Vodka Doesn't Freeze (8 page)

Jill understood too well that a door to a nightmare world had opened that night at the hospital; Marie and William Kaplan walked in, and had never really come out. They learned that Carter had raped their eight-year-old child once a week for four months while they'd been walking in the park. They'd driven her there, taken her home – forced her to keep going when she'd asked to stop. William Kaplan held himself more accountable for the abuse than the man who'd actually committed these crimes. In her deepest heart, Marie blamed him too. They became strangers in the same house.

Over the next six months, Carly had made a one-hundred page police statement that required the most explicit, exhaustive minutiae of every encounter she'd had with Carter. Carly had come home from each appointment with the police beyond exhausted, her stomach cramping, unable to sleep. She missed weeks of school at a time, beset by nightmares and bouts of tearfulness and anxiety attacks. She'd had to tell the same story to doctors, counsellors, and the Department of Public Prosecutions over the remainder of the year.

Marie told them quietly that Carter had finally been arrested and charged. Carly had prepared herself for the agony of going through the details again in court. The matter was deferred every time it was listed, and the process continued for two years. The case had finally gone ahead last month. The court found Carter not guilty and he was acquitted.

Jill and Scotty already knew that Marie had not been fast enough to stop Carly bleeding to death in the bath. In the living room in Woollahra, Jill had watched Marie mentally replaying the bathroom scene. She knew that movie would be screening the rest of her life.

A
FTER HER BATH
, J
ILL
stood on her balcony in boxer shorts and a singlet, watching the beachside afternoon becoming evening. She loved the sounds and smells of the ocean, and watching the cars and the people below left her with a sense of community. This connection from a distance was as close as she got to being neighbourly.

The sunset bled into the horizon, and a chill breeze puckered Jill's bath-warm skin. She hugged her arms, unable to rid her mind of Marie Kaplan's thousand-mile stare.

Time to cook, gotta eat, she told herself firmly. She stepped back into her living room, relishing the thick carpet under her toes.

From a rack next to her lounge, she selected a glossy food magazine and walked with it into the kitchen. Her mum had bought her the rack, and the twenty or so magazines had been home-delivered monthly via the subscription she'd also bought. Jill smiled. More than one way to tell your daughter to eat properly, she thought.

Hmm. Poached chicken breast with rocket pesto. Easy, and she had everything she needed. She pulled produce from the refrigerator, lulled by the rituals of cooking.

A glass of wine would work well right now, said the white-eyed girl in her mind. Jill tuned her out.

She thought about Jamaal.

She knew that the inspector would be reluctant to let her take Honey out to the hospital. Mahmoud was a witness in the Manzi case, ostensibly not related to the Carter killing, but the cases had to be connected. Besides, she had to know if he was the same man who had ensnared Honey a decade ago. Was he still in business? Was Mr Sebastian still around? Somehow, these questions seemed far more important than who had killed David Carter.

Convincing Honey to come along to the hospital hadn't been easy. She'd been sullen when Jill had shown up at her door the next evening. She was dressed in low, low-rider jeans and a pink halterneck top that left the creamy skin of her back completely exposed; her acid-green contact lenses glinted like gaudy beads, still freaking Jill out a little.

'I'm going out tonight. A girl's gotta work.' But Honey moved backwards to allow Jill into the flat.

Jill stayed where she was. That place was too small.

'Come on, Honey. I'll get you back here by nine, I promise. You wouldn't have left before then anyway,' Jill wheedled. 'We can grab something to eat. What do you want to eat? I'm paying.'

Honey stood silent in the doorway a few moments longer, her eyes giving nothing away; then she turned and walked back inside.

'Shit,' Jill muttered, moving to leave.

'God! Give me a minute,' Honey stood in the doorway again.

She threw Jill her handbag, juggling her keys and a canary-yellow cowboy hat while she locked the door. 'I want Lebanese food.'

The corridors of the Brain Injury Unit of the Prince of Wales Hospital were haunted by the relatives of patients who fought for life behind the doors that flanked it. Their wraith-like presence contrasted with the bright efficiency of the hospital staff manoeuvring around them. Jill needed to show her badge twice before the Nursing Unit Manager gave them permission to visit Jamaal Mahmoud, the nurse's eyes on Honey the whole time they talked.

'He's popular tonight,' the woman commented, finally returning to her notes. 'He's just down the hall,' she said, scribbling a number on a piece of notepaper and handing it to Jill.

Honey and Jill made their way through the disinfected corridors and looked for Jamaal's room. Even if this is the same guy, thought Jill, what does that mean? What am I going to do about it? She decided that she was just following a potential lead in the triple murder investigation, but she was more interested in finding out any connection between the three men in life than in their deaths. If their deaths were connected, could they have been part of some sort of group? Were there more of these guys out there? Her breathing quickened when she saw the room number ahead of her.

Jill had been hoping that she and Honey could just identify the man in the bed unobserved, but, as the nurse had intimated, he had visitors. Through the open doorway she could see a heavy-set man in a dark suit.

Before she could suggest they hold back, Honey had sauntered straight into the room.

'Honey, hang on a sec . . .' She trailed off as Honey, smiling, offered the suited man her cheek to kiss.

