Times of Trouble

by Victoria Rollison

  ‘I know somewhere you can go. I just called your uncle, your father’s brother Andy. I didn’t really explain what was happening. I just told him you urgently needed somewhere to stay.’

  I was too surprised to speak. I had only met Andy once, when he visited us for Christmas in Adelaide when I was little. I had no idea mum still had a phone number for him. She can’t have spoken to him since before dad left.

  They weren’t following us were they? Surely they couldn’t find us somewhere else…

  ‘Where does he live? ’

  ‘In Parramatta. Unit 14, 46 Robertson St.’

  ‘Thanks so much mum, we’ll be safe there. I’ve got to go, so I can find his house. I promise I’ll call you in the morning.’

  ‘Please Ellen, come home. It’s the only way you’re going to be safe! If they know you are there, they might find you again!’

  I felt bad to hear mum begging me to come home. Tonight’s phone call would just make her even more worried than she was before. But there was no way I was coming home now, and leading these people to mum.

  ‘I’ll be ok now mum. There’s no way they can know about Andy’s house.’

  I hung up, worrying about what I had just said. If they could find me at Liam’s friend’s house, maybe they could find me at my uncle’s? But I was too tired to come up with any other ideas, and I directed the taxi driver to head for Parramatta. We wouldn’t stay with Andy for long; just until we found somewhere safer. Liam didn’t object. He obviously didn’t have any better ideas.

  When we got there, I paid the taxi driver at the end of Andy’s street. There was no point in making it really easy for them to find us, and no telling whether or not they could find our taxi driver. He’d certainly remember us.

  Andy was waiting in the foyer. He awkwardly introduced himself to Liam; I felt like I needed to be introduced too. It had been so long since I had seen him, I barely remembered what he looked like. He was tall and solid like dad, but unlike dad, his dark brown hair was balding. Though dad could be balding now too. He was dressed in jeans that looked more like a teenager would wear than a ... what would he be... a 50 year old? And his casual T-shirt reminded me of clothes people wore in the ‘80s, far too bright, with writing that didn’t seem to say anything, and too many mismatched colours. Definitely no dress sense. He seemed shy, but also quite happy to see us. I was glad we didn’t seem to be putting him out, but I almost wished we were at a hotel, so I wouldn’t have to be sociable. It felt rude to walk in unannounced, and not catch up on old times. But what better excuse did I have than the nightmare I had just been through? And anyway, what old times did we have to catch up on? His brother leaving us, and never even calling to say hi? But to my relief, Andy sensed I wasn’t in the mood for a chat. He can’t have got much information from mum; I wondered whether she had told him about Sophie. He didn’t ask about her.

  He took us up in the lift to his apartment. Liam seemed a bit too shaken to be polite, which was out of character for him. Andy offered us the spare room, but before I had a chance to explain we weren’t a couple, Liam offered to sleep on the sofa. I was absolutely exhausted, so with a fairly lame attempt at an excuse, I left Liam and Andy talking in the living room. I heard Liam ask him about security: whether he had a dead lock, and if the windows were secure at night. Andy sounded worried as he explained the whole apartment building had a security system and he’d never had any robberies. He can’t have realised that thieves were the least of our problems.

  I slipped into bed after texting mum to tell her I was safe, and pulled out the notebook I found at Sophie’s. After the events of the evening, I was even more desperate to find any clues that might lead us to the people who were after her – and apparently us as well.

  The notebook didn’t have much writing in it. But the writing it did have was in Sophie’s familiar style that I had seen on the medical centre admission form. The pages still looked quite straight and new, but I could tell the notebook had been bought in London, as the price tag on the back was in pounds. It wasn’t a diary, and she hadn’t torn any pages out. The first page had a list of dates back in September, and initials next to them. How were these going to help me? Maybe they were clients and appointments. The next page had some sums on it, adding and subtracting. It looked like a budget of some kind. This went on for a few more pages, numbers scrawled all over each sheet.

  The next page had only a few words: ‘Busby George Old Shoe’. This meant absolutely nothing to me. And to add to the strangeness of the words, there was a number written underneath: ’20,000’. I stared at the words, trying to make sense of them, but my eyelids felt heavy, and my eyes couldn’t focus. The next page had two more strange words, and another number: ‘Perkins’s Drums, 35,000’. And the page after had an even more muddled sentence: ‘Toothy seal E.P star I will be golden, 20,000’. The notebook was blank after that, apart from one page that had something that looked like a flight number on it. I would have to remember to ask Liam if this was the flight Sophie came out on.

  I flipped back and forth between the three pages a few times, but there was still nothing that gave me any idea what Sophie was recording. I had a sudden fear that she was on drugs or something, and was writing random, hallucinating sentences. But the writing was so clear and precise that she had to have been in total control when she wrote it. And the numbers had to mean something. Maybe it was a code. Maybe it wasn’t, and I just hoped it was. Either way, my mind didn’t have the energy to think about it then.

  I heard Andy closing his bedroom door, leaving Liam to the sofa in the dark living room. I wondered whether he was still feeling as scared as I was. He had been brave to go and get our things. And his get away strategy was incredibly smart. I hoped he didn’t mind too much about the car.

