by Peter Corris
The rain hadn’t amounted to much and the sky was rapidly clearing. From my vantage point I could see back towards Concord and Tess’s neighbourhood. I wondered what she’d meant about knowing there was something not right about the protest and why I hadn’t asked her. I wasn’t displaying my best form and I knew why.
I was worried about failing Cyn, worried about the young woman who might be my daughter and caught up in a relationship that might or might not go somewhere. Too many cross-currents for efficient work.
Back in the car, I fingered the irritating patch of stubble and felt like a drink, like several drinks. I was thinking seriously about a visit to the former Sheep Shit Inn when the mobile rang. My first thought was of Tess and I grabbed the phone. ‘Tess?’
‘This is Geoff Samuels, Cliff.’
‘Oh, Geoff, right. How is she?’
‘Not good, but she got through the night and they think she can pull up a bit. She doesn’t really want to except for this business about Megan French. She wants to see you, Cliff.’
‘Okay. Where are you?’
He named a private hospital in Willoughby and I said I’d be there as quickly as I could.
‘I should warn you that my sister’s here. Annie. Mum was muttering something about Megan and Annie’s latched onto it. She wants to know everything. I’ve stalled her. I’m afraid I’ve sort of lumbered you with it. Annie’s always had the edge on me. I thought you could handle it better.’
‘Well, I’ll do what I can.’
‘The thing is, she knows all about you. Has for a long time. Apparently she found some letters or something Mum had. You’re not her favourite person, Cliff.’
‘Great. See you soon.’
I forgot about alcohol and headed towards Willoughby. As I drove I thought of the time Cyn and I had spent together. Mostly, I remembered the fights and the silences and it was hard to say which were the worst. The big silence was coming and it was beginning to look as if I’d let her down, again.
Propped up against pillows, wearing a white cotton nightgown with a high neck, Cyn looked shrunken to half her proper size. I tried to arrange my face so as to conceal the waves of shock, sympathy and sadness that washed over me but, sick as she was, she could still read me accurately.
‘Pretty bad, huh,’ she said in a surprisingly strong voice. ‘Fact is that it’s worse for all of you than it is for me.’
I approached the bed and took her hand briefly. I couldn’t speak. Geoff was sitting in a chair by the window and a woman a few years older than him, but bearing a strong physical resemblance, sat close by the bed.
‘This is my daughter, Anne, Cliff.’
She returned my nod. ‘Anne Samuels,’ she said. ‘How do you do?’
She was good-looking and well dressed—dark, layer-cut hair, expert makeup, blue blouse and business suit, minimal jewellery. No sign of her pregnancy yet. No sign of a wedding ring either. A modern woman. She looked intelligent and tough, not a common combination and that sharp nod spoke volumes. Anne Samuels looked as if she thought it’d be a good idea to push me out the window, and we were ten storeys up.
‘I want you to explain things to Anne. About Megan. Try to make her understand. I haven’t the strength.’
I didn’t know that I had the ability, but I nodded.
Cyn drew in a deep breath. The neck of the nightgown gaped and I could see that she was wasted to skin and bone. Her eyes seemed unnaturally large in her shrunken face. ‘How far have you got, Cliff? Tell me the truth.’
I shook my head. ‘Not far, Cyn. There’s a few things to follow up on but it takes time.’
‘Time’s just exactly what I haven’t got. No, scrub that. I’m determined to hang on until you find her.’
I heard Anne Samuels’ angry snort but Cyn, if she heard it, ignored the response. ‘Geoff tells me you took him to see a prostitute.’
‘A very nice prostitute,’ Geoff said.
Cyn’s smile was full and bright and convinced me that she wasn’t at her last gasp yet.
‘That’s right,’ I said.
With an effort, Cyn stirred on the pillows and although it evidently caused her pain, she moved her shrivelled upper body minimally to left and right. ‘He’s a good boy, and Anne’s a good girl. I just need to know about the other one as well.’
Geoff had spent enough time with her to know the signs. He touched her hand. ‘You’re tired, Mum. Better get some rest.’
Cyn nodded. She was hooked up to several bottles with various tubes running into her. At a guess, morphine was on tap. Her eyelids fluttered.
Geoff kissed her on the cheek. After a brief hesitation, Anne did the same and we left the room.
Outside, Anne fronted me like a footballer getting in an opponent’s face. She was surprisingly tall, not much shorter than her brother. ‘I want to talk to you but I need a cigarette first.’
‘There’s a smoking area down here, Annie,’ Geoff said quietly. ‘But should you be smoking now that you’re …’
‘Shut up. I’d quit before this happened. You can have a joint and maybe get up the courage to deal with this arsehole.’
We went down the corridor and out onto a small balcony. Anne took out a packet of filters and lit up. She exhaled and some of the smoke drifted my way. I was somewhere between annoyed and amused. She was genuinely aggressive but working at it as well and her acting wasn’t quite up to the job. I made allowances for the fact that her mother was dying and didn’t let it get to me. Not too much.
‘You’re exploiting her.’
I shook my head. ‘No.’
‘I know all about you. What an arsehole you were when you and Mum were married.’
