Eden (21 page)

Twenty-four

When Denise had appeared at
Margot's
looking for work, a single mother with a small daughter, she already knew what it was like to be bullied by bosses who acted as though Rebecca didn't exist, who expected her to work most nights till very late, and, even when she wasn't working, to be on call.

Margot had admired Denise for her determination to give her daughter the best she could afford, and for her ability to live the contradictory lives of mother and sex worker. While Denise was saving for the deposit on a flat, Margot let her keep almost all her earnings. She learnt to trust Denise, valuing her ability to deal with nervous clients, and troublesome ones, too. Margot was choosy about the girls she hired. She hated addicts. No drugs was an unbreakable rule. The arrangement with
Sans Souci
was a good way of trying new girls out. If Margot liked them, and if they liked Canberra, she would ask them to stay. She preferred three or four girls she could rely on, girls who knew their job. Clients didn't complain about the lack of variety. Most regulars, the older men who made up the bulk of her business, would rather one skilled professional than twenty fumbling amateurs.

Then Jenny Bishop had turned up. Jenny was smart, and, though she'd been an addict, she wasn't any longer. She was fun. Denise had liked her, and so had the clients. But Jenny had a temper. And she knew her rights, even if she couldn't enforce them in a court of law. Simon Lawrence had hurt and humiliated her, and she wasn't about to let him forget it.

She'd pestered Denise for information about Lawrence, and anyone connected to him. She had the flyer made. Margot had paid her five hundred dollars, then another thousand, but Jenny wasn't satisfied with that. Once she'd seen Lawrence with Walewicz and Carmichael, she hassled Denise for information about Carmichael too. On the night Carmichael had seen Jenny instead of Denise, he'd been drunk and had told her the story of Margot and John Penshurst. He'd talked about his promise to Margot, and how much it worried him. Denise had lied to give Margot an alibi for the night of Jenny's death. But by then, Denise was frightened. She wanted to leave the club, and Canberra as well, but Margot made her stay. To leave at that point would have looked suspicious.

. . .

Margot had recorded her statement while she was in hospital. It began with a complaint.

I couldn't stand Jenny Bishop. She was brash and crude. Her sense of humour, if you could call it that, was tasteless. I wanted to send her straight back to Sydney, but she was stubborn. She said she was entitled to try out, so I kept my feelings under control. I should never have let Simon anywhere near her. I didn't know about the movie then, I only found out afterwards. The girl could pull them, you have to give her that. But then she made that awful fuss. You'd think the sky had fallen in. At least it gave me an excuse to get rid of her. I had to pay her double what I owed her to stop her going to the cops. Was she grateful? She blamed me as well as him. She asked for four times the amount again.

I had no idea that Ed had talked to her about me. Up till then he'd respected my wishes, and even though he drank too much, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. That Tuesday when he turned up, he told me Senator Bryant's office had cancelled the appointment. He said Stan and Simon had told him Jenny Bishop wasn't going to give them any more trouble. I told him she'd died of an overdose, but he didn't believe me. He thought Simon had killed her. He wanted me to go away with him while we had the chance. I told him I was sorry I'd asked him to front up to the senator. He should go home, relax, take a nap. We'd talk about it tomorrow. But he wouldn't listen. He started raving about getting married. He'd brought it up before, but this time he was insistent. He kept on repeating that his days were numbered. He had this plan that we'd go away together, buy a place in the country. He'd made up his mind to retire, and he knew I wanted to leave Canberra. He'd look after the money. Why couldn't I give him a few months' happiness? He'd brought everything he'd kept relating to me, letters, newspaper articles, a diary he'd kept while he was looking for me in Europe. It made me sick to think he'd hoarded them all those years. I couldn't make us young again, any more than I could have stopped that other fool from dying on me. I was angry and I just wanted him to leave. I fetched the photos of him and Denise and told him I'd send them to the newspaper if he didn't leave me alone. I don't think it had dawned on him that I had copies. Up till then, it'd been Stan who'd put the pressure on him. He grabbed the photos and began ripping them up. Then he collapsed. I called out for Denise. Denise started dressing him while I gathered up all the papers, then her daughter rang. I didn't realise she'd forgotten the underwear till she finally had the dress on him. I put it in the wig box with the other things and took it out the back.

