Silver

by Chris Hammer

  ‘Johnson. Hello.’

  ‘I wanted to tell you straight away …’

  ‘If it’s about the police press conference, I just watched it live on Sky.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘Do you have anything to tell me I don’t already know?’

  ‘Well, not as such.’

  ‘I’m not very fucking happy, Johnson. I should have known about this earlier. It’s not what I pay you for.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t know any of that. It must have happened last night.’

  ‘Well, lift your game.’

  The call goes dead.

  ‘Is there more?’ Martin asks.

  Lucic nods, distaste written clearly on his face. ‘Johnson Pear to Harrold Drake Junior.’ He taps the laptop keyboard.

  ‘Johnno. What news, my friend?’

  ‘Have you been watching television?’

  ‘In the middle of the day? Fuck that.’

  ‘We just gave a press conference. Homicide says Mandalay Blonde is in the clear.’

  ‘So what? I always reckoned it was the swami who killed Jasper.’

  A pause. ‘You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?’

  ‘Killing Jasper? Fuck no. Of course not.’

  Another pause. ‘The journos are saying there were two poisons at Hummingbird Beach. Two killers.’

  A pause, then a shift in tone, Harry the Lad sounding less flippant. ‘Journos? What would they know? What did the cops say?’

  ‘Nothing. The homicide detective, Montifore, wouldn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it.’

  ‘Well, it’s got nothing to do with us.’

  ‘Of course it fucking does,’ says Johnson Pear, suddenly assertive. ‘You’ve been doling out drugs at Hummingbird for years. You don’t think homicide won’t come looking for you?’

  ‘Fuck, Johnno, chill out, will you? Yeah, I get a few people high now and then. If push comes to shove, I’ll admit to it. But I didn’t fucking kill anyone. Why would I?’

  ‘I don’t know. But from now on, you can count me out.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘No more turning a blind eye. It’s finished.’

  ‘Righto. Suit yourself. We’ll talk again when this all blows over.’

  The call ends.

  ‘Sounds like Pear doesn’t know that much,’ Martin observes.

  Lucic doesn’t respond. He looks as if Winifred has been leaving prawn heads in her bin.

  ‘Heads up!’ says one of the technicians. ‘Harrold Drake Junior is leaving the hostel. On foot. Heading along the main street.’

  ‘Where’s he going?’ asks Lucic, but no one answers.

  Long seconds go by, the four men tense, until eventually the tech speaks again. ‘Harrold Drake Junior is entering the ground floor of an office block at eighteen The Boulevarde.’

  ‘Harrold Drake and Associates,’ says Martin.

  ‘Show time,’ says one of the techs, adjusting his headphones.

  At that moment, the hotel door bursts opens. It’s Morris Montifore, breathing hard.

  ‘Just in time for the main event,’ Lucic tells him. ‘Harrold Junior entering the offices of Harrold Senior.’

  ‘Shush!’ says one of the techs.

  ‘Okay,’ says his colleague. ‘It’s the office, not the boardroom.’

  ‘Turn it up,’ says Montifore.

  ‘You saw?’ It sounds like the son.

  ‘Yeah, I saw.’ It’s Drake Senior’s voice. ‘It was on TV.’

  ‘She’s in the clear. She didn’t kill him.’

  ‘So they say.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Harry, calm yourself. Sit down.’ A pause. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You said she killed him.’

  ‘So I did. That’s what Johnson Pear told me. Did he tell you anything different?’ A pause. ‘All it means is we don’t know who killed him. We don’t know why.’

  ‘They said he sent a letter. About Hummingbird.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe he suspected he was in danger. Maybe he was right.’

  ‘Danger? Who from?’

  ‘My guess is Jay Jay Hayes.’

  ‘Jay Jay? Why would she kill him?’

  ‘Because Jasper found out her lover was a fraud and was about to expose him. That’s what’s probably in this letter of Jasper’s. Exposing Myron Florakis.’

  A long silence.

  ‘They reckon there were two poisons at Hummingbird. Two killers. It wasn’t just that Topaz chick.’

  ‘So they say.’

  ‘You said it wouldn’t hurt anyone. You said it was just to make them sick, to discredit them. To drive him out of business, to force Jay Jay to sell.’

