Tall Dark Heart

by Chris Krupa

  The double entendres weren’t lost on me, with the obvious and not-so-subtle term ‘extra-curricular activities’ meaning sex work.

  Managgia. Fucking preppy dickheads. Jealous of Tamsin’s money more than anything else.

  I headed out past the west wing to catch the opening of Edmondson’s lecture, but the room was empty. I waited ten minutes, but no one came.

  I consulted the map, and crossed back, and made my way through a rabbit warren of offices until I found the staff room in the west wing. A bearded hulk of a man, wearing a navy vest over a plaid collared shirt and chinos, precariously leaned back in a seat while tapping on his mobile phone. He took up one of four desks lined up in close proximity to one another against the right-hand side wall. Papers sat stacked on shelves that stretched to the ceiling. I rapped on the door.

  He didn’t look up. ‘Yo.’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have seen Tamsin Lyons today? I need to ask her a few questions.’

  He smiled a smile I’d seen on convicted recidivists in local courts. ‘Yeah, you and anyone with a hard on.’

  He sat forward, and the chair came down hard against the floor. He looked me up and down. ‘Little home-wrecker not returning your calls either?’

  Chapter 11

  I expected those sorts of comments from snotty-nosed preppy types like the losers in the cafeteria, nut not from fully qualified lecturers of a highly regarded university. He shot me a smile that set white teeth against a tanned face, which had probably helped him with women over the years. There was something else in the smile—a sense of camaraderie, a sense of something shared. Despite my rising urge to question him with extreme prejudice, I consciously counted to ten and re-positioned my train of thinking. I had to take things down to his level and mirror his demeanor—play a carefully strategised game of tic-tac-toe.

  ‘No,’ I said, deliberately adding a pained tone to my voice. ‘She doesn’t usually return my calls, anyhow.’

  He sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Classic avoidance coping.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  He turned his attention back to his phone. ‘It’s Tamsin’s go-to coping mechanism. She shuts down to avoid stressors. Limits her psychological damage. She does it with me all the time.’

  I leaned against the door frame with hunched shoulders and my thumbs in my pockets. ‘Look, I know we don’t know each other, and I won’t take up your time. I’m sure you’re very busy.’

  He sighed, threw his phone on the desk, and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. ‘Hit me. I’ve got two hours to kill.’

  ‘This is going to sound completely stupid.’

  He nodded, got up out of the chair, and extended his hand. ‘No such thing as a stupid question. Except for stupid fucking questions, am I right? Dr. Alistair Edmondson.’

  ‘Matt.’

  We shook. His hand was firm but cold.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Matt?’

  Drawing connections between the sleazy comments from the guys in the cafeteria, to the loaded look those two smoking girls out on the grounds shared, to your unerring innuendos.

  I took a punt.

  ‘I yearn for her phone calls. It makes me feel special. It makes me feel wanted.’ I shifted my feet and tried my best to look uncomfortable. ‘I know how ridiculous it sounds. I mean, look at me. What does a girl half my age see in me? I thought she had feelings for me. I know how that sounds, but the way I feel about her? It’s real.’

  He raised a hand. ‘It’s called failing overcompensation. A man your age can’t keep up your psychological wall. Everything’s coming at you from all sides. You can’t bat them away quick enough. You slide into a pattern of self-loathing, and it all ends with a noose around your neck. If it makes you feel any better, I think I’m the one who pissed her off.’

  He returned to his seat and sank into it. He picked up his phone again and scanned it. ‘She’s usually very... reciprocal. She always answers on the first ring. Not this week.’ He threw the phone back on the desk and swiveled in his seat. ‘In my opinion, Tamsin’s popularity might be exceeding her capacity to take on Johns.’

  Thank you for confirming my suspicions, arsehole.

  Tamsin’s reputation as an eager student had obviously been damaged by the public knowledge she dabbled in sex work on campus.

  I said, ‘Have you seen her recently?’

