The Mak Collection (131 page)

Makedde smiled.

‘I’ll see what I can do, time-wise. Maybe a quick lunch.’

‘There is no sign of the mobile phone,’ The American reported with regret.

Jack Cavanagh had not wanted to meet with his security adviser at home, for fear that his wife would clue in immediately that something was wrong, so they had met at his offices instead. Jack stood by his office window late on Sunday morning with his face just centimetres from the glass, watching the quiet streets below; streets that would be bustling by Monday. He wondered how much time he had before something like this leaked to the papers, and he hoped to God that Bob could prevent that happening.

‘I have organised a back-up plan to find out every communication the girl made. It is costly, but very accurate. We should have the contents of any video transmission by the end of the day. If you wish it.’

Jack nodded sombrely. ‘Money is no object.’

‘My men tell me that Mr Hand is doing his work well.’

Jack did not want to hear about it. He knew
blood would be shed because of his son’s foolishness, and it shamed him. Jack wondered where he had gone wrong. He’d sent Damien to the best schools; he had been there for him. He’d tried to give him the most normal life possible, and to teach him the social responsibilities that came with privilege. But look at what had become of Damien—their only son, their only child. It broke poor Bev’s heart, and she didn’t even know the extent of their son’s debauched lifestyle.

‘There has been an interesting report about a young woman, a private investigator who paid a visit to the family of the Wallace girl. At first my men ran the licence plate and thought it was a police detective, but it turns out she is the girlfriend of a detective and was driving his car.’

Jack waited for him to finish.

‘I doubt we will have any trouble with her, but it does look like she might have been there on business,’ The American warned him.

‘On business?’ Jack didn’t want a private investigator poking around.

‘It should be fine, but I am getting my men to check her out anyway.’

‘What about the man Lee? The one Simon said was bringing those girls? Does he have any evidence? Would he testify against Damien?’

The American shook his head quietly. ‘Rest assured, he is not a problem.’

Rest.
Jack would not be getting any of that for some time, he felt sure.

‘So, has Andy asked again yet?’

Mak looked up. ‘Huh?’

Mak and Loulou had found a fabulous little bakery café called Il Fornaio near Mak’s hotel, and had launched into their lunches. Mak had already told her tales of Charlotte’s sexy moves, the ridiculous spectacle the Peacock patron had made of himself and Larry Moon’s unusual take on daywear.

The pair would have to enjoy their quick catch-up, because Mak planned to head back to Sydney that afternoon, relatively empty-handed. She had a lead with Amy, but no valuable information apart from a confirmation that Meaghan Wallace had worked for a time at Thunderball as a dancer. But Mak couldn’t rationalise taking any more time getting to Amy on her client’s tab, so Marian had booked her a three o’clock flight.

Should I go back to Noelene Wallace to extract more information from her…see if there are any address books, diaries? If the police don’t already have it all.

‘
You
know…’ Loulou continued.

‘What?’ Mak was still wrapped up in thoughts of the investigation.

‘Has he popped the question again?’

Andy.
Mak gripped her butter knife. This was an awkward subject. ‘Oh…no. No, we aren’t really planning on getting married.’

There had been a time, nearly three years earlier, when Mak and Andy had talked about getting hitched. But it had been too soon. Cautious Makedde had not been ready. Had she been right to hesitate about making that huge commitment?

‘It’s been a couple of years now, hasn’t it?’ Loulou said.

‘Since he proposed? Yeah, something like that. You have a good memory, don’t you? I’d forgotten,’ Mak lied.

‘Sure you have.’ Loulou wasn’t fooled.

Mak found herself rattled by Loulou’s questioning, especially in light of Andy’s absence.

‘Are you okay, sweetie?’

‘Peachy, thanks.’ Mak cleared her throat. ‘Not everyone has to get married these days.’

Loulou raised an incredulous eyebrow, and seemed to contemplate her response for a moment while she continued to eat. She was excitable and her lifestyle was a little crazy by most standards, but Loulou wasn’t dumb. She knew her friend well. For all Mak’s independence and strong will, she still harboured some of that
fantasy of finding ‘the one’, foolish as it was. Mak wanted what her mum and dad had shared for twenty-five years before Jane’s death.

