Black Teeth (26 page)

‘He says you were supposed to go with her to Lorne. You didn't. You fought, things got out of hand…'

‘A thin motivation, but yes, the last time Cheryl and I spoke, it was strained. Things were stressful for me at work, so I'd called to say I had to remain at the showroom. The Lorne trip was more about getting
her
out of that godforsaken house. My going was a secondary commitment. But she was disappointed. That disappointment may have been the reason she returned home when she did.'

‘You were at work when she died?'

‘Yes. It was busy. Clients always want the moon on a plate before a long weekend.'

‘Did you tell the police about Mister Jinx?'

‘Of course. I spoke to the lead detective more than once.'

‘Glen Tyan?'

‘Yes. Detective Glen Tyan.' Still it doesn't occur to Penn to ask me who I am. ‘Great brute that he was. Very much the club-them-on-the-head-and-drag-them-behind-a-tree sort of fellow. Wasn't interested in anything
I
told him. Had his man, as the saying goes.'

‘And you think Rudy pinned it on his own father? You think he's that smart?'

‘No, by god. I think he's that stupid!' Penn is back to chuckling now. Cold air flows in from somewhere and he rubs his legs. ‘He put the vase in his father's shop because he assumed no one would find it there. But of course they did. He didn't
intend
for Piers to get the blame.'

He tilts his head, as if listening to the rain on the roof. ‘But
perhaps it didn't bother him that that's what came of it.'

‘Why not?'

‘He didn't like his parents. They didn't like him.'

‘Wait,' I say, spread my fingers and lower the points to my knees. ‘Piers and Cheryl were fighting over Rudy. That's why things were so bad.'

Penn's snort is loaded with disbelief, appears to bring more tears to his eyes. ‘They were fighting over who
shouldn't
have him. At least, neither of them wanted the day-to-day responsibility of
living
with him. They each sought a fresh start, you see? Their immediate family was the thorn in their respective sides, and they were going to court to determine who should be properly
unshackled
.'

Penn smiles, entertained by himself.

I say, ‘Did you know there was some argument about whether you'd be called at the trial?'

‘Yes. It was Piers who wouldn't have me there.'

‘Why not?'

‘He didn't want it announced to the world that I was shtupping his wife, most likely. And at the end of the day, they knew they couldn't hang the crime around
my
neck.'

He sighs. When he speaks again, exhaustion lightens his voice.

‘It was a hard time, you know. Mister Jinx, and then Cheryl. After that, everything sort of…collapsed for me. And here I am.'

He gestures at his surroundings. A small prison cell in a forest. And what better demonstration than the beige cardigan, who appears at the door now and says, ‘Group time, Ken.'

She's got a name card that I see for the first time in the light from the corridor:
Dorothy
.

Penn blinks at nothing. It seems like several seconds before the words reach him. Then he twitches, waves Dorothy away. ‘Yes, yes.'

Her eyes fall on me. Something jingles in her hands.

‘Your girlfriend caught a lift back.'

And she lays my car keys down on the small ornate stool where Beth had been sitting.

‘Who with?' I say. But she's gone. Despite how she must have heard, she does not come back.

Penn's skinny white legs sweep out from his robe like crab claws and search sightlessly for the slippers beneath the bed.

‘I'm afraid our little chat is over,' he chuckles at nothing. ‘The group sessions don't do much for me, but apparently if I don't attend the other fruitcakes get the idea that they needn't either.'

‘Thank you for speaking to me.'

‘No need to thank me. I wish you well in…what was it again?'

‘We're just inquiring about the Alamein murder.'

‘Yes, yes.'

I move to the door and retrieve my keys, but before I can exit, Penn says, ‘I was happy to talk, you know. I knew someone would come one day. Expected you. You needn't have pretended that your girlfriend deals in antiques.'

‘She's not my girlfriend,' I say, a nod to chivalry. ‘And she
does
deal in antiques. Antique furniture, at least.'