  He scoffed. ‘Not since... oh, let me think. The first day of session two, must have been a Monday. She wants to change course and study a Bachelor of Health Science, minoring in Psychology. I told her she’d regret it. Four years to become a fucking glorified personal trainer? Then another ten years on top of that to pay back the HECS debt? She didn’t like what I said and took off. I don’t know what the hell’s going on with her. Hey, maybe she fell in love.’

  He laughed, and I joined in with a dry chuckle. His ability to flip-flop between sleazy and harmless annoyed me. I needed straight answers and felt stymied by the academic surroundings.

  ‘I hope she did fall in love,’ I said. ‘She deserves better than me.’

  Edmondson winced. ‘You need to cut the negative self-talk shit.’

  ‘I can’t help it. When I was eleven, I weighed one hundred and ninety kilos.’

  ‘Are you seriously telling me you have problems landing talent now because a bunch of arseholes called you fatty when you were a kid? Fucking ditch that shit, man. Like... now, or you’ll end up a middle-aged loser who’d fuck anything that pays you the slightest bit of attention.’

  ‘You’re right. I suppose that’s what it is. I just don’t know how to talk to women.’

  ‘Any self-esteem self-help book can fix that.’ He picked up his phone and stood up. ‘I have to drain the lizard.’

  He tapped me on the shoulder as he walked past me. ‘If you see Tamsin, let me know. Okay, buddy?’

  I seized the opportunity and followed him at a distance. I didn’t need eavesdroppers listening in on the gleeful destruction of Tamsin’s reputation, and Edmondson’s discretion needed protection in spite of himself.

  The men’s room split into urinals on the right and stalls on the left. Edmondson took up a position at the urinal at the far end on the right.

  I approached him from behind.

  He zipped up, turned, and pulled a face when he saw me. ‘What?’

  I seized him by the front of his vest and hauled him over to the end of the cubicles. He tripped over his own legs and it took all my strength to keep him up. I pushed him up against the last cubicle and wedged my forearm under his neck.

  A toilet flushed, and a lock snapped. The door of the cubicle I had Edmondson pressed up against opened, and a thin Goth in tight black jeans stepped out hesitantly and blinked at us warily.

  I indicated the lecturer with my head. ‘This fucking douchebag’s banging my wife.’

  The Goth considered me for a moment, then quickly made his way to a sink, splashed his hands with water, and left.

  Edmondson squirmed. ‘What do you want?’

  I again seized his vest with both hands, and shoved him back to the shower cubicles at the rear of the room. His face lost colour as he scrambled to stay on his feet. Woolen threads stretched and popped. I pushed him into the last receptacle, held him against the wall at arm’s length, and turned the cold water on full bore. I made sure he stayed under the surge. He closed his eyes and spat, and I held him fast. Once his hair had soaked through and his clothes were a shade darker, I turned the water off.

  ‘If I don’t like what you say,’ I said. ‘You won’t like what I’ll do. If you have any idea where Tamsin could be, now is the time to spit it out.’

  ‘How the hell would I know where she is?’

  I gave him another quick blast, until his breath came in short gasps, then turned it off.

  ‘I swear to Christ I haven’t seen her!’

  ‘Perhaps Mrs. Edmondson would like to hear about your little campus adventures?’

  He looked at me worriedl
y, then started to cry a little. He blinked water from his eyes and his breathing came short and heavy.

  I raised a tightly-clenched fist in direct line with his face.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘No! No! No! Don’t hit me! Jesus Christ! Don’t hit me. Fuck. Please don’t tell Mandy! Please! Please don’t tell my wife about Tamsin. It was a stupid mistake, only happened once. I love my wife, man. I love her so fucking much. I can’t fuck it up with her. I’ve fucked up too many times! Please. Please don’t tell her anything, okay? Look, I’ll pay you, okay? I don’t give a fuck. Whatever you want. I got three hundred in my wallet right now. It’s yours. Just take it and we’re fucking square. Deal?’

  I smacked him in the teeth and he shrieked. ‘Ow! Fuck!’

  ‘I know you know something.’