  There was no way of knowing whether the men were watching for him or me. It made more sense that they were watching for him. He had been searching for Sophie for much longer than I had, so it was far more likely that they had somehow tracked him down. But knowing that didn’t make me feel any better. I didn’t want anything to happen to Liam, for how would mum and I ever forgive ourselves if he got caught up in Sophie’s drama, and was hurt or even killed for trying to help? My fear for us all gave me a new drive. I wanted to find these people to keep them away from Sophie. And I wanted them gone, so we could all get our lives back, and maybe get each other back too.

  Chapter 20

  I woke up early with a stone of dread in my stomach. I wanted to get out of the unit quickly, before getting trapped talking to Andy, or agreeing to do something with Liam. But to my surprise, Andy had already left for the day. A note on the table said he would see us tonight when he got home from work, and gave his phone number in case we needed him. He also left a spare key on the table so we could come and go. I tried to think what Andy did for a living, but it was so long since I saw him, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever known.

  His apartment appeared almost brand new, and if it wasn’t for all his mess, would probably be very nice to live in. To be fair, he wasn’t expecting visitors, and people who lived alone probably spread themselves out. But it looked like Andy hadn’t put anything away, let alone cleaned the place, for weeks. At his age, with no wife and children, he must have had quite a bit of money. He had enough to buy a really nice apartment. Couldn’t he fork out for a cleaning service too?

  I didn’t feel right about staying in his apartment much longer. Apart from feeling uncomfortable about his obvious absence from my life, and the reason for it, I’d rather not be anywhere longer than a night in case they tracked us down again. Now the danger felt so close, I hated the thought of spreading the problem to Andy, like a contagious disease.

  I quickly showered and dressed, and careful to not wake Liam, slipped out of the apartment. Liam would probably be worried when he woke up to find the place empty, but he'd call my mobile before he did anything else, and I could explain then that I had gone out.

  Where I was going I wasn’t
quite sure. The nearest police station would be easy to find if I had thought of checking on Liam’s laptop before I left the apartment, but having not done this, I had to use old fashioned nous. The first thing I did was ask a pedestrian for directions to the nearest train station. I felt scared to be out in the open, on main roads and busy streets, in case a blue Magna suddenly appeared. But the back streets were even scarier, making me feel cornered and alone.

  My nerves gave me enough energy to quicken my step, and by the time I reached the train station, I was out of breath. The timetable board didn’t give me any inspiration, but I recognised the station ‘Town Hall’ in central Sydney, and decided it was best to head somewhere familiar. There had to be a police station around Town Hall somewhere. I bought my ticket and walked to my platform. I pictured Katie doing this exact same thing at Central Station during her final moments. Had she felt like me? Like a hunted animal? My skin crawled at the thought of what had happened to her. There was no way she fell onto the tracks accidentally. I understood now her urgent desire to get away, to hide wherever she could from these men. I just wished she had made it onto her train.

  When my train slowed to a stop in front of me, I slipped into a carriage, and sat between two large men. They hardly noticed me; both were intently reading their newspapers. But I felt comfort in the fact I wasn’t alone. It was hard to imagine how someone might try to hurt me with two strong strangers on either side of me. With nothing to occupy my mind but disappointment at yesterday’s debacle, my eyes followed the route of my train on the plastic map stuck to the wall opposite me. I hadn’t realised how many stops it would be to get into the city. The taxi ride to Parramatta last night had been so frantic that it went by quickly. But this train journey seemed to be taking forever.

  When we finally reached Town Hall station, it was so packed with people getting on and off trains that I felt safe dodging my way through the crowd, and jumping on an escalator. I recognised where I was: right in the centre of the city. I tried to catch someone’s eye, to ask if they knew where there was a police station, but the streams of people walking past were so focused on their own destinations it was impossible to get their attention. Then I noticed an old woman sitting on a low wall near the entrance to the station, and went over to her, my sudden proximity making me impossible for her to ignore.

  ‘Do you know if there’s a police station around here?’ I asked.

  She looked up from her shopping bags, and pointed her finger directly at the building at street level, above the train station.

  ‘There’s one in there, love’ she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which I suppose it was.

  I hurried in the direction she was pointing, and saw a shop front with the familiar blue and white police logo on it.

  There were already several people at the counter, so I stood in line behind them. They all looked angry and impatient. From what they were saying, I guessed one of them had her handbag stolen on the train, and they were trying to get some action out of the bored looking policewoman behind the desk. She was slowly writing on a form, looking about as interested in the description of the thief as most people are in the finance report on the news. Just as I started to feel impatient, wondering how long I would have to wait in line, my mobile phone rang, making the people at the desk turn and glare at the shrill intrusion of sound. It was Liam.

  ‘Where the hell are you? I was so worried when I woke up to find you gone.’

  I had expected him to be a bit concerned, but he sounded more annoyed than worried. I almost felt flattered. But then I reminded myself he was probably angry that I was taking control of the search without telling him, rather than concerned that something had happened to me.

  ‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ I lied. ‘I’m at the police station in the city. I’m going to tell them about what’s going on.’

