Marble Bar

by Robert Schofield

  ‘If I do that, I might never get out again. I want to see Grace first. You must understand that. Are you still in contact with that detective, the one from the Gold Squad?’

  Ford stopped pacing. Kavanagh was staring at him again. She opened the car door and made to get out but he shook his head.

  ‘Which detective?’ he said, wondering whether he was starting to enjoy this.

  ‘Don’t be obtuse, Gareth. The blonde from the airport.’

  ‘I can contact her. Why?’

  ‘Tell her I know where the gold is.’ She sounded pleased now. Pleased with herself for the way she’d dropped it in, trying to make it casual.

  Ford didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. ‘You can tell me where it is,’ he said.

  ‘No, I’ll only tell her. To her face.’

  ‘What’s your game?’

  He knew she was getting to the point at last. ‘I need a deal,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell her where to find the gold. I’ll tell her where Alan has hidden his assets, but I need immunity. I can give the police a whole lot of dirt on Alan.’

  ‘He’s not going to like that.’

  ‘Yes, why do you think I’m in Broome?’

  ‘I figure you’re getting around to telling me.’

  ‘I told him I wanted to see Grace. He didn’t understand.’

  ‘If you’re going to talk to the police, I’d guess that things are a little more serious than that. I’d say that would pretty much end things.’

  ‘Alan is not the sort of man who would let me go as easily as that.’

  ‘You think he’s sent someone after you?’

  ‘I know he has.’

  ‘Chinese guys?’

  ‘I don’t know what they look like. Probably some of the goons from the casino.’

  ‘What about Roth?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for weeks. Alan is surrounded by the casino staff now.’

  ‘How did you get to Broome?’

  ‘The long way. A lot of small plane rides, cars and ferries through Indonesia. I came into Broome on a private boat.’

  ‘Did you see Matthew Walsh in Indonesia?’

  There was a pause on the line. ‘I haven’t seen him since I left Australia.’

  ‘Anyone know where you are?’

  ‘Only the skipper of the boat, and he only knows me by the name on my passport.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘At the Cable Beach Club.’

  ‘I thought you were hiding? Five-star incognito. I guess you brought money.’

  ‘Alan’s money. He gave me the fake passport too. Irish. I guess he never imagined I’d use it to leave him.’

  ‘Anyone else got this number?’

  ‘Just you. It’s prepaid. Bought it today.’

  He thought about that for a minute, wondered why this felt easier than it should. ‘I’ll come and get you,’ he said. ‘It’s a ten-hour drive from here to Broome, and it will take me a while to set things up with the police. I’ll need to ring you back.’

  ‘You think she’ll go for a deal?’

  Kavanagh was out of the car now, leaning against the bull bar, waving for him to come over.

  ‘Maybe. Sure, why not? Remind me why I’m doing this.’

  ‘I’d hoped that would be obvious. Maybe there’s a little bit of feeling left between us. If not for me, then at least for Grace.’ She let that hang, wanting to see if he’d bite.

  ‘That’s your kind of olive branch, Diane. More wood than fruit.’ He hung up.

  EIGHT

  Kavanagh’s arms were folded across her chest, her chin down, looking at Ford through a fringe of loose hair as she leaned on the car. She patted the bull bar and he joined her, facing away from Grace. She shuffled sideways until her shoulder brushed his, and leaned her head towards his ear.

  ‘Why the fuck did you leave us sitting out here in full view of the highway?’

  Ford still had his phone in his hand. He waved it gingerly as explanation.

  ‘I could see what you were doing,’ she said. ‘So you leave me alone with your kid? What do I have to talk about with a six-year-old?’

  ‘Ponies,’ said Ford. ‘She likes ponies. Do you have any good stories about horses?’

  ‘I had my own horse and a shelf full of trophies. Who was on the phone?’

  ‘My wife.’

  ‘Diane?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  Kavanagh’s eyes widened.

  ‘She’s in Broome,’ he said, and waited to see if her eyes got any bigger.

  A smile broke across her face. ‘Is McCann with her?’

  ‘No, she’s on her own. She says she’s left him.’

