Lethal Factor

by Gabrielle Lord

  Henry Dupont suddenly appeared at my doorway, shaking his head as he often does, either a nervous tic or a habit to remove the longish hair that flops over his eyes. I suddenly felt sorry for the fellow, for his isolation and the awful, almost invisible frill-neck tie. My compassion didn’t last long.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he yelled. ‘A huge order was delivered and I had to sign for everything and organise where it all had to go. I can’t be expected to do my work and your job as well! Then I wasted over an hour checking it off. You’re supposed to do that. You’re the so-called Acting Chief!’

  ‘Henry,’ I tried to interrupt him, ‘you could have left it for me to do. You didn’t have to do it yourself.’

  ‘Nothing gets done around here unless I do it,’ he bulldozed on. It was clear he had been simmering for some time over this and was now boiling over. ‘There’s all my work from police samples backing up, not to mention a new interstate job that just came in, and no one else around here seems capable of doing anything extra. And you’re never here!’

  My earlier pity for him completely vanished and I waited until he’d got it all off his chest. Maybe I would make a half-decent boss one day, I thought.

  Henry was still listing grievances. ‘Next thing you’ll be expecting me to take over all your bloody work for you. You’re supposed to be here, not all over the place, playing detective. You’re not a policeman anymore, or haven’t you accepted that?’

  ‘Henry,’ I attempted to interrupt.

  ‘Scientists are being murdered by anthrax! You should be focusing on that, not running around with Bob Edwards to crime scenes. God knows who’s going to drop dead next. It might be me.’ His face tightened with anger. ‘It might even be you!’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I think you’ve said enough.’ I tried to think of something conciliatory to say. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced and feel overloaded,’ I added. It was not a good move.

  ‘Feel overloaded? I am overloaded! At least Digby used to do nine to five most of the time. What the hell was he thinking of, appointing you to his position? You just work hours to suit!’

  I deliberately kept my voice low. ‘Henry,’ I said, ‘I know relations between us aren’t the best at the moment—we’ve always found each other a bit difficult.’ I waited, expecting him to say something to that, but he didn’t, just stood there, too close to me, tiny beads of sweat apparent on his forehead. I stepped back, away from the smell of his unwashed body odour.

  ‘In future,’ I said, ‘get Florence or Jane to sign for any consignment that might come in when I’m not here.’

  He pulled out a handkerchief, honked into it, and shoved it back into his pocket. He was about to move off when I spoke again. I had to work with this man and bad relations with colleagues are a recipe for disaster in my work.

  ‘Before you go,’ I continued, determined to end this on a more positive note, ‘there’s something you should know. In future, I intend to be very circumspect about opening any unusual mail—especially unexpected packages—and I urge you to do the same.’

  ‘Why?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’ve just run a check on the names of any scientists who were involved in the Delmonte Deli extortion case.’ I saw comprehension dawn on his pale intelligent face. ‘Tony Bonning worked on it,’ I said. ‘And so did Digby.’

  Henry swallowed hard. He pulled the handkerchief out again and wiped his face. ‘It’s true I did the initial chromatography on some of the samples,’ he said, all the puff going out of him. ‘But,’ he added lamely, ‘I never use aftershave.’

  I imagined there were quite a few niceties that Henry Dupont neglected. Tie-changing for one. Frequent bathing for another.

  I watched him as he left, and he must have felt my eyes because he swung round towards me as he turned the corner. Our eyes engaged, then he was gone.

  •

  That evening I thought briefly of Henry as I showered and shaved with more care than usual. But Henry had ever been odd, I reminded myself, and I wondered what factors had shaped him into the difficult, awkward character he was today. I was about to use an ancient cologne that Genevieve had given me once in another lifetime, one I’d been carrying round in my kit for ages. Instead, I put it in the bin. Once, I thought, she’d given me gifts. Now she just gave me a hard time.