  I heard his sharp intake of breath, the warning sign he was about to explode with rage.

  ‘Ellen. I told you…’

  Just as his rant started, the people at the desk stepped aside, and it was my turn to speak to the policewoman. I didn’t even wait for him to pause.

  ‘I have to go,’ I interrupted. I hung up and turned off my phone.

  ‘I need to speak to someone about two murders, one in London, and one in Sydney, and some people who are after my sister and me.’

  I hadn’t really thought about exactly what I would say, so when the words found their own way out of my mouth, I realised how little information I actually had to tell anyone. Maybe Liam was right. There was no point talking to police until we had something concrete to say. The policewoman made me feel even more unconfident about my decision, looking at me like I was a speed hump in the way of her morning tea break.

  ‘Take a seat.’ She pointed to the plastic chairs behind me. ‘I’ll get one of the detectives from City Central to have a word with you.’

  Ok, this was a start. A detective was exactly who I needed to speak to: someone who dealt with major crimes. Now that I had another wait on my hands, I was determined to work out how I was going to explain everything. I needed to make them realise how serious the situation was, and also be as concise and straightforward as I possibly could with the small amount of information I did have. I wished I had done some more research before I came, but now these men knew about me too, there didn’t seem time to waste for fact finding. I had no idea whether Sophie would be in trouble for prostitution, especially since her crimes, if any, were committed in London. Should I leave that bit out?

  Before I had made up my mind, a tall, thin, middle aged man stamped into the waiting area and was pointed in my direction. He seemed grumpy and rushed, avoiding eye contact in case that gave the impression he was friendly. He didn’t introduce himself, but asked me to follow him, and we went down a dingy corridor and into a cramped little room. It looked like someone had used a very small budget to try to make it seem comfortable and friendly, but this had been so long ago that now it just seemed tired. Light blue walls, dark blue carpet and an oval shaped grey desk with two plastic chairs. The detective offered me one of the chairs, and sat down heavily on the other, his wiry frame looking edgy and impatient, his eyes shrewdly assessing me.

  ‘My name is Detective Williamson. I’ve been told you want to talk to someone about a murder?’

  I nodded, and was ready to start talking, but he wasn’t finished.

  ‘At this stage, this is an informal conversation,’ he explained, going through the motions of following some sort of protocol. ‘If it is decided we need you to make a statement, it will be recorded at a later time. Do you understand?’

  I was relieved to have an informal discussion, as that seemed likely to prevent the tracing of official records, on the off chance Liam was right about the risk. Again I nodded, pausing to check if he was going to say something else. But he just looked at me expectantly, so I started to speak. And as I spoke, his bored looking expression started to waver, until he was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning towards me as if to hear me better. At various stages, his face took on a look of recognition, or understanding, that I couldn’t really explain. But he didn’t interrupt, so I just kept talking until I had nothing else to say.

  ‘My name is Ellen Goddard. I live in Adelaide with my mother. I have recently found out my sister, Sophie Goddard, is in danger from some people who we think might have killed two of her friends. She sent an email to my mum about four months ago, asking for help, and saying she was in danger. She moved to London seven years ago, we had completely lost contact with her until mum got the email. Mum hired a private investigator to find her in London, and he managed to find out why she was so frightened. Her boyfriend Danny was murdered in their apartment. I don’t know much about that, except Sophie and her friend Katie were terrified. They thought they were going to be next, so they flew to Sydney about three months ago. Katie had her son with her, Charlie. When I found out about all this, I decided to come to Sydney to help find So
phie. The private investigator has found out that Katie was killed last week. She was pushed in front of a train at Central Station, and you… I mean… the police are investigating her murder. I don’t think the police know she had a child. His name is Charlie, and he is now with Sophie. The private investigator and I worked out where Sophie was living yesterday, but when we got to her, she didn’t realise who we were so she escaped with Charlie in a car before we could follow her. Then when we got home, there were some men waiting for us outside where we are staying, and when we drove off, they followed us. They were in a blue Magna. We think they are after us too, but we lost them. I’m now staying with my uncle in Parramatta, but I thought it was time to talk to the police about it, because it’s getting out of control.’

  To my surprise, Detective Williamson seemed to jump five steps ahead of where I thought he would be.

  ‘Does the name ‘Molly Lane’ sound familiar to you?’ he asked, with a puzzled expression on his face.

  I gulped. How on earth could he know what Sophie’s alias was? He could tell by the look on my face that I knew exactly who Molly Lane was.

  ‘How could you know that? Liam told me…’

  I shifted in my chair, suddenly anxious to speak to Liam. He had said the police would be useless, but what if they knew more than we did about what was going on?

  ‘Liam is the private investigator?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Liam Kingsley. He’s here in Sydney with me.’

  The detective started stroking his chin, staring at the table as if he was piecing thoughts together in his head before he spoke.

  ‘And you don’t happen to know what Danny’s last name was, do you?’

  At first I couldn’t remember, but then the article about his parents’ accident flashed into my mind, and the name came to me…

  ‘Wright. Danny Wright.’

  ‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ he said slowly, ‘but you have no idea how much that belief is being challenged today. Do you know what your sister does for a living?’