Times of Trouble

by Victoria Rollison

  ‘One day only, delivered at 11:30am to The Four Seasons on the 30th December, picked up at 4:30pm. Another one day only, delivered at 12:00, to the Intercontinental, picked up again at 4:30’.

  I jotted down what he said as I asked my next question. ‘What was it you delivered?’

  ‘Two cameras, two tripods, four light stands and four lights. Same both orders.’

  ‘And who was it that made the order and paid for the equipment?’ I tried to keep the enthusiasm from my voice, aiming to sound like a bored detective, not a desperate sister.

  Chris hesitated and sounded fed up. ‘I didn’t get a name. Just a delivery address. Paid in cash.’

  Shit. Not another dead end. But then Chris kept talking.

  ‘Same person called last week, looking to book in another delivery for today.’ And? Chris was taking far too long to continue but I refrained from prompting him in case he lost his train of thought. ‘But we were booked out. Had a film crew take most of our lights last week for the next two months.’

  ‘What hotel was the booking for?’ I gave up hiding my enthusiasm.

  ‘I can’t remember. Not sure he said.’ Chris’s laid back manner was too much for me.

  ‘Are you positive? Just think about it for a moment...’ I urged him.

  ‘He might have mentioned the Quay Grand...or maybe it was the Hyatt. I remember thinking it was a hassle to deliver to Circular Quay, so... No, it was Quay Grand. I remember now, because I’ve tried to pull up there before, and I remember feeling relieved when I worked out we couldn’t do the job because I couldn’t be bothered going there and back in one day...’

  ‘So you’re sure. It was the Quay Grand at Circular Quay. What time was the booking?’

  ‘We didn’t get that far, I couldn’t book it in, remember.’

  ‘Ok, you have been really helpful. Thank you.’

  I hung up, and felt my head spin with what I had heard. There wasn’t time to think about whether it was a bad idea or not. I had no one to speak to about it. Mum would just tell me to stay put, and Liam was off limits today. So I grabbed my bag, and jogged out of the apartment before I had time to feel scared about the outdoors. I was going to Circular Quay.

  Chapter 29

  It wasn’t until I got onto a train headed for the city that I realised I was doing something potentially reckless. But I still had Liam’s voice ringing in my ears, telling me I’d managed to spoil his plan to track down Sophie at the hospital. I had only been in Sydney for three days, and we had managed to miss her twice. But now that I had another lead into who might be after her, there was no point sitting around the apartment wondering what to do next. It wasn’t time to be a wimp. It was time to act. Just as I used to deal with my nerves at a concert by focusing all my energy on my fingers, ignoring the audience and all the other distractions, I had to focus my mind on why I was going to Circular Quay. This was for Sophie. That was all I needed to think about. I had to try to forget this could be dangerous.

  At each station, more people crowded into my once empty carriage, making me feel claustrophobic, and more nervous. I kept my head down, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, hoping it would make me less noticeable, even invisible amongst the passengers. The man sitting next to me was speaking angrily into his mobile phone, the volume of his voice completely drowning out any other noise in the carriage. His tone forced me to start planning how I was going to confront the people who I hoped I’d find at the Quay Grand.

  My instinct told me not to be angry, not to be confrontational, no matter how angry I was with what they were doing. I was just one person, there was no point putting myself in the line of fire with no back up. Should I pretend to be an innocent bystander who happened to come across them? Or should I pretend to be someone who knew of them, who was a friend of a friend? Would these men recognise me? Could they be the ones that were waiting for me in Newtown? I had to assume it was possible they might be the same people, just in case they were. A resolve firmed itself in my mind. I would find out who they were, what they were doing and whether they were in fact connected to Bill Henderson in any way. Then I would call the police and let them deal with what I had found. Once the police had them, I could keep looking for Sophie without fear of someone else finding her or me first.

