‘I don’t know.’
‘I think it’s because they’re Catholics with only one child. Sort of fixated on each other.’
‘Still in touch with the son?’
‘After the blow-out I had with his old man we’re not exactly close, however he still had the hots for me last time I saw him. But I know something not too many people know.’
‘Which is?’
‘Where Wayne Ireland and son Damien go to do their rooting. I went there with Damien a time or two, and I’ll bet that’s where Wayne is right now.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No way. I’ll show you.’
‘Come on, Tania. It could get rough-the man’s a drunk and probably desperate and he’s killed one person already. And maybe another.’
‘Who?’
‘Perhaps the kid I’m hunting for. Anyway, you’re supposed to be looking after Sarah.’
‘We’ll bring her along.’
‘You’re crazy. This isn’t a film script you’re writing.’
‘Isn’t it? Why not?’
I argued with her, threatened to turn the whole deal over to the police and to contact social services to say that she was an unfit person to be the carer of a vulnerable minor. She laughed at me.
‘You’ve got it wrong, baby. She’s turned sixteen. You know and I know the police’d never question Ireland on this matter the way he needs to be questioned. I mean pressured. You want the Justin enquiry to dead-end here? Sarah would thank you for that, I’m sure.’
She held the cards and she won the pot. The best chance for Sarah, financially and emotionally, was to resolve Justin’s disappearance one way or the other. I went along with Tania’s proposed arrangements with a few provisos of my own.
‘No film crew along,’ I said. ‘Any sign of something like that and it’s all off.’
‘Okay. It we get to a movie we can always reconstruct. But I’m taping. No way I won’t.’
That was reasonable and necessary. We haggled about a few details and eventually came to an agreement that made me unhappy. Still, it was the best I could do. I only scored one win-Sarah was to stay put. Tania fought it but, as everyone except Rocky Marciano found out, you can’t win them all.
21
Tania insisted on driving her own car-a sporty 4WD Mitsubishi.
‘That rust-bucket of yours’d never make it,’ she said.
‘So we’re going up-country?’
‘Wait and see.’
She’d left Sarah in the charge of a friend of hers who was also a lawyer. They’d talk over legal matters-plenty to sort out there.
‘Fiona’s very smart,’ Tania said. ‘She’ll be a big help to Sarah and she can give her pointers on quite a few things.’
I didn’t even want to know what that might mean. Tania wore her almost uniform of black pants and white blouse with a paisley scarf. The day had dawned cloudy with rain threatening, so she had a hooded parka. She also wore flat-heeled shoes, not her usual style, so I gathered there was some roughish ground to cover. Her leather bag carried various items, including a reporter’s tape-recorder.
‘With backup batteries,’ she said when she showed it to me.
‘And a camera, eh?’
‘You never know what can pop up. I hope you’ve got your gun.’
‘Wait and see. You reckon I could need it?’
‘I told you, Ireland has some tough friends. Who knows who he’s hanging out with now?’
I did have the. 38, in a shoulder rig under my denim jacket. I had on drill trousers and boots so I was equipped for the country stuff. I’d never thought the Irelands would have
their fuck-pad in the CBD.
Tania drove the way she behaved-recklessly, aggressively, with no consideration for others. She gunned the car through the traffic like a rally driver and had just enough experience and skill to avoid disaster. I hated to be a part of it and asked if we could have some music.
‘No, I have to concentrate on my driving.’
‘That’s good; the way you drive, concentration is essential.’
‘Fuck you.’ She lit a cigarette and that was the end of conversation until her destination became clear.
‘Blue Mountains?’ I said.
‘Got it in one.’ She shot me a look, picking up a note in my tone. ‘Something on your mind?’ She broke into a fair Streisand imitation. ‘Memories…’
In fact I was thinking about Kathy’s wish to see the Blue Mountains and my promise to take her. Going there now under these circumstances wasn’t comfortable, felt like a small betrayal. I pushed the thought aside and tried to provoke Tania because I needed a distraction.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘How was Damien? Any good?’
She took a bend at speed and avoided an oncoming truck by too small a margin.
‘Not the best, not the worst. What’s the line in that crappy country and western song-”kinda dumb and kinda smart”? That’s Damien. He had his points, liked certain… games. Interested in the details, Cliff?’
‘Tania, your great talent is pissing people off. I doubt you’ll ever win a Walkley. What’s the minister likely to say when you front up?’
‘He’ll welcome me with open flies.’
‘Why don’t you just concentrate on your driving and getting us alive to wherever the fuck we’re going.’
We left the Sydney plains behind and began the climb into the lower reaches of the Blue Mountains. The road should have been better than it was, given the traffic, and even Tania slowed down and took some care. The temperature dropped and a mist hung in the air, visible from a distance, not yet encroaching on the road.
I did have memories of times spent in the mountains, particularly a weekend with Cyn at the Hydro Majestic where the fog had rolled in and obscured the valley view that was billed as one of the great attractions of the place. It was very early on in our relationship and such things hadn’t mattered much. We walked in the rain, sat by the fire, spent a lot of hours in bed. It was a long time back: a memory, not a wound.
We reached Wentworth Falls and Tania turned off onto a narrow road that quickly gave way to a roughly graded gravel stretch and then a dirt track where she engaged the four-wheel drive. The mist was thicker here and she had to flick the wipers on and off a few times to clear the windscreen. The track narrowed and trees overhung it. As we climbed the rain started and the wipers were needed full-time. She had to work to keep the car moving slowly, using the extra traction to avoid slides. She did it pretty well, but the strain showed in her face and she needed both hands. No smoking.
‘Hernando’s hideaway,’ I said, just for something to say.
‘They get a view of the lake on a good day, and some falls and other stuff. It was just a cabin until Ireland spent big money on it.’
‘Jacuzzi? TV mast?’
‘All that.’
‘I hope he’s here. It’s a long way to come up empty.’
‘He’s here. I rang Damien last night.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? Both of them here?’
‘Who knows?’
‘I suppose you gave him to understand he might have another crack.’
She smiled as she steered round a puddle. The front right-hand wheel went down into mud and only the extra drive power kept us going. We rounded a bend where the road widened out to allow for safety. The drop on the left looked like a plunge of a thousand feet into a misty void. A sign read ‘Danger-Skinner’s Leap’ and a fence emphasised the fact. Then the track rose steeply for about half a mile before reaching a flat area of four or five acres. It snaked past, climbing higher.
Plenty of trees around the flat spot, some scrub, outcrops of rock. A cottage sat in the middle of the space- timber and glass, smoke drifting up from the chimney. There was no garden to speak of but an area beside the house had been cleared, levelled and closely mown. It had a flag on a six foot pole stuck in the middle of it.