  As I dressed in the austere room, past memories assailed me. I sat on the bed, suddenly unsure of the whole business of re-meeting Iona. God knows I had enough going on in my world at the moment. Maybe it would have been better to leave her a brilliant memory in my archives, something I could recall with pleasure and gratitude, a memory I could decorate over the years with the patina of perfection, the gloss of illusion. That way, I could keep her untouched like some beautiful and precious piece of art. Maybe even a luminous painting to capture the memories. But somehow, I sensed it was too late now. I could always reconsider after tonight’s meeting, I told myself.

  I stood up and checked myself in the mirror. I’m never comfortable looking at myself, and I wondered again what on earth Genevieve meant when she used to say I reminded her of Harrison Ford. They say by forty you have the face you deserve. I thought I looked like just another middle-aged man, whose body although still sturdy and tall, was past its youthful prime, and whose face had too much history etched on it.

  I looked out the window at the gathering night. The mournful calls of currawongs reminded me of long-ago days in the mountains and a dark sadness gathered around me. But then the thought of the woman I was about to meet lifted my mood. I had a few more minutes to spare before heading into town, so I rang Charlie.

  ‘All’s well here,’ said my brother. ‘The love birds are pretending to wrestle on the lounge. I’m being discreet in the kitchen.’

  ‘I thought Jass said she’d be staying at North Bondi,’ I said, alarmed to hear this.

  ‘She is,’ said my brother. ‘But they like eating here. And Jass can do the chicken risotto better than me now.’

  ‘Make sure you lock the place up, Charlie,’ I said.

  ‘Jack, take it easy. Both Colin and a brute called Brett have left me their mobile numbers and reckon they can be here in minutes if anything happens.’

  ‘Who’s Brett?’ I asked, alarmed.

  ‘He’s a mate of Colin’s,’ said my brother. ‘An SPG trainer. He looks like Schwarzenegger.’

  Even though I’ve been away working as a scientist, I felt grateful to the brotherhood and the way it was enclosing me and mine. No wonder we sometimes get into strife with this, covering up for each other, lying for each other. It’s part of the support system that we need to survive. There’s no one else in the world who’ll come to your aid like this when you’re knee deep in it. Not the bosses, not the politicians or those other representatives of the state whose interests we serve.

  I rang off and now I could feel the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I was as nervous as a kid on his first date.

  •

  A short while later, I walked into the entrance foyer of the restaurant and saw Iona waiting at the bar. She wore a deep crimson dress of some shiny, velvety fabric, a fur collar around her shoulders. Her dark hair gleamed and her lips, the same hue as her dress, curved beautifully in a smile as I approached. The butterflies in my gut swirled faster. I took her hand and resisted an impulse to pull her close to me.

  We had a drink, perched on wooden stools, me with my lemon lime and bitters and Iona with a brandy. Around us, the bar filled with locals and travellers. After the greetings and the usual polite enquiries, a silence fell. I’ve always been unsure of silence, waiting for the fuse wire to meet the explosives, as Charlie put it to me some years ago, but my companion seemed comfortable and at ease. I remembered how she’d been when I first met her, the fear in her face and eyes, the strain in that rich, alive voice. I saw in her a new ser
enity which enhanced her natural radiance. We found a table and, as if to complement her ruby colours, Iona had a glass of red wine with her rack of lamb.

  Over dinner, she told me of her travels and how she’d let go of a past that had at times been almost too terrible to bear. I envied her. I thought of our unfortunate mother, who drank herself to death, neglecting her children, and our father, stubborn and implacable, who had removed himself to the shed down the back, abrogating all responsibility. I wondered if I could ever tell her about this. Across the top of her breasts, I knew there was a ragged scar, but Iona herself had healed. My wounds, I suspected, had not. She asked about the kids and I filled her in on them. I answered all her questions, bringing her up to date with most of what I’d been doing.

  ‘You seem anxious,’ she said. ‘Is there something troubling you?’