  ‘That’s right. That’s all it was. You didn’t kill anyone.’

  ‘Who did then? There was a second poison.’

  ‘Jay Jay.’

  ‘Jay Jay?’

  ‘Sure. She killed Jasper to protect the swami. But she couldn’t trust Hawananda, so she took him out. And a few others as well, to cover her tracks. Very clever of her.’

  A very long pause.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  chapter thirty-two

  Hummingbird Beach is deserted. There is no one here, just the birds, the kangaroos and the waves breaking on the shore. The waves seem more urgent today, excited by recent storms, but there is little left for Martin to be excited by. The police have gone, taking their evidence with them, the campers have washed up on some other beach and the new intake of spiritual seekers has cancelled. The media are swarming around the Sperm Cove Backpackers, the Port Silver police station, and the homes and offices of the Harrolds Drake, Senior and Junior. Martin is leaving that to Bethanie and Baxter. He’s filed for online; tomorrow’s paper will carry the authoritative account. But for now, he’s at Hummingbird Beach, feeling all the better for a proper sleep and a substantial breakfast.

  He walks down to the house. Jay Jay is sitting at a table out on the deck waiting for him, bags packed and ready to go. There’s a small bouquet of flowers, perhaps a parting gift from one of her long-term campers. She’s looking at the sea, oblivious to his approach, filling her eyes. He watches a moment before climbing the steps and disturbing her reverie. He’s agreed to drive her up to Longton. She’s going to catch the train to Sydney to start treatment.

  ‘Ready?’ he asks.

  ‘No.’ She smiles. ‘I want to sit here forever.’

  ‘Sooner you go, sooner you get back,’ he says, returning her smile.

  ‘Maybe. But before we go, can you tell me what happened? I read your stories on the computer but I’m still not sure I follow it all.’

  ‘You wouldn’t. Now that the Drakes have been charged, we’re restricted in what we can publish. But the gist of it is this: last Friday night there were two poisons administered here at Hummingbird by two separate people, neither of them aware of the other. The first was Topaz Throssel, who wanted to avenge her sister by killing Myron Florakis and then herself. The other killer was Harry the Lad. His mission was to kill the man he knew as Swami Dev Hawananda and yourself. But it all went awry. Florakis died, both you and Topaz survived, and six others died for no good reason.’

  Jay Jay Hayes looks stunned. Martin lets her absorb what he’s just told her. It must be almost a minute before she speaks, her voice a whisper. ‘Why did they want to kill me?’

  ‘Harrold Drake Senior wanted you dead so the Divine Meditation Foundation would inherit Hummingbird Beach, and he wanted the swami dead so he could control the foundation. He planned to sell the land to the French resort developers.’

  ‘So money? Greed? The lives of seven people taken, just for that?’

  ‘Drake is drowning in debt. It goes back to Amory Ashton. Ashton offered Drake a short cut to leapfrog the St Clairs, the Tomakises and the Speights of the world, to sit on the pinnacle of Nobb Hill. So Drake borrowed heavily, invested ten million in a scam project spruiked by Amory Ashton and lost it all when Ashton disapp
eared.’

  ‘Ashton? But I told you, he’s dead. Where’s the money?’

  ‘My guess? Sitting unclaimed in some offshore tax haven. But Drake, and anybody else who knows about the money, assumes Ashton did a runner with it.’

  Jay Jay nods, her face grim. ‘So they wanted me dead. Me and Dev. What went wrong?’

  ‘I can’t be sure, but Harry the Lad is cooperating fully with police. He’s claiming he was duped by his own father. He knew he was poisoning people, but he thought it was to make them ill, not to kill them. To destroy the reputation of Hummingbird, close down the swami’s business and force you to sell.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Topaz only intended to kill herself and the swami. She put her poison in the ceremonial bowl right at the end, so that only he and she would drink it. But after drinking it, Hawananda staggered away, possibly because Harry had already poisoned him. He passed out before emptying the bowl. Others saw it there and drank some.’

  ‘And died.’

  ‘Some did, some didn’t.’

  Jay Jay pauses again, thinking. Frowning. ‘So why did Dev die but Topaz and I survive?’

