Matthew Flinders' Cat (56 page)

‘I don’t know. If we can get the Federal Police involved it could solve a lot of problems, but I don’t know if that’s possible. I dare say the German is back in Bavaria by now so that’s not an excuse we can use, though I’ll have the Department of Customs and Immigration check. We may be forced to rely on the locals, it’s a question of finding the right police personnel. Not all policemen are corrupt.’

‘Marcus, I have an idea.’

‘What is it, Billy?’

‘Well, when you think about it, who in the community would be most opposed to paedophiles?’

‘Their victims, I imagine,’ the judge replied.

‘Yes, sure, but what about their mothers?’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘Policewomen. I’m sure there are several senior enough to head up a strike team.’

Marcus Eisenstein hesitated briefly. ‘Billy, that is bloody inspired! You always were someone who could think outside the square, the legal profession has missed you.’

‘How do you think the police commissioner will react? Will he agree to an all-female operation?’

Eisenstein thought for a moment. ‘James Bullmore is new, an Englishman, he just might buy it. No harm in trying.’

Billy had followed the brouhaha that had occurred with the appointment of what the police union referred to as an unknown, untested foreigner. Bullmore’s appointment had unleashed a bitter controversy from senior police officers, politicians and the media and there had been a sustained effort to reverse the decision, the argument being that only a local would be able to do the job.

Marcus Eisenstein laughed. ‘He’s got his job cut out, poor bugger. I recall being invited to a Police Officers’ Association dinner at Rosehill Racecourse in August to meet Bullmore. It was his first official social function. I sat at the same table with him and Tony Miller, the Police Minister. When Bullmore rose to speak to the three hundred and fifty or so officers present, there was barely a ripple of applause, truly the sound of one hand clapping. It wasn’t hard to tell he wasn’t being made welcome. When Jim O’Reilly, the recently retired commissioner, followed him, the applause rose to a veritable crescendo with footstomping and cheering. The Police Minister, next to me, leaned over and said to Bullmore, ‘Bastards! See what you’ve let yourself in for, James?’ Though I must say, I liked the Pommie and now I see he’s appointed a woman to be his senior assistant commissioner.’ He leaned back. ‘He may just be our man, Billy.’ Marcus Eisenstein was in court when Billy picked up the papers for Ryan’s protected-witness status the following afternoon. He’d left a handwritten note for Billy to say that he would be seeing the police commissioner the following morning and for Billy to phone him at his chambers before lunch.

Billy called him the following afternoon, having to go through the same routine as before with the protective and ever suspicious Doha Jebara, the judge’s personal assistant. Billy knew her name was Lebanese, although he wasn’t sure if it was Maronite Christian or Muslim, but thought it typical of the Jewish judge, who wouldn’t be concerned in the least about the ethnic origins of his assistant.

‘Hello, Billy, good news about the matter we discussed, I’ve seen the man. He’s agreed to the operation the way we discussed. It’s going to take a little time to organise. Call me in a week. I trust you are well?’

‘Yes, thank you, I’m still hanging in there,’ Billy replied.

‘Good man, cheerio,’ the judge said and Billy heard the receiver at the other end click back in its cradle. Marcus Eisenstein was back to a few well-chosen words.

Ryan seemed to have enjoyed his first days with Maria, although he felt a little restricted not being able to leave the house, being accustomed to coming and going as he wished. But he soon settled down, even, Billy suspected, enjoying all the attention. One of Con’s daughters, a local hairdresser, had come up with a possible solution that would allow him a little more freedom. He was going to spend the afternoon of his third day as a protected witness at the hair salon where she worked, having his hair and eyebrows dyed blond. After which he was being taken to Kmart to get new gear. This second suggestion wasn’t as much to his liking, he was a skateboarder and his white-on-black ‘Independent’ T-shirt, his Vans shoes and his suspended dog chain were important to his perception of himself. He nevertheless agreed, understanding the necessity to alter his appearance. Maria hadn’t left it at that, she’d persuaded Voula, the oldest of Con’s nieces, who was conceivably old enough to have an eleven-yearold child, to have her hair blonded as well. Ryan’s Italian skin tone matched her own Greek ancestry almost exactly and later Billy would coach them both into developing a cover story if they were ever questioned.

