Bright Air

25

We were both exhausted the next morning when we got up after a brief sleep. There was nothing in the papers. We had a quick breakfast and Anna said she had to get home to go to work. I told her she should call in sick for the day, but she said she couldn’t and I drove her out to Blacktown. There was a very brief news item on the radio, police refusing to release the name of a man found dead in a Castlecrag home the previous night. Foul play was not being ruled out.

‘They’re waiting for the pathology results,’ I said, still not quite free of my TV character.

Anna said, ‘I wonder how Damien is?’ She looked very tired and drawn.

‘I’ll find out when I get back, and ring you.’

‘Thanks.’ When we reached her flat, she got out of the car and walked to the front door with all the animation of a zombie.

I phoned the Chatswood police station when I returned, and they told me which hospital Damien had been taken to. The hospital would only say that he was in intensive care, so presumably he was still alive. Then, mid-morning, the front doorbell of the hotel tinkled and Lauren walked in. There were dark rings under her eyes, her hair looked lank and she had on the party frock she’d been wearing the previous evening.

I took her into Mary’s sitting room and we sat down. I told her I’d tried to call the hospital to ask how he was.

‘He’s in a coma, Josh. His heart stopped twice before they got him to the hospital. They’re not sure at the moment whether he’ll live.’

She was obviously desperately tired, but her voice was calm and level and she seemed very focused.

‘I’m sorry. We called for help as soon as we could. I had no idea that was going to happen.’ I also had no idea what she had been told of the situation.

‘The reason I’ve come is because I want to know exactly what happened. I want you to tell me everything.’

The way she said this gave me pause. The young woman gushing over the news of her baby had gone. This was the lawyer, determined to get what she wanted from a potentially hostile witness. I remembered Damien saying that she was brighter than he was. I had the feeling she was considerably brighter than both Maddox and me, too.

‘Of course. I don’t know how much Damien has told you about the death of Luce, and then Curtis and Owen, but when I came back from London, I met Anna, who told me a disturbing thing that Owen had told her the night he died.’ I went on to give her the sanitised version that Anna and I had told Maddox the previous night.

She listened in silence, concentrating on every word, her eyes following each gesture and shift of expression I made, and when I finished she sat back, still watching me, and said, ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘What?’

‘You’re saying that Damien attacked Anna, then barricaded himself in the house and tried to take his own life, because a hysterical Marcus had taken the blame for Luce’s death?’

I felt my eyes blinking too rapidly, some TV director in my head warning me that I was looking shifty. ‘I believe he had just discovered Marcus, dead, and reacted with shock.’

‘No one commits suicide out of shock, Josh, Damien least of all.’ She leaned forward again, drilling me with those deadly dark eyes. ‘I want to know why my husband felt compelled to try to kill himself last night. You know, don’t you?’

She was amazing. She’d be fantastic in the courtroom, or on TV. The eyes, the voice. I had no choice, really. She held me with those eyes, and I whispered, ‘Yes, Lauren. I believe I do.’

‘Then tell me.’

So I did. I told her everything.

When I got to the end I said, ‘That’s why he did it, Lauren-he felt he had no choice. He knew we would tell what he had done.’

Lauren sat rigid, unblinking, trying to absorb the possibility that her husband was a murderer.

Finally she said heavily, ‘It’s so … bizarre, I suppose it must be true. And why haven’t you told the police?’

I explained to her. ‘I thought enough people had suffered over this.’

‘Then I should thank you. I know Suzi would be devastated … Damien’s parents. So will you stick to your other version?’

‘From the way you reacted it doesn’t sound as if we’ll get away with it.’

‘Not necessarily. I spent the whole night at the hospital and only spoke a few words to the police. They’ll want to hear my side of things. If I support your story, and tell them that Damien has been very depressed since Curtis and Owen’s accident, they’ll have to believe it. And that’s not necessarily untrue-he has been different since that funeral, since he saw you again. I know he visited Marcus several times, and each time came back very low and started drinking heavily. Perhaps he guessed then that it was all going to come out, what they had done to that poor girl. I can still hardly believe it, that Damien would deliberately-’

‘It was Marcus, Lauren. He could do that to people.’ And then, because I’d told her everything else, I added, ‘She was pregnant, apparently.’