  I raised my eyes and looked into hers, startled to find such softness and acceptance there. I remembered a time when I’d said almost the same words to her. How things have changed between us, I thought. But there was too much I couldn’t express.

  ‘I’m very busy,’ I said. ‘You would have read about the anthrax deaths.’ She nodded. ‘I’m involved with that investigation.’

  She left it alone after that, telling me instead about her studies. She’d also just started producing a music program on one of the local FM stations and I made a note of the time, thinking I’d listen when I could. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such peaceful, unhurried time with a woman. I imagined the painting I could do of her, with all that rich crimson, the gleaming hair and curving neck, the elegant clavicles and their shadows near the neckline of her dress. The downsweep of eyelids. Renoir, I suddenly thought. Until that moment, I’d always assigned him to the second eleven. Renoir could have painted her, and found the necessary luminosity.

  A little later, we had dessert and coffee and I worried about what to do next. I had reached a stage in my life where I could no longer bed someone with the carelessness that had been so much a part of my younger drinking days, unless it was someone like Alix who took the aggressive part, pushing past my natural reserve. And I was still ambivalent about any romantic involvement with Iona. I wasn’t sure if I had anything much to offer a woman just now, with the load of my work and my obligations towards Jacinta’s safety, my preoccupation with getting Marty Cash behind bars, the ever-present worry about Genevieve’s accusations. And yet my soul longed to rest in a woman who could accept me, meet me and allow me to be myself. Even though this seemed an impossible dream, I sensed the necessary depth in the woman who sat opposite me. I pulled up from these thoughts, imagining Charlie might well have something to say about them.

  ‘Jack,’ I heard. ‘You’re a long way away.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Here I am.’

  ‘I’ve got a big day tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I’d better go.’

  This was the perfect way out for me. I could be the gentleman and pick up the tab, then accompany her to her car and that would be the end of a very pleasant night. But then some demon seized me.

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ I said. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this evening. It’s been a very long time since I’ve done something like this.’

  ‘Has it?’ she said. ‘That surprises me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A good-looking man like you.’ She leaned forward. ‘A good-hearted man like you.’

  I was aware of a powerful current running between us. As our eyes connected again I almost expected the crack and flash of a spark. Around me, the restaurant seemed to melt away. ‘Come back for a nightcap to my room,’ I said. ‘It’s not worthy of you. But I want more of you.’

  I saw her eyes warm with a smile. ‘That’s refreshingly frank,’ she said.

  ‘Hell,’ I said, confused. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that.’

  Her dark eyebrows lifted. ‘Jack,’ she said with the slightest smile. ‘Why ever not?’

  So it seemed perfectly in order that we would end up like we did, embracing in my little bedroom with the too-small cushions scattered on the bed, gently taking off each other’s clothing, until it was time to knock the cushions out of the way and fall back on the bed in a warm and gripping tangle. I remembered her so well, her scent, the terrible scar, the wide eyes and full lips. As I was falling into the wonderful, demanding swirl of a kiss that seemed to open into eternity, I became aware of another sound, louder even than the pounding of my heart in my ears. Like a pilot in a graveyard spin I found it impossible to pull back from that kiss. Someone was banging on the door. Someone was screaming my name. Go away, I was thinking. Just go away. But it didn’t. Iona broke away from the kiss.

  ‘You’d better deal with that,’ she whispered.

  Suddenly, the world and everything in it was banging on my door. Jacinta! Maybe something had happened. I thought of Bacillus anthracis, fearing some new terrible event had exploded in my face, and that I was desperately needed. I jumped up, geared up to red alert, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me. The banging from the other side shook the door and I threw it open.

  In the same split second, I tried to shut it again, but the screaming banshee was too fast for me. She jumped onto me, nearly knocked me to the floor and pushed past me into the room. I grabbed her hard, no longer caring if I was too rough as Alix struggled in my arms.

