Tall Dark Heart

by Chris Krupa

  Bev talked about Heather’s desire to return to Port Douglas, and the CCTV images Ivers presented depicted Tamsin hauling a large suitcase. If Tamsin had a strong connection to Heather, perhaps she planned on running away with her, and if they were to run away, it would more than likely be to Port Douglas.

  What would she do there when the money ran out?

  Tamsin’s prior jobs said a lot about her. The waitressing gigs at cafes in Glebe demonstrated a humble spirit, unconcerned about being one with the people, minus any airs and graces that may have sprung up around her being the daughter of a wealthy media mogul.

  I Googled Port Douglas and looked at the various businesses in the area. Tropical north Queensland experienced a large influx of tourists at various times of the year, with numerous hotels operating at full capacity, offering sight-seeing tours of the Great Barrier Reef. No doubt restaurants and cafes saw a roaring trade. Five gyms also operated in the area.

  I gleaned phone numbers of all the cafes, restaurants, gyms, and hotels, and set to calling them one by one. After knockbacks from forty hotels and cafes, I moved onto a gym called Bull’s Gym, located half a kilometer south of town, and asked if I could book a personal training session with the new girl. I gave them a brief physical description of Tamsin.

  ‘Sounds like Anastasia,’ said the girl on the other end of the line. ‘She only started last week. Let me check her schedule for you.’

  I hung up and called Reggie’s mobile.

  ‘Cash and Hendrix, you’re speaking to Reggie Cash.’

  ‘Reggie, its Matt. I think I’ve got a hit.’

  After a pause, Reggie said, ‘You’ve found her? Already?’

  ‘Don’t sound so excited.’

  ‘No, I’m good. Excellent work. Well done.’

  ‘She’s alive and well in Port Douglas.’

  ‘Did you talk to her?’

  ‘No, but I can attest she’s working as a part-time personal trainer at a place called Bull’s Gym. I’ll get onto Detective Inspector Ivers, so he can do what he has to do.’

  ‘Sounds hunky dory. Funny you called, as I also have good news. I had the injunction lifted from Heather’s book. Capital Letter will publish it, and it should hit the stands within a fortnight.’

  ‘Great work, Reggie. Any chance of getting a copy of the manuscript beforehand?’

  ‘Way ahead of you. I got one of the production managers to email a copy to this very office.’

  ‘Any chance you could you forward it to me?’

  ‘Shall do.’

  ‘Is there any leg for Lyons Media or Capital Letter to sue us?’

  ‘Not at all. Best they could do at that stage would be to ruin our reputations and drag our names through the mud.’

  ‘That’s all? Nothing too serious then.’

  ‘Not at all. Oh, speaking of Lyons Media, did you get a call from Antoine Lexington today?’

  ‘No, I’ve been busy out-calling. Who is he?’

  ‘Lyons’ lawyer. Wants you to meet him ASAP.’

  ‘Any idea why?’

  ‘Didn’t say. They’d be pissed about the injunction being lifted.’

  ‘Should I go in alone?’

  ‘It’d be stupid not to go. Tell you what: show up as a sign of good faith, if nothing else. It might smooth things out a little and keep us in the good books. You don’t have to say anything. Smells like a preliminary scoping job.’

  He gave me the number and hung up. When I called it, Lexington answered immediately.

  ‘Kowalski here. Any chance we can meet this afternoon at St. Vincent’s by three?’

  ‘I’m on the south coast at the moment.’

  ‘Don’t take the Hume. Take the M5. Cuts twenty minutes off your drive time.’

  It didn’t. It cut three minutes on a good day, but I didn’t tell him that.

  ‘I can’t make any promises,’ he said.

  ‘Good man. See you then.’

  ***

  My voicemail alert went off as I traversed the hospital corridors to Lyon’s ward, and I swiped the red arrows to listen to it later. Three men in expensive suits occupied three seats by Lyons’ bed. There wasn’t a spare seat, so I stood awkwardly by the doorway.

  The suit in the middle stood rigidly and came at me with a hand stuck out and bleached teeth exposed. ‘Mr. Kowalski? Lexie from Mallory Lexington. Pleasure.’