Penn snorts again. ‘I find that very hard to believe.'

‘Why?'

Even as he holds up a clean pair of boxer shorts, he points to my knees. I look down to see the stool.

‘That's a Gerthausen, a claw-footed bath stool. It's the one thing I brought with me when I came here and it's all I've got left. If the freaks in this place knew how valuable it was, they'd murder me for it.'

I can see now, in the stain, in the curvature of the wood: it is no mere chair.

Penn climbs into his boxers, barely keeps the robe shut.

‘Someone with even the vaguest interest in vintage furniture, my dear boy, would not so willingly have rested their arse on a modern Teutonic masterpiece. Even so delectable an arse as hers.'

43

‘I—am—
so
—sorry.'

She underscores each word with a flat palm pushed against the air around her hips. Her other hand holds open the door.

‘Don't worry about it.'

I step into the familiar living room, bright and neat. Steam rises from the kettle in the kitchen, as well as from a cup of milky tea on the dining table. Her laptop is there too; a green light indicates that it's powered on, but the display is shut.

‘It's hard to explain,' she says. ‘It was just like…super creepy. Don't you think?'

‘How did you get back?'

‘This guy was coming into the city? Um, and he worked there? He drove me all the way home.'

Of course he did. Up until a couple of hours ago, I would have done the same.

She asks, ‘You made it back okay? Did you come straight here?'

‘No, I went home first.' I point to her computer. ‘How's business?'

‘Fine.' She hugs herself. ‘Slow. You want a cuppa?'

‘Sure.'

She skips into the kitchen and opens a cupboard.

‘So what did Ken Penn tell you?'

‘All kinds of stuff,' I say. ‘You know, when I was at home, I looked up the Australian Business Registry. There's no business in your name.'

‘Why are you checking up on me?'

Beth turns her back, pours from the steaming kettle.

‘Something to do.'

‘I told you. I'm just getting started. I haven't registered anything yet.'

‘Right,' I dig my hands into my pockets.

‘Milk or sugar?'

‘Yeah, milk, one sugar, thank you.'

She moves to the fridge. It's small, like the rest of the kitchen. A vague, yeasty smell touches my nostrils, might be the recycling bin in the corner, filled with beer bottles that have probably accumulated over months.

‘Something else I found when I was home, some old-fashioned furniture for sale on eBay. Melbourne vendor. They're getting a lot of bids.'

Beth has her back to me again, pouring the milk.

‘They should go through a broker. They'd get a better price.'

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘Does Rudy know you're selling his stuff on eBay?'

She turns to face me, holding a full mug, perplexed. All the naivety her face is capable of, like the day she first opened the door to me, is on display for potential buyers.

‘What?'

But I am not in the market.

‘Does he know you're clearing it all on eBay? That you're not going through a broker. That you're not this antique furniture wizard.'

‘
I'm
not selling anything on eBay.'

She waits for me to agree.

‘No,' I say. ‘You're right. I'm just kidding around.'

Bemused, Beth places the tea on the dining table.

I say, ‘The person selling this stuff is tagged Gemma-four-eight-nine. Full name Gemma Wallace.'

At this she giggles, questioningly.

‘But it's funny…' I say. ‘She's also selling a brand new digital SLR, identical to the one Rudy bought for you.'

‘I don't understand…' And she looks as though she's really trying to.

‘Your twitter password is six-three-M-five-seven-oh-N-three. That's leetspeak. And I know you know what leetspeak is.'

‘How do you know my password?'

I can see her considering anger as a method of deflection.

‘In leetspeak, six-three-M-five-seven-oh-N-three translates as
Gemstone
. Which might be a cute play on Gemma. Is that a coincidence?'

What's funny is, knowing personal stuff usually helps you to hack someone's password. But knowing Beth's password has helped me hack her personal stuff. And she's bug-eyed with disbelief.

‘Well it
must
be—'

‘What do you bet I can open that laptop and find open the eBay account for Gemma-four-eight-nine?'