‘It was a bad marriage,’ I said. ‘But pretty much a fair fight.’
She puffed hard. ‘You shit! You glib shit.’
‘Easy, Annie,’ Geoff said.
She spun around. ‘Easy yourself, Geoffrey. You ought to be shot, going along with this crap. Can’t you see that this man’s conning her? Taking advantage of …’
After the events of the last few hours that was a bit too much. I moved forward and snatched the cigarette from her hand and threw it into one of the big ashtrays. I grabbed her arm, pulled her off balance and pushed her down into a chair. I stood over her.
‘You just listen to me, young lady. You couldn’t be more wrong. Your mother thinks this Megan French is her daughter. My daughter, too. I don’t know and for my part I don’t care much. I’m not a family type. But it matters to Cyn in the last days of her life and that’s what matters to me. And to Geoff, too. And if you had any decency in you you’d see that and not give a shit about anything else but helping her to die in peace. That’s what Cyn wants and you should too, and fuck any other fucking selfish ideas you might have in your fucking selfish yuppie head.’
She looked up at me and the veneer of toughness and sophistication fell away. Her shoulders started to move, her eyes brimmed and overflowed and then she was weeping and her body was shaken by deep, racking sobs. Geoff knelt beside her and put one arm awkwardly around her shoulders. She leaned towards him and they held each other in a strained, uncomfortable pose that made me feel like crying as well.
We went to the hospital coffee shop and sat and talked for half an hour while Anne calmed down. She admitted that she had a big load of guilt resulting from some years of conflict with her mother.
‘And now it’s too late to make it up to her.’
‘I doubt that she sees it that way,’ I said.
‘She doesn’t.’ Geoff had one of his joints going but there are all sorts of strange smells in hospitals. ‘She just says you take after Dad, and remember how they used to fight sometimes. But they still …’
‘Loved each other. Yes, I know. I’m sorry to expose you to all this, Mr Hardy. A couple of years back we were really quite a normal family.’
‘It’s okay. You’ve had a bad run.’
‘And it’s not over yet. Geoff, I’m going to stay here. They h
ave rooms for support persons as they call them. That’s one thing I can do. That’ll take some pressure off you.’
Geoff nodded. ‘What about your job?’
‘Fuck them.’
‘I never thought I’d hear you say that.’
‘This stuff helps you get things in perspective.’ She lit a cigarette and looked at me. ‘I don’t fully understand what you’re doing, Mr Hardy. I …’
‘Cliff,’ I said. ‘To tell you the truth I’m at a bit of a loss myself at this point. You know that Megan French is with this Talbot kid. He’s bloody dangerous.’
Anne puffed and looked ready to go on the attack again. ‘What about her, is she dangerous?’
‘I don’t know.’ I told them about my meeting with Megan’s parents and the impression I’d formed of them. They expressed sympathy, but neither was really in a state to relate much to other people’s problems.
Geoff butted his joint and pocketed the roach. ‘Tell you one thing, I found out a bit about that land at Tadpole Creek—past owners and that. Shit, I’ve forgotten, but a name came up that we’ve run into before.’ He rubbed his face. ‘I’m too whacked to remember. It’s on the printouts at your house.’
I pushed my chair back and stood. ‘Geoff's staying at my place while we work on this, Anne. Have you got everything you need here?’
She forced a smile. ‘Really looking after us aren’t you? Our mother’s first husband.’
‘I’m trying,’ I said.
Geoff had his own car at the hospital and we drove in convoy back to Glebe with me easily keeping him in sight. That was unusual. Being young, he normally drove faster than me as I’d seen, even in the rain which was falling heavily now. It looked as if his mother’s plight had slowed him down in every way. Understandable, but it could limit his usefulness. I hoped he wouldn’t increase the dope to tobacco ratio in his smokes.
I showed him the note Talbot had left. It jolted him out of the passive state he appeared to be slipping into.
‘Jesus, he’s crazy. I talked to a few people at the site and that’s the impression I got. He’s a scary guy.’
I wanted to question him more closely on that but he bounded up the stairs. ‘I want to show you these printouts.’
I followed him, expecting to hear the sound of the computer being turned on and the rustle of paper. Instead I found him in the doorway to the room. He was pale and leaning against the architrave for support.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said.
‘It’s all gone. The computer, the printer, the disks, the lot. All gone.’
I brushed past him into the room. The desk that had been covered with computer equipment and accessories was bare. The wastepaper basket was empty. The place had been swept clean, professionally. Geoff pushed off from the door jamb and looked as if he’d like to take a swing at me.
‘Some private eye you are. Some bloody security you’ve got here. Fuck it. That was my computer.’
I said nothing and went downstairs. I examined the locks on the back and front doors. Not a sign of forced entry. This had been done by someone who knew how to do it and had the equipment. Not Talbot, he hadn’t been here long enough and had no real reason. Macleod? Possible, but again, although he might be alarmed at my making a connection between him and Talbot, he had no reason to go this far. Millennium Security seemed like the best bet. I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine.
Geoff wandered in and sneered. ‘That’d be right. Go for the grog.’
