Again, her anger flares at being cast in the supporting role, but one look at Martin’s hapless face tells her that Montifore is trying to be sympathetic.
‘How long?’
‘Give us an hour.’
She kisses Martin, gives his hand a squeeze and leaves. She waits until she’s outside before wiping her mouth, trying to rid herself of the taste of blood. The sensible option would be to wait in the foyer for him, but she’s had enough of waiting, waiting on the pleasures of policemen, and hanging on the approximations of the ABC. She texts Winifred, asks her to attend to Martin.
She’s well on the way to Surry Hills when Winifred texts back: Sorry. 45 minutes away.
She stalks her way to Ichiban Computers and Scarvery. Yev offers a smile as she enters, Lena scowls, Lucic looks amused. Jesus, she’s assumed the policeman would have been sent out to Centennial Park along with everyone else. But he is still there, collecting his treasure trove of videos, the task apparently too important for Montifore to redeploy him.
‘You hear about Centennial Park?’ she says, trying to keep her voice casual.
‘No,’ says Lucic. ‘Should I have?’
‘Probably not.’ She turns to the others. ‘Hey, Yev. I’m getting coffee. You want one?’
‘Long black,’ says the computer whizz without looking up.
‘Large cappuccino, love,’ says Lucic, smiling. ‘Lots of chocolate on top.’
‘Marshmallow?’
‘Huh? No thanks.’
Lena shakes her head; she wants nothing from Mandy.
Aldo’s is getting busy when she enters, the start of the lunchtime rush.
‘You,’ says Aldo. ‘I was wondering when you might show up. Where’s Martin?’
‘With the police,’ she says, not following the thrust of the cafe owner’s comment.
‘I’ve got his keys,’ says Aldo.
‘What keys?’
‘To the flat.’ Aldo sees the confusion on her face and drops down a gear, explaining. ‘Martin’s apartment. He paid a bloke to clear the place out, get the locks replaced. I think he still owes some money.’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Here, you take them. Give them to Martin for me, will you?’
‘Sure.’
‘Done,’ says Aldo, looking pleased as he hands the keys over, an obligation fulfilled. ‘You want a coffee, then?’
‘Yeah, skinny latte, thanks. Takeaway.’ She thinks of Yev and Lucic. They can wait.
She takes her coffee and walks to Martin’s apartment, curious to see what has been achieved, hoping there might be some good news to give him. There’s a skip outside, filled to the brim with detritus. The portico is clear and clean. There’s a new lock on the outside door. She opens it with the set of keys Aldo has given her and enters, climbs the stairs, opens the newly repaired door to the apartment proper.
Inside, the place is bare bones clean, almost devoid of furnishings. There is one unfamiliar bookcase, housing a few salvaged novels and some of Martin’s journalism awards, mostly in pieces. There’s a framed photo she’s seen before, glass now cracked, a duplicate of a photo at Port Silver showing Martin as a boy grinning at the camera, together with his mother, father and twin sisters. Martin will be happy that has been saved. There’s the smell of ammonia and chlorine and paint. She can see where a couple of window panes have been replaced, the putty still fresh. She hears a noise. A face emerges from around the corner, from the kitchenette.
‘Oh. It’s you.’ It’s the doorstep tramp, Martin’s pet vagrant. Except now his beard is gone and his long hair is wound back into a ponytail.
‘What are you doing here?’ Mandy asks.
‘Cleaning.’
‘Yes. I get that. Why are you cleaning?’
The man shrugs, eyes averted. ‘Martin asked me to. I got a bit carried away.’
‘So I see.’ She looks about. The place is spotless. ‘You did all of this?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Martin agreed?’
The man shrugs. ‘Yeah. Gave me two hundred bucks. Told me he trusted me.’
‘The skip? New glass in the windows? A locksmith? That’s a lot more than two hundred bucks.’
‘Yeah. I’ll need to get it back from him.’ And his voice is apologetic.
Mandy finds herself smiling, almost laughing. ‘Fuck me. In a day that’s done nothing but rain shit, you have come through big time.’ And she steps forward and hugs the man tight, surprising him, and herself as well.
When they separate, he’s smiling from ear to ear, before growing serious once again.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘A couple of things, before I forget. I forget a lot lately.’ He fumbles in his pocket, hands over a crumpled piece of paper. ‘From the police.’
‘What is it?’
‘A receipt.’
She unfolds it. It is indeed a type of receipt, a formal acknowledgment that evidence has been removed. The handwriting on the form is clear enough. One turd—frozen. And the signature has to belong to Ivan Lucic. She has no idea what it means, but it brings another smile to her face. ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘What was the other thing?’
‘Oh yeah—did your uncle catch up with you?’
‘My uncle?’
‘He was here this morning, asking after you and Martin.’
‘I don’t have an uncle.’
‘Funny-looking dude. Oiled hair. Three-piece suit. Smelt of air freshener.’
Mandy is suddenly alert. ‘Not the same man who broke up the apartment?’
The man frowns, as if trying to remember through a haze. ‘Jesus. You think?’
‘Can’t you remember?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t all here,’ he says, voice confessional, distressed. ‘But it can’t have been him. He was asking what had happened.’ He looks like he might cry. All this good work he’s done, and now he’s worried he’s fucked up.
‘It’s okay,’ says Mandy. ‘You’ve done good.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive. What did my uncle want? Can you remember?’
‘I said you hadn’t been here for days, not since the place got smashed up. He seemed troubled by that. Asked about it. Said he couldn’t wait. Something about running out of time. Gave me something for you. For you and Martin.’
‘Really?’
‘Here,’ he says. And he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope.
Mandy opens it. Inside is a bright blue thumb drive.
chapter forty-five
Martin’s mind is growing clearer, his faculties sharper, like an old motor started after months of neglect, still blowing blue