I regretted it as soon as the words were out, and I had to turn away as tears flooded into my eyes. It was an excruciating moment.

She waited until I’d pulled myself together, then murmured, ‘I’m sorry,’ and left.

It was hard to concentrate on anything during the following days, waiting for Maddox to return. Once, when I was a very small boy, I had dawdled on my way to school one morning and arrived late. I joined a line of miscreants outside the headmistress’s room. The door opened and we were invited in, one by one, to explain ourselves. As I waited my turn in the doorway I heard the boy in front of me offer his excuse: ‘Please, Miss, my mum woke up late.’ This seemed to satisfy the interrogator, who wrote something in a book and called me forward. I said, ‘Please, Miss, my mum woke up late.’ She wrote it down with a grim smile and I wet myself. It was my first real taste of the awful might of Authority, and now, as the days passed, Maddox took on that mantle, and I awaited his reappearance with dread, certain that he would see through our story with the same perspicacity.

As a distraction I persuaded Mary to let me take her to a matinee of HMS Pinafore at the Opera House. Mary loved Gilbert and Sullivan, and the weather was fine, so I suggested we walk there, around the bay at Woolloomooloo and up through the Botanic Gardens to Circular Quay. The show was a great success; we sailed the ocean blue, sighed with Little Buttercup at her unrequited love and thrilled to the plot reversal in the final act. The only unexpected thing was the shock I felt when I realised that the name of the captain of the Pinafore was Corcoran. Had I known that? Was that why I’d wanted to go?

Afterwards we had a glass of champagne on the harbour’s edge. I was disconcerted to spot Damien and Lauren’s balcony up there between the towers, and didn’t catch what Mary was saying at first. It seemed she had been to see her doctor about some symptoms, and he had sent her for tests, which had established angina, so she felt she should catch a taxi rather than walk home. I felt terrible at having made her walk all that way, but she dismissed my apology, saying she was fine really, just a little tired.

It was the middle of the following week before Maddox invited me over to the police station at Darlinghurst for another chat. I expected apocalyptic wrath, and thought it must be some kind of devious police trick when he seemed mildly satisfied. Finally I came to understand that Lauren had worked her magic on him, and he even expressed some concern that Anna and I may have been traumatised by that last encounter with Damien, whom they now knew had been deeply disturbed for some time.

There were a couple of angles that he wanted to explore. Apparently Marcus had been cooking up all sorts of stuff in that laboratory of his, including hallucinogenic compounds derived from plants. Maddox wanted to know about the use of drugs in our circle when we were students, and whether Marcus had supplied them. I told him we were no different from others of our age, and that although Marcus had supplied hash on occasions, especially to Curtis, our drug of choice had been alcohol.

It appeared that Maddox was only really interested in Marcus’s drugs in so far as they might relate to the aspect of the whole case that most intrigued him, which was the hold that Marcus had had over his students, which he described as messianic. I wasn’t sure that was the word I would have used, but maybe he was right. I found it hard now to pin down the nature of that magnetism, like trying to describe a colour or a taste.

Marcus’s funeral was a very quiet affair. Damien was still in a coma and Lauren didn’t go, nor did Suzi. Anna and I sat on one side, the deceased’s family on the other. They comprised a cousin and his wife and their two teenage children, who were all rather amazed to have inherited the house at Castlecrag. ‘Very special, of course,’ the wife said. ‘I mean, Walter Burley Griffin and everything. But so much work to be done. And the stuff Marcus accumulated!’ I mentioned the Lloyd Rees print that Luce and I had liked, and offered to buy it, and they said I was welcome to it.

We didn’t notice Detective Sergeant Maddox at the back of the chapel until we stood up to leave.

‘He’s facing the Supreme Judgement now,’ he murmured.

‘I suppose so,’ I said.

‘Your circle of friends has shrunk mighty small, Josh. You should think hard on that.’ Then, as if changing the subject entirely, he said, ‘I was speaking to Grant Campbell on the phone the other day. He told me about your little misadventure when you were over there recently. I really think you and Anna should consider hanging up your climbing shoes. It’s a dangerous game.’

‘Yes, we’ve come to the same conclusion.’

