinner and ordered dessert.
‘So, are you going to take me to the Ekka?’ Bec said. ‘Win me a stuffed toy?’
Harry was taken aback by the request. Like pretty much every kid in Brisbane, he’d been to the Royal Queensland Show. The rides, junk food and ridiculously priced showbags were a Brisbane institution. But the only time he’d been as an adult was when he was doing stories for the Chronicle. He and Bec had never been, and he’d just assumed she thought it was tacky.
‘Do you want to go?’
She nodded.
‘Is this some kind of mid-life crisis?’ he said.
Her face darkened.
‘I mean, early, still totally hot, mid-life crisis?’
‘No . . . just . . . I dunno. I think we got into a rut. I don’t want that to happen again. I want us to do new stuff. Nice save, by the way.’
Harry nodded. ‘I’d love to take you.’
Harry’s phone buzzed again.
‘She’s insistent,’ Bec said. ‘I’ll go powder my nose so you can sort it out.’
She rose from the table. Harry watched her head towards the bathroom, then picked up the phone.
I think you need to hear my side of the story. Now.
He thumbed the keyboard: I’m busy.
Less than a minute later the reply came: I’m sure your lady friend won’t mind. This is a one-time-only offer.
Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His ‘lady friend’. What, she was spying on him? He looked nervously around the room. The same bunch of people as before. He thought about the walk here. He’d met Bec outside the restaurant. Had anyone been watching? He didn’t think so, but he’d been preoccupied. Anger flared.
He dialled the number.
‘I knew you couldn’t resist,’ she purred. Her voice was deep, slightly raspy. Harry’s mind flashed to the night he saw her standing in the doorway dressed in lingerie. His body betrayed him.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he said.
The waiter who had been so attentive now swooped, as people looked over from neighbouring tables.
‘Sir, if you could please . . .’ He gestured to the front door.
At the back of the restaurant, Bec returned. As Harry rose from his seat, he saw her smile fade.
‘I’m not playing, Mr Hendrick. But you seem to be playing detective.’
‘I’m not a detective, I’m a journalist . . .’
‘Then you
will know the one about hearing both sides of the story.’
‘Of course, but I’m busy.’ He stood in the doorway, looking back into the restaurant where Bec was pointedly not looking at him.
The woman sighed. Harry’s face burned. ‘You want to solve the mystery. I think by the time you get to my place, you’ll be most of the way there.’
He knew she was smiling. He imagined red lips. He imagined her in the outfit he’d last seen her in.
‘I won’t bother giving you the address,’ she said. ‘I know you’ve already visited me . . . you naughty man.’
She hung up.
Harry stared at the phone, then pocketed it. He could feel the tension, not just from Bec but from himself. When he got back to the table, the desserts were there. He didn’t sit.
‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go,’ he said. He could tell she was pissed off, that she knew this was coming.
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry – it’s a work thing.’
Bec looked at her dessert, then around the room. Then she grabbed his hand. ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘You are going to tell me why this is so important, or I am not going to let you go.’
‘What?’
‘Sit.’
Harry sat. The tattoo on the back of his neck was growing warm. He sighed. ‘The texts are from a woman. Maybe a sex worker,’ he said. He was trying to keep his voice low, but even so the volume of conversation in the room seemed to drop a few decibels, and a couple of heads turned his way.
Bec’s eyebrows lifted.
‘I think she’s involved with the deaths of five men in the past few weeks,’ Harry said. ‘And this woman has just offered to tell me her side of the story.’
Bec looked at her dessert again.
‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said, getting up.
Bec pulled his dessert over. ‘On the bright side, two desserts.’ She forced a smile. ‘Is it safe? To go and talk to her?’