  We shook.

  He squeezed too hard and held on for too long. ‘Thank you for coming on such short notice. I hope the traffic was kind to you?’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘We’ve called you here to discuss something of importance. Would you prefer to have legal representation present?’

  I considered calling Reggie but let it go. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Fire away.’

  ‘My client has raised a matter of concern in relation to your conduct. The reason we’ve called you here, and thank you for taking the time to travel in such horrible weather, is that Mr. Lyons has some concerns in relation to expenditure. It’s come to his attention that you’ve been frequenting a brothel in Surry Hills, as well as a strip club in York Street. Is there any particular reason why your investigation into Mr. Lyons’ missing daughter has led you to such places of ill repute?’

  I stared at Lexie with as much neutrality as I could muster. I failed, because he coughed and glanced uncomfortably in Lyons’ direction.

  I said, ‘My expenses relate to the case file, which remains in confidence between my client and myself, pending the investigation’s outcome.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d volunteer the information as a gesture of goodwill. You know, to prevent any potential litigation.’

  I looked at Lyons. ‘I didn’t realise our relationship had gone awry.’

  Lyons stared at the foot of his bed like a petulant child.

  I searched for big words or a witty remark, but came up dry.

  Lexie took a big breath. ‘My client is willing to ignore your dalliance with prostitutes, and the like, if you were willing to impart some knowledge.’

  Jesus Christ, this guy doesn’t know the meaning of confidential or tact.

  ‘What kind of knowledge?’

  ‘The current location of Tamsin Lyons. Surely you’ve made progress?’

  I crossed my arms and gave him the Kowalski stare. ‘Goodwill doesn’t extend to an ambush in a hospital, and if any of you gentlemen had done your research, you’d know Mr. Lyons’ associate, Evelyn Turner, signed the contract, of which I agreed to waive the retainer. So, any expenses I’ve accrued are cash based, and will be itemised in my case file once provided to Ms. Turner. You’re going to have to talk to my representative, Reggie Cash of Cash and Hendrix.’

  I gave Lyons another look, walked out, and checked my voicemail.

  ‘You could kiss me, but what’s the frickin’ point?’ Aunty’s voice said down the line. ‘If I ever need to kill an ex, I’ll come to you. I’ll take the twenty percent when you find her and wrap it up. I prefer cash. Text me. Ciao.’

  That evening, I opened a bottle of the expensive red from a sealed box in the lounge room, and watched a documentary on Netflix, when my phone rang.

  ‘Matthew! Hello? It’s Brenda.’

  ‘Uh, Mrs. Cash. Hi. Are you okay?’

  ‘Mathew, please.... Is my Reggie with you?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘I’ve tried his mobile and his office number, but he’s not answering. Can you try? Maybe he’s ignoring me. Please, Matt, can you see him? Maybe he’s angry. He gets into a mood sometimes. Just, please, if you see him or ring him, tell him to text me, or you can call me?’

  ‘Okay, no problem. I’ll see what I can do.’

  When I hung up, there was a text from Reggie I hadn’t noticed. It said:

  They know.

  I tried his mobile and work numbers with no luck. I also sent a text and an email, and got no response, so I locked up and drove down to the office.

  There were no signs of life from the o
utside. Reggie’s BMW sat alone in the car park. I pushed the key in, and the lock spun a full three-sixty with no discernible click. The door opened with a nudge. Reggie had never left the office unlocked in the three years I’d known him.

  Inside, an ear-piercing silence permeated the space. I turned the lights on and waited as the fluorescent’s flickered into life and hummed. An empty water bottle lay on its side in the walk space between Reggie’s office and a row of empty offices to the right. Red spatter marks dripped down the side of the bottle.

  I crossed the open space as quietly as I could, with my ears preened.

  Nothing stirred.

  I stepped into Reggie’s office.

  He lay motionless on the carpet next to his desk, his face streaked with blood. The bottom three buttons of his business shirt had come undone, and his belly lay pale and exposed. The last three fingers of his left hand skewed at an angle.