‘Don’t you want the white dress, the church, the whole kit and caboodle one day?’ Loulou asked.

‘Mmm…no thanks,’ Mak said.

‘Well,
I
do!’ Loulou offered. ‘I want the big meringue dress, the ten bridesmaids and the cake with little people on top!’

Mak smiled. Not only was the unconventional Loulou perpetually single but also, to the best of Mak’s knowledge, she had not dated anyone for longer than about ten minutes. Okay, to be fair, she had dated this Melbourne muso for a week now. That was quite possibly a record run already.

‘You want to be a meringuatang?’ said Mak teasingly. ‘Okay. Maybe they can make you those little people for the top of the cake, but with mohawks…’

Loulou laughed bits of croissant onto her plate.

‘Did you just hear my phone?’ Mak asked. She thought she’d heard the faint but distinctive ring of her mobile. She reached under the table and grabbed her purse. Deep inside, her mobile had indeed been ringing. There were a number of missed calls and one voicemail message.

‘Dammit. How did I miss that? Hang on a sec,’ she said, and played the voicemail message back, covering her ear to listen.

‘Um, Macaylay Vanderwall?’ a woman’s voice said. ‘I think you have been looking for me? Um…I will be at Leo’s Spaghetti Bar at three today, in the back room. If you come, come alone. Please. Um…’ Click.

Oh my God. It’s her.

Heart bounding, Mak replayed the message.

‘…Leo’s Spaghetti Bar at three…’ the message repeated as she played it back.

Where was Leo’s Spaghetti Bar? Mak had not heard of it. But whatever and wherever it was, Mak was going to have to be there in less than an hour, and she wouldn’t want to rush when she got there.

Mak called Marian immediately.

‘Hi, it’s Mak. I’ve decided to stay another night in Melbourne,’ she said.

‘What do I tell Groobelaar? Are you getting a result?’

‘Almost. I’m almost there,’ Mak said. ‘Simon didn’t ring a bell with Meaghan’s parents, but if this girl is as good a friend as I am hoping, she will know whether or not Simon was on the scene.’

‘Okay.’

‘And tell him it will only cost him for hours. He doesn’t have to worry about paying accom—I’m staying with a friend tonight.’

‘Really? Oh, that’s good,’ Marian said. Clients always liked saving money. ‘When will you be back?’

‘I’ll be in tomorrow, but I’ll check in with you later this afternoon to confirm.’

‘Good girl.’

When Mak hung up Loulou practically jumped out of her chair to hug her. ‘You are staying over!
Yahooo!
This is going to be sooooo fun!’

Mak smiled. ‘I gotta get moving.’

Leo’s Spaghetti Bar was impossible to miss, with its huge red neon signage and tableclothed settings of chairs and tables spilling onto Fitzroy Street at St Kilda. As Loulou had promised, it was barely a block from Mak’s hotel, so she was there in plenty of time. Loulou had helped Mak to pack up and had taken her overnight bag back to Drayson’s place.

Now Mak was alone, just as Amy had requested.

Mak paused near the door and took note of the patrons dining outside. There was a pale couple with British accents wearing bumbags and sneakers; a skinny woman with bleached blonde hair bent over a coffee mug; and two men with leather vests and sleeves of tattoos. At the kerb was a black Mercedes, a beat-up Kombi van and a row of yummy motorcycles, none of them occupied. This inventory-taking was a subconscious and automatic response for Mak, something she had picked up from her father and his police colleagues.

No one at the outside tables seemed interested in returning her gaze, so Mak entered Leo’s through a set of glass doors, hoping that this whole chase was not simply a waste of time. Amy had sounded a little paranoid in her message.

Who or what is Amy so paranoid about?
Mak wondered, moving through the restaurant area inside.

Leo’s had a busy bar area and dining tables that stretched deep into the back. The message had mentioned the back room at Leo’s, so Mak made her way past the seated patrons towards the rear wall, quietly surveying the patrons and the layout of the restaurant as she did so. About a third of the tables were already filled, although it was barely three. As on the street, the clientele were a colourful and eclectic bunch—a man with a matted beard and a pierced nose sat alone at one table, and at the next a beautiful woman in a short dress was being fussed over by an attentive Italian waiter. A group of men in overalls were on a coffee break, their construction hats perched on the table. One long table featured a curious mix of intellectuals, debating animatedly over some obscure topic, fuelled by afternoon chardonnay.