  ‘Get out of here!’ I yelled, trying to force her back out of the room.

  Iona sat up on the bed in shock, clutching the sheet around her, eyes huge, shocked not only at the intrusion, but also by my treatment of the woman I’d tackled.

  ‘Jack! What are you doing?’ she cried.

  ‘You bastard!’ Alix shrieked, and managed to push me away because I’d had to deploy one hand to hold onto the towel. I grabbed her again with my right, amazed at how strong she was. It was like struggling with a man. As I started to push her out of the room, she swung back round like a snake.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she screamed, trying to hurl herself on Iona. I dragged her back, no longer worried about modesty, pinning her arms with both of mine.

  ‘Jack!’ Iona cried.

  ‘He’s a liar!’ Alix screamed. ‘And a user. He’s a total bastard! He hates women. Three nights ago he was in bed with me!’

  Despite my grip, she’d managed to get one arm free and I saw her take something from a pocket. Fearing a weapon, I threw myself on her arm, but I was too late and something flew through the air.

  ‘I was bringing you this present you bastard!’ Alix screamed as a gift-wrapped parcel bounced on the floor.

  I scooped it up, aiming to chuck it back out the door, as if it was a live grenade. ‘Get out of here and take that with you!’ I yelled. But the little parcel ricocheted off the lintel, and flew sideways back into the room.

  Now, stone motherless naked though I was, I at least had her under control in a wrist-lock, and was steering her heavily backwards towards the door.

  ‘Just push me around, you bastard!’ Alix screamed as she struggled. ‘That’s what you do! You bastard, Jack McCain!’

  At the doorway, I gave her a shove that sent her sprawling out into the corridor, slammed the door, locked it and put the security chain on. And with every cell in my body, I gave thanks that Alix hadn’t been Marty Cash or someone intent on grievous bodily harm, because I would have been dead in the water by now.

  ‘Go away, Alix,’ I yelled through the door. I remembered the last scene we’d had like this and cursed myself for my stupidity. ‘Leave immediately, or I’ll call security and have you frogmarched off the premises.’

  She continued to bang on the door a little longer, screaming abuse at me until I heard running feet and raised voices in the corridor outside. I stood panting. I could hear her arguing, shouting with security, then her voice started fading as she left, or was helped to leave. I grabbed the tow
el and re-wrapped myself.

  ‘Iona,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry about that.’

  ‘My God,’ said Iona, pushing her hair away from her face. ‘Who was that?’

  I went to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water, rehearsing an explanation. I knew that only complete honesty would do and that this would only reveal my stupidity and crassness.

  When I came out of the bathroom, Iona was sitting on the edge of the bed, underclothes on, reaching for her stockings and dress.

  ‘Iona,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry you had to witness that. I don’t know what to say.’

  The whole room seemed full of Alix’s fury. I could almost see it there, hanging in the air, a foul smoke.

  ‘You were very rough with her, Jack,’ she said, the disapproval clear in her voice.

  ‘It’s not the first time she’s pulled a stunt like that,’ I said, then realised the explanation only made things worse.

  ‘I would never have come here if I’d known you had a girlfriend. You should have told me.’ She was angry now and I couldn’t blame her.

  ‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ I protested. ‘It must have looked shocking to you. But I can explain it.’

  Every time I opened my mouth, I dug myself in deeper. There was nothing for it except to get dressed myself.

  ‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ I said as she picked up her coat.

  She slipped into her shoes, threw her coat around her shoulders and smoothed her hair. The silence that had earlier been so deep and warm was now charged with the fury of one woman, and the crowding, unvoiced questions of another.

  I stood there, suffering, until without a word, we left the room and walked together through the entrance foyer and out into the night. I wondered if Alix was lying in wait for us anywhere and checked ahead, but there was no sign of her. We walked up to Iona’s old blue Mercedes and I took her arm just before she opened the driver’s door.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry about that incident,’ I repeated. ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’