Now You See Me (25 page)

Bu
t
I
hadn’
t
full
y
prepare
d
fo
r
i
t
an
d
no
w
I
a
m
worrie
d
tha
t
I
forgo
t
somethin
g,
lef
t
somethin
g
ou
t.
I’v
e
gon
e
ove
r
i
t
an
d
ove
r
i
t
th
e
las
t
fe
w
day
s
an
d
l
can’
t
faul
t
mysel
f,
bu
t
there’
s
stil
l
thi
s
feelin
g
o
f
uneas
e.
Wh
y
haven’
t
the
y
arreste
d
anyon
e?
Hav
e
I
finall
y
bee
n
to
o
subtl
e
fo
r
m
y
ow
n
goo
d?I
nee
d
t
o
ge
t
close
r
t
o
someon
e
wh
o
know
s,
someon
e
who’
s
involve
d.I
nee
d
t
o
fin
d
ou
t
what’
s
happenin
g
.

Noel answers the doorbell and finds Paddy slouched on the step. ‘Are you busy?’ he says with his uncertain smile.

‘No. Not at all. I’ve just put coffee on — come in.’

She hears him prowling around the living room while she makes the coffee. When she takes it in he is slumped on an armchair, leaning towards the shelf and fiddling with her collection of CDs.

‘No headbangers,’ she says. ‘If that’s what you’re looking for.’

‘No, you’ve got very old-fashioned tastes,’ he says absently, taking a cup and stirring sugar into it. ‘Nothing but classical and middle-of-the road rock.’

‘Remember that line fro
m
Th
e
Bi
g
Chill?
’
Noel says. ‘Someone says there’s been a lot of good music since the sixties, and the other guy — William Hurt, was it? — says, “Like what?” Well, I’m with him.’ She sits on the couch and watches him as he fiddles with his cup and the spoon. She hasn’t seen him for weeks and he seems to have got more nervy, more shy and peculiar than usual.

‘What’ve you been up to?’ she asks casually. ‘Working?’

He shrugs and twitches. ‘Yeah. A bit. You still seeing that cop?’

‘Yes.’ She smiles and shakes her head. ‘We seem to be an item. Amazing. I didn’t know he’d questioned you about Belinda Carey, though.’

‘The little girl who was killed? Yeah.’ He lapses into silence, thinking. Then he says, ‘She used to come into the wine bar a lot. She was a strange little thing. I liked her.’ He stares into his cup.

‘Do you still work there?’ Noel doesn’t remember it being so hard keeping a conversation going with Paddy in the past.

‘Nah. Carly’s got me a job at the hospital. Night watchman. It’s good.’ His face becomes animated. ‘I can read all night, unless there’s an emergency. It’s like the old days.’

‘Oh? You used to work there before, then?’ She’s getting impatient, wondering how long she’ll have to keep up this polite chat before he leaves.

‘Not at this place. The old Children’s Hospital — I used to work there as a cleaner. Carly got me that job, too.’

‘You’re good friends, are you? She said she’d lost touch with you.’

‘Yeah,’ he says vaguely. ‘We hadn’t seen each other for a while, I guess. But I’ve seen her a bit lately. She’s all right, Carly. She understands things. I’ve known her forever.’

Noel waits, but he is clearly not going to explain. He leans back in the chair and half closes his eyes. She sighs and starts to leaf over the newspaper on the coffee table.

‘I knew this one, too,’ he says suddenly, gesturing towards the paper. ‘This new murder — Justine Riley. She was admitted a few times to the old hospital and we used to talk. Well, play, anyway, she wasn’t old enough to talk much. I used to read her stories if I had the time. I can pick them, you know.’ He sees that Noel doesn’t understand. ‘The damaged ones,’ he goes on. ‘I was one myself. You sort of sense it, like animals sense one of their own kind.’ He gives a peculiarly inane grin. ‘Non-verbal communication. I was going to do my thesis on that, once.’ He subsides into silence again.

‘Sounds like it was made for you as a topic,’ Noel says wryly.

He looks up, puzzled, then laughs. ‘I’m alone too much,’ he says simply. ‘I carry on long conversations in my head. Sometimes I forget to verbalise when I’m with someone else.’ Noel realises she hasn’t been listening to him properly. ‘Paddy, how long were you at the old hospital?’

‘Years, why?’

‘Did you know these kids, too? Terry Clancy? Simone Churcher? Shantelle Smith ... ?’