Mak felt eyes on her and paused.

‘May I help you?’ It was a waiter.

‘I am just looking for someone. Thanks,’ Mak replied and moved on. She saw signs for the toilets, but no signs for a back room. She climbed
a set of stairs and continued, again with the feeling that she was being watched. With a quick glance over her shoulder Mak saw that the woman with bleached hair had moved inside and was in a line by the bar. She didn’t look up and catch Mak’s eye, so Mak moved on to a hallway where she passed the toilets and found a door for a back room. She pulled on the handle.

It was locked. Stuck in the hallway outside the toilets, Mak detected the faint smell of disinfectant. It made her big toe tingle.

‘Hey.’

She took a deep breath and turned around. It was the skinny blonde who had been pushing around a coffee mug.

‘Are you looking for someone?’ Mak asked.

The young woman nodded. ‘Macaylay Vanderwall?’ she said with hesitation, screwing up the pronunciation again.

Mak guessed that it had to be Amy. Now that she could see her face, the girl looked a bit like she had in the picture with Meaghan, although her hair was longer and stringier, and she had deep circles under her eyes. ‘You can call me Mak if you like.’

‘Amy.’ The name came out in a tiny, bird-like voice; a quick, frightened chirp.

‘It’s nice to finally meet you, Amy. Thanks for contacting me.’

Mak looked up to find that they weren’t alone. Larry Moon came around the corner,
filling the hallway with his girth. He nodded. ‘Hello again.’

‘Hello to you, too.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ he said and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘I’ll be out front if you need me, okay?’ he told Amy protectively.

Amy nodded, quivering like a nervous animal.

The narrow hallway by the toilets was not quite an ideal meeting place. Mak was pleased to follow Amy to a table near the back of the restaurant, where Amy sat with her shoulders snug against the wall, positioned to overlook the rest of the establishment. It was the ‘Clint Chair’. The Clint Chair was the position Mak normally took in any given room. She had spent so much time with cops that she felt on edge in any other position. Eating a meal with her back to the middle of a room was unbearable. She needed a spot where she could see as much as possible: the cash register, and all entrances and exits in case of any number of possible emergencies. The spot Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry would have chosen. So was this young woman who called herself Amy sitting there out of habit, like Mak, or was she expecting an emergency?

‘I thought that it was you, but I had to be sure you came alone,’ the blonde said. ‘You did come alone, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Mak assured her.

Amy seemed only slightly reassured. She nodded nervously and looked towards the glass
doors at the front, obviously petrified of something—or someone. She was small and held herself even smaller, arms folded tightly across her chest. She looked to be no older than twenty, with shiny bare skin and large brown eyes.

‘I heard you when you dropped by,’ Amy said, keeping her eyes averted. ‘Larry has been such a sweetheart, taking care of me. I told him I didn’t want anyone to know I was there, you know. That’s why he had to say I wasn’t home. He did it for me.’ When she looked to Mak again she gave her a quizzical look. ‘He’s right—you do look like a model. You’re really a private eye?’

Mak nodded. ‘Technically I am a forensic psychologist, but I also work as a licensed private investigator. Here is my card.’ She produced a business card from her wallet. ‘If you ever need to contact me about anything, you can call me day or night.’

Amy read the card before putting it in her purse. She looked Mak over. ‘You never thought about dancing?’

‘No, not me,’ Mak replied, discomfited by the statement. It seemed an odd thing to say to a near stranger. As a dancer, perhaps it seemed normal to Amy to comment on other women’s bodies.

Meaghan had been sucked into that world. Likely this was the reason for the unexplained gifts to her family—wanting to show her mum she was doing all right but still not able to tell her what she was doing to earn it. All the while
poor Noelene knew there was something her daughter wasn’t telling her, but she didn’t know what. Mak wondered if Noelene would want to know, and if she herself should tell her at some point, so that she was no longer in the dark about her daughter’s career, or whether it was kindest to leave the grieving mother with her photographs and her memories.

‘Thank you for meeting with me,’ Mak said. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Another coffee?’