Peter Corris - Comeback

‘I’m sorry about Bobby,’ I said. ‘I liked him.’

‘People did,’ she said. ‘I hesitated about coming to see you because I thought you might have given all those sordid details to the press.’

I shook my head but she went on before I could say anything.

‘But I asked around and I was told it’s not the sort of thing you’d do.’

‘That’s right. Do you mind my asking who told you that?’

‘Harry Tickener. We’re doing a book for him-a collection of pieces from his newsletter.’

‘He’s an old friend.’

‘So I gathered. He encouraged me to come and see you.’

‘What about?’

‘I believe I know who killed Robert.’

I studied her for a second before replying. She seemed to be in command of herself, not showing signs of outward grief but carrying some kind of burden.

‘Have you spoken to the police?’

She smiled. ‘They interviewed me after Robert died. Not very thoroughly. I didn’t tell them what I’m about to tell you. Did you read those tabloid articles about Robert and me? All that “plain Jane” and “brains before beauty” stuff?’

‘No. I was aware of it though.’

‘It was very hurtful and humiliating. I haven’t got over Robert’s death. I’m trying to, but it’s hard. And I haven’t got over that humiliation. I couldn’t go to the funeral. I’ve written a note to Robert’s father. It has affected almost everything I’ve done since. I’ve been made a figure of fun. The police wouldn’t take me seriously. And I have no proof.’

‘You’d better tell me about it.’

She straightened her shoulders and made herself more comfortable in the chair. ‘I’m not a sexually attractive woman at first glance. I know that. My mother told me so. But I am very highly sexed and I’ve never had any trouble attracting men. I’m also highly disciplined and I knew an MA would help me get the kind of job I wanted in publishing. So I kept everything under wraps while I worked for the degree. It took a while to get the job and in that time I went a bit wild. I screwed around-men, women, youngish and oldish.’

I nodded.

‘This is about two years ago. I’ve only had the job a little over a year. In that wild time I met a man and we had a very hot affair. A crazy affair. He was married. I broke it off when I got the job. I didn’t need the distraction and there was no future in it anyway. He wouldn’t let go. Maybe he tried; he went away for a while but he came back. I met Robert only a month or so ago and-’

‘Sorry to interrupt, but if you say you can attract men easily why did you do this online thing?’

‘It was in reaction to what I’m about to tell you. I decided to be more careful about men. When this man I’m talking about found out about Robert he threatened to kill him.’

‘Threatened how?’

‘Letters.’

‘Have you still got them?’

‘No, he broke into my flat and stole them.’

‘You didn’t tell. . Robert about this?’

She frowned, which made her look older. I guessed she was a couple of years older than Bobby.

‘It’s ironic, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Robert kept his stalker from me, I suppose because he was afraid he’d lose me, and I did the same. I was very, very deeply in love with him. I wanted to keep him so badly. I wanted it more than anything I. .’

She broke down at that point. Her voice fell away to a whisper and she sobbed quietly with her hands covering her face. She had slim, elegant hands. I took some tissues from a box on the desk, got up, took her hands away gently and gave her the tissues. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. It was more ironic than she knew. They’d both been keeping the threats directed at the other to themselves.

‘Thank you. I’m sorry. I’m usually not. .’

‘It’s all right. When you’re ready I’ve got a question for you.’

She nodded, drew in a breath and made a fist around the tissues. ‘I’ll answer if I can.’

‘What kind of car does this man drive?’

She looked disappointed. ‘Car? I don’t know, something very expensive. Why?’

‘I think the person who killed Bobby was driving a white Commodore sedan.’

Her heavily lidded eyes opened wide. ‘Oh no, he didn’t mean he’d do it himself. He meant he’d have it done.’

I don’t think my jaw dropped, but I stared at her.

‘Who are we talking about?’

‘Michael Tennyson.’

‘You mean “ Media ” Michael Tennyson?’

‘Yes.’

Michael Tennyson was a merchant banker. He was big in conservative politics, big in the media, big in sports promotion and arts patronage. He was a flamboyant publicity-seeker who’d made all the right moves before the GFC and had escaped unscathed. There were rumours of criminal associations but there always are with high-profile types like Tennyson.

Jane explained that she’d worked as a freelance editor for several publishers and magazines before landing her present job. Tennyson was a part-owner of one of the publishers and they’d met at a gathering to launch a book Jane had helped to edit.

‘It was a gala affair,’ she said, ‘as everything Michael had to do with tended to be. All the glitterati were there. You wouldn’t think Michael would take any notice of me, but he did.’

Her face became animated as she spoke, perhaps recalling the heady days, perhaps from anger at what had happened. Her colour heightened and her eyes took on a strange intensity.

‘I can see why he would,’ I said.

‘Can you? Well, he did and he came on very strong. There were letters and flowers and phone calls and meetings and gifts. And sex. Lots of sex. As I said, I got tired of it and didn’t need it once I was working at something I loved, but Michael didn’t. He went on a business trip to the States. He said it was to get over me after I’d told him I wanted the affair to stop. I don’t think it was, not really. Overseas trips are just part of his normal agenda. He’d lie about anything to get what he wanted.’

‘You said he broke into your flat.’

‘I’m sorry, I was speaking loosely. I meant he had someone do it. Just as. .’

‘It’s a very hard thing to prove. Do you have any kind of evidence?’

She was composed again now, with her intelligence rather than emotion showing. ‘There’s a man who works for him. Michael told me he’d killed people before.’

‘And what’s his name?’

‘Alexander Mountjoy. I think he’s a very frightening individual.’

The name didn’t mean anything to me. ‘What does he look like?’

‘Big, bulky.’

‘With a beard?’

She touched her face. ‘Stubble. Michael used to boast about his criminal connections. I found it exciting. Briefly.’

Jane Devereaux put the crumpled tissues on the desk.

‘You look sceptical, Mr Hardy. I’m no femme fatale, I realise that. Michael Tennyson’s an attractive man in his way. He could have the pick of attractive women. He has a glamorous wife, of course. I just thought. . Robert spoke so highly of you on our last night. Perhaps I’m wasting my time. You think I’m a fantasist.’

‘No, it’s not that. Not at all. I’m trying to understand something else. I hope I’m not offending you, but you seem to be an extremely intelligent and well-qualified woman, and Bobby Forrest. .’

She smiled. ‘You thought he was dumb?’

‘No. . limited, perhaps, in comparison.’

‘Yes, I see. You have to understand that Robert was beautiful from the day he was born. Really beautiful, not just in the way that people say babies are beautiful. And he had an array of talents. He’s. . he was naturally athletic, musical and charming. He told me he’d never had a day’s illness in his life. Not even a cold. I believed him. He never had to try very hard to be good at things and at the things that didn’t interest him he got by, easily.’