Peter Corris - The Other Side of Sorrow

‘Tess, you’ve seen Megan French and Talbot together. What’s the attraction? She seems to be a pretty smart kid and he’s…’

‘I’m no psychologist. He’s charming, persuasive.’

‘There must be more to it than that.’

‘Haven’t you ever been attracted to someone who was wrong for you? I have.’

‘I suppose. But not that wrong.’

‘It’ll be there in her background somewhere – some lack of love, abuse maybe. Some wildness. I don’t know.’

‘And you’ve no idea where Talbot could have gone?’

She shook her head but I wasn’t sure that she’d taken in the question. She was off on a path of her own. ‘No-one in our family’s ever been arrested,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything about bail and things like that. Do we have bail bondsmen like they do in America? You know, like in Midnight Run?

‘No.’

‘How does it work?’

‘Someone usually guarantees the amount. Puts their assets on the line.’

‘Jesus. All I’ve got’s the house. I can’t lose the house.’

‘You’re saying Ramsay’d jump bail on you. Surely not.’

‘There’s no way to tell what Ramsay would do. It’s not his fault, he was too young to lose his parents like that.’

I had my doubts on that score. Plenty of people took worse knocks and made out all right. And from what I’d seen Tess would have made a pretty fair substitute parent. Still, there’s no knowing. I tried to tell her not worry and that the laying of the charge might be just a way to put pressure on her brother, to get him to steer the police to Talbot. And that if bail was required the amount wouldn’t be too large.

‘How much?’

‘Tess, I don’t know. Anyway, couldn’t whoever’s behind the protest put up the money?’

She was suddenly alert. She put down her coffee mug and turned on me. ‘What? Who?’

Wrong thing to say, Cliff, I thought, but it was too late. ‘I was told that the Tadpole Creek protest has a backer of some kind. A supporter.’

‘Who told you that?’

I saw where this was heading but I had no escape route. ‘Someone from the security firm.’

‘What the hell are you doing talking to those Millennium bastards? God, I should have known it. You’re a plant, a bloody spy. Ramsay was right.’

I tried to tell her that the Millennium people had come to me, not the other way around, and that I wasn’t a spy or anything like it.

She shook her head, stood up, and her body went tight as if she was setting up a physical defence against me. ‘I don’t believe you. Ramsay might get a lot of things wrong, but he’s got an instinct about people. He knows his enemies and he reckoned you were one.’

I was getting angry. I’d already made my judgement about Ramsay and he was right – I wasn’t sympathetic, but not for the reasons he imagined. ‘He’s wrong this time.’

‘I think you’d better go.’

I knew what was coming next and I was dreading it. An agitated, near-hysterical message from Cyn was on the answering machine when I reached home. She’d got the news on the radio and television and the name of one of the people the police were looking for had hit her hard. I had a shower, pulled on an old tracksuit, poured a stiff Scotch, drank half of it and called her number.

‘Cyn, this is Cliff.’

‘Where the hell have you been? Out screwing some low-life slut I suppose. Go!’

The old Cyn. The old complaint, scarcely ever justified. That ‘Go’ puzzled me, though.

‘I’ve been working. What does “go” mean?’

‘Not you. Never mind. Hang on.’

I heard sounds on the line – voices, a door, but couldn’t make anything of it. Cyn was away for at least ten minutes and she went straight on the attack when she got back on the line. I stood it for a while and then threatened to hang up if she didn’t stop.

‘Don’t hang up. You didn’t give me all the facts, did you? You didn’t tell me this Talbot was a serious criminal no-hoper.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Why the hell not? Trying to spare me I suppose.’

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck you, Cliff. When someone’s dying you don’t have to spare them. They’re facing the worst thing there is, the end of everything. When you’ve faced up to that, you can face up to anything else. Are you too stupid to understand that?’

I finished the drink and immediately wanted more. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sorry. Fat lot of good that is. Where have you been?’

‘I’ve been with the sister of the leader of the Tadpole Creek protest. She was there and saw some things and heard others. There’s a good chance Megan wasn’t…’

‘Wasn’t what? And don’t try to bloody spare me.’

‘Wasn’t involved directly in the death and was taken against her will.’

‘Okay, okay. Just a minute. I have to take a pill. Stay there.’

I nearly tore a knee ligament bolting for the bottle, the glass and the ice cube tray. I was drink in hand when she got back on the line after what seemed like a long time.

‘I’ve still got some money, Cliff. I can hire lawyers. Oh, what about that friend of yours? Cy…’

‘Cy’s dead. He was murdered.’

‘Oh, God. The life you lead.’

‘We don’t need to talk about lawyers yet. This isn’t a Patty Hearst situation. Megan’s not…’

‘She’s on the run and being named on radio and television. She must be frantic. We have to do something.’

I improvised. ‘I’m going to look for her. Talbot’s possibly left a bit of a trail. Maybe I can track him.’

‘You don’t sound very sure. Why aren’t you doing it now then?’

‘Cyn, I’m human. I’m tired. I…’

I was cut off by a heavy knock at the front door.

‘What?’

Sorry, there’s someone at the door.’

‘Thank God. Let him in, Cliff. That’s all we need to say for now.’

She hung up and I sat there with my drink in one hand and the receiver in the other without the faintest idea of what was going on.

‘Hello, Mr Hardy. I’m Geoffrey Samuels. It sounds a bit silly to say this, but my mother sent me.’

The porch light is dim and he was standing back a bit so it took a few beats for me to recognise him. I hope my jaw didn’t drop too far. I shook the hand he held out and registered almost nothing except that he was about the same height as me.

‘She said you’d recognise me from your surveillance.’

‘Geoffrey. Yes. Right. Well you’d better come in.’

It was starting to make sense. Cyn had despatched him as soon as I’d answered the phone. He’d made good time from Crows Nest, but why? He eased past me and went down the hall to the sitting room. He had a long, loose build in boots, jeans and a leather jacket. The shoulder-length hair was dark and tangled. I caught the glint of an earring. Athletic stride. I padded along after him, feeling at a decided disadvantage in bare feet, tracksuit and with a glass of whisky in my hand.

‘Have a seat. What’s this about, Geoffrey?’

He gave the room a neutral glance, sat and pulled out a packet of tobacco and papers. ‘D’you mind?’

I shook my head and put an ashtray near him. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘No thanks. I don’t drink much.’

Well, I don’t smoke, I thought. So we’re even. He made the cigarette expertly and I caught the faint whiff of marijuana as he lit up.

‘Does your mother know you smoke dope?’

‘Yes. She tried it herself for the pain and to relax her but she didn’t take to it. Pity.’

I sat down and took some whisky for the relaxing effect. ‘I suppose Cyn’s told you what I’m doing for her?’

He nodded. ‘At first I thought it was crazy. Then she told me what you’ve found out and it didn’t sound so crazy.’