Faces in the Rain

by Roland Perry

  ‘Must ring Rachel,’ I said, picking up the phone. She was still at work.

  ‘There’s nothing,’ she whispered into the phone.

  ‘All Lloyd’s calls to Paris are legit.?’ I said.

  ‘All to Prescott at the Benepharm offices.’

  ‘I take it his lordship is back from Sydney?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Is he nearby?’

  ‘Hovering outside my office.’

  ‘Hmm. How has Smiler been acting?’

  ‘As testy as ever,’ Rachel said so softly she was almost inaudible, ‘he is still strutting round like an emperor. He holds endless meetings which I’m told centre round what to do if you are never found, or if you get jailed for a long time.’

  ‘Lloyd always was a forward planner.’

  ‘Duncan, you’ve got to do something!’ Rachel said. There was more strain in her voice than I’d ever heard. It was not just the stern schoolmistress speaking. ‘Four key executives are threatening to leave. Everyone is unsettled.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE TENNIS BALL kicked up chalk on the baseline and cannoned into the brick wall behind where a receiver would have been if Lloyd had been playing anyone. It was seven thirty p.m. and the floodlights were on. He was practising his serve at his home on the bayside Golden Mile (‘Golden’ because only the rich could live in homes fronting the beach at Brighton). Lloyd was an ordinary player, who fought hard and complained about most umpiring decisions, even in a social game.

  I had come the public beach way to his home and had scaled the two-metre-high stone fence. I stood in the shadows for a minute and watched as he pawed the ground like a Spanish bull, grunting to himself as he heaved and swung ball after ball down to the wall of his double-brick three-storey house with its fortress-like turrets and towers. Lloyd had liked the place because its former owner had built a nuclear bunker under the house in the early 1980s. His Rottweiler, Brutus, was sitting on steps up to the back patio. The dog sniffed the air and I was thankful he had just been fed because he had a nature very similar to his master’s. Brutus stood up and I slipped onto the court, closing the wire gate behind me. The dog bounded down to the court. He was offended at having missed me.

  ‘Duncan!’ Lloyd said. I winced as the dog snapped and growled at the gate. He wanted dessert.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Is that any way to greet the boss?’

  ‘Under the circumstances, yes.’

  ‘There always was a little bit of Hitler in you, Lloyd.’

  ‘You’ve got a nerve coming here!’

  Lloyd shouted to be heard above Brutus’s barking and snarling. He yelled at the dog. It showed more concern about reaching me than obeying Lloyd. After a few moments it slunk away towards the steps leading up to the house. It kept glancing over its hairy shoulder at me. Its yellow eyes glowed in the half-light.

  ‘How’d you get in?’ Lloyd asked.

  ‘Back fence.’

  ‘Bloody dog,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘he’s getting old.’

  He beckoned me into a hut by the court and pulled a beer from a fridge. I declined a drink, having finished the Chablis bottle with Oliver. Lloyd pulled on a tracksuit and we sat on a courtside bench.

  ‘Have you been trying to take over Benepharm?’ I asked.

  ‘No!’ Lloyd said. ‘I thought you might think that.’

  ‘I have a little theory,’ I said, ‘it goes like this. A foreign group – someone like Vital – buys up as much of Benepharm as possible under the law and then declares a takeover bid.’

  I kept an eye on Brutus as I spoke. And he had both eyes on me.

  ‘Once the bid is successful it instals a local puppet as its CEO. That way everyone – the government, the press and the shareholders – is placated. Especially if the puppet is Lloyd Vickers.’

  Lloyd’s grumpy lines fused.

  ‘You’ve got thirty seconds to get off my property,’ he said, ‘or I’ll call the police. They come pretty quickly round here.’

  ‘That would be dumb, Lloyd, very dumb. I would explain that you were in a conspiracy to frame me. Homicide might just be interested in questioning you about the murder of Martine Villon.’

  Lloyd strode to the gate and Brutus bounded round to greet him.