  I knelt next to him and checked his vitals. He breathed slow and shallow, and his pulse felt faint. I bent his top leg at a right angle to his hip, called an ambulance, and put his head back so his airway stayed open.

  Then I called Brenda.

  PART THREE

  Chapter 26

  The attack on Reggie confirmed Lyons’ connection to Poulson. Without the lawyer intervention back at the hospital, Lyons wouldn’t have known I’d discovered Tamsin’s location until I suggested they talk to Reggie. It cast enough doubt to sic Poulson onto Reggie, beat him up, and find out where his daughter was. I never imagined Tamsin’s own father wanted her dead.

  At the hospital, Brenda sat next to Reggie’s bed and fed him chili con carne. She smiled when I came in.

  Reggie looked ten years older. His left eye had swollen shut and cuts lined his face. His thinning blond hair flopped over his forehead, and his usually ruddy cheeks looked like hardened custard under the fluorescent lighting. His left arm was elevated and encased in plaster.

  Theirs was a true ‘opposites attract’ story. Reggie, the chubby-cheeked, loud-mouthed, pencil pusher from Arizona, married a quiet-spoken Portuguese woman who worked with her hands and always smiled and embraced me when we met.

  A surgeon came in, sat with Brenda, and explained that Reggie needed pins to reset his fingers, and over time regain use of his hand.

  Poulson’s words from the brothel rolled around my head: ‘a 50K bonus for taking her out by the end of the week.’

  I crunched numbers and researched flight times on my phone. From the time I called Reggie at 3:45 PM, up to the time I found him unconscious in his office after 6:00 PM, gave Poulson a two-and-a-quarter-hour window to visit the Cash and Hendrix offices and carry out the assault. If he wanted the cash bonus from Lyons, he’d have to consider flying out of Sydney. Adding the eighty-minute travel time to Sydney’s Kingsford Smith airport brought the minimum time for Poulson to get to the airport to 7:30 PM.

  I checked Thursday flights to Cairns and the last two flights left at 9:10 PM. I checked my phone. The time was 9:34 PM.

  The next flight was Friday morning at 6:00 AM.

  Poulson no doubt wanted the bonus, which meant he was in the air right now... and I’d led him right to her. I booked a seat on the 6:00 AM, said goodnight to the Cashes, went home, and set the alarm for 4:00 AM.

  The only sobering thought that helped me rest was that he only knew where she worked, not where she lived.

  I woke up every hour, and got up half an hour before the alarm went off. In the shower, a question that had been floating around, half formed, came into focus. Would there be another reason why Lyons would want Tamsin dead? Nothing fitted into that one.

  I packed my gym bag with shoes and a change of clothes, my shaving gear, and some cash, and made my way to the airport.

  After a slight delay and an expensive coffee, the wheels of flight QF 413 left the tarmac of Sydney Domestic airport at 11:35 AM. I had just over an hour to check my emails, and was surprised to see an email from Reggie in my inbox.

  He’d sent it an hour before they got him, an attachment:

  Justice_Draft_MorrisonH_Final

  I opened it in Word and scrolled though the document until I found Tamsin’s chapter, and started reading from a random place:

  I remember sitting on Dad’s lap at the breakfast bar of our kitchen while Mum made sandwiches. Suddenly, Dad’s hand was between my legs. I started to fidget and move away, feeling uncomfortable. I didn’t know what was happening, and I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Mum! Dad touched my bum.’

  What happened next would continue to happen until I was twelve. Dad would say, ‘No, I didn’t.’ And Mum would say, ‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’

  Mum and Dad went on and talked about other things, while I was left there to sit and think about what just happened. Even to my brain at eight years of age, something wasn’t right, and I felt like crying.

  It was at this stage that I started to seriously doubt myself and what actually happened. Maybe Dad didn’t mean to touch me there?

  I didn’t think more of it until a few weeks later, when we came home from Saturday shopping and Mum took the groceries inside. I was allowed to sit in the car with Dad and listen to his CDs. After a while, Dad would reach over and rest his hand on my leg, and I immediately thought about what happened in the kitchen before, and all my self-doubts came back. If I ran out and told Mum, she wouldn’t believe me, so I decided to just sit still and let it happen.