Billy found a room in a boarding house at the back of the Rocks so that he could be close to the G’day Cafe and his AA meetings. He’d decided against living in Newtown but, instead, Con brought Ryan into the New Hellas at five-thirty every morning and Billy would meet him there and they’d slip into the Botanic Gardens for an hour and a bit when Billy would tell him the ongoing saga of Master Mariner Trim before Billy attended his morning meeting. Con would then send Ryan home in a taxi.

That week, waiting for further news from Marcus Eisenstein, Billy spent much the same as usual, sticking to his routine, the afternoons at his disposal to spend at the library researching Matthew Flinders and writing Trim’s story. Each morning he would tell Ryan about Trim and, as he was rapidly getting to the end of his second tale, he now had to finish the story of Trim’s capture on the Ile de France in a hurry.

Billy enjoyed this time spent in the library and he almost resented the fact that he had promised to contact Morgan’s partner, even though he thought she might be Caroline, Trevor Williams’ daughter. On the third day after the meeting with the judge, he called her from a public telephone just before doing mynah-bird duty.

A female voice answered and he asked if he could speak to Kartanya.

‘She’s still asleep, call after two o’clock,’ the voice said, whereupon the woman abruptly hung up.

Billy called again at two o’clock, and this time a different female voice answered. ‘May I speak to Kartanya, please?’ he asked. ‘Who’s speaking?’ the voice asked.

‘My name is Billy O’Shannessy and I have a message from Morgan for Kartanya.’

The voice asked him to hold on and he was almost at the point of hanging up when he heard a woman say, ‘Kartanya speaking.’

Billy explained why he was calling and asked if they could meet for a cup of coffee. There was a moment’s hesitation before Kartanya agreed that they could meet at the coffee lounge at the Darling Harbour casino at four o’clock that afternoon. ‘It’s the one at the top of the escalator with the waterfall,’ she directed. ‘I must go now.’

Billy sensed that she was anxious to get off the phone. ‘How will I know you, Kartanya?’ he asked hurriedly.

There was another slight hesitation. ‘I’m wearing jeans and a blue shirt, I have dark hair down to my shoulders, thank you for calling.’ This was all said in a single breath before she put down the receiver. Billy thought she must have been taking word-miser lessons from Marcus Eisenstein.

Billy arrived at the coffee shop on time and positioned himself at the table nearest the door and then waited a further half an hour. He was on his second flat white when Kartanya appeared at the top of the escalators. Billy had no problem recognising her and stood as she entered. ‘Kartanya?’ he asked.

The woman in front of him was very attractive though painfully thin, which Billy put down to her addiction. She looked older than twenty-eight, more like her mid-thirties, though this again could have been because of the heroin. She wore no make-up apart from a little lipstick, and he wondered if she had a cold as the base of her nostrils seemed a little inflamed. Her mother had been right, her mouth did seem a little large for her face but, if anything, it added to her unusual looks.

‘Hi, you must be Billy,’ she said, extending her hand. In the flesh she sounded quite different from the anxious voice he’d heard on the phone. As though reading his thoughts, she said, ‘I apologise if I sounded abrupt on the phone, I take a whole heap of time to wake up.’

They had hardly been seated when the waiter, without taking her order, placed a short black in front of her. ‘Thank you, Carlo,’ she said and, not waiting, took a long sip from the small glass. ‘That’s better,’ she said, ‘my first coffee hit of the day.’ She opened her bag, took out a packet of cigarettes, then put it back again. ‘Damn, I forgot, you can smoke in the casino but not here.’

‘Do you work nights, Kartanya?’ Billy asked. Kartanya shrugged. ‘I’m sure Morgan told you, I’m a prostitute here at the casino. He’s a big mouth, he’d have told you I’m also a heroin addict,’ she added. ‘It’s an easy way to feed an expensive habit and the boys bring in cocaine as well.’ She shrugged again. ‘You sleep with the high rollers, they tip well. Smack and cocaine are always available.’ She said it all in a matter-of-fact voice, not caring if he took it or left it. Billy could see that under her soft-looking exterior she was tough, perhaps ‘hard’ might be a better word. ‘Well, how is Morgan?’ she asked, though not with a great deal of interest.

