‘If it goes wrong,’ I said, ‘it’ll somehow be my fault. And I’ll blame myself too. For not having the brains to walk out now.’
Pat’s right hand went to his throat. ‘All you have to do is give them what they want. No police stuff, nothing. What could go wrong? A cab driver could do it, not so? And blame? Yes. We’ll blame ourselves, blame you, blame the bloody stars above. Graham will give you ten thousand dollars tonight. Cash. An advance on your fee.’
He looked at Noyce. Noyce looked at Tom, still languid before the fireplace. Something passed between them. Tom’s consent? Did Graham need Tom’s permission to follow Pat’s instructions?
‘Of course,’ Noyce said. ‘It’ll take an hour or so, Frank.’
In my mind, I sighed a deep sigh. ‘A few things first,’ I said. ‘I want to talk to the driver. I’m not even being the bagman here unless I’m happy about him.’
They all looked to Pat. He nodded.
‘Tom, your office line, it’s diverted?’
He nodded.
‘Recording device?’
‘All incoming calls are recorded automatically,’ Noyce said.
‘Other family children. I’d bring them here till this is over.’
‘I think everyone at risk lives here,’ Noyce said. ‘That would be right, wouldn’t it, Tom?’
‘There are five houses in the compound,’ Tom said to me. ‘We’re the fucking Kennedys of Australia. The kids who aren’t here are overseas. We can’t bring them back.’
‘Okay. Which phone will ring?’
‘Next door. Diverted calls will ring next door.’
‘The girl’s parents, where are they?’
A glance between Tom and Barry, between Tom and his father. ‘Mark’s in Europe,’ said Tom. ‘We’ll speak to him in the morning. Her mother’s not well. It’s better that we don’t alarm her.’
‘I’ll need to bring someone else in,’ I said. ‘And I’ll have to stay here, so I’ll need clothes.’
Tom looked me over like a bloodstock agent. ‘Mark’s clothes should fit you. There’s a room full of them upstairs. Have some put out, Graham.’
Graham didn’t like that command. His mouth twitched and he tested the fit of his collar, glanced at Barry. Barry was still engaged elsewhere, not flexing his fingers now but holding their tips to his lips.
Silence, one man standing, four seated, an interlude between something concluding and the future. Into it, Pat said, ‘Never thought it would happen twice.’ His chin was on his chest, his eyes on the desk. ‘And the sinners walk free.’
I couldn’t resist it. ‘What sinners would those be?’
‘What?’
‘What sinners walk free?’
Pat raised his head and looked at me, blinked. ‘Figure of speech, son,’ he said. ‘No shortage of sinners walkin free. Cop, you’d know that.’
‘Former cop,’ I said. ‘Yes.’
3
The room next door explained why there weren’t any books in Pat Carson’s study. It was a library, a striking room, mellow parquet floor, four walls of floor-to-ceiling books, ladders on wheels, armchairs covered in faded fabrics, a long, narrow library table surrounded by upright chairs, stern chairs.
I sat at the table, ran my fingertips over the green leather inlay, unhappy at being bought, tempted to find Noyce and tell him I’d changed my mind. These people were capitulating in the hope that it would save a girl’s life. It probably wouldn’t. And I was complicit, not abetting them, no, but certainly aiding them, taking money to carry their money. Why? Broke and prospectless, that was a good enough reason. If not me, then someone else.
I got out my book and found the number of Corin McCall, garden designer and lecturer in horticulture, my date after class. It had taken me five months to find the courage to ask her out, five months of doing all my homework, spending hours formulating intelligent questions, shaving before my night class.
‘McCall.’ She had a deep voice for such a lean and wiry person. A little electric jolt went through me the first time she spoke to the class.‘
Corin, Frank Calder.’ It occurred to me that I’d never said her name. I coughed. ‘Listen, I couldn’t get to class…’
‘I noticed,’ she said. ‘And you can’t make it tonight.’
‘Called out for an urgent job. I’m really sorry, I’d turn it down, but…’
She said, ‘That’s fine, Frank, happens to me all the time. I mean, I do this to people.’ Pause. ‘Anyhow, I’m exhausted, wouldn’t have been good company.’
‘Can we make another time? Next week? Any night.’
‘I’m in the bush on Monday and Tuesday, possibly Wednesday.
You could give me a call mid-week.’
‘I will. I’ll call you.’
‘Yes, call me. I await your call.’
‘I await calling you. I’m sorry I spoiled your evening. You could’ve taken up another offer.’
Corin laughed. ‘It’s early, I may still.’
‘Goodnight. See you next week.’
‘Goodnight. Call me.’
‘Mid-week. Goodnight.’
Repeating myself, breathing too shallowly. What kind of teenage nonsense was this?
A sallow man in a white jacket was at the open door pushing a small serving trolley. Supper was grilled fish, tiny tomatoes and roasted eggplant. I had just finished it when there was a knock: a big handsome man in a dark suit, fortyish, fat coming on, neat short hair. Dennis Whitton, Pat Carson’s driver, the girls’ driver. I’d questioned Noyce about him. Ex-cop, excellent credentials, four years in the job.
‘Mr Noyce said…’
I got up and shook hands, closed the door, sat him at the library table, sat opposite him.
‘Bad luck this,’ I said.
He nodded, rolled his head ruefully, scratched the back of it. He had pale blue eyes, wary. ‘Let em talk me into it,’ he said. ‘Went in the first coupla times, hung around, pretend I’m lookin at the CDs. You feel like a perv, no one more than sixteen in the place. Second time, a bloke come up to me, he’s about twenty. He says, I’m the manager, we’d be happier if you looked at CDs somewhere else. After that…’
‘How long’s this been going on?’ I said.
‘This term, that’s all.’
‘Every day?’
‘No.’ He was indignant. ‘Only on sport days. Tuesday and Thursday. It’d be six, seven times.’
‘Who talked you into it?’
‘They did, the girls.’
‘Both of them?’
‘Yeah. They worked on me. I gave in, I’m an idiot, what can I say?’
‘Who suggested it? Whose idea?’
He shrugged, put up his big hands. ‘Jeez, I can’t remember. They talk all the time, they tease me, shave your head Dennis, no, he should grow his hair, Dennis, PE teacher said she thinks you’re a spunk, Dennis, how old were you when you did it the first time? They go on like that all the time. You wouldn’t think they were fifteen. Not like kids at all.’ He sighed. ‘I dunno who asked first.
Really don’t know.’
‘The times you went in, they talk to anyone?’
‘Sure. There’s other kids from the school there.’
