myself. I was reminded of why I always tried to work alone — because I’d never learned to trust anyone but myself. We got in the car and I sat on the passenger side tense and mistrusting and not wanting to be that way. She reached for me but sensed my mood and drew back.
‘Do you want me to drive?’
‘Yes.’ I wanted to shout No. Go away! But I didn’t, I was hoping the feeling would pass. My head ached where I’d been hit and the lack of sleep was getting to me. I found the other bottle of whisky, pulled the cap off and took a drink. She started the engine; I cradled the bottle in my lap and waited for the liquor to do me some good.
‘Cliff, what’s wrong?’
I didn’t answer. How could I tell her I didn’t trust her? How could I say I don’t trust you to keep quiet about this juicy story. I said nothing and took another drink. She drove well but her fingers were tightening on the wheel and she was going too fast. I thought of the fights I’d had in cars with Cyn, fights so bad I’d crashed my fist down on her leg so that he wept with pain and rage but kept driving, fights so bad she’d ripped levers and buttons off the dashboard and kicked out the windshield. And I thought that my distrustfulness must have contributed to those battles. I forced myself to reach over and touch her arm gently.
‘Pull over Kay, pull in here.’
She looked at me suspiciously but she did it. I held her close to me, tight and warm; she resisted for a minute and then let go and we got as close together as we could in the front seat of an old Falcon. We stayed like that for a while, saying things that I don’t remember except that they meant we were going to be good to each other. We eased apart and she drove again; I didn’t drink any more whisky and I put the H amp;R Defender under the seat. It was still dark at the motel and we got inside and took our clothes off and went to bed. She fell asleep almost straight away with her head on my shoulder. I lay awake with my mind working, listening to a branch knocking against the window, but not for long.
16
The room was very light when I woke up and Kay was still sleeping beside me; her back was towards me and she was curled up in a tangle of sheets. I stroked her shoulder.
‘Hey, it’s morning.’
‘Jesus,’ she muttered from the huddle, ‘what day is it?’
I had to think. ‘Sunday.’
She curled tighter. ‘Thank God.’
I pulled gently at the sheets and she pulled back and soon we were making love, starting gently and ending up in a hard, bucking rhythm. The bed was a ruin and it was nearly midday when we reached the motel coffee shop.
She ate appreciatively again and picked up toast crumbs from her plate with a moistened finger.
‘You’ll be heading back to Sydney then, to follow this up?’
‘Yes, but not quite yet. You said you could ask around about the Baudins, can you do that today — Sunday?’
‘Yeah, no problem. What do you want exactly?’
‘Anything. I’d be hoping for something on Warwick’s cock-ups — cars, girls and cheques they said. Something might have made the papers. He was a jock too, there could be a photo.’
I paused and chose the words carefully. ‘There’s a story in the Indonesian business. I suppose you’d be interested in that?’
‘Mm, I’d have to wait until you’ve cleared all this up, wouldn’t I?’
‘Probably, but you never know. A bit of press could be useful at some stage. That’s happened before.’
She nodded and finished her coffee. I made a cigarette and she pulled a face.
‘What?’
‘You shouldn’t smoke.’
‘I know.’ I lit the cigarette, drew hard on it and blew the smoke away from her. ’It’s a strange case this. It looks to be plain sailing except that there’s someone trying to get in on it. I have to assume they’re trying to stop me reaching the…’
‘Foundling?’
‘He’s hardly that. It sounds as if he had the best of everything.’
‘Aren’t you scared?’
‘No. I can’t see a lot of violence in this — Brain could have had a thin skull, and I only got a tap. It’s one of the things that puzzles me.’
‘If Warwick is the lost grandson, maybe someone knows that and has an interest in him not turning up.’
‘Yeah, but why not just put him out of the picture — why mess about with the bit players like me?’
‘Maybe the person doesn’t want Warwick to prosper but can’t bring himself to kill him, or can’t afford to.’
‘Keir you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe. I have to find out who benefits most from things staying just as they are. I’ve got someone working on that.’
She went quiet and I finished my cigarette and picked up the bill. She shifted in her seat, the broad, almost Tartar face was clouded and she spoke nervously, without her usual crispness:
‘D’you worry about the morality of this, Cliff?’
I went on guard. ‘What morality’s that?’
‘Don’t snarl, I mean about digging back like this, uncovering all these things, splitting people up.’
‘It doesn’t bother me,’ I said but I knew I was lying. It did bother me but I couldn’t help it. Shallow graves got uncovered, secrets were divulged, liars were found out — it happened all the time and I was just an agent, just a lever. Sometimes there were happy endings. Sometimes. She looked down and I thought Oh Christ, more trouble. But when she lifted her head all seemed well. She gave me the crooked smile and rooted in her bag for a pen and paper. Our hands touched when she handed the paper across and the contact was still good. We were both skirmishing I felt, both mistrustful, but hoping. It could have been worse.
‘Phone me at the paper in a couple of hours,’ she said. ‘No. In one hour, I should have something by then.’
‘Okay, what’re you doing tonight?’
‘Depends,’ she said and got to her feet. ‘Depends on a lot of things.’ She waved and walked breezily out of the place. I watched her go in the crumpled dress, slim back and long legs and the evening shoes that looked oddly pathetic in the daylight. I sat and thought and the Chatterton case and Kay got all tangled up in my mind until I didn’t know what I was asking questions about or what answers I wanted to find.
I rinsed my shirt again, shaved rough again and took a dip in the pool. The chlorine was fresh and sharp and the water was cold: I swam hard, lap after lap, and showered and put on the clean shirt and felt good. Then I called the number Kay had given me; her voice was brisk and efficient on the phone but there was warmth in it too. She sounded pleased with herself.
‘Warwick Baudin sounds like a real rat,’ she said.
‘What does he do — rape old ladies?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised. He was in all sorts of trouble. He crashed a few cars that weren’t his.’
‘Yeah, I heard about that. High spirits maybe.’
‘No, there’s a nasty streak to him. There’s a story that he sold drugs here, not just grass, and made money at it. Then there was a bust and he got off. The word was that he informed on the others. He left Canberra soon after that. Oh yes, he assaulted his father in public once but it was hushed up.’
‘Choice. Anything on Keir?’
‘Not much. He sounds like the dullest man alive. He went to school and university here, undistinguished at both. Then he went to work for his Dad. He’s sort of never left home.’