  I had hoped the train would take me all the way to Circular Quay, but as it pulled into Wynyard station, the computer screen showed the next stop was Milsons Point, which the map in the carriage showed was on the other side of the harbour. I would have to get off here and walk down George St to the quay. No matter where I was in Sydney, Circular Quay was the one place I could easily find. I had played piano at the Opera House three times in my life, the last time being my final dismal competition. That was not a good memory. Mum and I had had a nice time before the competition started, though. We walked around the city, and we’d noticed the white sails of the Opera House poking up between buildings, guiding us towards Circular Quay and the Harbour Bridge, which seemed to be at the centre of Sydney. Stepping out onto George St, after a moment of disorientation, I glimpsed the edge of the bridge and turned left, joining a sea of men in business suits and Japanese tourists heading towards the harbour.

  I willed my feet to walk quickly. It was as if my mind wanted to go forward, but my body was strangely reluctant to obey. The man I spoke to from the equipment hire place had said the Quay Grand was at Circular Quay. But as I got closer, I realsied I’d have to find out whether it was east or west of the ferry wharfs. On the edge of the quay, there was a tiny shop which looked like a cross between a convenience store and a newsagent. The man behind the counter was counting the money in his till, and he slammed it shut as I approached.

  ‘Excuse me. Do you know where the Quay Grand Hotel is?’

  He pointed left, and said: ‘It’s in the toaster.’

  To someone who wasn’t familiar with Circular Quay, his response would have seemed gibberish. But I remembered what’ the toaster’ was. One of the musicians in the orchestra had told me she was staying there. I was too embarrassed to admit I was staying outside of the city in a budget motel. The building is called ‘the toaster’ because that’s what it looks like.

  I walked along the edge of the quay towards the Opera House, still unsure of exactly what my plan was. It was all very well to know what result I wanted, but this still didn’t give me a clear idea of exactly what to say and do. I wanted to keep walking, down into the lobby of the Opera House, and maybe even grab a beer from the bar. But just as the man in the shop had said, here was an elegant sign that read ‘Quay Grand Suites’. This was where I had to go.

  There was an elderly, rich looking couple entering the hotel next to me. They appeared much more at home in the swish interiors than I did in my old cargo pants and grey jumper. I hadn’t even bothered to brush my hair, not realising I was going to have to look ‘five star’. The couple approached the counter, and I could tell by the amount of luggage they had that they were checking in. As they chatted to the man behind the desk, I wandered around the lobby, hoping to look as if I belonged there. Then as they bustled towards the lift, fussing with their oversized suitcases, I breezed towards them, hoping it would look like I was their quiet, sullen granddaughter who they took no notice of. Nobody approached me to ask what I was doing, so it must have worked. The lift doors finally opened and I stepped in ahead of the couple, who hadn’t acknowledged I existed.

  The couple were going to level 2. I noticed the elderly man take a swipe card out of his jacket pocket and use it to choose his floor. I would have to get out at the same floor as them, then roam the halls. I wouldn’t make myself known to anyone just yet. I wanted to snoop around first, to make sure I was still on the right track. When we all got out of the lift, I turned left and walked purposefully towards the furthest end of the corridor, hoping to look like I was a guest going back to my room. The couple, thankfully, turned right, and eventually disappeared around a corner, the noise of their fussing disappearing as quickly
as they did.

  The silence in the hallway made me wonder exactly what I was hoping to find. If I was right and there was a movie being filmed here, what was it I was expecting to hear? If it was a porn movie, surely there would be music? I had never seen a porn movie so I was just guessing. But there had to be some sort of noise surely, even if it was the moans and groans of the actors. Would music be added later over the top? That was more likely, I had to concede.

  Since there was no one around, I crept up to each door in the hall and pressed my ear against it, sure that if there was a movie being made, I would hear some evidence of it. But level two was eerily quiet. The last door at the end of the hall was the fire stairs. So I went down to level one and, again finding no one to be seen, repeated my listening technique along the row of doors. Again, not even the sound of a voice could be heard. Did this hotel have any guests?

