We went down the hallway. Sarah stopped in the kitchen. She wore jeans and a sweater, boots with a bit of heel. No makeup, but she’d washed her hair and tied it back neatly. ‘Would you like some coffee or something, Mr Hardy?’
Cafarella stepped forward and, without actually touching her, made Sarah back up. ‘You are a very rude girl,’ she said, ‘and I’m only here because I have to be.’
Sarah’s stance was defiant. I said nothing.
Cafarella stepped away. ‘You and Mr Hardy will sit out in the back room where I can see you from the garden. I won’t be able to hear you and you can talk about whatever you bloody well like.’
She stalked away, through the sunroom and down the steps.
Sarah shrugged. ‘Touchy.’
I knew it was an act on Cafarella’s part, but I played along. ‘They’re frustrated at getting nowhere on your mother’s murder. By the way, they don’t know about your fax or my reply.’
Cafarella rattled the door at the top of the steps. ‘You’ve got one hour, Mr Hardy.’
It was the signal for me to turn on the recording device. I nodded. ‘Look, Sarah, I wouldn’t mind some coffee- instant’ll do.’
She shot Cafarella a baleful glance as she went back down the steps. ‘I hate that bitch. Okay, instant. That’s all I bother with anyway.’
She turned towards the shelves and I reached inside my shirt and flicked the switch.
Sarah spilled some of the powder when she spooned it into the mugs, and water sprayed out when she turned the tap on too hard to fill the jug. She got the water under control and did a fair job of making the coffee but she was clearly very troubled and I didn’t think it was only about losing her mother. We went through to the sunroom and sat. The yard sloped steeply back and Cafarella must have got herself a spot towards the far end of the property where there was a rockery and garden.
‘I was surprised that you wanted to see me,’ I said. ‘We didn’t actually hit it off too well the last time.’ I had to hope she wouldn’t mention faxes and she didn’t, quite.
‘I’m frightened of the police, like I said. They think I killed Mum… Angela, with Ronny’s help.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘I can tell. The red-headed cop asked me questions when I came out of the dope and I could see where he was going. I pretended to still be feeling it and I didn’t say anything much.’
‘It’s the way they think, Sarah. With most people who get killed, the killer turns out to be someone close to them. You must know that from cop shows on TV.’
‘I don’t watch cop shows, they’re dumb. I watch music and sitcoms.’
And they’re not? I thought, but I said, ‘As for Ronny, it’s the same sort of thing. He’s got a drug record.’
She took a slurp of her coffee. ‘A bit of grass. Who doesn’t do grass? Young people, I mean.’
‘Look, I take your point. I don’t see Ronny as a murderer, but it doesn’t help that he’s gone into hiding. If the police could speak to him and were convinced that he wasn’t involved in your mothers death, that’d ease some of this pressure you feel, wouldn’t it? Do you know where he is?’
‘Yeah, maybe, but the police’d do him for something else, for sure-speed, carnal knowledge… you know. He’s too scared to ring me in case the phone’s bugged. I don’t know why I trust you but I think I do. You’re sort of different. Would you talk to him? Tell him I’m all right and that?’
Nasty moment. Just what Watson wanted to hear. Deadset betrayal, but there was no way out. I said I’d talk to him, give him her message and try to convince him to come out of hiding. For a fifteen-year-old, she had a fair bit of sangfroid. She gave what I said some thought before she nodded.
‘I’ll write the address down before you go-his mum’s place. But that’s not the main reason I’m worried.’
All this would be lapped up by Watson and Co and I was feeling worse by the minute about violating the kid’s confidence. I tried to tell myself there was a murder to be solved and a boy to be found and it had to be done by hook or by crook. I had time for these thoughts because she suddenly said she needed a cigarette and got up to fetch them. She returned with one lit and the packet and lighter in her other hand. She sat, drank some coffee and took a deep drag. She seemed less of a novice than she had a few days back.
‘You don’t smoke, do you?’ she said.
‘Not anymore.’
The cigarette seemed to reassure her. Maybe it made her feel older, more able to cope.
‘Want me to tell you why I’m worried about the police? Really worried?’
I nodded.
‘Angela’s got a boyfriend-a lover, I suppose you’d call him. She’s had him for years. Even before Dad left. I’m shit-scared talking about this.’
She meant what she said and I wanted to tell her not to say any more. I wasn’t the right person and this wasn’t the right situation, but the words tumbled out.
‘He’s a politician and he was the minister for police. He’s something else now, just as big. I think he probably killed Angela but I was too frightened to talk to the police about it. What if they told him and he said to shut me up or something? You can’t trust the police. You must know that.’
‘Some of them are all right,’ I said. ‘Some are actually good.’
‘But they stick together.’
She was right there. I wondered whether this was some kind of fantasy, although it didn’t look like it. And she had called her mother a hypocrite before any of this blew up. I wasn’t sure I wanted her to put the name on tape but she did it anyway.
‘It’s Wayne Ireland. You wouldn’t believe what they did to cover it up and I’m fucked if I know what he sees in her. He’s married, with kids and his fucking career. But I know, I saw them by accident one time when I jigged school and went into the city. This was years ago and then I met Ronny.’
‘What’s Ronny got to do with it?’
‘Ronny’s dad is Wayne Ireland’s driver and he’s known about Ireland fucking my mother for yonks. That’s sort of how we got together, Ronny and me. She’s such a hypocrite, playing the suburban wifey. Shit, she worked in the public service before she got married and that must have been where she met him. He was some big union arsehole before he got into politics. Catholic, of course. She couldn’t marry him so she married Dad. I suppose they had a fight then. They had a lot of fights, Ronny’s dad says. He reckons she was always threatening to go public about them.’
There was a lot of hearsay in it but she was smart enough to know that the information was dangerous. She saw my hesitation and weighed in hard.
‘You said she was conventional and you were right in one way but in other ways she was fucked up completely. She had frilly, girlie stuff hidden and she kept some motel bills and receipts for stuff.’
‘How d’you know that?’
There was a long pause. She lit another cigarette. ‘I snooped. I thought I’d blackmail her if she ever came down too heavy on me. I didn’t get the chance.’
‘Did your mother know who Ronny is? The connection?’
‘Shit, no. I’ll tell you something else. He supports her, gives her money. Did, I mean. She was a prostitute. He helped her keep her crappy business going and that’s how she was able to stay in this shitty house. I wanted to go to the North Shore or the eastern suburbs, but no way. Know why?’
I shook my head.
‘Because it’d put her too close to him! He sort of keeps… kept her up here, out of the way. Jesus!’
The revelation had drained her. Suddenly she seemed to be realising that her future was going to be nothing like the one she’d expected, and she started to sob. That was as much as I was prepared to take out of her for the police. I switched the recorder off as I got up to get her some tissues. The hour was almost over. She mopped up the tears and got back to her cigarette.
‘Are you going to help me, Mr Hardy? You don’t go on with a lot of bullshit like most adults, and you were nice to Ronny, in the rain.’
I wanted to help her and I wanted to stay closely in touch. All this new information could have a bearing on my investigation. The idea came to me pretty easily.
‘I think I can. I’ve got this best friend who’s a policeman, very senior and completely honest. I mean completely. His wife’s a great friend of mine too. Terrific people. They live in Paddington. I think you could stay with
