Times of Trouble

by Victoria Rollison

All I could tell her was the same thing she had been telling me for the last two days.

  ‘We have to trust him, mum. He’s our only hope.’

  She made one last attempt to persuade me not to go.

  ‘You’ve just told me that this Danny person...that his family died in a suspicious crash. I’m sure they didn’t feel like they were at risk. These people are dangerous, Ellen.’

  She expected me to be the obedient, sensible one like always, but obedient and sensible was not going to get Sophie found.

  I tried to reassure her. ‘I know you’re anxious. I am too. But I’m not in any danger. These people, whoever they are, can’t have any idea I exist. They’re not chasing me. Or Liam. And I know I can help him.’

  Now I understood how real the danger was for Sophie, I realised I had to be in Sydney, helping to find her. Whatever our differences, whatever she had been doing since she went away, I couldn’t just leave it to a stranger. I would have better insights into Sophie’s behaviour than Liam. Moping around the house wasn’t achieving anything. I felt like I had been walking on a slow moving treadmill for weeks, months, years, and the decision to go to Sydney felt like turning it off, and slowly stepping onto real ground. I was petrified of going in an uncharted direction, but also exhilarated to have a reason to turn the machine off. It was amazing how much energy and determination I suddenly found. And, if I was really truly honest with myself, I didn’t hate the idea of spending time with Liam either.

  As I waited for my bag to arrive on the carousel at Sydney airport, I called Liam to announce my arrival. He sounded tired and stressed as he answered the phone.

  ‘Hi Ellen, I don’t really have much news for you. I’ve been to the morgue. I’m sure it is Katie.’

  ‘How do you know it’s her? How do you know what she looks like?’

  ‘I told you, I’ve got a photo of her. It was amongst Sophie’s things at the charity shop.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry about Katie, but I’m relieved it wasn’t Sophie.’

  ‘Yes, so am I.’

  ‘I wasn’t actually calling for an update. I was just letting you know I’m in Sydney.’

  Liam didn’t say anything for a moment.

  ‘Liam... are you there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. I heard you. I really think you should get straight on a plane back to Adelaide. I’ve told you how dangerous this situation is, the last thing I need is for you to get into trouble as well.’

  ‘Don’t even start with me Liam. I’ve already had this lecture from mum. And I’m here now. I’m not going back until we find Sophie.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. I’ve told you, there are people who want to hurt her. They’ve killed people! What makes you think you’re immune?’

  ‘They don’t even know I exist. Or you. We’re just two people in Sydney, looking for one person.’

  ‘Listen to me Ellen. I want you to get back on a plane.’

  ‘No, I’m staying. I’m here now. Whatever we’re doing, whatever it takes to find Sophie, I’m not scared, and I can look after myself!’

  I was aware I wasn’t just trying to convince Liam. I was also trying to convince myself.

  ‘I just don’t think you fully comprehend how much danger you are in by even coming here. Asking questions, chasing leads, all these things put you in the firing line.’

  ‘I know, I know. But you’re in the firing line too. So why are you still working on the case?’

  I heard Liam pause to think.

  ‘Because I hate giving up. And I think I can find Sophie, and sort out this mess. I want to prove myself as a private investigator, so I’m going to finish this case.’

  ‘Ok, fine. That’s all very nice. But Sophie’s my sister, and that’s why I’m here.’

  ‘You’re not going to be convinced to go home, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m on the way to the airport to pick you up.’

  ‘Good. What are you driving?’

  ‘I’ve borrowed a mate’s car. He’s on holidays for a month. It’s a white station-wagon. I’m staying at his house. I guess you can stay there too.’

  He didn’t sound rapt about the prospect of staying with me. But I wasn’t about to turn down his offer. It was better than a hostel.

  ‘Ok thanks. I’ll see you soon. I’m at the Jetstar exit.’

  I was relieved Liam had a car, particularly as I had no money to hire one. It would definitely make the search much easier. I felt satisfied. It had to be better with two of us.

