Without You I Have Nothing (31 page)

BOOK: Without You I Have Nothing
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Daylight arrived.

Jennifer and Andrew
woke to the sounds of Joe roaring as he came up the stairs.

“Where the hell are
you Peter, and where the hell have you hidden the Bathurst truck?”  Joe stood
staring unbelieving and stony faced when he saw the two of them through the
doorway of the flat.

“What are you two doing
here?”  Joe did not pause for an answer. “What’s the stupid bastard done this
time?”  He threw the two morning papers on the table. “Look at the headlines
and the pictures!”

Jennifer and Andrew
just looked at each other, amazed. It was how Peter said it would be. Getting
no reply and still furious, Joe stomped back downstairs.

Andrew grabbed one
paper and Jennifer the other.

‘MOUNTAIN ROAD CLAIMS
MORE VICTIMS’ screamed one paper, and the photo showed the burnt out wreckage
of a car with the truck in the background. The other was more bloodthirsty and
the photo more graphic as it showed Peter sprawled on the ground with the fire
raging in the background.

Jennifer screamed and
fainted.

Joe reached for the
phone and dialed the yard boss of the Bathurst trucking company. “What did you
say?  Are you mad?  Bathurst Police will tell you nothing,” and he broke into
Italian.

The twins couldn’t
follow the conversation.

“What a mess, what a
bloody mess. Yes, I will make those arrangements. Thanks for the information.” 
Joe hung up and stared at Andrew. His stance was that of a beaten man.

Slowly he shook
himself before helping Andrew to lift Jennifer onto the bed. Yelling to the
rest of the team downstairs, “Put all calls through up here,” he sat and waited
for Jennifer to recover.

Slowly, she sat up,
and with slow unsure steps, joined them at the table.

Raiding Peter’s store
of alcohol, Joe poured three small glasses of brandy and placed one before each
seat before speaking.

“I won’t ask what you
know of last night’s events because I know Peter wouldn’t have wished you to
know anything in the first place. That call was to the boss of the trucking
company in Bathurst who’ll be ringing back very soon with more news.

“Bathurst Police had
phoned him. They have impounded the truck, as there had been an attempted armed
hi-jacking. He could give no other news as the police would say nothing until
they had contacted the next-of-kin.”

His eyes welled as
his worry for Peter overcame his thoughts, but he put on a brave face as he
tried to lighten the situation.

“Hey Jennifer, you
know Peter is a tough bugger. He really is and you know he loves you so don’t
give up on him, okay?”  He tried to sound brighter than he felt.

Silence!

They each took a
small sip of their brandy.

It was deathly quiet
until Jennifer banged her glass on the table, spilling brandy over her hand and
onto the timber surface.

“Why have I been so
damn stupid with him?”

They sat in silence,
each immersed in their own thoughts, each face etched with the anguish in their
hearts.

The phone rang and
Joe jumped to answer it. “Oh, yes. Yes. Yes. What?  They can’t tell you even
now?  What the hell is going on?”

Again, he broke into
Italian before continuing the conversation. Eventually, conversation ended, he
turned to the twins.

“The news is both
good and bad. Three people died in the accident and a chopper lifted out the
fourth one with bullet wounds. My guess is that the fourth one was Peter, but
only time will tell and we can pray hard that it was him. He still has some
trucks to deliver and he never leaves a job undone.”

Heart-rending sobs
met his pitiful attempt to lift Jennifer’s spirits.

The phone rang again.

“What?  What did you
say?  Oh, no - say that again. The police are here. They want to speak to Jennifer.
Bring them up here immediately.”

Jennifer looked
destroyed as if the sound of the feet on the stairs was the march of Cerberus,
the hound from Hades.

“Miss Blake - and you
are?”  A detective studied Andrew.

“I’m Jennifer’s twin
brother, Andrew Blake, here in Sydney on business.”  Andrew pulled himself
together.

“What was the
business?”  The detective doggedly stuck to his questioning.

“I came here to meet
Peter O’Brien prior to his engagement to my sister. It was a kind of twin
brother’s approval meeting. We met last night and had a wonderful Indian meal, then
went to his apartment and came here so he could show me his workshop. I was
most impressed. Then he drove off to deliver a truck to Bathurst.

“We spent the night
here as Jennifer was feeling too under the weather to drive and I had been
drinking. Peter had been the designated driver for the night.”

“Why was there a
red-haired dummy in his cab?”  The detective was suspicious of everything.

“We’d been fooling
around and I wouldn’t let my sister go with him in case he led her astray, so
we dressed the dummy as a joke and told him he’d have to be satisfied with
taking Jennifer Number Two.”

Disgusted that he was
getting nowhere, the detective turned his interest to Jennifer.

“Do the names…’ and
he rattled off the names of the three men, “mean anything to you?”

Jennifer stared and
was unable to answer so Andrew intervened.

“Yes, they are the
names of the three men I prevented from raping my sister years ago.”  Andrew
was furious that they were questioning Jennifer, who was so obviously
distressed.

“Mr. Blake we must
ask you to remain quiet. Allow your sister to answer.”

Andrew’s thoughts
reflected his anger. ‘What a bastard this policeman is.’

“Well, Miss Blake, I
am waiting for an answer, or would you prefer to come down to the station and
answer there?”

