Caro barged through the back door, letting the screen slam. Jacko and Bebe moved apart.
‘I guess the Frenchies prefer Bardot.’ Jacko sounded like he was making a speech. ‘When are you off to Paris?’
‘Sunday night.’
‘Your wife’s looking for you,’ Caro snapped.
‘On my way.’ Jacko bounced out the back door calling for Alyssa.
‘How his wife puts up with the two of you at it right under her nose, I don’t—’ Caro stopped. Gwen had turned to see young Mina looking at them from the shadows of the hallway, all big-eyed and serious.
A bit like she was now.
Mina said, ‘We’d spent the whole day looking for Dad. All the volunteers were gathered in the kitchen when that bitch announced it. “Jacko’s buggered off with Bebe.” Caro Davison said it like she was happy. I was standing right there. They’re lucky Mum didn’t hear them, or she would have gone after them with a frying pan.’
‘That was your mum, all right. The sensitive artist with an iron will and a pan to match.’
That made the kid smile.
‘Once it all came out, you were the only one who didn’t treat us any different.’ Mina reached across and grasped her hand. ‘I hope I thanked you for that and for all you did for us.’
The kid’s hands were smooth and cool, whereas hers had gotten puffy over the years, fat and wrinkled like the rest of her. She’d known Mina since the kid was ten, had watched her battle her demons and grow into a young woman. She’d forgotten that all that time her own body had been aging.
Gwen reached for her ciggie, saw the bent and crumpled remains and took a new pack from the shelf behind her. The taste of a first ciggie from a fresh packet was better than nearly anything in the world.
Mina nibbled at her thumbnail, frowning. Gwen knew that look.
‘What is it, love? What’s got you so worried?’
It was something to do with Arnie Schmidt, she’d guess. Caro Davison had already been in to bitch about how the kid had talked her way into Arnie’s place. Why Mina needed to go there was beyond her, but the kid rarely did anything without a reason. She leaned forward, eager to hear Mina’s confession.
‘Those two men who used to surf with Jacko,’ Mina said. ‘They were at the barbeque, weren’t they?’
Gwen struggled to keep the disappointment from her face. She took a drag. Seemed like the kid didn’t trust her the way she used to. It was only to be expected. People grew up. Moved on. It hurt, all the same.
‘You mean Gazza and Stubbsie? Drank your dad’s Esky dry on a regular basis, those two.’
‘Do you know where I can find them?’
‘Have you talked about this with Forbes?’
A wry smile twisted Mina’s lips. ‘He’s not exactly supportive. He’s never said, but I know he’s angry about what Jacko did. He resents him, I think.’
It was good to hear her admit that Forbes had his faults. Maybe he had good reason not to want her to talk to those two old mates of Jacko’s. Next to Bebe, those two had known Jacko better than most. Gwen fiddled with her cigarette. She glanced at the clock. The elevenses rush would be here any minute.
‘Can’t tell you where they are at this minute. Most days though, once the sun’s over the yard arm, you’ll find them in the front bar of their local, The Workers. Taking up the sweat, as my old man used to say.’
After all, it wasn’t like Mina could be any more disappointed in her dad, was it?
§
Linc stepped into the Tall Ships Café and almost collided with Mina. She leapt backwards so fast, he had to grab her arm to keep her from falling. A bottle of water slipped from her bag and rolled beneath a stand of postcards.
‘Get your hands off me.’ She yanked her arm free and nearly stumbled backwards again.
Her obvious repulsion shocked him. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Everton. I was just doing my civic duty. Next time I’ll let you fall flat on your behind.’
She flushed but straightened herself and glared. ‘What are you still doing in town? Isn’t it about time the great Sydney detective had this case wrapped up?’ She hoisted her bag over her shoulder. ‘I told Forbes bringing you in would be a mistake.’
‘Is that right?’ He gazed down at her. She pissed him off but the flushed cheeks and the passion in those stormy eyes were really something. ‘Well, it’s good to know he isn’t so easily manipulated by a girl with an Electra complex bigger than the towel she wears.’