  The fire stairs gave me easy access to all levels, so I went from floor to floor, checking every hallway. The top floor, Level six, had only half as many doors, so I guessed these suites were bigger than the ones lower down. Maybe they were even apartments instead of just rooms. I crept along the soft carpet, the lump in my throat reminding me to stay alert and focussed. But again there was no noise at any door. At the end of the corridor, there was a full length glass window that revealed an incredible view out over the harbour. I stood and stared. The water glistened in the sun, and I could almost feel the breeze on my face in the silent corridor. It seemed so peaceful, I wondered if I was completely off course, and had come all this way for nothing. I felt glued to the spot, happy to gaze out at the sailing boats for the rest of the afternoon.

  After a few minutes, the silence of the hotel and the scene of the harbour made me feel much more at ease. There was obviously nothing going on here. And, as much as I hated dead ends, I was relieved by the thought of going back to the apartment and feeling safe again, ready to keep investigating. It had been pretty stupid to come here alone after all, hoping to confront these people. What would I say to them? Why would they listen to me? I walked back to the lift, tired of using the stairs, and pressed the Ground button. I wouldn't need a swipe card to get to the reception area would I?

  The quiet in the hallway was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a door opening a little way down the corridor from where I stood, and a man stepped out of the room. He looked like he was in his mid thirties, his clothes were casual but expensive looking, his hair cut short and neat. I stood as still as I could, willing him not to notice me, no matter who he was. My heart was beating in my mouth as I willed the lift to arrive. There was no one around in this hotel. How could a lift take so long? Out of the corner of my eye, I could see he was striding towards the lift, his head down, reading something on his phone. And just as his eyes looked up impatiently towards the lift, a light came on, signalling that it was about to arrive. The movement of his head looking up must have opened his peripheral vision, because his eyes suddenly fastened on mine. And his sudden question made my legs almost collapse underneath me.

  ‘Molly? Are you finally ready to do your last scene?’

  Before I had time to respond, he was striding towards me, covering the space between us like a wave breaking on the sand. I turned, looking for somewhere to run, but I was caged in by the end of the corridor, the window imprisoning me where I stood. My face must have portrayed total fear, instead of the look I was trying for - the blank stare of confusion at the question. He was almost in front of me when he opened his mouth and yelled.

  ‘Keith! Get out here!’

  The door opened again and suddenly another man, this one fatter and much shorter, was bolting in our direction.

  ‘Go away!’ I managed, before my throat seemed to close over, and no more words could get out. I’d had nightmares like this, where you try to scream but there is no sound. And every time I had woken up relieved I never had to feel what that was like in real life. Until now.

  The first man bundled me into his arms, the weight of his body pushing me against the wall. He hoisted me over his shoulder, my legs flailing uselessly against his stocky frame. He was holding my arms against my sides so tight that air was pushed out of my lungs, and no sound came when I tried to scream. The second man grabbed onto my ankles and they both lurched back towards the closed door, kicking it open and throwing me on the floor of the apartment. Pain shot through my shoulder as my body smacked into the tiled floor. I took a quick breath and tried to scramble up, looking for somewhere to run. But the men stood over me, hands on hips, ready to attack if I tried to go anywhere. They spoke to each other as if I wasn’t there.

  ‘I can’t believe it. She was just standing there in the hallway!’

  ‘Are you sure it’s her?’

  ‘Look at her! It’s definitely her! A bit rough around the edges, but I’d know that face anywhere. No where to run this time.’

  He had said ‘Molly’. They thought I was Sophie. My voice croaked as it finally returned.

  ‘I’m not Molly. Who are you people? Let me go!’ The bigger man stepped aggressively towards me.

  ‘Nice try, love. We’ve been looking for you for weeks. No way you are getting away from us again.’

  He bent down and lifted me off the ground, as if I weighed nothing to him. There were two doors off the main area of the apartment, one was shut, the closest one open enough to show it was a bedroom. He dropped me onto the bed, and I started to kick my feet wildly, hoping to make contact with his chin or even better, his groin. He swiftly grabbed one of my feet in one hand, twisting until my ankle hurt, and with the other hand he pulled a plastic strip out of his back pocket and grabbed my other foot with this hand. He was too strong for me to wriggle from his grip.