  Kavanagh walked off across the forecourt, her head down. As she stepped from the shadow of the low-loader, a car cut across in front of her, sounding its horn and snapping her out of her reverie. She jogged back to Ford.

  ‘Why’s she calling you?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she? She’s in trouble. Who else would she turn to?’

  ‘Does she know where Roth is?’

  ‘No, but McCann’s still in Macau.’

  ‘So why’s she in Broome?’

  ‘Hiding from McCann. False passport, cash only, came into the country all cloak and dagger.’

  ‘So what’s she want from you?’

  Ford looked down at his hands, noticing how dirty they were. ‘She wasn’t calling for me. She wants to speak to you. And she wants to see Grace.’

  Kavanagh stepped closer to him. He could smell her sweat and the last stale remnants of her perfume, burned off by the day’s sun. She was almost whispering. ‘Why me?’

  ‘She wants to cut a deal. She has information. She wants amnesty, immunity, whatever.’

  Kavanagh stepped back, thinking. ‘That’s not easy,’ she said. ‘Needs the Crown Prosecutor. That’s a big problem.’

  ‘I can see a whole conga line of problems,’ said Ford.

  ‘Chadwick,’ said Kavanagh. ‘If her name shows up anywhere in the system, Chadwick will hear about it.’

  ‘He’s retired. Why are we still worried about him?’

  ‘He’s still got plenty of mates inside the detectives. They’ll tell him, and he’ll tell McCann and she’ll be a sitting duck.’

  ‘Then we’ll just go get her.’

  ‘I need to talk to her. What’s she trading?’

  Ford hesitated a fraction too long. ‘She wouldn’t say,’ he said, but Kavanagh was already on to him. She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. He noticed the way she pushed her chin forward, a slight underbite when she was focused.

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Ford. You’re shit at it. No wonder you never cheated on your wife. She’d sniff it on you in a minute.’

  Ford felt the dust in his mouth. He tried swallowing. ‘She said she could tell you where McCann has hidden his assets. Those offshore accounts.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ she said, spitting out the word, a fleck of saliva landing on Ford’s cheek. He was leaning back against the car, his back arching away from her, feeling the heat of her breath.

  ‘If it was about his assets, she’d have gone to the receivers, the Fraud Squad, or direct to the prosecutors. She rang you looking for the Gold Squad. So come on, I’m going to make you say it.’

  Ford tried a smile. ‘Is this police technique or are you always so aggressive?’

  ‘Spill it.’

  ‘Diane says she knows where the gold is.’

  Kavanagh smiled now, her eyes creasing, her teeth showing. Her fist was clenched and she was nodding to herself.

  ‘I know how much this means to you,’ said Ford. ‘But I thought if I told you, you’d go off thinking about the gold. I’m thinking about Diane.’

  ‘Well if you’re worried that I don’t care about her, then you’re right.’ Ford opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. ‘Conspiracy to steal the gold from Gwardar, conspiracy to fraud for falsifying the geological report on the Gwardar mine. Conspiracy to attempted
murder. Of you.’

  Ford’s hand crept to his shoulder and rubbed the scar. He hunched his shoulders and rolled the joints. Kavanagh saw his expression and took a step back, her eyes softening.

  ‘Is it all connected? Is your daughter part of the deal?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I guess so. She said McCann had stopped her from trying to see Grace, from coming back. That’s why she left. Maybe this is the only way she can do it, see Grace and avoid going down.’

  ‘And what are you thinking about this?’

  ‘I only just got off the phone and you were in my face.’

  Kavanagh looked him in the eyes. He saw how small her pupils were in the sun, the tiny flecks of brown in the irises. She turned away and made to get back in the car. ‘Did you get us accommodation?’

  Ford showed her the wooden key fob. ‘Last room. Single bed.’

  She took the key. ‘Don’t worry yourself,’ she said. ‘I’m not banking on getting any sleep tonight, not with those two bastards floating around. At least we know why they’re shadowing us. I don’t want to find out what they’d do if Diane showed her face.’

  She stepped around Ford and opened the driver’s door, slipping behind the wheel and waving Ford to the other side. Ford smiled at his daughter, nodding off to sleep on the back seat.

