Me, this time, not us. I was beginning to get an idea of how Ramsay felt about his sister, the question for me was: were the feelings reciprocated? I’d been in this particular neck of the woods before.
‘Well, let’s see it,’ Hewitt said. ‘And I’ll tell you.’
He was happy now and, without actually including me, wasn’t positively leaving me out. After all, he was going to be the star of the show. Nothing competes with television, especially not reality.
Tess glanced at me. I kept my expression just on the right side of neutral. I did want to see the tape. We trooped into the living room and Tess hit the buttons. They left their drinks behind; I topped myself up from the bottle. Seating arrangements were straightforward. Ramsay on the two-seater couch; me on a chair; Tess between us.
The program presenter, a glossy blonde in a severely tailored suit with a very short skirt, crossed her legs and sailed in: ‘Tonight, in the studio we have Ramsay Hewitt, the leader…’
‘Excuse me. Everyone involved in the Tadpole Creek protest is a leader, or there’s no leader. Have it whichever way you like.’
She didn’t miss a beat. ‘I see. Ramsay Hewitt of the Homebush protest…’
‘Tadpole Creek environmental protest.’
‘Right. Ramsay is here to explain the tragic event of the other night and…’
Ramsay got out of his chair and advanced on the camera. ‘I’m not here to do any such thing. I’m here to tell the viewers about what’s being done at Homebush Bay. How they’re being conned into thinking that these are going to be green Olympics whereas in fact they’re going to be dirty brown…’
The camera panned quickly back to the presenter. To be fair to her, she was coping well with her obstreperous guest. ‘Red, wouldn’t you say, Ramsay? Blood red? That man was beaten to death.’
A floor attendant shepherded Ramsay back to his seat. He combed his long hair back with his fingers. He was good-looking or would have been but for a nervous, twitchy manner that seemed to affect his facial expressions and bodily movements. He bore some resemblance to his sister and would’ve looked more like her still if he survived another ten years and managed to resolve some of his all too apparent inner conflicts. “I’m very sorry about the guard,’ he said slowly. ‘It shouldn’t have happened.’
‘But it did. What can you tell us about…’ the presenter’s eyes flickered to a cue card, ‘…Damien Talbot?’
‘Every organisation has rotten apples.’
The presenter leaned forward. “Would you like to expand on that, Ramsay?’
‘Yes.’ He broke off and reached for a glass of water. ‘I mean the police, the church, the media, they all have unworthy people in them, don’t they? I’d much rather talk about what the protest is designed to do.’
The presenter felt herself to be on top now and she showed signs of knowing that she’d presided over a pretty good short grab and that it was time to close off. ‘I’m sure you would, but what I want to know is why would one of your people behave so violently?’
‘I don’t consider him to be a member of the group.’
‘So there’s division within the protest. That’s not going to help your cause, is it?’
Ramsay didn’t answer.
‘What can you tell us about the young woman with him – Megan French?’
‘Nothing. I scarcely knew her.’
‘I see what you mean about the protest having no leader. Maybe it should have had one. I’m Tracey-Jane Marshall and this is Newsbeat.’
A commercial followed and then the tape stopped. It was a lame performance from Ramsay who was clearly out of his depth. He didn’t seem to realise it and looked at Tess for her approval. When he didn’t get it he wet his lips and fidgeted in his seat. ‘That bloody bitch set me up. Her questions weren’t fair.’
No questions would ever be fair for Ramsay, he was one of those people who found something or someone else to blame at every turn.
Tess said, ‘Well, it’ll be forgotten tomorrow. What we have to do is…’
Ramsay jumped from his seat and stood over her. ‘You seem to have forgotten bloody everything. Everything except screwing with this fascist thug…’
He was working himself up to do something, anything, to relieve his frustration, even if it meant hitting Tess. I moved quickly and grabbed his flailing arm.
‘Take it easy, Ramsay. Get a grip on yourself or you’ll do something you’re sorry for.’
For all his size he wasn’t strong and it was child’s play to get him off balance. He sensed that he had no leverage to resist me and it made him even wilder and less effective. He stumbled and almost fell into Tess’s lap. I hauled him upright and he sprayed spittle as he shook himself free.
‘You slut! Screw your brains out. See if I care. I don’t need you. Go to hell’ He stormed back to the kitchen and swore as he hit something solid. Then the back door crashed open against the wall and I heard his boots on the cement path at the side of the house. Tess was huddled in the chair with her face in her hands. I was torn. I still wanted to talk to Ramsay but Tess’s distress was strong and visible. I knelt by the chair and stroked her head. I heard an engine start, run roughly and then a squeal of tyres as he drove away. Tess heard it all as well and felt it more – her body shook at the sounds. When she looked up there was a pain in her eyes and expression that was hard to watch.
‘I’m sorry about all that,’ she said.
‘He’s got troubles.’
‘You know, don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘The… the nature of his troubles.’
I knew all right, from the way he looked at her and behaved, but I said, ‘I’m not sure that it’s my business.’
She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Look, Cliff, I’m whacked. I’m going to take half a pill and go to sleep. I’d be glad if you’d just stick around until I’m off. Would you mind?’
It was a subtle request. I topped up my coffee and added another drop of Scotch while she got ready for bed.
‘Lock the door, would you, Cliff. Key goes in the flower pot.’
Dark red silk pyjamas, a scrubbed face, a slightly toothpaste-flavoured kiss and she was gone. After a while, I went into the bedroom and looked at her. She’d turned over and drawn her legs up and seemed comfortable. I had an impulse to strip off and crawl in beside her but I knew that wasn’t what she wanted. Just as well I didn’t because when I was putting my jacket on the mobile rang.
I answered, keeping my voice down.
‘Cliff, this is Geoff. Mum’s in hospital. It looks pretty bad. I’ll get back to you when I can.’
19
I didn’t know what hospital Cyn would be in and with family gathering round it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be there anyway. I was tired and somewhat dispirited. Ramsay Hewitt’s abrupt departure had closed off an avenue of enquiry. I doubted whether Geoff had picked up anything useful at the protest site. It was possible and that it had been put out of his mind by his mother’s crisis, but it seemed unlikely. If I’d had the manpower I might’ve staked out Dr Macleod’s compound to see if Talbot turned up there, but I didn’t, and there was no real reason to think he would.
I checked on Tess again, followed her instructions about the key and left the house. There was nothing for me to do but go home. I felt sober, very sober, but I might have been over the limit. I thought back over what I’d eaten and drunk in the past few hours and decided it was line ball. I drove sedately and caught a late night news bulletin on the way. The police were still hunting what the media were now calling ‘the Tadpole Creek Killer’. I was working at the centre of one of the city’s major news items but felt that I was on the sidelines with no chance of getting into the game.
I turned into my street and cursed when I saw that my usual parking space outside the house was occupied by another car. Inner city dwellers tend to establish conventions and protocols about these things and it was rare