  ‘Harry the Lad. His father gave him two substances. The first had small traces of the poison as well as ipecac. You know what that is?’

  ‘It makes you vomit.’

  ‘Right. So anyone drinking that would throw up, feel terrible and, if tested, show signs of poisoning. Meanwhile, a much stronger dose of the poison, without the ipecac, was reserved for you and your swami. Harrold Drake Senior wanted it to look like the swami had planned a murder-suicide, but with only two deaths. Harry the Lad claims he knew none of that.’

  ‘Do the police believe him?’

  ‘I doubt it. Surely he must have wondered why there was one dose for you and the swami and another for everyone else. Although, there was another factor …’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Rohypnol.’

  ‘Again? On Friday night as well?’

  ‘Yes. Almost certainly administered by Garth McGrath. It showed up in the blood of a young woman he was targeting and an older man. Fortunately, she was one of the survivors.’

  ‘But why would Garth do that? He was so good-looking. Women were always throwing themselves at him. He didn’t need to drug anyone.’

  ‘Sex obviously wasn’t enough for him. He wanted something else. Control. Total submission. He was a predator. But part of his methodology was to drug a number of people, not just his target, and he’d pretend he’d been affected as well. He drugged Jasper one night when he was targeting Mandy, and he did it to me on Thursday when he was targeting Topaz. It’s likely he gave it to Harry the Lad and, possibly, to the swami on Friday.’

  ‘Shit,’ says Jay Jay. ‘That’s why Dev passed out before he started throwing up like Topaz and me. And why Harry the Lad lost track of who got which dose.’

  ‘That’s the theory.’

  ‘So will they charge him with murder?’

  Martin shrugs. ‘Don’t know. I reckon he’s trying to bargain with the police: full cooperation and testifying against his father in return for being charged with manslaughter instead of murder.’

  ‘Will that work?’

  ‘No idea. Certainly he knew nothing of his father’s financial ruin. Just a few weeks ago, he was talking to Jasper about investing in a plan to subdivide the properties on Ridge Road. He thought his father could help finance it.’

  ‘Who killed Jasper?’

  ‘Harrold Drake Senior. Jasper discovered Dev Hawananda was not whom he claimed to be and Drake found out. Chances are Jasper only got halfway there: he thought Hawananda’s real name was Myron Papadopoulos and was coming to tell me, but he may not have known about what happened in Crete. Jasper was thinking it would be a good story and would perhaps help loosen your financial grip on Hummingbird. But it forced Drake’s hand. If you learnt Hawananda was a fraud, you would almost certainly disinherit him. So Harrold Drake killed Jasper then attempted to frame Hawananda. Then, when he learnt from Johnson Pear that the swami had an alibi, he tried shifting the blame to Mandy.’

  ‘My God. He must have been desperate.’

  ‘Utterly. He’s denying it all, but he left a footprint as he fled out the back of Mandy’s townhouse and along the river. And his son is trying to save his own arse by assisting the police.’

  Jay Jay looks back out to sea, considering all she has been told. ‘Poor Jasper,’ she says. ‘I felt sorry for him. He never became the man he could have been. I thought Dev might help him, give him a little peace, a little perspective. But I guess it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple.’

  After that, they sit for a long while, neither of them speaking, just looking at the waves rolling onto the shore with clockwork precision, as if the swell is clapping in time with some unknowable rhythm. Eventually Martin gets to his feet and carries Jay Jay’s bags up to the car, gives her a last few moments to herself to farewell her birthright. He waits at the car park, watching as she walks up the slope towards him, impressed again by how healthy she looks, how fit. Only her bowed head, the stoop that has crept into her shoulders and the sadness that clings to her suggests anything is amiss.

  They leave in silence, no words spoken, the only sound the guttural rumble of the car’s muffler. At the turn-off onto Dunes Road, Martin pauses and they watch as a Channel Ten car speeds by on its way back to the cheese factory, followed by nothing but Martin’s smile. Martin turns onto the bitumen, heading for Port Silver, accelerating as smoothly as possible, trying not to overexcite the broken exhaust. He’s just getting up to speed when Jay Jay reaches out, places her hand gently on his arm. ‘Pull over, Martin. Just up here. By the cross.’