He thinks for a moment. ‘Dunno. Shantelle rings a bell. Lots of Simones and Terrys in the world, though.’

‘I’ve got their case histories,’ she says, jumping up. ‘With their photos. I’ll get them for you.’

She rummages through her filing cabinet until she finds the folders. She hands them to Paddy and waits while he flicks through them, a pained expression growing on his face. ‘I don’t know,’ he says finally. ‘I saw a lot of kids like this. Is it important?’

‘It might be.’ She explains her theory to him and tells him she thinks Justine Riley might be the latest victim in the series.

He looks at her with a blank face. ‘Why? I mean why do you have to find such an elaborate explanation? It seems obvious to me what happened. It’s almost unavoidable, given the circumstances. You said yourself, in that article you wrote, that probably more kids are killed by their families than we even guess at. Why look further?’

She gets, for the first time since she’s known him, a sense of the intellect he was once said to possess. She tells him about Albert Spinks, and the article that first sparked her suspicions. ‘Well, it was Rafferty really,’ she says. ‘My editor. But I agreed with him. Then, when I looked at the files again, after Farrell’s conviction, I thought I could see a pattern.’

‘But you say they haven’t found any physical evidence in the Justine Riley case,’ he says. ‘So how can it possibly fit? I mean, the whole point is that someone else has to be made to look guilty, isn’t it? There has to be evidence pointing to someone specific.’

‘Yes, I know. But then I wondered if perhaps they had another place. You know — a beach house, or an office or something. And it turns out they had a caravan down the coast. Near Stanwell Park. The cops are having a look at it today.’

‘And what if they don’t find anything there, either?’ He’s more focused than she’s ever seen him, and she thinks that he’s probably better at abstract questions like this than at everyday living. She has a momentary glimpse of his isolation, his broken life, and feels her heart go out to him.

‘Well, then I’m stuffed,’ she says, grinning. ‘I’ll give it up, eat crow and humble pie and my hat and all those other things you eat when you’re grovelling.’

He laughs. ‘And if they do find something? Will your cop friends take your ideas seriously then?’

‘Perhaps,’ she says. ‘They’ll be majorly pissed off, that’s for sure. But they might just tread a bit more carefully before they slap handcuffs on the foster parents.’

‘Well,’ he says, getting up. ‘You lead an interesting life, Noel. Let me know how it turns out — I feel ... involved, knowing Justine and Belinda. Thanks for the coffee.’

She follows him to the door, marvelling at the massive muscles of his arms, and tweaks his pony-tail before he leaves. ‘Hey, don’t be a stranger, all right? Drop in again soon.’

His thoughts have clearly turned inward again, his face once more confused and empty-looking, and his smile and wave are perfunctory as he slowly mounts the stairs.

Noel goes inside and collects up her dirty washing. She hopes Tony will ring or drop by to tell her what they’ve found, if anything. She looks at her watch. It could be hours. She might as well clean the flat.

*

Rosa runs into Fran on the street and is mortified. She has not been to see her since she found out Tom had gone back to live with Carly. She hadn’t even told Fran she was quitting therapy, she’d rung her secretary instead.

Fran says hello pleasantly and asks how she is.

‘Oh shit,’ Rosa says. ‘I can hardly look at you for guilt.’

Fran smiles. ‘You and your big words. It’s probably only excessive embarrassment. There’s no need, Rosa.’ She puts her hand on Rosa’s arm. She is carrying plastic bags bulging with groceries.

Rosa says, ‘It’s very demystifying seeing your psychiatrist lugging home the shopping. Aren’t you worried about your image?’

‘No, not at all. Do you have time for a coffee?’

‘Yes. Does this mean I’m officially sacked as a patient? You can fraternise with me now?’

‘You sacked yourself, Rosa,’ Fran says amiably. ‘Here, this place looks all right.’

They go into the cafe and sit down. ‘I’ve just moved here,’ Fran says. ‘I haven’t quite got the place worked out yet.’

‘Here? To Leichhardt?’ Rosa is surprised and it shows in her voice.

‘Another demystifying fact? Did you think I’d have a mansion in Double Bay?’

Rosa thinks about it. ‘No. I suppose I didn’t imagine you living anywhere. If I thought of it at all, I assumed you just materialised in your office like the Cheshire Cat.’

‘Well, I have to eat and shit and sleep, just like ordinary mortals, so now you know. What’s good here?’