  Kavanagh drove the LandCruiser around the back of the roadhouse and parked it behind the motel units under the thin shade of a crippled acacia, the last few strands of yellow blossom clinging to its bare branches. A winding concrete path crossed in front of the car, linking the rooms to the toilet block. Behind that Ford could see caravans parked among the sparse trees.

  The motel rooms were split into two rows, facing each other across a patch of bare red gravel. Six rooms made up each plain brick block, their doors opening on to a thin strip of concrete under a corrugated-iron verandah. Each room had a single window, most of it filled with a boxed air-conditioner, and the remaining glass blocked out with aluminium foil. A plastic chair sat next to every door, and the rooms that were occupied had a pair of dusty site boots under the chair and a rattling air-con dripping water onto the concrete.

  Kavanagh had her backpack and Grace’s pink bag over her shoulder as she jammed the key into the lock of the last door and leaned into it. Ford followed her inside, holding Grace by the hand. The room was dark and stuffy, clogged with hot, damp air. Grace hesitated in the doorway and wrinkled her nose.

  ‘It’s only for tonight, sweetheart,’ said Ford, as Kavanagh found the light switch. The single light bulb in the ceiling flickered as the air-conditioner wheezed into life.

  ‘Suzi said I can’t go home today,’ said Grace, peering into the room without daring to cross the threshold. ‘She said the police were there.’

  Ford looked at her to see how much she understood, but her face showed no sign of knowing what he had found at the house. ‘Someone broke into our house,’ he offered. ‘Smashed some things. Stole some stuff. Nothing we can’t replace.’

  Kavanagh dropped the bags on the bed, a plain steel frame with a foam mattress and a thin floral coverlet. The bed filled most of the room, the walls lined on all sides by fake wood panelling, big sheets nailed directly to the concrete walls. The only other furniture in the room was a side table next to the bed, and a small TV on a bracket high on the wall opposite the bed, secured by a chain. Ford reached up to turn it on and caught a blast of his own sweat and stopped. Kavanagh smelled it too and wrinkled her nose.

  She picked up the small towel laid out next to the pillow and threw it at him. ‘Why don’t you take a shower,’ she said, passing him a small square of soap. ‘Leave us girls to make this place more cosy, eh?’ She smiled at Grace, who stared at her blankly before turning up the corners of her mouth in a forced smile.

  Ford sat on the chair outside and pulled off his work boots, peeled off his damp socks and wiggled his toes. He picked up the towel, coarse and threadbare and scarcely big enough to go around his middle, and shuffled off down the path to the communal showers. He thought he heard giggling behind him.

  When he came back down the path he was still wet under his dirty clothes, the towel saturated before he was halfway dry from the shower. He enjoyed the brief feeling of cool relief as the water evaporated from his skin, but it was soon replaced by a film of fresh sweat as he came out into the sunshine. The sun was touching the horizon on the far side of the highway, catching the dust and diesel fumes trailing behind the trucks and scattering orange light, the trunks of the gum trees glowing pink, the heat of the afternoon still trapped in the air.

  The bedside table had been moved outside the room and Kavanagh’s cowboy boots sat on it, wiped clean of dust.

  When he stepped into the room the cool air hit his face and with it a burst of Kavanagh’s perfume, which was so strong he thought she had used it to fumigate the room.

  Grace sat on the end of the bed beneath the TV, her overnight bag open, her clothes and toys strewn across the bed. She held one of her plastic ponies in her lap, patiently teasing out the bright pink mane with a tiny plastic brush. The hair stretched out across her thigh, longer than the pony’s body. Kavanagh sat behind her, brushing Grace’s hair with a broad-backed brush, holding the stream of yellow hair in her hand, tugging at the tangled mess. With each knot Grace’s head was pulled back, a grimace passing across her face, but not strong enough to displace the smile. Kavanagh looked up when she heard the door.

  ‘Don’t you ever brush this poor girl’s hair?’ she said. ‘It’s like a bird’s nest.’

  Grace giggled.

  ‘She never sits still for me like that,’ said Ford.

  ‘You should cut it short,’ said Kavanagh, ‘if you’re not going to look after it.’