‘He’s doing really well and seems determined to make it,’ Billy replied.

Kartanya gave a short little laugh. ‘That’s our Morgan, he can’t stand being out of the limelight, he’ll clean up his act just to get his ego reinflated.’

Billy wasn’t quite sure what she meant but, taking a punt, said, ‘Well, I guess he’s an actor.’

‘And a good one when he isn’t showing off,’ Kartanya said. ‘I’m glad he’s getting clean, I’m to blame for his addiction. He wanted me and I came with a habit. If he comes out clean, I won’t let him back into my life.’ She paused. ‘I’m bad news, mate.’

Billy didn’t try to comfort her. ‘All addicts are, Kartanya. We share that in common and I understand what you’re saying.’ Billy changed the subject. ‘Morgan tells me you’re a singer, a very good one.’

‘Was.’

‘Do you still sing?’

‘Sometimes, when I’m high or pissed, but professionally, no, I gave it away, the junk was too important.’

‘That seems a pity,’ Billy replied.

Kartanya sighed. ‘It was all a long time ago, about a thousand hits ago, mate.’ She suddenly sounded a little impatient or perhaps she expected a lecture and didn’t want any of the usual bullshit.

Billy didn’t quite know how to broach the subject of her family but finally decided that as she’d answered his questions directly, there seemed no point in trying to be overly tactful. Besides, he felt she was getting close to the edge and could easily walk away. ‘Kartanya, what about your parents?’

Kartanya was silent and Billy thought she was about to rise, but she remained sitting. ‘That’s not a question you ask someone like me, Billy. Addicts don’t have parents!’ Suddenly she lost her cool. ‘What is this? The fuckin’ Salvation Army?’

Billy thought he’d blown it, but persisted anyway. ‘You don’t think you’re causing them a lot of pain by staying away from them?’

‘I’m not sure that’s any of your business,’ Kartanya said, starting to rise.

Before she could do so, Billy said, ‘Do you have a scar, from a snake bite, a King Brown, on your left Achilles, Caroline?’

Kartanya looked startled. ‘How do you know my name, my old name?’ She added quickly, ‘And the scar, the bite?’

Billy told her the story of Trevor Williams, then he handed her the letter he’d received from Bridgit Williams.

Kartanya had hardly begun to read before she started to sob. Reaching for a tissue in her bag, she continued reading and by the end of the letter could no longer contain herself. She buried her face in her hands and wept. Somehow the letter had managed to penetrate the hard exterior. There was still some softness there, Billy decided.

He wanted to comfort her but was afraid. He hadn’t physically touched a woman for so long that he thought it might be seen as obscene if he placed his hand on her shoulder, though he ached to do so. ‘They both love you very much, Kartanya, they’ll take you any way you are.’

After a while Kartanya stopped crying and looked at Billy and, almost in front of his eyes, he saw the hardness return and a defiant look in her dark eyes. ‘So what do you expect me to do?’ she asked.

‘Do you think you could write to them, just a short note?’

‘Yeah, okay, I’ve got to go. I’ll write, I promise,’ she said. Taking the pack of cigarettes out of her handbag, she added, ‘I need a fag.’

Billy smiled. ‘Kartanya, I’m an alcoholic and addict like you and I simply don’t believe you. Perhaps you think you’ll write, but you’ll leave me and go home and tell yourself you’re upset and need a hit and you’ll snort a line of cocaine and you’ll convince yourself that what you’re doing is the best for everyone.’ Billy paused. ‘But it isn’t, my dear. Your father and mother love you. By not seeing them, you’re breaking their hearts.’

‘No, you’re wrong! They won’t want me back the way I am, I’m bad news.’

Again Billy didn’t offer any sympathy. ‘You may be right, addicts have an ability to use up affection very fast, even from their parents. But
they
have the right to make that decision,
not
you. Your father wants his daughter back, that’s all. There are no reservations, no conditions. They simply love you, always have and, I dare say, always will.’ Billy added, ‘Will you give them another chance, Caroline?’