Prophets and Loss (A Johnny Ravine Mystery)

by Martin Roth

Melissa answered the door. I stormed in.

  “Johnny, what’s the matter?”

  “How’s the dancing? Been signed up by Nureyev yet?” I had a vague feeling that Rudolf Nureyev was dead, but in my anger he was the only famous dancer I could think of. I don’t think I had the pronunciation right, either.

  Melissa was quick to respond to aggression. “I’d say the private investigator’s in trouble. Still hanging around brothels?”

  “There’s been another murder.”

  “Johnny, I’m pretty busy right now.” She was wearing her purple leotard again, though no music was playing

  “Sit down,” I commanded.

  She remained standing, and at that moment I wasn’t sure if I was going to force her to sit.

  “Sit down,” I shouted. “I need to talk.”

  Without a word she turned and walked down the hallway towards her bedroom, and I wondered what I was going to do if she didn’t come back. But she quickly returned, dressed now in red jeans and a mauve sweater. Obediently she sat on the sofa. I took one of the armchairs.

  I told her all about Papa Guzman, along with some of what I had learned at the Timor Lorosae café about Alberto.

  “I’m sorry about that, Johnny,” she said, when I had finished. “I’m very sorry.”

  I softened. “Well, you’ve lost your husband. But now so has Maria. Mel, that last message of his. That something big is happening at the Prophetic Edge and at La Rue. You’ve got to know more. Please try and think.”

  Again she hardened. “Why do I have to know more?”

  I recalled the pastor’s words, that Melissa possibly possessed more information than she was revealing.

  “Grant was your husband. The Prophetic Edge was where he worked. I keep hearing again and again that something’s going on there. Think, please Mel. What sort of stuff did he say about East Timor or Indonesian terrorists or the Dili Tigers? Anything that connects them to the Prophetic Edge?”

  Now Melissa seemed genuinely to be trying to remember. “I only went to that place a few times. I hated it. All those guys stuck there trying to make money from little wavy lines on computer screens. It was dumb. Grant loved it. He was welcome to it.”

  “Did you know the people there? Did you talk to them?”

  “Never. I mean, I only went there to meet Grant. So I might have said hello. But I don’t think I ever saw any of them outside that office.”

  “But Grant never talked about the people there? Or anything strange going on?”

  “Even if he did I probably wasn’t listening. I didn’t care about that business or about those people. He knew that. That’s why he probably never talked to me about it.”

  “But remember when I asked you about the Dili Tigers of Truth? You said Grant had called them his worst nightmare.”

  “Yes, I…”

  “How did he come to say it? Had you asked him something? Why would he say that to you?”

  She was silent. “I don’t remember.”

  “Mel, think. First Grant, now Papa…”

  “No, I don’t remember,” she said with great finality.

  I almost jumped from my seat to grab her. “You’re lying. And those photos of Grant. From La Rue. You suspected something was going on. Something dangerous. What are you hiding?”

  Tears came to eyes. Then she looked at me plaintively. I remained unmoved. At last she spoke. “Don’t send me back there, Johnny.”

  “Back where?”

  “La Rue. I don’t want to go back. I want to be a dancer.”

  “Mel, what are you talking about?”

  “La Rue. That’s where I met Grant.”

  “Met him there? How?”

  “Johnny, you call yourself a detective. You are so, so naïve. I was working there. A few years ago.”

  I reflected on that.

  Yes, that made sense. I always knew that Grant had rescued Mel at a time when she was pretty down. I just didn’t realize that she was working at La Rue. “Grant owned it, didn’t he?”

  “He owned it. Together with some Indonesian businessmen. You knew that.”

  “And what’s this about not wanting to go back?”

  “It was the worst-ever period of my life. I wasn’t able to get dancing work. I was on pills. I was broke. I was desperate.”

  I thought of my mother. “Desperation drives people to do all kinds of things they don’t want to do.”

  I imagined I was showing sympathy. But after a long silence Melissa reacted again. “I didn’t join La Rue just out of desperation.”

  “Whatever the reason…”

  “I did want to do it.”

  “I thought you said…”

  “I could have become a waitress. But La Rue sounded like fun. It actually seemed a great place to work.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “I met one of the bosses – not Grant, some other guy – and he made the place sound like a non-stop party. Fun, fun, fun. Not work at all. Lounge bars and spa baths and wide screen TVs. And lots and lots of money. All guilt-free. That’s what they always told us. We’ve taken the guilt out of sex. Now it’s just fun. Enjoy.”

  “But?”

  “Sure, you met some nice guys. They weren’t all drunks or pathetic losers. Some guys with heaps of money who don’t mind paying for female company. But you’re never in any doubt that you’re a commodity. You’re there to be used, and quite often abused. There’re lots of men who really enjoy giving pain. There’re little teenage Asian girls who’ve probably been sold by their parents to some disgusting thug who’s managed to get them visas into Australia.”

  She looked at me. “I’m not going back. I hate that place. I hate it. That’s why I have to get back into dancing.”

  “Mel. I keep getting told there’s stuff happening involving La Rue. I don’t know what it is, but it involves Indonesians – possibly lots of them – planning something bad. Terrorism. Grant was killed there. That’s why the pastor asked me to investigate. No one’s asking you to go back. But if you know something, please help me. You arranged to take photos…”

  “I’m not going back,” she cried, and buried her face in her hands. Then she looked at me, and I saw tears starting to stream down her face. Horrible thoughts flashed to my brain of Grant’s death, nearly two weeks before, when a doctor and a policewoman had been needed to deal with Melissa’s tears.

  “Mel, I’m sorry. I’m under stress. I’m not trying to upset you. I just want…”

  But she interrupted me again, and through her sobs her voice was firm: “There’s something happening. I don’t know what it is. Grant didn’t know what it was, either. But there’s something big going on, and it got Grant killed, and it probably involves La Rue and the Prophetic Edge, and…and I’m so scared.”