  When Liam arrived, I expected he would be over his annoyance that I had turned up unannounced to help, but he was far from it. He pulled up, and didn't even get out of the car to help me load my bag into the boot. When I got into the front seat, he was moody, and hardly said anything as we drove out of the airport.

  ‘Can you tell me anything else you haven’t had a chance to fill me in on yet?’ I suggested.

  ‘Yeah, I’m going to have to. Basically at the moment I have no idea where Sophie is. I’m doing my best to trace her movements in Sydney, but I haven’t got too many leads.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me who told you she made it to Sydney.’

  ‘Ok. Danny ran the businesses, but he needed someone to help him with the accounts. They laundered all the money earned by escorting through the gym. It would barely have turned a profit as a legitimate business, but with the escort stuff on the side, it was making good money. The guy I met was their book keeper.’

  ‘So this guy was looking after their cash? What was his name?’

  ‘Frank Sporalli. He took a lot of convincing that I was looking for Sophie for legitimate reasons. He worked out that Danny had been – well - eliminated - and he was terrified something would happen to him.’

  ‘Did he have any idea why Danny was killed?’

  ‘No, none whatsoever, or so he said. He obviously knew all about their business dealings, but he couldn’t see how this had got them into so much trouble.’

  ‘And am I right in guessing he was the one who took the £15,000 for information?’

  ‘Yes. He said he needed it to pay debts for the business. Since Danny died, the gym hadn’t re-opened. And Katie and Sophie hadn’t worked for quite a while. He said he was out of pocket, and wouldn’t give me any information about Katie and Sophie unless I paid for it.’

  ‘So all he really knew was they both left London and went to Sydney?’

  I suddenly realised how flimsy this information was. How could Liam be sure this Sporalli guy knew what he was talking about? He wanted cash and he got it, but where was the proof?

  ‘It wasn’t until Sporalli realised he knew something of value to me, that he got really difficult to deal with.’

  ‘So he told you he knew where they were, but he wouldn’t tell you unless you gave him money?’

  This Sporalli sounded like a charming specimen.

  ‘First he told me Katie and Sophie needed to get out of the UK.’

  ‘And you asked him where they were going?’

  Liam was glaring at me out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t enjoying the interrogation.

  ‘Of course I asked. When I gave him the money, he told me they were travelling to Sydney. And he told me they were using fake names.’

  ‘For £15,000, I should hope so! Did he know what the fake names were?’

  ‘Yes, he organised the false passports. Katie is...or was...Kerry Middleton and Sophie is Yasmine Phillips. I have a contact in the Department of Immigration. Two girls with those names arrived at Sydney airport on the 10th December last year. Sporalli had given me an address for them in Sydney but they weren’t there. I don’t know if he was lying, or they changed their plans.’

  Right. I felt like I was getting somewhere with Liam. His mood hadn’t improved, but he had finally given me the information I needed to work the case with him.

  Out my window, I watched the traffic fly by. Everywhere I looked it seeme
d to be mayhem on the roads, even on a Sunday evening. Traffic jams. Tooting horns. Screeching breaks. Yuk! I had forgotten how much I hated Sydney. It was like a labyrinth of dead ends and no-right turn streets. Why did they make it so difficult for people to get around?

  ‘This city makes me feel claustrophobic.’

  I wanted to ease the tension in the car, to get Liam to relax a little, and have a normal conversation. But his still sullen face peered over the steering wheel, hardly acknowledging I had spoken. His friendliness and charm of yesterday had completely disappeared today.

  ‘Liam, are you ok? You seem quite stressed out. I know you’re worried about Sophie, but is there something else as well?’

  He grunted. ‘As you’ve just said, the traffic is stressful. I’m finding Sydney stressful.’

  I had to take his word for it, but his snappy response didn’t satisfy me. Was he trying to make me feel unwelcome with his surliness? Maybe more talk about our plans would help.

  ‘So, I’ve been thinking. I know you’ve been concentrating your search on Sophie. But I don’t think that’s our only problem. These people, these psychos, whoever they are, aren’t just going to give up and let her go. Whatever has been done to them, they apparently want revenge, and aren’t going to settle for less.’

