Goodbye.’
‘Bye.’
I was a few paces down the path when Teresa said, ‘Sorry, your number. In case. You know.’
‘Of course.’
I went back and gave her my business card. ‘I should have given it to you at the beginning. You might need a lawyer one day.’
When I looked back, she was still in the doorway, watching me go. She raised a hand. I raised a hand back.
Home. Time to go home. Declare an end to foreign ventures. I had seen the unexciting country, tasted the food. I had wasted time and money, mine, there was no one paying for this.
On the highway, humming with traffic both ways, new houses crammed into developments on the right. I saw a sign on a building site, Milders’ Homes. Would it be better if the apostrophe were simply abandoned? I was approaching a T-junction, some shops ahead, when the thought came to me. He knew Paul and… anyway. Teresa had been about to say something about Paul and Wayne. She hadn’t finished the sentence.
I pulled off the road, borrowed the local phone book from the man in the office at the supermarket. There it was. I’d never looked in the directory. Simone Bendsten had used the white pages on the web.
It took less than ten minutes to get back to Dunsborough. In the town, I stopped to look at the map, find Powlett Street. It was near Blue Cape Crescent, I’d driven down it. The green Forester was parked outside number 8, a private house, a city house, unseen behind a terracotta wall with a wooden gate and double garage doors.
I parked and went to the gate, tried the handle. It was open, a brick path went directly to the front door, the twin of the one made by Paul Milder. There was a brass knocker in the shape of a dolphin. I raised its head and let it fall, twice.
The wait was short. The door opened, neither fully nor fearlessly.
A woman, late twenties, tall, with short hair. Her face had filled out, but she still had the waif’s cheekbones.
‘You’re looking well, Janene,’ I said.
34
We went down a passage into a sunroom, north-facing, long and narrow, its floor tiled, cane furniture. French doors were open to a terrace, there were internal wooden shutters to close in summer against the West Australian sun.
I nodded at Teresa Milder, standing at a small bar.
‘How did you know?’ she said.
‘Just a guess,’ I said. ‘I’d like a talk with Janene.’
The women looked at each other.
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Janene.
Teresa looked at me.
‘She’s got nothing to fear from me,’ I said.
They went out together and I could hear the low sibilance of their speech.
Janene came back, elegant in her white T-shirt and khaki pants, the long legs I remembered from the photograph. She went to the bar and took a cigarette from a packet, didn’t offer, lit it with a kitchen match from an oversize box, that would be for the barbecue I could see outside, a brick structure, neat, the Milder brothers’ trademark no doubt, two brickie brothers made good in the west.
‘Well,’ she said, deep draw, violent expulsion of smoke. ‘Terry says you’re a lawyer. I’ve been waiting for some cunt with a gun or a knife. Sit down.’
I sat. She didn’t, she leant against the bar, standing between two stools.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Just tell me.’
‘I’ve got questions,’ I said. ‘But to begin, Wayne was on his way here when he was murdered. He’d sent you here, to his sister. Is that right?’
She looked away, drew on the cigarette. ‘What do you want?’
‘Since Wayne,’ I said, ‘other people have been murdered. One of them was a client of mine, a person I liked. I want to find out who killed these people.’
‘Fucking cops’ job,’ she said, moving her shoulders, restive in her skin.
‘It should be.’
A bird walked into view on the terrace, a rock parrot perhaps, olive and yellow and blue, pecking with its tiny beak. Another followed, soon there were many, all pecking. Fights broke out.
‘Your mum misses you,’ I said. ‘All these years.’
Janene looked at me, away, hugged herself, put her hands inside her short sleeves, massaged her arms, shivered in the warm day. ‘What do you want? What do you fucking want?’
‘Tell me what happened,’ I said. ‘How you come to be here. Tell me about Wayne and Mandy Randy.’
She drew on the cigarette, smoke plumed from her nostrils, she went to the door, disturbed the birds, drew again, threw the stub away, a graceful movement, like tossing a dart.
‘I’ll have to go out and get that,’ she said. ‘He can’t bear to see a fucking breadcrumb, hair in the shower, a bit of grass, weed, whatever, it comes through a crack, he kills it with this fucking spray.’
‘My plane’s at 4.30,’ I said.
‘Go,’ she said. ‘I’ve been scared so long, this doesn’t mean a shit. Go. Goodbye.’
‘Sorry to have bothered you,’ I said, getting up. ‘I’ll tell your mum you’re alive, living in a nice warm house near the beach. She’ll be happy. She could fly over and stay for a while, get the cold out of her bones.’
I left the room, walked towards the big front door. I could feel her behind me.
‘What can I tell you?’ she said.
‘Good luck, Janene,’ I said, not looking back. ‘I’m finished with dead pimps and whores and their clients. If I can find you, anyone can. And will.’
She made a soulful sound, a groan and a sigh.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Wait.’
I turned. She was showing me her palms.
‘Come and sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you.’
I followed her back to the sunroom. She sat. I sat opposite her.
‘I was working for Wayne, doing escort jobs,’ she said.
‘Let me be clear,’ I said. ‘You were a call-girl.’
‘If you like. But it was all upmarket, businessmen, professionals.’
‘And Katelyn worked for Wayne too?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Donna Filipovic?’
‘Yeah, Donna too. Anyway, on the night, Wayne had a call from someone and he picked up me and Katelyn, it was dress-up, little black dress, we went to the River Plaza. It was about midnight. This bloke, black tie, was waiting for us, took us through the foyer. Wayne came up, that was for show, they took us to the suite.’
Janene got up and lit another cigarette, came back with a saucer for an ashtray. ‘I’m not supposed to smoke,’ she said. ‘He’s turned into a health nut.’
I waited.
‘Well, there’s four people there, three blokes and a girl, a woman.’
‘Did you know them?’
‘No. Well, I thought I’d seen one bloke before, the big one. But no, I didn’t know them.’
‘What happened?’
‘We stood around the bar and had some champagne. The big bloke, he’s pretty much off his face. There’s music, he wants to dance. Not interested in me, just Katelyn. I danced with the nerdy guy. We did a couple of lines, Wayne brought the stuff.’