‘Take it easy, Geoff. This was a super smooth professional job. They’d have got past practically any security system. I’m sorry about your computer but I’ve got full insurance and …’
‘Fuck that. I had stuff on the hard disk I need.’
I’d had enough of members of the Samuels family getting up my nose. ‘Too bad. You should’ve backed it up on floppies. I thought you computer nerds knew all about that.’
He took it to heart. ‘I’m not a computer nerd,’ he muttered.
‘I know. I’m sorry. Look, we’re both on edge and you look like you didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Me either.’ I got some cheese out of the fridge and a loaf from the bread bin. ‘Have a drink and something to eat or roll yourself a joint. We’ve got some serious talking to do. You’re young. I hope you’ve got a young person’s memory.’
He must’ve realised how long it’d been since he’d eaten because he attacked the loaf and the lump of cheese and accepted the glass of wine I poured for him. ‘I’ve got a great memory,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘I can name the entire cast list of all the Star Wars movies.’
‘Great, but this could be tougher. What did you get from the Net on Tadpole Creek? I don’t expect chapter and verse …’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Never mind. Try to remember everything you can.’
He sat at the table, munched on his bread and cheese and drank his wine. I did the same standing up. Of course the kid’s right, I thought. I should’ve installed a proper security system here years ago. From that thought I jumped to thinking about the office. At least things were a bit more secure there, but more as a result of a recent renovation of the building than my doing. I knew I’d been slack and didn’t like the feeling.
Geoff rolled a joint and lit it. ‘I was hacking into recent land transfer registers for the area,’ he said. ‘It’s not hard to do if you know how. That Tadpole Creek land was acquired by the State Government as part of their plans for the Olympics. But there was some kind of bullshit about it. Some sort of protest from the owner. It’s still not completely settled and that’s the legal basis for the protest. I mean, the government says it is settled and the former owner says it isn’t.’
‘That’s interesting. And who is this former owner?’
‘That’s the thing I can’t quite … I know we’ve heard the name.’
I got my notebook and began reading out names as I flipped over the pages. ‘Talbot, French, Annette, Hewitt, Smith, Kamenka, Macleod …’
‘That’s it! Macleod. The owner was a Dr Bruce Macleod.’
You didn’t have to be Stephen Hawking to grasp the significance of that. Dr Macleod, he of the disappearing elderly citizens, was protecting a patch of barren ground by financing an environmental protest and using one of his patients, Damien Talbot, as a stirrer and front man. The inference was obvious—Dr Macleod didn’t want the ground to be disturbed.
I explained this to Geoff who took it in but displayed some indifference. I assumed that this was because he was still grieving over the loss of his computer, but he surprised me. He said, ‘It doesn’t get us any closer to finding Megan French, does it?’
He was right there and I was feeling desperate and frustrated, entertaining notions of locating Ramsay Hewitt and shaking anything he might know out of him or confronting Macleod and his heavies with what little ammunition I had and bluffing him. Just thinking about them made both ideas seem weak. The phone rang and I grabbed it.
‘Tess?’ I hadn’t told Geoff anything about Tess and I saw the interested look on his face before he politely left the room.
‘Mr Hardy? This is Dora French.’
I gripped the phone so hard my hand cramped and I had to change hands and wriggle the fingers. ‘Yes, Mrs French?’
‘I’m in Katoomba. I’ve managed to get away from the others and Rex for a few minutes but I must talk quickly. I’ve seen a newspaper report about Megan. We don’t have radio or television or papers at Mount Wilson so I didn’t know anything about this dreadful trouble Megan’s in. I saw a paper in the Ladies’ here quite by accident.’
‘It’s very worrying, Mrs French. She may be in serious danger. Damien Talbot …’
‘Yes, yes, I appreciate that. I can’t go to the police, Mr Hardy. If Rex and Pastor John found out I’d be in awful strife. I have to trust you.’
‘Trust me with what, Mrs French?’
‘I know
where Megan will have gone if she needs to hide.’
‘Tell me, please.’
‘There are some old houses down at Scarborough on the south coast this side of Wollongong. Megan used to go down there to stay with friends. They didn’t pay any money. They sort of squatted, I think the expression is. Rex was furious about it. He …’
‘Where are these places, Mrs French?’
‘I don’t know exactly. All I remember her saying is that they were above the railway line and they’d been condemned because of a landslip. They have terrible rain down there, you know.’
I did know. The Illawarra escarpment was notoriously unstable in heavy rain and there’d been flooding recently. I pressed her for more information but she became flustered and said she had to ring off because ‘the others’ would be looking for her. She’d had to beg the money for the phone. She pleaded with me to look after Megan if I found her and I promised I would.
I went through to the living room and found Geoff looking out the dirty window at the leaves blowing around outside. The light was dim. A storm was brewing.
‘Are you still in on this? Despite the computer?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Okay. Go down to the Glebe library and get on the Net. Look up Scarborough, New South Wales and print out everything you can find. News stuff, land use, development plans and maps. Especially maps.’
‘Shit, I wish I had my computer.’
‘Well, you don’t. Get going.’
‘What’ll you be doing?’