  Grace turned, her hair pulled taut. ‘I don’t want short hair,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to look like a boy.’

  ‘I have short hair,’ said Kavanagh. ‘Do I look like a boy?’

  Grace thought about that and went back to combing her pony’s mane. ‘You have tattoos,’ she said, in a small voice. ‘I want tattoos like yours.’ She picked idly at a peeling transfer on her arm.

  Kavanagh laughed. ‘Real tattoos hurt,’ she said. ‘You need to be brave. Are you brave?’

  Grace nodded, her lips pursed, her eyes narrow.

  ‘This is how much it hurts,’ said Kavanagh, and pinched the skin on the back of Grace’s arm. Grace winced and then laughed.

  Kavanagh pulled Grace’s hair back into a ponytail and secured it with a loop of elastic, then stood up. She picked up her backpack and pulled out a towel, then swung both over her shoulder and moved to the door. She put a hand on Ford’s arm. ‘Tag, you’re it,’ she said. ‘My turn in the shower.’

  Once she was out the door, Ford turned on the TV and flicked through several channels of static before finding a grainy kids’ channel. He put Grace in her pyjamas and tucked her up in bed under the thin covers. He lay beside her watching cartoons until her steady breathing told him she was asleep.

  He left the TV playing and tiptoed outside. Kavanagh was sitting on the plastic chair on the verandah, her wet towel draped over the back. She wore a fresh white singlet and a pair of shiny running shorts, her wet hair slicked behind her ears, her skin pink and glowing. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and Ford’s eyes moved along the length of them until they reached the Celtic bands tattooed around her ankles.

  It was dark now, just the remnants of an orange glow in the west where headlights moved along the highway. Kavanagh had moved the table into the pool of light thrown by a bulb hanging from the verandah ceiling, the light filtering through a cloud of mosquitos swarming around it. There was the buzz and intermittent pop of a bright blue bug zapper fitted to the wall at the end of the block.

  Kavanagh’s boots still sat on the table, now polished to a shine, and beside them were the components of the pistol, dismantled and arranged in rows. She held the barrel in her hand, wiping it with a red bandana.

&nb
sp; ‘This looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since you got it.’

  Ford looked around at the other rooms. All had their air-cons running, their occupants shut inside out of the heat. ‘Isn’t it a bit public out here?’ he said.

  ‘I could do this in front of your daughter if you prefer.’

  ‘I thought we’d be safe here,’ said Ford.

  ‘For tonight, maybe. Those guys will show up sooner or later.’

  ‘They’re looking for Diane. I don’t think they’d hurt us.’

  ‘They killed Harding,’ she said. ‘I can’t find any logic in that. I don’t want to think about what they might do if they find Diane. You should ring her.’

  Ford took out his phone and found the last call received and thumbed it. He watched the bug zapper spark as he let it ring for a whole minute before hanging up.

  He shrugged at Kavanagh. ‘No answer.’

  ‘Try the resort.’

  ‘She didn’t tell me the name she was using.’

  Kavanagh reassembled the gun, her fingers moving quickly and precisely, her eyes focused directly ahead. She slammed the magazine into the grip, racked the slide and only then looked down to check that a round was in the chamber. She put the pistol back on the table and laid the bandana over it.

  ‘You told Grace about her mother?’ she said.

  ‘No, that would be cruel,’ said Ford. ‘She’d want to see her now. Right now.You don’t know much about kids, do you?’

  ‘No, but I know a bit about fathers.’

  ‘It’s the five-minute rule. Only tell them what’s about to happen five minutes before it happens. When you’re going to leave, when a friend is arriving. Otherwise they pester the shit out of you, “Are we there yet?” ’

  He picked up the chair from the next room and put it beside the table so he could sit with her. Kavanagh turned to him, her hands flat on the table. ‘Your wife tried to have you killed,’ she said.

  ‘That’s your interpretation,’ said Ford, watching the headlights moving along the road. ‘Roth was going to kill me during the robbery. I have no idea if Diane knew that was going to happen. Her showing up here puts a different light on it. Maybe McCann hadn’t told her what would happen.’