Claire McNab: Dead Certain

“Tender feelings,” said Bourke, “for someone willing to wait around and watch someone slowly die.”

Carol could see it in her imagination as vividly as a movie: the grotesque figure on the bed, head bagged and tied at the neck, sucking in the plastic with each struggle for breath…

“Okay Anne,” she said crisply, “what’ve you got to report?”

“Nothing on the handbook. We’ve shown photos to staff at all the likely city bookshops, and the problem is that most people recognize Collis Raeburn, but they’re not sure if they’ve seen him in the shop or in the media. The same with the others. For example, many knew Edward Livingston because he’s always getting himself interviewed on TV.”

“Glad I’m not famous,” said Bourke. “I’d hate to be asked for my autograph as I was fleeing the scene of a crime.”

“On that very subject,” said Anne, “I showed the set of photographs to all the hotel staff who were on that weekend. That was a no go either, though one guy on reception said he vaguely thought he’d seen one of them during that Saturday evening and he had the impression it was a male. I asked him to go through the photos again, but he couldn’t say who it was. Looked down his nose as he told me he sees so many famous people in his job he hardly notices them anymore.”

Carol was about to ask for Bourke’s report when Anne said, “There’s one more thing. I went to the morgue to follow up your idea that someone might have called to check if Raeburn’s body had been brought in. Drew a blank, but one of the guys did make a suggestion I’ll chase up. He said if he’d been after the information, he’d have called the press reporters rostered on for the night. They cover accidents, hospitals, the morgue, all as a matter of course and they have good contacts who’ll tell them what’s going on.”

Mark Bourke’s report was succinct. “Haven’t turned up Berringer yet, but we will. While we’ve been looking for him, one thing of interest’s come up-the name of the man who may have given Raeburn HIV. Raeburn had an intense relationship with him for some time a few years ago, then the guy, who was an officer in the army, was posted overseas.”

“What’s his name?”

“Harris. But it doesn’t matter, Carol,” said Bourke. “When we chased it up we found he never came back to Australia-died of AIDS six months ago.”

Lloyd Clancy lived in an apartment overlooking Manly’s modest harbor beach and ferry wharf. He gestured that Carol and Anne should sit on the balcony while he got coffee from the adjoining compact kitchen. The white wrought iron chairs and round table were cold to the touch, but the light breeze was enticingly warm. Looking across the shimmering blue water of Manly Cove, they could see Monday morning commuters thronging the wharf, newspapers and briefcases at the ready, waiting to board the sleek jetcats or one of the stately older ferries for the trip to Sydney.

“What a great way to start a working day-half an hour of sitting in the sun on a ferry looking at the scenery.”

As Clancy poured the coffee he smiled at Anne’s enthusiasm. “It is most of the time, but you should try it when there’s been a storm and your ferry hits the swell coming in from the Heads.”

Carol said, “We won’t keep you long.”

“Meaning you want to get down to business, Inspector?”

Watching him closely, Carol said, “Have you ever been to the hotel where Raeburn died?”

He considered the question calmly. “Yes I have, at least a couple of times. Once was a dinner, the other when I was visiting friends. Why?”

“Recently?”

He seemed unconcerned. “Not recently.”

“If it were necessary, would you object to a line-up?”

“Not at all. I’m happy to be in an identification parade, but I must remind you, Inspector, that both I and my colleagues are very well known. We might be identified because someone’s seen us on television, for instance.”

As he sat back, apparently pleased with this riposte, Carol said, “Is it true that Alanna Brooks is bringing an action against you?”

He straightened. “I’ve had reporters ringing me all weekend asking that question.”

Curbing her impatience, Carol said, “I’d appreciate the answer.”

He played with his spoon, then looked up to meet Carol’s steady gaze. “I’ve tried to speak to Alanna, but she’s not taking my calls. It’s some misunderstanding about last Saturday night.”

“At the Museum of Modern Art? You were both there for Andrew Rath’s exhibition and reception, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid I had too much to drink. I knew I was catching the Manly ferry home and wasn’t driving, so I didn’t watch how much I had.” He chuckled ruefully. “I said some unfortunate things about Alanna, and I’m sorry now, but I suppose it’s too late.”

“Could you be more explicit?”

“Have you spoken to her?”

Carol let her impatience show. “We’re speaking to you .”

The clear morning light pitilessly revealed the dark circles under his eyes, the deep lines that bracketed his mouth, the tremor in his hand as he picked up his coffee cup. All the vitality that Carol had seen on the stage and in his dressing room seemed to have drained away. He cleared his throat. “From what I remember, and what I’ve been told, I suggested, among other things, that Alanna got to be prima donna by a series of underhand maneuvers, including calling in favors and paying off Livingston and other members of the board of Eureka Opera. I said she was worried Corinne would displace her, so she took action to make sure that didn’t happen.”

“Why would anyone take this seriously? You said you’d had too much to drink…”

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “It was who I spoke to, rather than just what I said. Andrew Rath’s an institution in Australian art, so every cultural critic was there at some time in the evening. I managed to find four critics who were having a lively discussion and make them the audience for my comments about Alanna. No one was stupid enough to print it, thank God, but obviously the word’s finally got back to her.” He gave a tired smile. “To say the least, she’s not happy, and she’s threatening to sue me for slander.”

Carol frowned. “Does this seem to be an overreaction to you?”

He leaned back, shaking his head. “Collis’s death has upset everyone. We’re all under pressure. I’ve tried to talk some sense into Alanna, but…” His shrug conveyed her lack of cooperation.

Anne said, “Won’t that make it difficult when you sing in the same opera?”

Amusement flickered across his face. “You’d be surprised how many love duets are sung by people who loathe each other. From a professional point of view, the audience should never know what we really feel.”

“What do you really feel?”

Carol’s terse question sobered him immediately. “About what?”

“Alanna Brooks.”

He spread his hands. “I don’t know… resentful, I suppose, that she should take what I said so seriously.”

I’ve been told you were lovers.“

He didn’t react for a moment, then he said, “It wasn’t Corinne that said this, was it? She’s always got an ax to grind.”

“It wasn’t Ms Jawalski.”

“Well, it’s not true, Inspector.” He paused, apparently to see whether Carol would respond. She didn’t. He said uncomfortably, “Look, I don’t want to embarrass Alanna, but she made it clear a while ago that she was interested in me. I didn’t return her feelings, and told her so as gently as I could.”

“Was this before or after she had an affair with Collis Raeburn?”

He flushed. “I don’t know anything about that, but I can’t believe that she did. Alanna’d have better taste.” He sat forward. “Who’s been telling you this?”