  Martin slows the car to walking pace, pulls off the road and stops, the cross before them, the lighthouse floating in the distance.

  ‘Come on,’ she says and climbs out of the car. He follows. She has the bouquet of flowers from the deck. She walks to the cross, crouches, places them at its base, stays there for a moment before standing. ‘Not plastic ones this time.’

  ‘It’s you,’ says Martin. ‘I thought it was Vern.’

  She looks at him then, eyes wet. ‘I was there, Martin. I was there that day.’

  He studies her, comprehension coming too slowly, a wave too big to dive under, a wave too rough to float over. ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Your father was with me at Hummingbird Beach. Dad was in the shed, milking the cows, always at the same time.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘Your mother came in, she saw us. Didn’t say a word, just walked straight back out. Ron ran after her.’

  ‘But Dad was at the cheese factory that day.’

  ‘No, Martin. He was with me. And your mum knew exactly where to find him.’ Tears are flowing down her cheeks now. ‘I am so sorry. So incredibly sorry.’ She holds her arms out, as if to gather him in, to hug him. But Martin can’t, he just can’t. Instead he looks down at the cross. His sisters, his baby sisters, trapped in the back of the car. Struggling. Crying. Drowning. What had they ever done?

  After a while, she returns to the car, leaving him there with his thoughts of his mother and his sisters and his broken family. He has no idea how long he stands there, head bowed, heartbroken, crying his own tears of remorse.

  Back in the car, it’s not until they have passed over the Argyle, until they have passed the port and the town, are beyond the high school and its cane-cosseted childcare centre, that Martin breaks the silence. ‘So that’s why you left? Went surfing? Why you didn’t come back even when the surfing was over? Why you went seeking peace in India?’ He looks across at her, but she’s looking out the window as she answers.

  ‘I was never going to come back. Never. I was away for more than twenty-five years. But eventually I realised that your past is always with you, you can’t outrun it. It’s why I had to tell you.’

  Martin says nothing. They drive on through the green sea of the cane fields. They pass the tur
n-off to the right, the road to the sugar mill, the place where he stopped to pick up a couple of carefree backpackers precisely a week ago. Carefree no longer. Topaz Throssel, another person unable to outrun her past. The climb up the escarpment begins, the car dropping gears, the muffler roaring and the exhaust backfiring. It’s only when they enter the flickering trees, sun strobing, that Martin asks, ‘What was he like, Jay Jay? My dad. Before?’

  And as the old car sputters its way up through the rainforest she tells him, her voice initially reluctant and remorse-filled, but soon enough warming to the task, fired by memories. ‘He was fun, Martin, so much fun. He had such energy, such a spark, such wit.’ And: ‘A big kid. Forgot to grow up.’ And: ‘He was incorrigible. He just couldn’t help himself.’ And, last and most potently: ‘He loved you kids. Loved you so much. And he loved Hilary. He was never going to leave. The rest was just playing about. I knew that.’ And strange as it may seem, and hard though it may be to believe, by the time the Corolla crawls over the lip of the escarpment and makes it back to level ground, regaining its higher gears, the two of them are laughing, laughing at the memory, with the memory, of Ron Scarsden. It lasts a moment, just a moment, but it happens.

  At the railway station, Martin carries one of the bags onto the platform for Jay Jay, although she seems in no way impaired, not physically. A memory comes to him, as they so often do these days. But now he welcomes it, lets it in, acknowledges the hurt. He is again his younger self, aged eighteen, eager to get away, eager to get to Sydney, to escape Port Silver, Longton and his past. He sees Vern embracing him, helping with his luggage, thrusting cash into his hand, while Martin, eyes focused on the future, careless in his farewells, impatient to bury his past and forge a different Martin Scarsden, oblivious to the emotion in his uncle’s eyes, climbs onto the train and doesn’t look back.

  Then the memory dissolves and he’s with Jay Jay again. There’s an awkward moment. How to say goodbye? What to say as they wait for the train?

  ‘You know,’ says Jay Jay, ‘that first morning, a few days ago, when I saw you walking towards me on the beach, I thought for a moment it was Ron. You walk the same way.’

  Martin isn’t sure what to say. ‘It was thirty-three years ago. He was younger than I am now.’