‘Everything,’ Rosa says confidently, though she hasn’t been into the place for over a year. In better days it was where she and Tom would bring the children on Sunday mornings for gelato and hot chocolate.

Fran settles herself and her bags and asks for a triple gelato and a caffe latte. She flirts with the waiter when he brings their orders and speaks to him in fluent Italian. Rosa watches her in astonishment.

‘Tom’s gone back to Carly,’ she says abruptly.

‘Oh well, that was to be expected, don’t you think? I doubt if it will last long.’ Fran licks froth off the top of her coffee. ‘You know, I think I decided to move here because of the coffee bars. I’m addicted to things Italian.’

‘Fran, did you know Tom had abusive parents?’

Fran sighs and puts down her spoon. ‘I think I heard something about it, from Mick
.
H
e
certainly did, though he would never fully admit it. Look, Rosa, if we continue with this — just two women talking, as you said once, gossiping — then you can’t be my patient again. You realise that?’

‘But I can talk to you, though?’ Rosa asks. ‘As a friend. We can be friends, can’t we?’

Fran lifts a mouthful of ice-cream to her lips. ‘Yes, I think we could be friends. But don’t expect free psychoanalysis, because you won’t get it.’

‘But I can finally as
k
yo
u
some questions.’

Fran nods. ‘Ask away. What sort of questions?’

Rosa thinks. ‘About yourself. Like — do you live with anyone? Are you married again or anything?’

‘No. I was married to someone in the States, another psychiatrist. He died. Twice is enough for one lifetime, I feel.’

Rosa grimaces. ‘Once’ll do me, I think. Why don’t you think Tom will stay with Carly?’

Fran laughs at her. ‘That didn’t last long. Asking me about myself.’

Rosa says, ‘I know. I’m obsessed, sorry. But tell me.’

‘Well, speaking as a highly trained, experienced and qualified therapist, and without prejudice — because she’s a total bitch and he knows it.’ She says it with uncharacteristic vehemence.

‘I don’t think he does,’ Rosa says. ‘Or why would he go back to her?’

‘Rosa, I think you have to face the fact that Tom is in a very disturbed state. From all you’ve told me it’s clear he’s going through some life crisis that he can barely cope with. Whatever Carly has to offer him will only make it worse, in my opinion.’

‘I wonder what it is, though,’ Rosa says miserably. ‘I’d do it myself if it would get him back.’

‘No. You wouldn’t. You didn’t.’

‘You mean the cross-dressing? You think she doesn’t mind that?’

‘From what I know of her, she probably encourages it. She likes power, Carly, especially over men.’ She notices Rosa’s raised eyebrows and says, ‘Oh, yes, I speak from knowledge. You know she and Mick had an affair before I met him? She did him damage during the time they were together. I sometimes felt that our marriage was nothing but follow-up therapy for him.’

‘We all do each other damage, don’t we? Without necessarily meaning to?’

‘Yes, of course we do. But I don’t think Carly does anything without meaning to. She’s very controlled, Rosa, haven’t you noticed
?
Ove
r
-controlled. It’s a syndrome that always worries me when I see it in my patients. When something happens to crack that control, it can be disastrous. Usually for the people close to them.’

‘She doesn’t like you much, either,’ Rosa says, not maliciously. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘She suspects I see through her, I suppose. Lots of people think psychiatrists have X-ray vision.’

They finish their coffees and Fran sits back, reaching into her bag. She brings out cigarettes and lights one.

‘My God,’ Rosa says. ‘You really do have feet of clay. I don’t think I’ve ever been so disillusioned with anyone in my life.’

Fran laughs. ‘I’ve got even worse habits than this,’ she says. ‘Some weekends in winter I don’t take my tracksuit off for a moment, from Friday night to Monday morning. I sleep in it, jog in it, go to the shops in it. One of the real pleasures of living alone, I find, being able to be a complete slob when you feel like it.’

*

They hug when they part in the street. Fran gives her her new address and phone number. ‘This was good,’ she says. ‘We should do it again.’

Rosa goes about her own shopping in a desultory way. It is the weekend and the kids are with Tom for the day. As far as she knows, Carly doesn’t participate in these events. The children haven’t mentioned her, anyway. She wishes she could be like Fran, comfortable and content to live alone, but she hates it. She hates Carly and she hates Tom, she thinks, aware of how childish it sounds. But she wants him back, fiercely.