'Mr Sebastian, this is a friend of mine, Jill.' She still smiled broadly. 'We're here visiting her aunt, and she came up with me to see how Jamaal was going.' The man in the bed stared flatly at the wall, not even turning towards them at the sound of his name.

Honey seemed to have taken charge of the encounter, and although her eyes gave little away, glistening madly, her body language seemed to imply that Jill was to remain in the background. This was fortunate, as Jill could not have said a word if her life depended on it. What the fuck was going on here? Mr Sebastian – the man who had drugged and pimped Honey into child prostitution. Jill had no idea he was still part of Honey's life.

'Jill, is it?' Mr Sebastian extended a large, manicured hand. 'It's always nice to meet Honey's friends.'

He didn't introduce the other man in the room, a hulking tattooed figure with Mediterranean features, wearing sweatpants and a singlet. The contrast between the men could not have been more stark – Sebastian in his sixties, carefully groomed and tailored, offering an urbane smile; the other maybe early thirties, battle-scarred, staring flatly at nothing in particular. Jill thought maybe she'd seen him before.

'So nice of you to come and see Jamaal, Honey,' said Sebastian in his unctuous voice, turning away from Jill. 'As you can see, he's resting now. The doctors do not feel there will be any permanent damage, fortunately. He should be able to leave tonight or in the morning. The blow rendered him unconscious, but he's now left with little more than a headache, unlike the poor devil he was with.

'Did you hear, Honey, what happened to the other man?' He waited while she muttered her assent.

'It's hard to imagine the world has grown so violent, is it not?' he asked, looking at Jill. 'It's a terrible shame. The police seem to have no control over the streets anymore.'

Honey said something in reply, but it didn't register with Jill.

'We were just on our way out, Honey,' Sebastian said, sidling past Jill. He pressed his body unnecessarily close as he passed. Jill felt dizzy, ill, and leaned as far back against the doorframe as she could manage. He then turned to kiss Honey, who had followed him out.

'We'll see you at the club soon I hope, Honey?' he said, motioning his minder to follow. 'We've all missed you. Bring Jill and have a drink, something to eat. In the meantime, take care.

'I hope your aunt recovers, Jill.' He smiled down at her, and the two men strode off along the corridor.

Jill didn't know whether she was more surprised by Honey's behaviour or by her own – she couldn't believe she was walking with Honey out of the hospital; that she hadn't just left her there to find her own way home. She said little as they traversed the sterile corridors, and didn't speak a word on the drive to Surry Hills.

She glanced at Honey's profile in the car and realised she didn't know this woman at all.

Honey didn't try to break the silence, staring expressionlessly into the night. Jill didn't feel like food, but she'd promised Honey dinner.

They had circled the block several times for parking, and now sat in a crowded restaurant, more than a few dishes of Lebanese food in front of them. While waiting for their order, the sky had hurled spears of rain without warning, stopping as suddenly as it began. The hot Sydney footpaths steamed.

'So?' Jill started.

'So what?' Honey matched Jill's glare. 'I never told you that I escaped from Sebastian and never saw him again, did I? And you never asked me if I knew Jamaal's full name,' she continued. 'You never even asked me if the guy in hospital could be the same Jamaal. You just asked me to come with you and check him out. I knew he got fucked up last week. Heard it out there.' Honey gestured to the street.

Jill couldn't trust herself to speak. She instead selected some pickled vegetables, flat bread and yoghurt from the dishes in front of her and arranged them on her plate. She waved Honey's hand away when she tried to pour her a glass of wine, still not looking at her.

After several moments of silence, Jill said to the tablecloth, 'Obviously I haven't been asking you the right questions. I would like to know more about Jamaal Mahmoud and any connection he has to George Manzi, the man who was killed. Two other men have also been killed in a similar way, and I'm interested in whether they knew one other. If you know anything about that, I'd love to hear about it.'

She used the Lebanese bread to wipe up yoghurt and vegetables from her plate. She ground a mouthful into paste.

'And while I'm asking questions,' she continued evenly, 'I really wouldn't mind knowing . . .' she took a deep breath and continued in a forced conversational tone, 'how the fuck you could kiss a man who sold you for sex?' She finally looked up.

'Look, Jill,' Honey said, green eyes glittering, 'you have no fucking idea what it's like to grow up the way I did. I do what I have to do. Who was going to help me? The police?' Her laugh turned into a cough. She took a sip of wine.

Jill stayed silent, waiting.

'I tried going to the police. Twice, when I was a kid. Great help to me. First time, I got put in a foster home, where I was made to sleep in a kennel three or four nights a week.'

Honey's face was curdled. She drained her wine, reaching for the bottle as soon as she put the glass down.

'Second time – I tried to tell them what Sebastian was still doing to the street kids in the Cross. Got a beating for that. They nearly fucking killed me.'

Honey paused and stared out at the night, the streets wetly malevolent. 'Anyway, he's still there, I'm still here, and when I see him I'm fucking
polite
.'

The bread caught in Jill's throat. She reached for some water.

'Honey,' she said levelly, searching for eye contact, 'if that freak is still hurting kids I'm going to do something about it. I'm sorry that you went through the shit you did. No kid should have that happen to them. If you could help me – if you could show me and tell me what you know about what is still happening out there – I promise I'll do something about it.'

Honey finally met her gaze, but there was no way to tell what was going on behind her lightless eyes.