  We were waiting at traffic lights, and obviously weren’t going to make it through this set before they changed again. Liam hit the steering wheel with the base of his hand.

  ‘What were you thinking of doing once we find Sophie?’ I asked, trying to sound as non-confrontational as possible.

  ‘I’ve already thought all of this through.’

  Now he wasn’t letting his anger simmer. He was throwing it straight at me.

  ‘When we find Sophie, she should have some idea of who these people are, and we can go to the police, and they can sort it out.’

  ‘But what if she has no idea? Isn’t that possible?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so! If someone wanted to kill you, don’t you think you’d know why?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  From the way Liam was looking at me, this conversation was over.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘My mate’s house, like I said. It’s in Newtown.’

  ‘I know where that is. It can’t be far from here, can it?’

  ‘No, we’re almost there.’

  I had forgotten how big Sydney was. And now it was clear Liam didn’t have any leads as to Sophie’s whereabouts, I was starting to picture a needle in a haystack.

  Chapter 13

  When we finally got into Liam’s borrowed accommodation, after circling the block numerous times for a car park, I started to feel slightly more at ease. The house was an old, thin terrace, adjoined on both sides, and half covered with ivy. It was the only one in a row of houses that looked untouched since it was built, and, though it was a bit run down, I thought it had charm. Liam explained that his friend rented it. There were two bedrooms, but only one of them had a bed. I said I would sleep on the sofa, and then wished I hadn’t when the living room, and the sofa, came into view.

  ‘Only a male would keep a sofa that far past it’s used by date!’ I commented, as Liam slumped down onto the oldest, grubbiest piece of furniture I ever saw. I couldn’t even tell what colour it would have been originally; now it was a light greyish brownish shade. The house was in a mess. I assumed this was partly Liam’s doing, and partly left this way by his holidaying friend.

  ‘Look, sorry about before,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re getting in the way.’

  ‘Well you did, but I accept your apology.’ This was a welcome truce.

  ‘Finding out about Katie, well, it’s really knocked me for six. I had no idea these guys were in Sydney. I thought we had plenty of time to find Sophie. But it’s suddenly really urgent, and I guess I could use all the help I can get.’

  ‘The whole thing is still really new to me too, Liam. It wasn’t until today that I found out how serious it is.’

  Liam had turned the living room into his search headquarters. He had a pin board at one end of the room, with a photo of Sophie on it: the same one mum sent him. He had also stuck up a more recent one, which must have been the publicity shot from the agent. She looked exactly as I had imagined she might. Beautiful and confident, she was pouting at the camera, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders and onto her back like a model in a hair conditioner advertisement. How could this woman be all the things Liam had told me...a failed actress, a prostitute living with her pimp boyfriend?

  There was also a photo of Sophie with a girl I guessed was Katie. She had short dark curly hair and dark skin. And though she wasn’t as beautiful as Sophie, she obviously would be very attractive to men. The way she had her arm around Sophie, and her head against her, made me realise they were as close as friends got, almost like sisters. Her death suddenly felt real as I looked at the image of her with Sophie. What had happened in these girls’ lives to make someone want to kill them? This photo made them look so...normal. I don’t know how I expected prostitutes to look, but not like this. They looked like those girls you'd see out, having so much fun in bars they don’t notice all the men staring at them. The very few times I ventured out into nightclubs with friends from university, I hated seeing girls like that. Men never offered to buy me a drink. They never even glanced in my direction. They were too busy competing for the attention of the Sophies and the Katies. I bet Liam would be the sort of man to not only approach the Sophies and Katies, but to succeed in buying them a drink, dancing with them, taking them home...

  ‘Have you got a photo of Danny?’ I asked, hoping to complete the picture of the three friends.

  ‘No, there wasn’t one.’

  ‘You never told me what happened to Katie. Did they shoot her?’

  Liam shook his head. ‘She fell in front of a train.’

  ‘Fell? So it might have been an accident?’

