Crooked Leg Road

by Jennifer Walsh

  Martin groaned inwardly. He had tried for weeks to come up with a good excuse to get out of going to their cousin’s wedding, but to no avail.

  Kitty slipped away without a word and Martin followed her into her room.

  ‘What’s up?’ he demanded.

  ‘Has Andrea talked to you?’ She was belligerent. ‘It can’t be right, what she’s saying.’

  ‘She hasn’t told me anything,’ said Martin. ‘She won’t talk to me when Sam’s around, I don’t know why.’

  ‘Well, she thinks David’s been kidnapped, and she thinks Skender’s father has got something to do with it.’

  ‘Who’s Skender?’

  ‘He’s a boy at my school, Skender Ahmeti. Andrea thinks his father’s mixed up with the kidnappers, but he can’t be.’

  ‘Whoa, Kitty.’ Martin was bewildered. ‘Begin at the beginning.’

  Kitty sat up and told her story in a flat monotone, watching her fingers clasping and unclasping.

  ‘And what makes you so sure this Ahmeti guy isn’t one of them?’ asked Martin.

  She shrugged. ‘I just know. They’re nice people.’

  ‘Nice in what way?’

  She looked up despairingly. ‘He put his little girl on his shoulders.’

  ‘Kitty!’

  She looked down again. There were signs that she might be about to cry.

  ‘How well do you know Skender?’ asked Martin.

  Kitty shrugged.

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, what about your friends?’ Martin persisted. ‘Isn’t there someone you can ask?’

  ‘Martin, I haven’t got . . . ’ She paused. ‘Wait a minute, I heard him talking to this other boy. What time is it?’

  PUNCH PARK was a small park just on the other side of Darling Street. Kitty wanted to collect some food from the kitchen before they left, but Martin insisted that they leave right away.

  ‘We’ve got to get there early and find a good spot,’ he said. ‘You don’t want Skender to see you.’

  Martin walked fast through the narrow streets and Kitty stumbled to keep up, complaining. The thing about Kitty was that when she didn’t want to do something, she wouldn’t do it right. He felt angry at everyone involved, Kitty included. He had been worried about David, who seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth, and if only Kitty and Andrea had said what was going on he could have done something for him. But at the same time he was glad that he finally had a chance to do something now.

  There were several people at Punch Park, mostly families with small children tumbling all over the play equipment. Tennis players were running around on all the courts. Martin looked carefully for a good vantage point, and opted for the shelter of some trees on the far side. There would be plenty of people between them and the tennis courts, including some picnickers already setting out their chairs and barbecues, but they would still have a view of people approaching from the street.

  ‘We’ll sit here,’ he said to Kitty.

  ‘The grass is scratchy,’ she said. ‘And there are ants.’

  Martin ignored her. He looked at his watch. It was nearly five to ten, and a few sporty-looking kids were starting to assemble on the path. A man in white shorts set up a folding table and chair next to the entrance to the tennis courts, and a woman appeared with a clipboard and stood next to him.

  ‘I think this is it,’ he said. ‘Can you see them?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  A tall Asian boy in smart-looking sports clothes joined the queue at the table, carrying a tennis racquet in a zip-up case.

  ‘I think that’s Piao,’ said Kitty. ‘I can’t see his face but it looks like him.’

  ‘He must be signing up for a tennis camp,’ said Martin. ‘Maybe it’s for the Easter holidays. I wouldn’t mind doing something like that.’

  ‘Martin! You’re already doing every sport under the sun.’

  Just before Piao got to the table, another boy joined him. He was nearly as tall as Piao and looked to be about Martin’s age, or possibly older, with dark brown hair brushed back from his forehead. He was wearing a white shirt and dark trousers, strangely formal dress for a weekend. The two boys had a whispered conversation, then bent their heads together over the table.

  ‘So that’s Skender?’ said Martin.

  ‘Yep,’ said Kitty, hiding behind him. ‘What are we going to do now?’

