‘You’re making no sense. Go back to sleep.’ But, strangely, I wasn’t tired anymore. I lay with my
arms around her, staring up at the ceiling. A certain amount of street or moonlight or both filtered into the room through the matchstick blinds. I began to run over the various strands of the Farmer case in my mind and found myself able to separate them out and look at each with some clarity. Minutes slipped by as I did the sort of analysis I could usually best manage when charged up with caffeine or alcohol. Without those stimulants I was still physically worn but mentally alert. Good sex can have strange effects. Marisha muttered and pulled away from me. I let her go.
There was something big stirring in the Illawarra. Big enough to warrant two deaths already-Frederick Farmer and Adam MacPherson-and an attempted third, mine. The Wombarra land owned by Sue Holland and Elizabeth Farmer was somehow at the centre of it. Outlaw bikies were involved and, more than likely, some of the local police. I couldn’t put Barton’s behaviour down to incompetence or antagonism. Behind it all was some big contractor paying out big money-a sizeable chunk to Wendy Jones-tied in, probably, to the acquisition of Sue Holland’s land. Was Elizabeth Farmer’s land still targeted?
My sources of information were De Witt, Purcell and possibly Farrow. Marisha was right. I couldn’t afford to be out of touch. I switched on the mobile. The calls had been from Farrow first and then Elizabeth Farmer. I didn’t want to talk to Farrow just yet and whether Tania had come home or not, there was nothing I could do about it.
Marisha was deeply asleep. I dressed quietly and went back to where I’d left my bag. I plugged in the laptop and booted it up. The solitary message was from Purcell. It read:
I deleted the message and cleared the trash. Annoying not to be able to reply, ask for more detail, but it was a different Hotmail address from the one before and my guess was that he used them once only. I shut the computer down and leaned back in the chair to think. I was confused. I couldn’t see why Purcell would want me to be in on anything, let alone guess what it might be. And he couldn’t have known when he sent the message, at 9.16 pm, that the events of the night would make me a hot property in the Illawarra.
Every cautious instinct said stay away. Every curious instinct, backed up by professional pride, said go there. No contest. I’d left my watch by the bed and didn’t know the time. The digits on Marisha’s stove and microwave blinked on double zeros and I knew what that meant. She hadn’t reset them after a power failure. Not unknown at my place. It made me feel friendly towards her as I crouched down by the bed to retrieve the watch. It scraped harshly on the polished floor but she didn’t stir. I slipped the watch on and stood, looking down at her. Her dark hair was spread out on the red pillow and one hand was cocked up near her mouth as if she was speaking on a phone. I realised that I had no idea what I thought about her.
It was five forty-five, still dark and a blanket of quiet and stillness hung over this part of Sydney. I could get on the road, stop for breakfast and a shave somewhere along the way and be in the Illawarra early enough to consider exactly what to do. Except that…Marisha’s bag sat on the floor, gaping open. I dug into it, feeling around, and came up with a set of keys. The car keys were attached to an NRMA tag carrying the make and registration number. A Hyundai. I detached the car keys and pocketed them. I went into her work room and found a pad and paper. The note I left told her I’d borrowed her car and would get it back as soon as possible. I said I’d left my car keys but she wasn’t to use the Falcon except in an emergency because the police would be looking for it. I felt I owed her that much at least.
The Hyundai didn’t have a lot of power but it handled well and I made good time south as daylight dawned. I’d only had a couple of hours sleep but I felt almost fully charged. I caught an early news service on the radio-the usual stuff, the government under attack for lying and lying some more in response. A major marijuana haul up north had the police puffing out their chests. The weather was going to be fine along the coast and the bright, slightly cloud-streaked sky told me the same.
I stopped at a servo in Heathcote, topped up the tank and went into the restaurant. I ordered coffee and toast and had a quick wash and shave. The coffee was surprisingly good and the toast was unsurprisingly limp and soggy but I lingered over it anyway, trying to work out my next moves. I flicked through a local paper lying around and found an article on the closure of the coast road. The state government had allotted forty million dollars to fix it and the project would take two and a half years to complete. Locals were protesting that there were more accidents on the freeway in fog than on the coast road from falling rocks. I wondered about the crack. I decided it was a good omen.
It was the best time of the day to come down the Bulli Pass. The sun was above the horizon, but not by much, and a mist was lifting off the water and the land. The townships to north and south were spread out before me with the sand and the sea as an immense backdrop punctuated here and there by Norfolk Island pines.
I pegged Sue Holland as an early riser and I was right. When I’d steered the little car down the rutted track and pulled up in front of her cottage there was smoke rising from her chimney and Fred the old dog was moving freely as if he’d been up and about for a while. He barked, but he had my scent memory-logged, and he didn’t give me any trouble. Sue Holland came around from the back with a steaming cup in her hand. She had on a long, loose sweater over red flannel pyjamas, fluffy slippers.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she said. ‘What d’you want?’
There, under the escarpment, the temperature was low. I rubbed my hands together. ‘Beautiful morning, isn’t it? How can you bear to leave?’
Her aggression dropped away and a shadow of sadness passed across her face. She raised the cup to her mouth and took a long sip. ‘Just what I need,’ she said. ‘Someone to bore it up me.’
‘I don’t want to give you a bad time, Sue. And I’m grateful for what you told Elizabeth to pass on to me. Very useful. But I need a bit more. Can we go inside? It’s a bit parky.’
‘What? Oh, cold. I haven’t heard that expression in a while.’
‘I’ve got a few, like taters. No idea where they come from. My grandma used to say she was “starved with the cold”.’
‘The old Hardy blather and bullshit. Okay, come in. I can give you a cup of coffee, but I don’t know what more I can tell you.’
I gave Fred a pat and followed her back to the rear of the cottage and into the kitchen. It was warm and smelled of coffee and tobacco. Sue drained her cup and refilled it from the pot on the combustion stove. She filled a mug for me and put it on the table. Then she picked up the makings in a clear plastic pouch and rolled a cigarette. She lit it with a disposable lighter, puffed smoke and slumped down into a chair.
‘I started again. Seven years off, and I’m back into it. Chop chop. At least it’s cheap.’
I shrugged. ‘Might be healthier, too. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how much the offer is?’
‘No. High six figures, very high.’
‘Nice. Especially as they say prices around here might drop depending on the effect of the road closure. Care to name the buyer?’
‘How dumb do I look, Cliffo?’
The coffee was about five times as good as the last one. ‘Not very.’
‘I did a bit of an internet search. It’s a maze. But I’ll tell you what. The deposit cheque cleared and they’re not interested in a building inspection or a pest report or any of that shit.’
‘Dream run.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Why did you go up there and tell Elizabeth about the sale?’
She took a deep drag, sucked the smoke in and let it out slowly. The technique was coming back to her fast. ‘Shit. I had some crazy idea I might…You said you didn’t know whether she had anyone or not. Just a chance. Then I saw how happy she was…Did Liz tell you anything about me?’
‘No. Yes, she said you’d know the sound of a motorbike if you heard it.’
‘You bet. I was a dropout bikie chick. Chains, tatts, speed, dope, the works. Then I met her and everything changed. I got educated and employed and then I lost her.
I got a little nest egg, like I told you, and bought this place. And now I’ve got a big one and I don’t give a fuck where it comes from.’
I finished the coffee while she was talking and put the cup quietly down on the table as a gesture of
