The thought was electric and terrifying, as if the veneer covering the world had peeled at one corner, affording a glimpse of dark and yawning depths below.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Nicholas.
He sat slumped in his chair, staring at the dead bird. For an unsettling moment, Pritam thought he was talking to the tiny corpse. Then he slid his eyes to Pritam and smiled.
He’s peered into the depths, too, thought Pritam. And he looks ready to fall into them.
He shook his head. After finding that photograph of Quill, he’d been shocked to open the presbytery door to stare right into the face of the man who’d brought her to his attention. Pritam had been ready to dismiss him, tell him John Hird was dead and to come back another time-better yet, don’t come back at all!-when he saw the girl standing dumbly behind Nicholas, holding his hand and staring into space. Nicholas said a word that was the second blow to finish the one-two: “Quill.”
Pritam had let them in, put the girl in the chair, listened as Nicholas briefly told him that he found her outside the woods and finished by pulling that horrible, disfigured bird from his pocket.
Now Pritam knew the girl’s name.
“Her parents. They’ll want to know why you grabbed their daughter while she was walking home.”
“I didn’t do this to her.”
“ I believe you,” said Pritam. The words surprised him. But they were true; he did believe. Every poisonous bit. That abomination of a bird verified it all: so unnaturally dead, so alien. It looked like a lightning rod for evil.
“I believe you, but I don’t think her mother will,” he continued. “I don’t think the police will. Not so soon after the Thomas boy. Nicholas, I think you’re looking down the barrel of some serious questions.”
Nicholas didn’t seem to care. He was watching Hannah Gerlic, and the concern in his eyes for her was real.
She stared into space, her expression blank as glass. Pritam had seen black-and-white footage of World War I soldiers in hospital wards, automatons staring at infinity. Shell shock.
“I suppose I am,” agreed Nicholas quietly. He looked at Pritam. “They won’t believe the truth.”
The men regarded one another.
“I won’t lie for you,” said Pritam.
Nicholas frowned. “Who asked you to?”
There was a rustling from Hannah’s chair and they looked at her. She was staring, wide-eyed, at the dead bird. Suddenly, she sucked in a surprised breath, gagged, coughed up some briny yellow spittle, and started crying.
A ndrew and Louise Gerlic were the happiest parents in the world.
Mrs. Gerlic hugged Hannah tightly, tears running quicksilver paths down her red cheeks. “Silly girl. Silly girl. Silly girl…” She rocked her daughter in her arms. Mr. Gerlic had his arms around them both, his eyes shut, nodding to himself.
On the drive to the Gerlics’ house, Pritam and Nicholas had worked out a story set in the awkward middle ground between lies and truth. Nicholas had been reading the development sign when Hannah appeared. She was distraught and wouldn’t respond to his queries. Uncomfortable with the idea of going through a young girl’s bag unaccompanied, he drove her immediately to his friend, the local reverend, where they discovered together the girl’s identity. Why was she so traumatized? They didn’t know. Had Nicholas seen anything unusual? No.
Police arrived at the Gerlic residence. The sight of a clergyman set the room at ease. Nicholas and Pritam were thanked together and questioned separately. One female officer was questioning Hannah without success: Hannah simply screwed up her eyes and shook her head. Another female officer spoke quietly to Mrs. Gerlic, who listened a while then nodded consent. The women took Hannah to the girl’s bedroom. They emerged a few minutes later and Nicholas saw the female officer catch the eye of another uniformed officer-she shook her head. No signs of physical interference.
As the police were wrapping things up, Detective Waller arrived. Her eyes quickly found Nicholas and stayed fixed on him while a female officer brought her up to speed. Then, Waller’s eyes flicked with pendulum precision between him and Hannah. Eventually, Waller nodded thanks to the constable and came to stand beside Nicholas.
“Mr. Close.”
“Detective Fossey.”
“Should I be surprised to see you here?”
Nicholas looked at her. “I don’t think much surprises you, Detective.”
She stared at him for an unsettlingly long while.
“Don’t go too far, Mr. Close.” Then she turned away and rejoined the other officers.
Nicholas drifted to join Pritam. He could see Hannah sitting with a glass of cola, Mrs. Gerlic’s hand gripping her narrow shoulder.
“I don’t know if she’ll be safe,” Nicholas whispered to Pritam.
Pritam looked at him.
“We have a great deal to discuss.”
Nicholas brought Pritam back to the presbytery, and the men made arrangements to catch up there later that evening. Nicholas then kept driving, back to Lambeth Street.
D inner was awkwardly silent, considering how loud it had been to prepare.
Nicholas had sat at the kitchen bench, watching Katharine chop water chestnuts, onion, chicken. Every time he’d started to speak, she’d whacked some ingredient into submission or ground spices in her large granite mortar.
“Want a hand?” he’d yelled.
“No, no,” she’d yelled back brightly, then began throwing diced things into the wok where they shrieked loudly in the sizzling oil.
When they both sat to eat, the silence was so severe that Nicholas didn’t think he had profound enough words to break it. Katharine didn’t seem to feel compelled to; she chewed quietly, shooting the occasional cool smile to him.
“Delicious,” he said finally.
“It’s nothing,” she replied. They were quiet for a long moment, then she added, “I bought a tajine.”
“Oh? Tall, pointy thing?”
“Yes. Haven’t used it yet.”
“Wow. Exotic.”
They ate without speaking again until their plates were clean. It was only when Nicholas made to stand and clear the table that Katharine broke the silence.
“Sit. Please.”
He remained in his chair. Katharine licked her lips, lifted her chin, and tilted her head-her don’t-take-me-for- a-fool look.
“Your sister came up from Sydney,” she said, her words coming brisk and clipped hard. “You two huddle together like twitty schoolgirls. Gavin Boye shoots himself outside my front door. You duck away and find yourself a flat without so much as a thank you. She flies back to Sydney so fast you’d think they were giving away harborside houses. She calls up today, la-di-da, as if nothing’s happened, and then suggests I sell this house and move down to Neutral Bay.”
Nicholas shrugged and inspected the tablecloth. “Neutral Bay is nice.”
He felt her gaze on his face, drawing at his thoughts like a poultice.
“Kids are getting murdered here, Mum.”
Katharine’s hands fussed around the plates, but she said nothing.
“Not just Tris and the Thomas boy,” he continued. “A lot of kids.”
He watched for her reaction.
“I’m no spring chicken,” she said, finally. “I’m not likely to become a victim.”
“Adults, too. That Guyatt chap who killed the Thomas boy. He was from Myrtle Street.”
“He died in prison.”
“Yes. So did Winston Teale, remember? He was a local, too. Wasn’t he?”
Katharine’s fingers stopped moving. “Yes. From over the hill in Kadoomba Road.”