Her face darkens. The time for laughing it off has passed. She drops any effort at pretence, empties the life from her eyes and adopts a look of utter boredom.

‘So what?'

‘So you don't have an antique furniture business. You told Rudy you did so he'd let you sell his things online. I saw him yesterday, varnishing away like a sap. Did you tell him to do that, Gemma? Is he going to see any money from the sale?'

‘Of course he is.'

‘Of course he is.' I can't help but bring a cynical tone. ‘How much did you pay for his car?'

Her jaw cocks.

‘I had to pay the registration.'

‘But you got the car for free, right? And somehow he thinks you were doing him a favour?'

She says nothing.

‘After I came knocking on your door on Thursday, you thought things were drying up for Rudy, wanted to get your hooks in for one last grift.
You
asked
him
to meet you in town, gave him the sob story about the damage to your car and how you weren't insured, conned an expensive camera out of him and suggested you sell his furniture.'

Beth shrugs: it's not like I'm accusing her of murder. I sip my tea, assume it isn't poisoned.

‘The woman at Claireborne, the one with the hair, she recognised you. That's why you were creeped out. That's why you left, you were scared she'd give you away and that I might get the right idea. What is she, a relative?'

‘
Fuck
no.'

‘An old friend of the family Wallace?'

‘
No.
Just…I boarded with her once. A long time ago. I barely know her.'

‘She knew your real name.'

‘My real name is Elizabeth.'

‘Bullshit.' I put down my drink. It's difficult to be accusing with a slightly too-full mug of tea in your hands. ‘If Elizabeth was your real name, I'd have found a criminal record when I looked you up.'

‘Gemma used to be my name. It's not anymore. And you didn't find anything on me because I'm not from here.'

‘Not from where?'

‘Australia.'

‘Where the fuck are you from?'

‘It's not important.' She tips herself away, leans against her front door. ‘I'm Australian now.'

‘When did you come over?'

‘Years ago. When I got here I stayed in a boarding house where Susie worked, just while I got on my feet. It didn't last long.'

‘So this isn't your real voice. You're putting on an accent.'

‘No. This is how I talk now. And I'm Elizabeth now. This is who I am.'

I search the room for threats. Just like I did in Ken Penn's room. Just like I always do, I suppose, when I find myself in the home of a total stranger.

‘Why did you leave there? Wherever you're from.'

‘It's not important.'

‘Was it…Did you do something?'

‘I'm not a fugitive, if that's what you're saying.'

‘But you ran away.'

She doesn't care to answer, lets her head fall back against the
door, a teenager suffering through another lecture from her boring parents.

‘When did you get the photographs? This morning? When I was off with—'

I catch myself.
You've got secrets too, Jason.

‘—my family?'

‘He called me. Wanted to know why I hadn't done the pictures yet. I didn't want to get him suspicious.'

‘Of course not. Can't endanger your insurance payout, now can we.'

‘Fuck you.'

‘Fuck
me
? You're only friends with him for the money.'

She raises her hands in a silent, grand gesture.

‘So are you. You've got a client. You're getting paid. This is another day at the office for you.'

Angry but restrained. She doesn't want the neighbours to hear. I open my arms in surrender.

‘And what about sleeping with me? That was just more fluffing, to get me on side?'

Beth turns back and pouts. ‘No.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘Don't tell me how I feel.'

‘Oh, I bet it's true fucking love. So long as I'm walking Rudy to his own funeral. I'm your
dream
guy. And what about your story, how he took the Volvo to gas himself. That's all bullshit too, isn't it.'

‘No…'

‘Yes it is. You wanted me to think he's got a death wish. So then I'm more likely to help him along.'

‘He
does
—'

‘
Say it.
You made it all up.'

‘
No
.' Her right hand makes a fist at her side. ‘Whether or not there was insurance, I'd be helping Rudy end things as near as I could to how he wants. I'm not lying about that.'

‘You're laying it on a little thick, Gemma—'