  ‘Let’s just see.’

  As they watched, Piao unzipped his bag and showed his tennis racquet to Skender, who had a few experimental swings. Some of the other kids who were hanging around had also brought racquets, and it looked as though they were trying to organise a game.

  ‘I wonder how long they’ll be here,’ said Kitty fretfully. ‘We have to be home by twelve.’

  ‘I don’t think Skender’s going to be playing,’ said Martin. ‘He’s not dressed for it.’

  Sure enough, Skender detached himself from the group and headed into the street.

  ‘Right,’ said Martin with satisfaction. ‘Now we shadow him.’

  Skender walked briskly without looking around, but Martin still insisted on taking precautions. Kitty didn’t quite understand the drill, and he didn’t have time to explain how they should take turns to stay close or hang back, crossing the street and occasionally walking the other way. Skender seemed to be heading towards the hospital. It was all uphill, and the road got steeper as they went.

  ‘Walk faster!’ Martin hissed to Kitty. ‘We’ll lose him.’

  ‘My legs hurt.’

  Skender climbed the narrow street behind the hospital, walked through Gladstone Park and crossed the road. Then he disappeared into the churchyard on the corner where the Balmain Market was in full swing, seething with bargain-hunters in the sunshine.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Martin. ‘Did you see where he went?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We’ll have to split up. Don’t let him spot you.’

  Martin pushed his way past prams and dawdling people, searching for Skender’s smooth, dark head. A few minutes later Kitty grabbed his sleeve. ‘He’s in the food hall,’ she puffed. ‘He’s getting gozleme.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s wait out here.’

  ‘Why don’t you go in and get some for us?’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ protested Martin. ‘He’ll see me.’

  ‘But he doesn’t know you.’

  ‘It’s still a bad idea. If you’re shadowing someone, you can’t let him see you.’

  ‘Well, I think that’s silly.’

  Some people came out of the food hall eating Thai spring rolls. The delicious smell made Martin’s mouth water, and his resolve weakened.

  ‘How much money have you got?’ he asked.

  ‘None. I thought you had some.’

  ‘Kitty!’

  ‘Well, you made me rush out before I was ready.’

  Skender appeared with a cardboard box and walked out through the side gate into Curtis Road before they fully realised it was him.

  ‘That’s not much for such a big family,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Come on,’ whispered Martin. ‘Stay on the other side of the road.’

  They stayed well back, giving each other little hand signals. Skender walked quickly, probably intent on getting home before the food cooled. He turned into one of the side streets that led back up towards the shopping centre and vanished.

  Martin sprinted to the corner, Kitty panting behind him, and looked around. Most of the block was taken up by a two-storey, red-brick apartment building.

  ‘He must have gone in there,’ said Martin. ‘God knows which apartment.’

  ‘We’ll just have to watch,’ said Kitty. ‘But remember, Mum will kill us if we’re late home.’

  The apartments in the complex faced onto long open walkways with a stair at either end. From the opposite side of the street Martin and Kitty could see some of the entrances, and if any of the occupants came and went there might be some chan
ce of seeing which apartment they were in.

  There wasn’t anywhere to sit and wait, so they had to keep walking up and down the street, occasionally squatting in the shelter of a parked car. The minutes crawled by. A scruffy-looking cat came down off a brick wall, yawned, stretched and meowed at them.

  ‘Here, puss,’ crooned Martin. The cat wound itself around his ankles, purring, and he scratched its ears.

  ‘Martin,’ whispered Kitty. ‘I think I saw a door shut, up there. I think someone’s coming down the stairs.’

  They waited. A man came out into the street from the far end of the building and headed up towards Darling Street.

  ‘It’s him,’ said Kitty. ‘That’s Skender’s father.’

  ‘I’ll have to follow him,’ said Martin. ‘You stay here, and if they all go out, you go up there and have a look at their apartment.’