She drew in a breath, getting ready for another tirade, then seemed to change her mind. Her face tightened in a look of teenage impertinence.
‘Well, that was a mouthful. Jealous, Detective?’
‘Yes.’ He watched confusion mar her expression. ‘Forbes is hot for a man his age.’
Mina lowered her head so her hair obscured her face. ‘I’ll tell him you said so.’
She turned on her heel and marched away, the bag bouncing at her side as if she was carefree and happy. He wasn’t fooled. He followed her out and watched the gentle rhythm of her backside as she walked away.
‘Hey,’ he called, ‘you forgot your water.’
Chapter 23
THEY SAT AT A TABLE near the back wall of The Workers, two half-finished schooners on the table. Gazza, matted blonde hair curling to his shoulders, caught her eye and leaned toward his mate. Whatever he said was lost beneath the cheering crowd on the television mounted above the bar, but Stubbsie’s reply was clear enough.
‘You dense or something, mate? Had to happen one day.’
His words acted like brakes. Mina had hoped they knew something, but now it seemed they did, she was almost too afraid to ask. She sucked in a breath and adjusted her bag. She was here now. And there wasn’t much they could say that would make her feel worse than the poison Andrews had spewed at her from the front of his expensive bungalow. Stubbsie watched her walk toward them, but Gazza turned his face to the television and hunched over his beer, as if he wanted to vanish.
‘Room for one more?’ Mina looked at Gazza’s foot resting on the only other chair at their table.
He removed it with a hasty apology and slugged down some beer. She didn’t need Linc Drummond’s interrogation skills to know he felt guilty about something, and they should feel bloody guilty, both for what they had done and for what they hadn’t. They’d been her parents’ friends. If even one of them had stepped up, things might have been different.
Stubbsie nodded at her as she slid into the chair. ‘How’s it goin’?’
She looked from one to the other, suddenly remembering how shy she’d been around them back then. They’d both seemed so large, so confident, so much part of a world she could only observe.
‘How come you never came around after the barbeque? We could have used a friend or two.’
They both stared at their beer.
‘You never came around afterward,’ she said. ‘Never visited Mum, or showed your support.’
When another roar and excited commentary burst from the television, Gazza flicked his gaze toward the sound then back to his beer, as though afraid she’d slug him if he dared show interest in something else. She’d taken the wrong approach. Too much vinegar, as Gwen would say. She should have planned her spiel before she got here, but she’d been going on instinct since she found the watch. Why change now? And the way she was feeling, she couldn’t rule out slugging someone before the day was out.
‘We should’ve done more for you, that’s a fact,’ Gazza said, ‘but a bloke has to live in this town and most of my joinery work comes from around here. I had a family to support.’
‘So did Jacko.’ More vinegar.
Around them patrons chatted and laughed, the sports commentators bantered with each other, and orders were shouted across the bar. Mina had heard all the excuses. Snapping at these two wasn’t going to get her the answers she wanted. After so many years, maybe she needed to give them all a break.
‘Gwen told me the two of you were Dad’s
best mates.’
‘For a long time we were.’ Stubbsie slurped the head off his beer. ‘Forbes Monroe changed all that.’
‘What’s Forbes got to do with it?’
‘Around the time he started hanging out with Forbsey, Jacko quit surfing.’ Stubbsie looked her in the eye like he had nothing to hide. ‘Used to catch up for a drink, sometimes went fishing, but once he quit surfing we didn’t have much in common. Did we, Gaz?’
For the first time since she’d arrived, Gazza looked at her properly. ‘Jeez, kid, you really look like your mum.’
A flash of memory. A much younger Gazza hanging around the workshop, turning up when Jacko wasn’t around, his ruddy cheeks when Jacko caught him out. Jacko would laugh it off and her mum would smile and wander off to her workshop, happy her Jacko was there to sort it out.
That crush hadn’t been enough to bring Gazza to her mum’s side when she needed a friend.
‘My name is Mina,’ she snapped. ‘I haven’t been a kid for a long time.’