  He looked at me with horror in his eyes. ‘Give me a second! I’ll tell you something. Just don’t fucking hit me! Okay? She sees this guy, an Iraqi or something, okay? He’s in a fucking wheelchair.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Ari Malouf. M-a-l-o-u-f. He works for Alliance at North Sydney. He booked her Wednesday before last.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I fucking followed her to his house, okay?’

  ‘And what happened?’

  He shook his head. ‘I think he did her in.’

  ‘You’d better be able to back that up.’

  ‘She went in, but she didn’t come out. I sat there for four fucking hours, and nothing.’

  ‘What were you doing there in the first place? You stalking her, is that it? You obsessed?’

  ‘I took photos. I was going to blackmail her. Yeah, I know I’m a fucking immoral piece of shit, okay?’

  ‘Your words. So, you didn’t see her leave his house? Maybe he booked her for more than an hour.’

  ‘She doesn’t do that. Never has. Listen, you take the photos. Okay? Just fucking take everything. They’re on a flash drive in the third drawer in my desk. I’ve had ‘em for months but I’m too chicken shit to do anything with ‘em. Just fucking take ‘em. Get it the fuck away from me.’

  He gurgled and sucked in three quick breaths.

  I leaned in close to his face. ‘Tell anyone about this little chat, and I tell everyone what you are. This never happened. Do you understand?’

  He closed his eyes and nodded rapidly. When I let him go, he tried to find purchase on the tiles with shaky fingers, but slid awkwardly to the floor and stayed there.

  I left the bathroom, went back to his desk, and opened the third drawer. Four flash drives of various colours sat at the bottom. I gathered them up and crushed them under the heel of my size elevens until they were nothing but little shards of plastic and metal.

  Chapter 12

  Rain pattered my head by the time I made it back to my car, and as I dug out my jacket and slipped it on, my stomach told me I needed strong coffee and some food.

  I left the university grounds on foot, and crossed Broadway at the closest lights. The experience with Edmondson hadn’t endeared me to the academic life, and I pitied his students. A Ma and Pa café called Luciano’s sat inconspicuously between a tattoo parlour and a trendy real estate agency, and its dilapidated awning barely kept the rain out. I ordered a long black with eggs hollandaise on sourdough, and occupied a nook by the front window. Everything arrived promptly, and the homemade food satiated my hunger pangs.

  My bank account remained stagnant, which told me Reggie hadn’t paid me for February, so I created a reminder in my phone to corner him once I was back in the office. Google confirmed what Edmondson said, as a subsidiary webpage featured photographs of Allianz staff members with their relevant job titles. The photo above Ari Malouf’s name showed a man in his early thirties, with dark skin and close-cropped dark hair. His unsmiling, deep chocolate eyes challenged the camera.

  The title ‘Sales Executive’ was italicised under his name, along with an email address.

  I launched my Gmail account and drafted an email:

  My name’s Matt Kowalski.

  I’m a private detective looking for Tamsin Lyons.

  She’s gone missing. Maybe you can help. I’d like to talk to you today.

  The ‘Send’ button lit up under my thumb.

  The rain turned heavy as I mopped up the last of the hollandaise with some bread and swirled the rich coffee around my mouth. People dashed between gaps in the storefronts in vain efforts to stay dry. With a large cut of state taxes diverted to the UN and associated peacekeeping activities, traffic struck the same water-logged potholes, no doubt a boon for car mechanics.

  Refreshing the browser proved a futile gesture in hastening a response from Malouf. I downed the last of the coffee and considered travel options to North Sydney, the business sector of the city. If I wanted to confront Malouf, I faced a thirty-minute drive over the Sydney Harbour Bridge in normal traffic. The rain would add another twenty. Trains left Central Station every six, so I resigned myself to leaving my car at the university, and joined my fellow pedestrians half walking, half running the three blocks to the train station.

  It didn’t matter which train I caught, there always seemed to be a kid wearing white ear buds pumping out loud tinny music the whole carriage could hear. The 2:46 PM out of Central was no different. I wondered if the Transport department had hired my sullen neighbour to deter people from catching public transport. When the train spat out of an underground tunnel and coasted over the Harbour Bridge, my phone sang an alert.