  ‘I doubt it. I’d say she was pushed. There was an article in the newspaper saying the police are treating it as murder.’

  ‘That’s a relief. If the police are looking for these people, there might be less chance they’ll find Sophie.’

  Liam didn’t comment on the police search.

  ‘There’s something else about Katie I haven’t told you,’ he said. ’Sporalli mentioned it when I gave him the money. She had a baby... a boy. He’d be about 10 months old.’

  ‘And she brought him to Sydney with her?’

  ‘Yes. His name is Charlie.’

  ‘So what happened to Charlie... when she.... she was hit by the train? Please don’t tell me he was killed too...’

  ‘No, he wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened to him.’

  ‘What do you think she was doing at the train station?’

  ‘I think she was trying to run. And these people caught up with her, and made sure she couldn’t get far.’

  ‘But why would she run without Charlie? That doesn’t follow at all...’

  ‘I’m not sure. I can’t explain it.’

  Liam seemed exhausted. My guess was these questions were just reminding him how much further we had to go. He got off the couch, and was standing behind me for a while, staring at the photo of Sophie, a strange look of sadness on his face. I had to remind myself he had never met her, but he seemed genuinely concerned, even upset.

  ‘You’d look a lot like your sister, you know. If you...’

  ‘What? Lost some weight?’

  ‘That’s not what I was going to say... straightened your hair.’

  I self-consciously ran my hand through my wavy mess of hair. Maybe I did look a bit like her, but I wasn’t like her, in too many ways to count.

  There were photos of Sophie and me when we were young scattered throughout our house, some in frames on the walls, others sitting on mantel pieces or any other surface mum could find. I used to look at the photos of Sophie when she was my age, and marvel at
how much I looked like her. But then as we got older, Sophie seemed to grow from a pretty child into a beautiful woman. Almost overnight, she was confidently styling her hair, wearing makeup and looking immaculate whenever she left her bedroom. But I went from a pretty child to a frumpy teenager, never able to put myself together like Sophie did with such apparent ease.

  The few times I tried to wear makeup, I couldn’t work out how to make the eyeliner look like anything other than a thick intrusion on my eyelid. And the mascara would just clump my eyelashes together and smudge. When I was 15, my eye sight deteriorated, and I got glasses. I never bothered to put makeup on underneath them. By the time I got contact lenses, I felt too old to ask anyone how to put make up on. So I never wore it at all, even for performances. I also never did anything with my hair, because unlike Sophie, who had gorgeous straight dark hair, my hair was wavy, thick and disobedient. For years, I just rolled it into a bun wet and let it dry like that. Then I cut it really short, but it just got even thicker and more unmanageable. So I let it grow out a bit, leaving it at an in-between length that gathered on my shoulders in a tangled mess. When my hair was long, Sophie used to offer to plait it for me, and later tried to get me to blow-dry it. But I always took her offers as put-downs; I thought she was criticising how I looked. Since she left, and I grew into my body, I’d slimmed down a lot. But I’d never been comfortable dressing in anything that showed off my figure. I was always more at home in baggy shirts and track pants. My only dressy clothes were the ones worn at piano competitions and concerts: formal black skirts and white shirts. I didn’t have any need for proper ‘going out’ clothes, nor the money to buy them if I did. How was it that Sophie and I turned out so different?

  I remembered that no matter how much we clashed, she always defended me in front of other people. There was a bully in my class, who’d yell ‘nerd’ when I walked down the corridor, and stand in front of my locker to stop me opening it. He always sneered at me for wearing the pants and shirt school uniform, rather than the summer dress. He called me ‘butch nerd’ once, and Sophie and her cool high school friends heard him. She went right up to him and said ‘do you have a problem?’ He was terrified, and he stammered that he was just having a laugh. She said he wasn’t funny, and it was obvious he had a crush on me. Why else was he following me round? He went bright red and ran off. Sophie and her friends nearly died laughing. Sophie yelled after him that he would be lucky if I even noticed him, and he never teased me after that.