“Nothing like that,” she said fiercely, “I promise. I just want to be there. I could help.”
I was sure she wasn’t telling me the whole truth, but I could only guess what she’d left out. I was sure that she didn’t know of Berrigan’s death. That meant we’d both be heading into a tricky situation with only partial knowledge of the background facts. That sounded like a recipe for misunderstandings and disaster. But in the plan that was slowly forming in my head she could certainly be a help. In fact, the more I thought about it, she was indispensable. I couldn’t take her on without checking her story though. That done, I could risk it. I had to, anyway.
“Alright, I’ll take you. Where?”
“Macleay. I know where in Macleay, too, but I’ll tell you that when we get there.”
I grinned. “You’re like an old pro. Fair enough, I’ll check the flights.” I got up and started to move out of the kitchen. “Got any money?” I said over my shoulder.
The airline informed me there was a flight north at seven-thirty a.m. I booked two seats. When I got back Penny had tipped the contents of a small embroidered purse over the table and had arranged things in piles. The money didn’t amount to much of a pile. “Twenty three dollars, thirty eight cents,” she said quietly.
“I’ve got about a hundred. We’ll need more. I’ll have to go out tonight and get some.”
“Don’t go out.” I looked up, surprised at the different note in her voice. She was pushing her hair back with both hands. Her figure was lean and flat but definitely female. I felt the juices flowing again and she came around the table to where I’d sat down. She leaned over and pushed the wine away, then she bent and kissed me on the lips. She tasted fresh and salty like a clean stretch of sea on a clear day. I hooked my arm up around her neck and pressed her head down for another kiss, a long one. I felt my tiredness drop away. I felt eighteen years old and I wanted her. I stood up and put my arms around her. She was slim and firm like a young tree. It seemed as if my arms could go around her twice and I was feeling younger by the minute. I was hard and breathing fast and she was pressing her hips forward at me and then suddenly it felt all wrong. I was twice her age and a few years more and she was alien and strange. The bones of her back felt fragile under my hands and I felt clumsy and old. I eased her away.
“It’s not a good idea,” I croaked.
She looked incredulously at me. “You want to, you’re hard as a rock.”
“I know, but I don’t go to bed with teenagers. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
“Bullshit.” She embraced herself, crossing her arms, and pulled off her skivvy. Her tight trousers had a silky sheen and they shimmered as she slipped out of them and let them slide to the floor. I watched her thumb down her pants and the hard, spare lines of her brown body cut off my breath. She squeezed her minuscule breasts together with the spread fingers of one hand.
“Come on, I like you.” Her teeth shone in her beautiful dark face but her eyes were as hard as agate. I was suddenly aware that she was giving a performance, a good but cold one and I resisted the knowledge but it took over and gripped me. I reached for the wine.
“No,” I said hoarsely. “Come back in five years.”
She laughed a bit unsteadily. “Don’t be silly. Where’s your bed?”
“Upstairs, front.”
She whipped around and I heard her feet dancing up the stairs. Carefully carrying a full glass of wine I followed. She’d turned on a lamp in the bedroom and was bending to pull back the cover. In the lamp glow she looked like an Egyptian maiden of infinite grace performing some domestic task. She slid into the bed except for one thin bare arm which she arranged outside the covers and alongside her. She lifted the arm and let it fall.
“Get in.”
She’d have tempted Gandhi and I knew that if I moved an inch towards the bed I was done for. I raised the glass and drank some.
“Go to sleep. If it’s any consolation to you I’m going to get drunk.”
I started back to the stairs. She was laughing when I reached them but the sound stopped very soon.
I didn’t get drunk. Not then. I let myself quietly out of the house and caught a taxi back to Balmain. The all-night cafe was fighting the darkness with a pale, flickering neon sign and droning, toneless canned music. I pushed the door open and went in to the smells of burnt bread and over-fried oil. There were about ten tables in the place and solitary men sat at three of them. One of the men had his head on his arms and the other two weren’t far off it. A heavily built man wearing a large white apron came from the back of the place when the door slammed behind me. He went behind the counter and leaned forward over the espresso machine. His hair was black and curly above a round olive face. The thought crossed my mind that he was the same nationality as Coluzzi, but that’s where the resemblance to that predator ended. This was a soft, comfortable man.
“Yes? You want something sir?”
I asked for coffee and got out a five-dollar note. He pushed the cup over to me and I gave him the money.
“You can keep the change for a little information.”
He held his fingers poised over the keys of the cash register like a typist waiting for her nails to dry.
“Information?”
“Nothing dangerous. Were you working here yesterday morning?”
“Sure, I own the place. I’m here all the time.”
I handed him the picture of Noni Tarelton. He looked at it and shrugged.
“Maybe. Lots of girls like that around here.”
Balmain, it’s the only place to live. I described Berrigan to him and he nodded so hard his chins wobbled.
“Sure, sure, I remember now. Ears like this.” He fanned his ears out the way Lorraine had; it must have happened to Berrigan all his life and it was a bad thing for a criminal to be so recognizable. He should have tried another trade.
“That’s him. What did they do?”
“They had breakfast – eggs and toast and coffee.”
“Did you hear them talking?”
“No, too busy.”
“OK. Now this is the important part. Who else was here?”
He laughed with the rich, high notes of the Italian tenor. The guy slumped at the table jerked up and looked around, then his head fell back.
“I couldn’t tell you Mister, the place was full. It’s my busy time like I said.”
“I appreciate that, but you should remember this one – a black girl, young, very good-looking.”
“Ah, the blackies, sure I remember them.”
“Blacks? Did you say blacks?”
“Yeah. The girl, must be the one you mean, and a man, youngish fella, a tough guy.”
I felt the excitement rise up inside me. He pushed my coffee cup forward on the counter.
“It’s getting cold.”
“Forget it,” I said, more sharply than I meant to. He look offended and I picked up the cup and took a sip. “Terrific. Tell me about the girl and the man, what did they do?”
“Are you the police?”
“No, private enquiries. Look. I showed him the licence and drew another five out of my wallet.
“Is it about dope?” he said quickly. “I hate dope, sloppy people, dirty…”
“So do I. Yes dope’s part of it. Just tell me about the girl and the man.” To encourage him I finished the coffee. He pulled out a packet of Gitane filters and offered them to me. I refused and he shook one out and lit it; the acrid smoke overwhelmed the cooking smells and gave the place a conspiratorial, secretive atmosphere. I fiddled with the note, folding it and tapping it on the counter.
It got to him and he screwed up his eyes against the smoke, visibly searching his memory. “The man was here first, yeah, that’s right. He had just had coffee, over there.” He pointed to the deepest, darkest corner of the cafe. Then he thumped himself on the head and his curls bounced. “No, no, I’ve got it wrong. The girl, the blonde, and the man with the ears came in first. They sat here.” He indicated a table near the door. “I didn’t see the black come in. He must have come in the side door. It’s open at the busy time.” The cafe had a lane running beside it and a door let out onto the lane. I nodded and he went on: “He was just there, the toughie, in there where I said. I remember because he paid me when I brought his coffee. That’s not usual, you know?”