  ‘Martin! I can’t.’

  ‘Yes, you can. Do you remember which door it was?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . ’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see you at home.’

  ‘Be careful, Martin, and don’t forget . . . ’

  ‘I know, I know. Twelve o’clock.’

  Martin glanced at his watch as he sprinted up the street. It was already well after eleven. The man was almost out of sight. He turned right into Darling Street and went on, walking quickly, lost in thought. Martin got to what seemed to be a safe distance behind and concentrated on perfecting his shadowing skills, crossing the street occasionally, doubling back, looking in shop windows and so on. When they passed the newsagent he considered buying a newspaper and pretending to read it, but on the whole he thought that might look a bit odd for a thirteen-year-old boy.

  Skender’s father crossed at the traffic lights and kept walking, towards Rozelle. There were fewer people around, and Martin was worried about being spotted. He couldn’t think where the man might be going, but a little seed of excitement was starting to take hold. Was there a hiding place somewhere along here? It couldn’t be too far away, if they were going on foot. Could Skender’s father be leading him to David?

  They walked on, and Martin started to worry about the time. But he couldn’t turn back, this was too important. They had reached the Rozelle shopping centre now, and Skender’s father was still going, getting close to Victoria Road; then he was walking up the ramp into the Rozelle post office.

  Martin hesitated. That didn’t make sense – the post office was closed on Saturdays. He walked past slowly, and saw Skender’s father take out a key and let himself into an area on the side where the post office boxes were.

  Martin stood on the edge of the footpath, as if waiting to cross. He sneaked looks back over his shoulder. Skender’s father was unlocking one of the boxes and taking out a stack of mail. He sorted through the items, his head bowed in concentration, then Martin saw him drop a bunch of papers into a recycling bin and pocket the rest.

  Martin went through a pantomime of checking his watch and giving a little shake of his head, as if to show that he had changed his mind about crossing the road. He walked a little way up the street then turned back, secretly alarmed to note that it was now ten to twelve. Skender’s father came out of the post office, the door swinging shut behind him, and walked away. Martin vaulted over the railing that separated the door from the street, but he was too late. It clicked shut.

  He turned and strolled away again, his stomach clenched with anxiety. One of the envelopes Skender’s father had dropped had a distinctive red band on it. If he could just get in there he knew he could grab the right bundle of papers.

  A woman with a small child in a stroller was heading up the ramp. Martin followed her, willing himself to saunter casually. At the door, she started struggling with a bunch of keys and the stroller.

  ‘Let me help,’ he said, taking the stroller while she opened the door.

  Once inside, he took out his own keys and pretended to fiddle with one of the post office boxes, as far away from her as he could get. She was too preoccupied to notice what he was doing. Then, while her back was turned, he darted over to the recycling bin and snatched the papers from the top.

  Martin walked steadily out of the post office. As soon as he was out of sight of the woman, he started running, turning into the back streets so that he wouldn’t encounter Skender’s father. Halfway home, he stopped for a moment to see what he had.

  Predictably, it was all junk mail, advertising circulars and misleading offers. Some of it just said ‘To the Householder’ but a couple of envelopes were properly addressed with the box number. One was to Korab Hassan, and the other was to Mr and Mrs K Hassan. Kitty had said Skender’s last name was Ahmeti, so who were these Hassans?

  He shoved all the papers in the pocket of his shorts and sprinted all the way home. His mother was standing at the front door, all dressed up with her hair done in a style he’d never seen before. She was holding his new suit on a hanger, and he could see from the look on her face that he was in trouble.

  17

  IT WAS easy for Kitty to get away early to start her surveillance the next morning. The festivities following their cousin’s wedding had gone late into the night, and their parents were enjoying a long sleep-in.

  Kitty hadn’t enjoyed the wedding as much as she expected to, because she was eaten up with worry. It had been a couple of hours before Martin had got a chance to tell her what he had discovered and where Skender’s father had gone, and she had spent the rest of the day wondering what it meant and trying to think of a reasonable explanation. Martin was no help.