“Although you believe
I am a weak female, I am a lawyer so you are taking me nowhere unless you are
charging me so I suggest you start again.”  Jennifer was once again the ‘Ice
Maiden’ and her eyes glittered in anger. “You heard my brother’s answer and I
have nothing to add. Don’t come in here trying to browbeat information out of
us else you will find yourselves in court on serious charges.”

The policemen
blanched as she continued. “I suggest you watch your tone and start again!”

“Have any of the men
been in contact with either of you?”

“How could they? 
They’re in prison.”  Jennifer stared through the police, daring them to
contradict her.

“No, - you’re wrong. They’re
dead. They were incinerated in a car smash - or possibly murdered in a car
smash - after an attempted truck hi-jacking.”

“How can that be our
concern?”

Relentlessly the
detective continued. “Well, the truck they attempted to hi-jack was the one
driven out of here by Peter O’Brien.”

“Peter, where’s
Peter?  Tell me, you bastard!”  Jennifer dropped all pretence of lady-like
behavior and jumped to her feet. “Is he alive - dead?  Where is he?”  Her voice
rose to a shrill scream before she collapsed on her chair, sobbing piteously.

The detective and his
partner were shocked at her vehemence.

“Haven’t you been
told?  We thought you knew.”

Jennifer looked
stricken as she waited for the trap door to open, allowing her to fall to her
death at the end of the hangman’s noose.

“Tell me. Tell me.”  Her
scream showed she was about to physically attack the man.

“Last night, Peter
was flown from the accident scene by helicopter. He’d lost a lot of blood as
the hijackers had shot him. However, he disregarded his injuries and tried to
put out the fire. He’s in intensive care at Royal North Shore Hospital. Only
next-of-kin are allowed in, but I dare say if we escort you the ward sister
will allow you to see Mr. O’Brien.”

The detective,
looking a little self-conscious now, seemed human at last.

Jennifer would never
remember the trip to the hospital, neither the blare of the siren, nor the
speed at which they travelled - nothing. She couldn’t even remember being
ushered into the elevator or walking into the ward.

She did remember the
pretty blonde bending over Peter, holding his hand as she wiped the
perspiration from his forehead.

She did remember
shouting “Peter” as she ran to him.

She did remember the
loving look that passed over his face as the blonde-haired woman dropped his
hand to walk quickly out of the ward.

Her relief in finding
Peter was short lived.

The emotional trauma
of the past few days and the torment of the questioning by the police blocked
any rational thinking that her education as a lawyer would normally guide her
in her responses to such a situation. She was an emotional mess, her mind full
of pain. She slid into the blackness of depression for the second time in her
life.

Her voice sounded
pleased but her heart was frozen.

“Oh, God, Peter!”

Her eyes flashed with
self-righteous anger - all coherent thoughts smothered by the sight of the
affection shown by both Peter and that woman for each other.

Her voice was almost
a high pitched, bitchy shriek as she allowed jealousy to overcome her. She was
no longer a lawyer - she was a confused, depressed young woman.

“Who was that woman
and why is she allowed to see you when I’m not permitted near you without a
police escort?”

Peter ached all over.
His leg felt as though it was falling off and the ache bit deep. Drugged with
painkillers, he hardly knew where he was, let alone have the strength to answer
these questions. He just wanted peace and quiet - peace and quiet to think
where his life was heading.

“That woman - as you
so cattily put it.”  He was tired, he was angry, and above all the inquisitiveness
of the police unsettled him. They had already commenced inquiries with Interpol
about his back - part of his history - which he had wanted to be far in his
background.

“That woman is your
best friend. Yes, your best friend.”

Jennifer turned as a nurse
took her arm. “I am afraid you’re disturbing the patient, Miss Blake. I must
ask you to leave.”

Shrugging herself
free, Jennifer continued.

“Don’t worry, I’m
leaving and I’ll never be back. Is that the woman you took to Bathurst?  You
tell me you love me yet you spent the weekend away with her.

“Don’t bother denying
your feelings for her and her feelings for you. I saw the two of you and I’m
not a fool. Is that the woman you saved, then undressed and put to bed?  By her
actions, I see she really enjoyed your attentions. And you had the impertinence
to profess your love for me.”

The hatred in her
voice shocked Peter as he lay still, gazing steadily at her. Quietly he
whispered, “She’s your best friend, Jennifer. She’s our best friend.”

In a voice laced with
even more venom, she cut across his words. “I will not be treated like this. I
will not be your plaything, not now, not ever. Goodbye, Peter. I am returning
home to Melbourne. There’s nothing to keep me here in Sydney. Goodbye.”

Ramrod stiff she fled
the ward.

Chapter  8     Mistaken Identity

Joe looked around the
workshop, particularly pleased at how he had kept it humming along. The
hammering of metal and the screech of the grinders played a pleasing harmony
for his ears and the smell of fresh enamel coming from the paint booth made him
smile.

In his usual discreet
way, after warning the staff not to mention Jennifer, he had taken care to hide
her car at the back of the workshop so Peter wouldn’t see it when he returned. Joe
was pleased. His thoughtfulness was a kind action to protect Peter.

His smile became
broader as he watched one of the female apprentices scurrying to collect a
buffing machine to finalize a paint job. The second apprentice was working with
a mechanic removing a radiator and had a smear of black grease across her
youthful face.

The only admission of
their femininity was the cap each wore to protect her hair.

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