  ‘Did you plan that too?’ I said. That stopped him a few paces short of the gate.

  ‘I had nothing to do with that!’

  ‘But you knew her. You hired her.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing illegal,’ Lloyd said as he turned and approached me again, ‘I haven’t bought any Benepharm shares.’

  Did I detect a more conciliatory tone? I pushed a bit more.

  ‘Don’t you see it’s going to look awfully bad for you?’

  ‘The police know I’m innocent,’ I said, trying a bluff.

  ‘They’re searching for you!’

  ‘Not any more,’ I said continuing the long-shot lie, ‘I saw them this morning. They let me free. Naturally I’m investigating a few things myself.’

  Lloyd hesitated.

  ‘Go ahead and ring Benns,’ I said, ‘I thought he would have been onto you by now.’ I chuckled mirthlessly. ‘At least you’re not the number one suspect. Otherwise Homicide would be round here already.’

  Lloyd blinked nervously. His manner changed sharply into one of sweet reason.

  ‘Duncan,’ he said, ‘Vital approached me. They wanted to take over Benepharm because of its products and its world distribution set-up.’

  ‘So framing me was just a coincidence?’

  ‘I swear it was never discussed! We didn’t need a murder charge to get rid of you. But I don’t honestly know what Vital has done or how far they’d go. Maybe they were that stupid!’

  ‘Face it, Lloyd,’ I said with a sigh, ‘the police know the French were involved. Vital’s people are linked to Villon’s killing.’

  Lloyd groaned.

  ‘I tell you I knew nothing about it,’ he said, his palms pushed towards me in a near-plea. I walked towards the gate. Lloyd followed.

  ‘Do you believe me?’ he asked, as if my feelings were important.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, eyeballing him, ‘I know how much you wanted to run the company. But you’re right. It wouldn’t have been necessary to set me up for murder to get control.’

  Lloyd looked relieved.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Nothing.’ Lloyd looked astonished then confused. I didn’t wait round to see him work out he had been conned into a confession of sorts.

  ‘See you at work Monday,’ I said, ‘we can discuss it further then.’

  Brutus was at the gate again, his snout snapping at the dirt. I decided to go.

  Lloyd turned his hostility on the dog. He kicked at it and smashed it on the neck and backside with his racket. It had little effect. Brutus looked in two minds about attacking his master, but backed off and quit barking.

  There was another gate leading to the side of the house, which was inaccessible to the dog. I took that and looked back once when I heard balls hitting the brick wall. Lloyd was doing his phantom serves again, this time with more vigour.

  ‘Self-serving bastard,’ I thought.

  The drive back to the Bunker was again without incident, although I was nervy about stares from passing motorists. Lloyd was a cunning intriguer. A modern-day Machiavelli. While he had been connected to the takeover bid, I still couldn’t see him in a murder conspiracy – unless he somehow got manoeuvred into setting me up on a promise that he would control the company. But he wasn’t the type to get suckered into anything. If anything, he would do the suckering.

  Lloyd went into the ‘unlikely’ category.

  I rang my home. The Tashesitas told me Al and Sam were at their mother’s place. I rang them.

  Sam answered and broke into tears. Inaudible sentences were punctuated by sobs as I tried to calm her.

/>   Al came on another extension.

  ‘You haven’t been in touch for two weeks, Dad!’ he said. ‘We . . . we thought you were dead or something! Are you going to give yourself up?’

  ‘May have to, Al.’

  ‘Are you innocent, Daddy?’ Sam said.

  ‘Yes, darling, completely.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Yes, darling.’

  ‘Kids at school reckon you did it, Dad,’ Al chimed in.

  ‘There’ll always be kids like that.’

  ‘I’ve biffed a few,’ Al said.

  ‘I don’t endorse that, son. Fighting never solved anything.’

  ‘Yeah, but they’ve shut up, mostly.’

  ‘Can’t take on the whole school, son.’

  ‘I got a Saturday.’