  Dad’s hand continued up my leg and under the skirt, until he had his fingers resting on the outside of my knickers.

  I’d never felt so much confusion before then. Dad was loving and caring and always took my side against some of my more strong-headed relatives, including Nan, who wanted to work me to the bone at her house. So, I thought this couldn’t be a bad thing. It was the only way my innocent mind could rationalise something so strange. Suddenly, Mum came back in the garage, and Dad quickly withdrew his hand. That told me what I needed to know, that this was going to be our little secret and Mum mustn’t know. Mum was brought up very strict and couldn’t bare talking about reproduction or sex education or any of that stuff, or she would get verbally aggressive. I know now that it was only because she had a sheltered upbringing and hated feeling stupid for not knowing the facts of life.

  The touching became a regular thing. After shopping, I would sit in the car and listen to Dad’s Cs, and he’d run his hand up my leg and rest his fingers on my knickers. I’d concentrate on the song or think of school to get away from what was happening in the car. For a time, it almost became normal. I felt shame and humiliation, because I adored Dad, after all, and didn’t know what he was doing. Soon, Dad would get bolder, and he started putting his fingers inside my knickers and rub my vulva. I didn’t know what was down there, but I knew that when Dad did this, it felt ‘funny.’

  I sat and looked out the window at the darkening cloud layers below. The account explained plenty and helped put things in place. It painted in the gaps and provided a more complete picture of Lyons, and it explained his heart attack at the mere mention of the book back at The Birches.

  If true, the text gave Evelyn a strong reason for blackmailing Lyons. It explained why Zara filed for divorce and he settled for millions out of court. It also explained her strange relationship with Tamsin. I had no doubts that more had been said during Tamsin’s visit at Clovelly than I’d ever know.

  I considered how it all started, with Tamsin meeting and falling for Heather, a writer wanting to expose abuse victims, spurring Tamsin to want to disclose her past.

  Maybe she told Evelyn she’d been interviewed for the book, and felt the time was right to disclose everything, make it public, and expose Lyons for what he truly was. The book may have been the catalyst for Evelyn to gain leverage against Lyons and blackmail him. She may not have had a copy of the book, but it was enough to perpetuate a lie, and to have Mr. Bandana extort Lyons to the tune of twenty thousand dollars a week.

  And then there was the small
matter of Poulson.

  As soon as the wheels touched the tarmac, my fellow holiday makers were already releasing their belts and anticipating leaving the plane. Usually one to wait, I did the same and managed to elbow a few out of the way.

  At a rental counter, I booked a Hyundai Tucson, and my sunglasses fogged up at the threshold between air conditioning and the humidity of tropical north Queensland. The rental appeared unscratched on the outside, and smelled musty on the inside. With bag loaded and seat pushed back, I pulled out of the car park and turned north onto the Captain Cook Highway with my heart hammering in my throat.

  Tall Alexandra palms covered the surrounding mountain ranges, making lime green, spiky hills, and the highway’s median strip hosted swathes of Zamia palms, each dotted with bright red berries. A massive storm front quickly blotted the afternoon sun, heading in from the west like a formidable enemy, it’s strata of clouds ranging from near black to dark grey. Companies of Rainbow lorikeets fled from the menace, with the occasional roll of thunder promising an onslaught of torrential rain.

  A hidden police car tempered my speeding and I dropped back. The hour drive felt infinite, until a large sign decorated with palm trees and blue water welcomed me to the town of Port Douglas.

  Fat raindrops thumped against the windscreen as I turned onto the street of Tamsin’s gym and meandered into the car park.

  I parked at the far end, between cement bollards holding palm trees, and observed as the usual gym crowd made their appearance—middle-aged woman with towels over their shoulders and colourful active wear, making a beeline for a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop on the opposite side of the road; and young men freshly showered and dressed in work clothes, hair still wet. I worried about my vantage point, the middle extreme left of the car park, with a clear view of the rear entrance. At twenty-five-minute intervals, I’d get out and scout the perimeter, making sure to seek cover whenever a new car entered the car park.