  I’d received a response from Malouf:

  Unfortunately, I am in meetings for the remainder of the day.

  He provided a phone number and advised me to call to arrange an appointment to meet.

  The weather reflected my mood. The spires on the bank of North Sydney skyscrapers vanished into low, slow-moving cloud, and the churning harbour looked like fur rubbed the wrong way. As I climbed the steps out of North Sydney station, a squall blew the rain into my face and forced me to sprint east along the highway and down to the Allianz building, a pink, all-glass affair built at the height of eighties corporate power.

  Once through the rotating door, I shook myself off and penned a response to Malouf:

  Tamsin’s life is in danger.

  Every second counts.

  I’m in the lobby if you give a shit.

  I hated pretexting, making things up to get people to talk to me, but the revelation Tamsin dabbled in sex work introduced fresh concerns and unexpected angles. It exposed a double life with a world of blurry lines, of people who didn’t always play by the rules. I took up a seat by the lobby of elevators and rested my knees. By the time I turned my phone off and caught my breath, a man matching the online photo emerged from one of the elevators in a wheelchair.

  He wore a black suit and a red tie over a thin frame. I called out and his head snapped in my direction. As he got closer, I noticed his hands were smooth, his fingernails polished to a sheen. When he spoke, his voice came out as a harsh whisper. ‘I don’t appreciate being accosted at my place of work.’

  ‘Accosted is a harsh word, Mr. Malouf. I merely initiated contact via email and suggested a friendly chat.’

  ‘Which is now saved on our backup server, and which directly implicates me with Tamsin.’

  ‘When I find her body, you can have the server wiped.’

  He tilted his head. ‘What are you talking about? Is this some sort of sick joke?’

  I shot him the Kowalski stare. ‘Not in the slightest.’

  He blinked and relaxed back in the chair.

  I said, ‘I’ve been told you’ve seen Tamsin recently?’

  ‘I don’t recall agreeing to answer any of your questions. Do you have any identification? If not, please leave, or I will call the police.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  I pulled out my phone, opened the leather case, showed him my licence, and told him I was working for Jeff Lyons. That got his attention. ‘As I said, Mr. Malouf, I’ve heard you’ve seen
Tamsin recently.’

  ‘You said that. Who told you this?’

  ‘I can’t name my sources.’

  He regarded me admonishingly. ‘Are you using this information as leverage over me? Is that what this is? How am I supposed to trust you?’

  I took out one of my business cards and passed it to him.

  He filched it with snappy fingers.

  ‘That’s everything you need if you ever wanted to sue me,’ I said, pointing to it. ‘I can only give you my word that I’m acting in Tamsin’s best interests. It’s up to you to determine if I’m a man of conviction, but to put it bluntly, Mr. Malouf, we don’t have time to be sensitive. I’ve only learned today that Tamsin undertook sex work, and it’s added an extra dimension to my investigation. Rest assured, discretion is paramount in my interactions. I’m not going to divulge anything as personal as this. It’s not in my interests.’

  His face went tight. ‘I’m in no position to discuss any of this here.’

  ‘Then I suggest we take the conversation off site. Know any pubs close by?’

  ‘I’m extremely busy today, Mr. Kowalski.’

  ‘I’m sure the business world won’t miss you for twenty minutes, Mr. Malouf. That’s all I need.’

  He shook his head. ‘Please leave. I have nothing further to say to you.’

  I gripped his arm and lowered my voice. ‘I’m going to have to be direct. You’ve been accused of killing her.’

  He pursed his lips and frowned.

  I let go of his arm but kept my hand there. ‘A witness saw Tamsin enter your house on March 12, and they didn’t see her come out.’

  His stoicism slipped, and his voice softened. ‘Oh God.’ He put a hand to his mouth, eyes wide. ‘Have you found her body?’

  ‘She hasn’t been found. It’s the reason I’m looking for her. Come on. Talk to me. This might be the opportunity to clear your conscience.’

  After a moment, he let out a long breath. ‘Do you know the Union Hotel?’

  ‘I can find it.’