  ‘They’re crooks,’ he had said darkly. ‘We’ve got to keep watching them until we find out what they’ve done with David.’

  They had managed to borrow a phone from a cousin and call Andrea.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep watch. Looks like we’re getting closer!’

  But when Kitty called Andrea later for a progress report, the news was not so encouraging.

  ‘There’s nowhere to hide,’ she said. ‘I had to keep walking up and down the street, and I got really tired and sat down on someone’s front steps for a while, but this old man was at his window the whole time, then he tapped on the glass and wagged his finger at me until I got up.’

  ‘Oh, Andrea!’

  ‘I was only sitting on the step! I thought he was going to call the cops, or something. After a while I thought I’d better just go home.’

  ‘And did anything happen while you were there?’

  ‘Not really. Just once, the little boy went out to the shops. I couldn’t see what he got, it was in one of those green bags.’

  ‘So how do you feel about going back?’

  ‘I don’t think I’d better. That old man’ll probably be watching out for me.’

  So Kitty was taking the first shift of the morning. As luck would have it, some people had already put out piles of unwanted furniture and other odd things for the next day’s council cleanup, so she was able to find a good vantage point where she would not be easily seen. She was secretly hoping that nothing would happen, but she had just settled in when a high, thin wail caught her attention. She peeped out to see Skender’s mother struggling to get the pram down the stairs while the rest of the family slowly assembled around her. The cries came from the pram, which they all took turns to jiggle while they tried to get organised. Finally the whole family trailed off down Curtis Road and the cries faded away.

  Kitty crept across the road and up the external stairs. She was quite sure now which flat belonged to the Ahmetis, and she had counted the windows and doors along the landing just to make sure. She couldn’t be sure how many of the windows were theirs and which belonged to their neighbours, but at least she could check out the ones closest to their door.

  The door itself was solid, with no glass in or around it. There were some big windows beside it, but they were curtained. On the other side of the door there were higher windows, and below these was a sort of box, maybe for the electricity. If she stood on that she
might be able to see in. She hoped it was strong enough to take her weight.

  She looked around quickly to make sure there was no one on the walkway, then stepped carefully onto the box and stretched upward to peer through the glass. Yes, it was a small kitchen, very neat and tidy, and she could just see through to another room with a sofa. The apartment seemed very bare and plain, with no pictures on the walls. The only other interior door she could see was shut.

  ‘Kitty?’

  She jumped, knocking her chin on the brick wall, and nearly fell off the box.

  ‘What are you doing?’ It was Skender.

  ‘Oh – h-hallo,’ she stammered, clambering down. ‘You . . . I thought you . . . ’ This must look really bad to Skender, and there was nothing she could say to make it better.

  ‘Why are you here?’ he asked. He was standing by the door to the flat, holding a key in his hand. ‘Why are you looking in our window?’

  ‘I’m . . . I’m looking for my friend, David Newman.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My friend, David Newman,’ she said. Her voice was steadier now. ‘We think he’s been kidnapped.’

  ‘Kidnapped?’

  ‘He’s disappeared, right? We’re really worried.’ Now that she had come this far, she’d have to tell Skender the truth, whatever the consequences. ‘There were these men the other day, kind of checking out David’s house, and they spoke the same language as you. We think your father might have something to do with it.’

  ‘My father?’ Skender stepped back and looked at Kitty as though she was some kind of monster. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘My friend Andrea nearly got caught by some men in the lane behind where David lives. It looked like they were – you know, spying on the house. Maybe waiting for David to get home. And then your father was doing suspicious things . . . ’

  ‘What! You don’t know anything about my father. You don’t know anything about my family.’

  ‘Well, we know . . . like . . . Ahmeti’s not your real name, is it?’ She was defiant now. ‘We think your name’s really Hassan.’