  ‘Saturday detention? For fighting?’

  ‘I broke Mick Cunningham’s nose.’

  ‘He’s twice your size!’

  ‘Not any more, he isn’t.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘He’s got a black eye,’ Sam said, ‘but it’s yellow now.’

  ‘Is your mother in?’

  ‘No. She’s out with her boyfriend.’

  ‘Tell her I’m OK and that this mess will be over soon.’

  ‘You are going to give yourself up?’ Al said, disappointed.

  ‘I thought I could clear my name but the whole thing has got worse.’

  ‘When can we see you, Daddy?’ Sam said. She began crying again.

  ‘Soon, darling.’

  ‘When?!’

  ‘A few days.’

  ‘Promise?’ Al said.

  ‘Promise,’ I said. ‘Kids, I can’t talk too long.’

  ‘Phone taps?’ Al said.

  ‘What’s a phone tap?’ Sam asked.

  ‘It means I shouldn’t be on the phone in case the police can monitor and trace the call.’

  ‘They’re always watching us,’ Al said, ‘whenever I go out of Mum’s house or I’m at Hopetoun Road, they’re there.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘They sit in cars,’ he said. ‘I’ve kept a list of their registration numbers. There are about six and they’re always standard-issue Fords.’

  ‘They’ve never spoken to you?’

  ‘Only once. Two guys came to the door,’ Al said.

  ‘We told them to see our lawyer,’ Sam said. I laughed.

  ‘What did they look like?’

  ‘One was like a wrestler,’ Al said, ‘had a moustache. The other one was a woman. She was big. Like a bloke really. Except she was quite nice.’

  They had to be Benns and O’Dare.

  ‘I’ve got to go, kids.’

  ‘Dad,’ Al said, ‘before you do. Did you murder that Frog?’

  ‘You mean Frenchman,’ Sam corrected him. ‘Frog is racist.’

  ‘Did you, Dad?’

  ‘Son, I did shoot at him but didn’t kill him. There is such a thing as self-defence, AI, remember that. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Daddy, we’ll come and visit you in jail every day,’ Sam said.

  ‘I must go,’ I said, getting emotional again, ‘love you both very much.’

  I needed a stiff drink after the call. My first thought was to walk right down to Homicide and turn myself in. Before things got worse. Before I was shot. I had been back twenty-eight hours and all my thin hopes had evaporated. There were no leads or clues or even hunches any more. There were responsibilities to face with my family and business, and my mind was already on the defence in court.

  I tried ringing Farrar but he wasn’t in. At nine p.m. I took a gamble and left the Bunker phone number on his answer machine, and then rang Cassie. She was just on her way out.

  ‘Could I come over later?’ I said.

  ‘I won’t be here.’

  ‘You’re staying with Walters?’

  ‘Duncan, we have been going out.’

  ‘But you said he had let you down in London.’

  ‘He’s trying to make it up to me.’

  ‘He seems to have you on a string,’ I said and regretted it.

  ‘He wants to marry me.’

  ‘That’s quick. You’ve only been going out six weeks.’

  ‘I know, but we do have a lot in common.’

  ‘What? Tumours, AIDS, bowel lining and chemotherapy?’

  ‘Duncan, that’s unfair!’

  ‘All’s fair in love and war.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I happen to be pretty keen on you myself.’

  She seemed taken aback.

  ‘You’re just saying that,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not. It’s been difficult because of our prospective business relationship. Not to mention your involvement and my problems.’

  Cassie was silent.

  ‘Can we meet?’ I persisted. ‘I’ve got a lot I want to speak to you about, but not over the phone.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Your ex and his contacts in plastic surgery.’

  ‘It’s getting late.’

  ‘I could be with you in ten minutes.’

  ‘Dangerous. Police are watching the place. I think they must know you’re back.’

  ‘Couldn’t we find a place? A restaurant or something?’ There was a long pause.

  ‘I could come to you,’ she said.

  It was my turn to be surprised.

  ‘Arh . . .’