  ‘Help me out will you!’ he yelled to the man with the phone. He ran in and took the plastic strip from his partner, wrapping it around my ankles and clicking it together. There was no way to break the bind; it was some sort of industrial tie that had to be cut to come apart. Then they grabbed my shoulders, pulling me to the top of the bed and tied another strip around my wrists, looping it around the bed frame so I was stuck still on the bed. The plastic strips cut into my wrists and ankles, making red marks that looked like they would break open if I struggled too hard. What were they going to do with me?

  ‘You fucking psychos! I’m not who you think I am! Check my wallet! I’m not Molly!’

  I screamed as loudly as I could, desperately hoping the silent corridors outside might eventually have other guests in them. Why had I come here? How was I stupid enough to think I could investigate these people without them attacking me too? How had I been so naive to think this compared to playing at a piano concert?

  ‘If you don’t shut up, we’ll kill you now. Then you’ll have to perform dead.’

  The fatter man lifted his shirt up, showing a knife tucked into his jeans. My mind couldn’t comprehend what he had just said. Perform dead? Perform what?

  Lying still on the bed, I heard everything the men were saying to each other. I knew I needed to act, but I felt completely trapped, unable to move even an inch without feeling like I was cutting my wrists. They spoke excitedly to each other, with a conspiratorial pride that made me feel sick.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t tell him we just came across her. I have no idea what she’s doing here, but it doesn’t matter now. Tell him we found her in the city, and we’re ready to start filming.’

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘We’ll see how we go with time. We might just have to get rid of her. She’s still a bit out of it anyway. Molly is our priority now.’

  ‘Should I call him, and tell him we’ve found her?’

  ‘Yeah, you’d better. He might have some final instructions for the format.’

  I heard the taller man, the one that spotted me in the hallway, clicking buttons on his phone.

  ‘Jared, good news, we’ve got Molly... in the city... yep she’s here... she’ll need to be tidied up a bit but we can do her to
day...are there any other details for the shots?...yeah we can see the bridge from the window…it’s right in the centre of the background... perfect weather...Keith knows how to use the cameras...she’s in the other room....ok call you when we’re done...looking forward to a bonus for this one...see you then.’

  The conversation terrified me, because of what I could hear, and what I couldn’t. What were they planning to film? How could they think I was Sophie? Is that why they were watching the house in Newtown? They didn’t think I was Sophie’s sister, they thought I was Sophie! And what did they have planned for her? I didn’t want to be filmed doing anything. And who was in the other room? Another girl? Panic was ricocheting around my chest. Cutting my wrists on the plastic suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea, if it got me off this bed.

  As the terror in my mind started to overwhelm me, I desperately searched for some way to get control of my emotions. I shut my eyes tight and pictured the familiar black and white keys of a piano, shiny and still under my hands. I ignored the pain in my wrists, as I imagined my hands slowly starting to touch the keys, pressing and sliding over the first few bars of the Pathetique, my favourite Beethoven sonata. The music sounded in my head, as my fingers perfectly found the notes, with just the right dynamic and a faultless tempo. It was beautiful. I didn’t feel hysterical anymore, and a new found determination to survive gripped me.

  Then my daydream was interrupted. Silent tears were running down my face. My mind stopped hearing Beethoven; instead, my ears heard harsh reality. The fatter man approached the bed.

  ‘You’ve not been looking after yourself in Australia, have you?’ he said. ‘What happened to the glamorous Molly? Though I guess you’ve had a kid to look after... where is the little man by the way? We were hoping to deal with him as well. No matter, it’s time to get you ready for your starring role.’

  His voice was deep and husky, and he was panting as he spoke, as if so unfit he was exhausted from the effort of hauling me around. I spoke quietly, so not to give him any reason to pull out his knife.