Stubbsie nodded and lifted his beer, now more froth than amber liquid. ‘We’re really sorry about your dad—and everything.’
And everything. So much was wrapped in that phrase. They’d said it at her mother’s funeral. We’re sorry about Alyssa—and everything. As if that made up for their actions. As if and everything absolved them of it all. She swallowed her anger. Another flash of temper and they might stop talking altogether.
‘Do you guys remember an old man at the barbeque? Lean. Broad cheekbones.’
‘Sure I do. Crotchety old bugger.’ Stubbsie laughed and shook his head. ‘Never understood what your dad liked about him.’
Gazza said, ‘You mean Smithy?’
‘What do you remember about him?’
‘The old bastard had started complaining about your mum’s workshop,’ Gazza said. ‘All the noise. And the smoke when she was casting. Reckon Jacko was trying that befriend-your-enemy crap.’
‘What do you make of his death?’
‘Death?’ They said it in unison, shock sending their voices up an octave.
‘Smithy is—was—Arnie Schmidt.’
‘No shit? Poor bugger.’ Stubbsie slurped his beer, a frown etched between his wild eyebrows. ‘I mean, he was a mean old bastard, but no one deserves that.’
‘Needed the patience of a saint to spend more than a few minutes with the old guy. Never bothered your dad.’ Gazza’s face softened and the corner of his mouth crept toward a smile. ‘Jeez, I miss the bastard. Jacko was great, wasn’t he, Stubs?’
‘Yep.’
Stubbsie set down his beer and wiped the froth from his lip. Mina caught sight of the shortened digits on his right hand. A worm of memory stirred. He held out his hand so she could get a better look.
‘Sailing,’ he said. ‘I was trying to free the anchor chain. Like some idiot swab, got my fingers too near the winch. Yanked ’em clean off.’
‘I think I remember when it happened. He told Mum you were a lucky son-of-a-bitch.’
‘Lucky I got two fingers nearly ripped clean off? Yeah, that sounds like Jacko.’
Gazza laughed. ‘Used to rub his hands together and say “I love it when a plan comes together”. Remember, Stubs?’
‘Yep.’
The man they described, and the memories that had stirred since she found his watch, showed her a father she thought she’d dreamed up. Not one who could embezzle millions and disappear with his mistress under the nose of a few dozen friends minutes after kissing his wife like he meant it. But one who had loved them. A man defined by his good humour, soft heart and thoughtfulness. How could they be the same person? If Gwen was right, and that cold-hearted creature had hidden inside him all that time, how was it possible she hadn’t seen it?
‘Tell me about him?’
‘Guess we can do that for you.’ The men shot each other a look. ‘Christ knows we never stepped up when we should have.’
Silence. She looked from one to the other, and the kernel of fear that had taken seed as she stepped into the bar, blossomed.
Gazza cleared his throat then smiled into the dregs of his beer. ‘Your dad was the best mate a guy could have. Stubs here wasn’t much of a surfer. Jacko was a natural, could’ve gone pro. By the time he was thirteen, he could surf the biggest waves with the best of them, but he stayed to show us the ropes, didn’t he?’
‘Yep.’
‘Liked to stir a bloke up, but he always looked out for you. Could shovel bullshit with the best of them, too—taught me and Stubbs a few things about spinning a yarn, I can tell you—but he knew when to be serious. Even when he didn’t want to, he’d always do the right thing.’
‘The right thing? By whom? Not his family.’ She glared at Gazza until he shrank behind his beer glass.
‘Reckon I’m gonna keep my trap shut before I dig myself a grave.’
Her anger vanished, deflated, like he’d taken a pin to it. ‘I’m sorry. This isn’t easy, and I’ve had a few really shitty days.’
‘We all have those, don’t we, Stubs? Got a wife and three teenage girls myself. So I know about cranky. That time of the month is it?’
Stubbsie murmured something and leaned away from the table.
Mina let loose a disbelieving laugh. ‘No wonder you’re watching footy in the pub.’
The commentators were almost screaming. Just as the siren blew, a great roar went up from the other patrons. Gazza turned toward the television and swore. Tiny figures in tight shorts chased a ball around a rain-drenched field. It hadn’t rained in months. And it was cricket season.
