‘You look like hell, Cliff. What’ve you been doing to yourself?’
I tried to review my day-Grey, Tickener, Henderson, Lambert: unloving company-no wonder I wasn’t looking my freshest. I grunted something unintelligible, and peered through the dusty window at the backyard, which looked a bit more dusty itself now that a couple of the pots had gone. Hilde pulled at the envelope in my hand.
‘What’s this?’ Her tolerant, amused curiosity about my work was one of things I liked about her. One of them; there were plenty more. I gave her an abbreviated account of the case while she made some coffee. I didn’t give her the details about the night with Erica, but I didn’t need to-Hilde’s antennae for sexual signals were highly tuned.
‘What will Helen think about that?’
‘What can she say? Do I object to her giving ol’ Mike his conjugals?’
‘You do, but you don’t say. It’s not quite the same, somehow.’ She bent down and stroked the cat. ‘He’s sleek, looks like you’re taking better care of him than yourself.’
‘He runs the show. How’s Frank?’
‘He’s fine, working hard what with all this hood-killing going on.’ She patted her stomach and looked proudly at her big breasts. ‘He’s looking forward to it like mad. I hope he’s there on the day.’
‘He’ll be there. I’m sorry, love. I’ve got to read this.’
‘That’s all right. If you find out any more, you can go on with the story. I know you always keep back the nasty stuff anyway.’
I grinned. ‘That’s true.’
‘I’ll collect up some more of my junk. What happened here? Everything’s all messed up.’
‘I had visitors.’
‘Nasty stuff.’
She went upstairs, and I turned my attention to the manuscript. The new sections were calculated to give Lambert cardiac arrest. He was right about the drive and intensity; Mountain seemed to be constructing the thing in a series of cliff-hangers, a series of climaxes building towards a grand climax as he drew the threads together and hurled characters into collision. The self-destructive theme, hinted at earlier, became an obsessive, schizophrenic battle heightened by drugs. I read with fascination, until I remembered that I was supposed to be reading for enlightenment and information about the writer. Even in its sketchy form the account of the social drug scene, and the woman the protagonist involved himself with, jelled with Artie Henderson’s information The woman had rape fantasies, and it appeared that the book would delve into her real life encounter with a would-be rapist and its effect on her sexual psychology. And on the hero’s. Some of the language suggested that Mountain had read a bit in the field, or listened closely to Dr Holmes.
‘Elizabeth Groves’ was Deirdre Kelly and ‘Morgan Shaw’ was William Mountain, but who else was he?
I was re-reading intently when Hilde came back. She coughed politely.
‘I’ve got to go, Cliff. How does it look now?’
‘Bloody sticky. Didn’t do any psychology along with the dentistry, did you, love?’
‘Not much. Why?’
‘Are schizophrenics suicidal, d’you reckon?’
‘God, is it that heavy? I suppose so-some of them.’
‘Know anything about rape fantasies?’
‘Ugh, no. My fantasies are a lot more gentle.’
‘You must tell me about them some time.’
‘If you go first.’ She hefted a bundle of clothes onto her hip as if she was practising for motherhood. I grinned at her.
‘I’d have to think about that. Is Frank at work now?’
‘Should be.’ She blew me a kiss and went off down the passage. I missed her as soon as I heard the door close. I got my notebook and took it over to the phone.
‘Parker.’
‘Gidday, Frank, it’s Hardy. I’ve just been talking to Hilde.’
‘That puts you up on me, I haven’t seen her for nearly twenty-four hours. Is she okay?’
‘Never better. I need some help, Frank.’
‘Jesus, Cliff. It’s a bad time.’
‘Quick file job. Policewoman Bennett could handle it.’
‘She’s moved to Vice. Never mind, I’ll get someone. What is it?’
I told him as much as I needed to get the files checked and he said he’d get back to me in half an hour or sooner. That gave me time to make a sandwich and re-heat some of Hilde’s coffee. I’d taken two bites and was adding the milk, when the phone rang; he’s a fast worker, Frank, and he likes to have fast workers around him.
‘There’s not much on it,’ he said.
‘Anything.’
‘Your voice sounds strange.’
‘I’m chewing; excuse my manners. I promise I won’t spit. I’m also drinking some coffee Hilde made for me.’
‘That doesn’t sound right; I’m at work and doing little chores for you and you’re drinking my woman’s coffee.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Just be eternally grateful to me for bringing you two together.’
‘I am. Well, wanna hear it?’
I swallowed for an answer.
‘Okay, Deirdre Kelly, age thirty-six, Montague Street, West Pymble, lives alone, divorced, no kids, runs a travel agency in the city. Doing well, blah, blah. She alleged she was attacked in the car park… quoting now, she presented with hysterical symptoms, unquote. She was a bit scratched up, nothing serious. Assailant had a knife, didn’t want money. She didn’t say what he did want.’
‘How did she get clear?’
‘Screamed the place awake, ran around a bit. A neighbour came out and helped her. Do you want the resident’s name?’
‘Is that the neighbour, the resident?’
‘Yeah. God, I’m out of line giving you this.’
‘Don’t think I need the neighbour’s name, or the resident’s. Did this person see the attacker?’
‘Ah… no.’
‘Who filed the report.’
‘Christ, the signature’s written in Martian. Constable Selwyn. He seems to be the one with the medical grasp, talks about contusions, would you believe.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Scouted the vicinity, interviewed a few residents
‘And?’
‘Found nothing.’
‘Action?’
‘None. Only odd thing detected, and I use the word advisedly, by the alert Selwyn, was that Kelly said she’d driven herself home, but one of the residents had the impression that another car had come into the car park just before the ruckus.’
I grunted. ‘Kelly sticks with “unknown assailant”?’
‘Yep. Dr Selwyn has an opinion, of course. He opines that Kelly suffered a “hysterical fantasy”, probably brought on by rejection.’
‘He sounds like a useful bloke, save you a lot of work.’
‘I don’t know; work is what turns him on. He goes on to say that he thinks Kelly could be dangerous.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Ah, she described the knife in detail and later said she wished she could have turned the knife on the…’
‘Alleged assailant.’
‘Yeah, thank Christ the press didn’t get hold of that.’