. . .

Margot's statement had been typed up, copies made. A distancing process had begun, one phase of which would end with her conviction and sentencing, since she'd already confessed to murder. But as I sat there reading, I recalled another Margot, the Margot I believed I'd been getting to know. I pondered the moment when she'd decided to admit to killing Jenny, rather than to continue lying. Had it been when she woke out of her concussion, and realised that Denise had told the truth at last? Or before that, when she'd run past the cabin, after Denise's fleeting, gold-topped shadow, her own false hair streaming out behind?

I stopped reading, and went to fetch a glass of water, thinking, as I did so, of Jenny and Margot in Jenny's kitchen, that single glass that had been left in the sink. I wondered, not what had been going through Margot's head, for I had a fair idea of that now, but through Jenny's. Had she died believing she was more than a match for Margot? There was the money Margot had already paid her—enough to lull her into a false sense of security, perhaps. And Margot would have acted her part well.

. . .

Margot's confession read, in many places, like a statement of defiance.

‘It never occurred to me that Ed would betray me to that scheming little bitch. My first decision was to tough it out. I could call anyone's bluff. I'd had years of practice. She rang me at the club and told me she knew about John Penshurst. She'd looked up old newspaper articles. She quoted headlines to me over the phone. They made me feel sick. If she made the information public, as she was threatening, it would have exposed and embarrassed me, but I told myself that that was all. I hadn't killed that man.

Then she saw Ed with Stan and Simon.

She knew about the photos Stan had taken. I rang Stan and we fought over the phone. I couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. He said she'd seen him with the camera. I asked why he hadn't told me earlier. We might have paid her off then, and been done with it. Stan infuriated me. By then, I also realised Simon had no intention of buying the club, and I hated him for leading me on.

Simon offered her money. He met her and gave it to her in cash. She just took it and went on as before. Simon underestimated her intelligence, and her perseverance. So did Stan.

She nagged Ed and frightened him by how close she was to guessing what I'd asked him to do.

As usual, the mess was left to me to clean up. It was then the idea came to me that I could get rid of her. It came to me all at once, like a movie in front of my eyes. I only had to blink, and there it was. At first I told myself not to be crazy, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was her life for mine. I woke up with those words, went to bed with them. I couldn't have got them out of my head even if I'd wanted to, but after a while I didn't want to.

She wanted fifty thousand dollars, in lots of ten grand each. I could have paid it. It wouldn't have broken me. But would it have ended there?

When she rang the last time, we arranged for me to go to her place on the Thursday night. She wanted me to send a bank cheque for ten thousand dollars. I said I wouldn't do that. We would have to meet. Thursday suited her because she wasn't working and those other two had been invited to a party. They would have thought it odd for me to suddenly turn up.

I bought the heroin and some whiskey here in Canberra. I'd have to give her the cheque, but if things went according to plan, I could retrieve it later. I wore my wig in case any of the neighbours saw me. She thought it was weird, but she knew how much I liked them. Her housemates could have come home early, but I was willing to risk that.

She'd put away a good bit of alcohol by the time I arrived. She wanted me to leave as soon as I'd handed over the cheque, but I said I was exhausted with the long drive and I'd have to rest for a while. She watched while I opened the whiskey. She wouldn't have accepted a drink from me if the bottle hadn't been sealed. She smelt it too. I poured myself a glass first, but after that I made sure mine were mainly water.

While I watched her drinking, I planned how I was going to get back into the house. When she went to the toilet, I unlocked a kitchen window, and hoped she wouldn't notice. When it was my turn to go upstairs to use the bathroom, I took the opportunity to look around, and worked out which was her bedroom.