Mina said, ‘I thought footy season was long over.’
‘Highlights. Gets blokes like Gazza through the cricket season.’ Stubbsie looked at the crowded bar, faces glued to the action on screen. ‘Wouldn’t think they’d seen it all before, would you?’
‘You a Crows or a Power fan, kid?’
Gazza smiled at her, his eyebrows lifted with expectation. You couldn’t grow up in Failie and not follow a footy team. He obviously thought it would put her at ease, help them find some common ground, and she wished she was like everyone else, that she could talk footy and bullshit over a few beers.
‘Neither. I don’t follow footy.’ She turned down her mouth. ‘Just one more reason for this town to dislike me.’
The men exchanged another glance. This time there was the hint of a question in the tilt of Gazza’s head, answered by Stubbsie’s almost imperceptible nod. Mina tensed. The fear rooted in her stomach pushed its brittle branches into her chest.
‘We feel real bad about what happened.’ Stubbsie sounded genuine.
‘Why? He was the one who took off.’
‘See, that’s the thing,’ Gazza said. ‘We don’t reckon he would take off. That just wasn’t him. We don’t reckon he took that money either.’
Chapter 24
LINC DASHED UP THE station steps, the midday sun hot on his face, his thoughts cycling between Mina and what he’d discovered in the property records for Slab Carlson. Stella was still on reception, with no sign of her earlier harassment by Wainright. She favoured him with a smile, glanced over her shoulder at those working behind the opaque privacy glass and waved him over.
‘You can use the meeting room as an office today, if you want,’ she said. ‘It’s free, but only until five. The sarge has called a meeting of all uniform staff.’
‘Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll make sure I’m gone before then.’
She buzzed him through. Before the door clicked shut, his thoughts were back on the property records. He closed the micro blinds that covered the glass wall fronting the corridor. The fewer people who realised he was here, the better, and for what he was about to do he needed solitude. From the blond-timbered credenza beneath the window, he took the phone and placed it on the large conference table. He rested his chin on his interlaced fingers and stared at the phone.
What he was about to do could be a huge mistake.
The sooner he sorted o
ut how Quinlan, a high-profile Sydney lawyer, had become part of a syndicate backing Carlson’s ventures into property development, the happier he’d be. Well before Linc had arrived, Carlson had been a person of interest in these robberies, but Linc couldn’t tie him to the antiques angle. That had all changed now that Quinlan’s name had cropped up. Any investigation into Quinlan’s interests had to be subtle. It also had to come through New South Wales. The one person he could turn to was possibly the last person who would help him, unless he asked nicely. And asking for help was not his strength.
Her mobile rang for ages before she picked up. When he identified himself, silence whistled down the line.
‘Jodie. I need your help.’
‘Really?’ She made ‘really’ sound like a swear word. ‘I’ve told you before—’
‘Yeah, don’t worry. It won’t associate you with me.’ He couldn’t help the tinge of bitterness that coloured his voice.
‘Look, Linc …’ Her use of his Christian name was never a good sign. ‘I’m up for promotion. I don’t want to blow it.’
‘You still after something on Quinlan?’
‘You’ve got something?’
She was breathless. Excited. He hadn’t heard her like that in a long time. Things between them had ended … well, awkwardly. Smart, dedicated and ambitious, she was his perfect partner, but even she had drawn a line at obsession. “You’re bloody commitment phobic in every way except when it comes to taking down a crim. You give them more attention than you do yourself. I’m not putting my arse on the line for you anymore, Drummond.” Then she’d kissed him long and hard and transferred to the Terrorism Investigations Squad.
‘There’s a property development application with Quinlan’s name on it,’ he said. ‘He’s part of a syndicate that includes a man who’s close to being the local crime lord.’
‘Quinlan’s openly associated with someone like that? I thought he was more careful.’
‘Me too. But his name is there for everyone to see.’
‘Doesn’t sound like much.’ Her words broke up slightly and the phone crackled.
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