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  I gave Cassie instructions to drive to the carpark where the BMW was garaged, and then slipped out to wait for her. She took her time and I glanced at myoid Omega automatic Seamaster watch so often I wondered if it had stopped. As the minutes turned into half an hour then an hour, I became worried.

  Just as I was about to leave, the Subaru came hurtling down a ramp. She pulled up near the BMW and stepped out wearing an emerald-green suit, which accentuated her vivid eye colour. The skirt was short and showed off her excellent legs.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘had a bit of bother.’

  ‘From Walters?’

  ‘You could say that.’ I led her into the alley which ran between the carpark and the building housing the apartment, and then up the rear staircase.

  I opened some Chablis while Cassie checked over the apartment.

  ‘So this is Oliver’s love-pad,’ she said, poking her head in the bedroom.

  ‘It’s mine, temporarily,’ I said, taking a drink to her. I brought my glass to hers and nodded a salutation as they clinked.

  ‘You’re in a good mood,’ she said, ‘considering the pressure you’re under.’

  ‘Relief really. I’ll have to give myself up after the weekend.’

  She wandered to the window and looked up Bourke Street to the Parliament, which was imperially lit at night. A tram rattled into the street.

  ‘I’ve spoken to my ex about the surgery business,’ she said, turning to me, ‘he was reluctant to divulge anything.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Apparently there is a surgeon. Colin says this doctor is nearly as good as him, which coming from my ex is about the biggest praise one can receive.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Cassie! We’re trying to nab Michel, remember.’

  ‘I was sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘This guy specialises in changing the faces of criminals. He’s made a fortune doing everything from Triads to American Mafia bosses. They come to him from everywhere. He can even do skin grafts on fingertips to beat fingerprinting. The only thing he can’t beat is genetic typing.’

  ‘He has to be the one,’ I said. ‘He’ll have done Michel for sure.’

  ‘Colin thinks so.’

  ‘Cassie! He could provide the break we need!’

  ‘The catch is I can’t tell you who he is.’

  ‘Can’t I go to him,’ I said off the top, ‘can’t I say I need
a change?’

  ‘It’s risky.’

  ‘No it’s not. He’ll know I’m on the run. He’ll think my coming to see him is legitimate.’

  ‘He’ll know you’ve reached him through my ex. The doctor concerned is well known and highly respected. He runs a practice where the high and the mighty, and their wives, all go.’

  ‘All the more reason why I should go to him. He won’t want to know who sent me. And I don’t have to tell him.’

  Cassie took a deep breath.

  ‘All right. But please, please be careful.’ I reached for a pen and pad.

  ‘Russell Dimset,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve met him,’ I said. ‘He came to Benepharm with a range of cosmetic product ideas a few years ago.’

  ‘You’ve done business with him!?’

  ‘No. We refused. He was too greedy.’

  Cassie reclined on the long lounge sofa. I replenished her glass.

  ‘How did you get out of seeing Walters?’ I asked.

  ‘Told him I was going to Somers. My family has a holiday house there.’

  ‘How do you really feel about him?’

  ‘I don’t love him,’ she said, ‘if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Rather not talk about it.’

  I came close, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She eyed me curiously as I wandered to Oliver’s compact disc library. His music taste had been caught in a sixties time warp. I selected ‘Windmills of your Mind’ from the film, The Thomas Crown Affair, and put it on.

  It began, ‘Round, like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel . . .’

  I reached for her hand and we began dancing. Cassie began to sing along with the disc.

  ‘Like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon, Like a carousel that’s turning, running rings around the moon . . .’

  I kissed her on the nape of the neck. She shut her eyes and then opened them.

  ‘You’re in a strange mood,’ she said.

  ‘I was thinking it was nice to be alive and free,’ I said, ‘and great to be with you.’

  She smiled. I kissed her on the mouth as the tune continued:

  ‘Pictures hanging in a hallway, in the fragments of a song.

  Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?’

  And Cassie responded.