It was after midnight when she showed me out. I drove around the block and waited. I decided that if she was still awake when I went back, or woke up and challenged me, I could say I'd had enough of being blackmailed and I was going to the police. I could have abandoned my plan at any point.

I sat in my car for over an hour. I hoped she'd go to sleep, but I couldn't be sure. In the end, it was much easier than I thought it would be. I got over the back fence, and through the kitchen window. I made a bit of noise, but there were no lights on in either of the adjoining houses. I found her bedroom again without any trouble. She rolled over and muttered something when I put the syringe in her hand, but she never even came close to waking up. I retrieved my whiskey bottle, and washed and put away the glass I'd used. On the drive back to Canberra, I threw away the bottle and the gloves I'd put on before returning to the house.

Denise presented the greatest risk. I needed Denise. I promised her enough money so she could stop working, go back to study, get some qualifications. All she had to say, if she was asked, was that I'd been at the club that Thursday night. I was counting on the police accepting that Bishop had overdosed. But then Ed had to go and die.'

. . .

I stopped reading again and closed my eyes for a moment. The meaning of Denise's attack with the tree branch was beginning to sink in. Margot hadn't gone after Denise to threaten her. She'd gone to persuade her to come back, be brave, hang in there. They were through the worst. Her reward was waiting.

. . .

‘I didn't notice the blonde wig was missing until Denise failed to show up for work. I rang her flat. When there was no answer, I went round there. Her car was in its usual spot, but there was no answer when I knocked. I had no idea what state I'd find Denise in. I only knew I had to talk to her. By the time she was three hours late, I realised the wig was missing, and I guessed that she'd be wearing it. I closed the club and drove back to her flat. The car was still there. She could have hired one, but to do that she would have had to fill in forms, and show her driver's licence. I thought she was more likely to have taken a bus. I couldn't decide whether or not to tell Simon and Stan, but in the end I decided against it. She didn't trust either of them, and she hated Simon.

Next morning, I drove to the Jolimont Centre, and asked, first of all at Greyhound, then at Murrays, describing Denise as carefully as I could, and saying she might be wearing a blonde wig. At Murrays I found a girl who was surprisingly helpful. She'd noticed a customer who might have been Denise. Her height and build were right. She'd paid cash for a return ticket to Cooma, which led me to think of the holiday camp near Jindabyne where Rebecca had stayed. I could have rung the camp and asked if a single woman had made a booking, but I didn't want to alert the manager. The best course, I decided, was to drive up there and see for myself.

To guard against being followed, I decided to report Denise missing, then to wait one more night. I decided to use Ed's car as well. It was hell to wait, but there was a good chance I wouldn't be followed if I stuck to my plan. Of course, I could have been wrong. Denise could turn up in the meantime. I wanted to allow for that possibility too.

I shouldn't have moved the wig box after Ed died. I should have taken the photographs and papers and left the box under the table. I knew as soon as the police started with their cameras that I'd made a mistake. I hoped nobody would notice, but that Mahoney woman did. It made her feel that she was onto something. I couldn't get rid of her after that. I did think it might prove useful to have Ed's car key. I broke into his flat one night after the police had finished their search, and found one in a drawer. I used the opportunity to check if Ed had left any old letters. He'd said he'd brought them all with him, but I wanted to make sure. Of course, the police could have found them and be holding onto them, but I felt better after I'd satisfied myself that there weren't any left lying around his flat.

I'm sure I could have talked Denise into coming back, if she'd only listened to me, if she hadn't run away. Why did she turn on me like that? She ought to have known I'd never do her any harm.'

. . .

I noticed that I'd aligned the pages very neatly, with all their edges matching, as though I believed that arranging them like this could provide some kind of antidote to the story they told. Margot's account fitted, the way a broken glass fits, scattered on a kitchen floor. You know the pieces go together. They've made a glass just seconds before. But you can never make it whole again.