Peter Corris - Deep Water

"Cliff, it’s the middle of the night and I woke up with a bad feeling. Has something happened?’

I don’t believe in the paranormal, but this sort of thing occurs. It’s just a heightened anxiety in my book. You don’t hear about the times the alarm proves to be false.

‘Yes, Margaret, your father’s body has been found. He was killed. I’m very sorry.’

A pause, and then her voice shook. ‘I’ve tried to prepare myself for it. I’ve seen lots of deaths. But you can’t, can you, when it’s your own people?’

‘Not really, no,’ I said. ‘If you need some time now you can hang up and call back. I’ll be here. .’

‘No! I’d rather have you there. I mean I’d rather be with you. Oh God, I’m confused. Just talk to me about it.’

‘The police are involved and cooperating with Hank and me. We’re doing everything we can to try to find out who did it. For the moment it’s under wraps.’

‘Why?’

I explained about the police strategy.

‘Will that work?’

‘I doubt it, but it’s worth a try. The story’ll have to get out soon because the police’ll be asking for witnesses and

they’ll want media coverage, but for now. .’

‘How did it happen?’

‘It seems that he died from heart failure, but he’d been attacked and injured.’

‘He was a strong man, I bet he fought back.’

‘Nothing of this is public knowledge. Don’t say anything to anyone. Not even to Lucinda.’

‘I understand. Cliff, I’ll have to come home, won’t I?’

‘You will. Can you arrange it?’

‘I’ve got some leave accumulated and Lucinda’s been agitating to see her father and her new half-sister. Her holidays are coming up. She can stay with them. I can swing it. Take a few days.’

‘Do that,’ I said, ‘and text me the details. I’ll meet you and you can stay here. I’ve got a spare room. Nothing fancy.’

‘I don’t need fancy. I need someone to talk to and for. . answers and explanations. My poor dad. . he didn’t deserve anything like this.’

No answer to that. We talked briefly and then she cut the call. I told her she could ring any time and I sat by the phone with the dregs of my drink for a while thinking she might press for more information but she didn’t call back.

I rang Megan’s number early the next morning and got Hank, as I expected.

‘How is she?’

‘Up and about, Cliff. I tried to tell her to take it easy but she wouldn’t listen.’

‘Her mother was that way.’

‘And like you’re not? She’s gone to Victoria Park to swim laps, and she says as soon as I do something about the gas- sorry, petrol-in the office, she’ll get on with the quarry research. Says she’s come to like quarries. They have interesting histories. Wants to buy one.’

Margaret McKinley was the sort of person who did what she said she was going to do. They’re not all that thick on the ground. I’d got my car back and I met her at Mascot three days later in the evening. She looked tired and strained but also exhilarated. Generally speaking, Sydney isn’t a bad place to fly into-not too hot, not too cold and you can mostly count on a clear sky. That’s how it was and she was appreciating it.

She gave me a sort of hug, which I returned. Casually dressed in slacks, a blouse and a loose jacket, she’d travelled light, with just her cabin bag and a medium-sized suitcase. We trooped through to the car park and she stopped me after I’d opened the boot.

‘Let me have a look at you.’

I put her case in the boot and turned and stood for her inspection, selfconsciously.

She nodded. ‘You’ve completely recovered, haven’t you? More energy than before the heart alarm? Taking better care of yourself?’

‘Right,’ I said.

‘I knew you’d come good.’ She laughed. ‘Listen to me, I’m talking Australian already.’

‘A couple of days and you won’t be able to tell the difference. It’s great to see you, Margaret. I’m just sorry it’s not under better circumstances.’

‘I’ve known in my heart of hearts for a while that he was gone. That he didn’t embezzle a million dollars and take off to South America, or have a fall and be in an amnesiac fog somewhere.’

No remote. I opened the passenger door with the key. She smiled at the old-fashioned operation but didn’t say anything. I got in and started the engine.

‘I had to tell Lucinda her grandfather had died. I didn’t give her any details.’

‘Sure. The media have the facts now and they’re covering it. Some of the facts, that is. I’ve got the papers at home and a record of one of the TV reports.’

‘Some of the facts?’

I was out in the traffic, coping with the aggression of the cabbies and the competitiveness of some of the other drivers. I swore as one cut in front of me. I felt her touch my arm.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Just drive. Plenty of time to talk.’

She was wearing shoes with a small heel. She eased them off and leaned back in her seat. She’d obviously freshened up before landing. I could smell some kind of perfume, very faintly. She ran her fingers through her hair, shook it out, and the action had an immediately erotic effect on me so that I had to grip the wheel and concentrate on my driving more than was needed.

‘I guess this isn’t the scenic route,’ she said as we travelled through streets crammed with transport warehouses.

‘There isn’t one. They made some improvements for the Olympics. But you’ve been back since then, you said.’

‘Once only. Dad collected us and took us straight up to a resort on the central coast. Bliss. And straight back. I scarcely saw Sydney.’

‘Lots of changes,’ I said. ‘Bridges, tunnels, toll roads, e-tags, half a million plus for a single-storey terrace in Newtown.’

‘Jesus. As students we rented them for next to nothing. What else?’

‘Starbucks, Gloria Jean’s, more Maccas.’

‘Tell me something good.’

‘Lots of Asians, Africans, Middle Easterners, mostly getting along, and a bad government looking as if it’s on the way out.’

‘Fingers crossed,’ she said. ‘There was a piece on that in the New York Times . I’ve been trying to catch up.’

It was dark when we got to Glebe and my house always looks a bit better in the dark-more gracious and imposing than it really is. We went in and I showed her the upstairs spare room with its three-quarter bed, wardrobe and table with the new computer and accessories.

‘Bathroom’s next door, and there’s one downstairs.’

‘Thanks. Nice room, nice house. Very you, Cliff.’

‘Meaning?’

She laughed. ‘Haven’t seen a three-quarter bed in a while.’

‘It’s to deter couples from staying too long. Get yourself set and we’ll have a drink. Gin? Scotch?’

‘Gin with plenty of tonic, or I’ll be on my ear.’

‘Something to eat?’

‘I ate on the plane. It reminded me of that joke about the plane crash, where the survivors ate the bodies of the dead and then the on-board meals.’

She was holding up very well, but I had to wonder how she’d feel when she saw the familiar sights in daylight, and went to her father’s place, saw his bike, the original of the drawing. I had the drinks ready when she came down. She still looked tired but less tense. I settled her into a chair and we touched glasses.

‘To Henry McKinley,’ she said. ‘And screw the bastards who killed him.’

We drank the toast.

‘I’m buggered,’ she said. ‘That’s a bloody long flight in economy. In the morning you can tell me more of those facts you’ve held back.’

I nodded. She finished the drink and then did what I do-ate the lemon slice. She got up and kissed me, not on the mouth but close.