‘Funny, it reminded me of something that came up in the Lucy Corcoran investigation.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. There’s a strange pinnacle of rock out in the sea to the south of Lord Howe, called Balls Pyramid. You must have seen it.’

‘Yes.’ I found I was holding my breath.

‘There was lots of confusing information to sort out in the days after Lucy disappeared,’ he went on. ‘People charging all over the place, rumours of sightings and false alarms. We had to decide what was relevant and what wasn’t. It’s always like that with an investigation of course, but afterwards you wonder. On the day after the accident, the helicopter from HMAS Newcastle flew over Balls Pyramid. They spotted two people who’d landed on the Pyramid from a Zodiac off one of the visiting yachts.’

‘Really? Did you find out who they were?’

‘Mm. One of them had a beard, the other red hair. Sounded like Damien Stokes and Curtis Read to me. Later on I asked them, and they said they’d wanted to check that Lucy hadn’t been washed up on Balls Pyramid. With the direction of the currents that would have been impossible, of course, and I took it for an innocent mistake. But then you wonder …’

‘What do you wonder?’

He just shrugged.

‘Did they find any sign of her?’ I asked.

He said, ‘No. Well, they couldn’t have, could they?’

That evening I met Rory in the hallway of the hotel. He regarded me quizzically over the top of his glasses, the way he no doubt considered all dubious witnesses, then asked sombrely if I’d care to join him in a tot of whisky. I didn’t, but I couldn’t think of a reason to refuse.

We sat in the little bar while he poured the Glenfiddich, then he said, ‘You’ve been to a funeral, I hear. That feller who was the tutor of those climbers, your friends.’

‘That’s right.’ Mary must have kept him informed.

‘All over now.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘No.’ He repeated, with emphasis, ‘It is all over. The coroner has accepted the police report. There’s no suspicion attached to yourself or Ms Green.’

I looked at him in astonishment.

‘Mary asked me to keep an eye on things. I really think this business …’ He hesitated, then seemed to think better of what he’d been about to say. ‘Mary tells me you’re considering your career options.’

‘Well, um, yes,’ I said, and then, since he seemed to expect something more, I added, ‘I enjoyed my experience in London, but I’m not sure that I want to continue in that path.’

‘The Venezuelan business, eh?’

I gawped at him.

‘Banker friend of mine at the club,’ he said. ‘He was one of the people your bank tried to cheat. He was interested when I mentioned your name, told me the story.’ And he proceeded to relate it exactly as it had happened.

I was shocked, though it all seemed rather trivial now, compared with everything else that had happened since. ‘They told me nothing would be said.’

He chuckled. ‘No use having an anonymous scapegoat. Wouldn’t be believed. You’re quite famous, apparently, in a select circle.’

I groaned.

‘Sometimes these experiences can be the most valuable. And not necessarily a liability-shows you were in the thick of it. Best to move boldly forward now. Put the past behind you.’

He’d been discussing it with Mary, of course, and this was now the official line. They were really talking about Luce, and my unhealthy obsession with her death. This had to mark the end of it.

‘My friend has an interest in a boutique investment company. They specialise in ecological investments-carbon trading, stuff like that? I don’t pretend to understand it. But he thinks your background and experience might be just what they need. You might like to give this chap a ring.’

He handed me a card, just as Damien had once done. It had very discreet small lettering. I thanked him and promised that I would.

I assumed that was the heavy agenda business over, but then he came out with the big surprise.

‘Er, Mary and I have decided to get married, Josh. Mary wanted to tell you, of course, but I asked her to allow me …’

It was almost as if he was asking me for her hand or something, and I couldn’t suppress a big grin. He seemed discomfited by this response. ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘I’m just so pleased, Rory. For both of you.’ I didn’t go so far as to say I’d love to have him as an uncle.

‘I’m afraid it’ll mean letting the hotel go. Mary’s very reluctant, understandably, but you know about her heart, don’t you? The specialist’s told her she must take it easy, and I intend to make sure she does. I, too, will be retiring, from the bench.’

‘I see. Anyway, congratulations.’ I raised my glass.

‘Yes, well … it’s been a long time for both of us, but it’s never too late, Josh, that’s the thing.’

It’d be nice to think so, although Marcus wouldn’t have agreed. Several weeks later I got a call from Suzi. She asked how Damien was, and I told her that he was now at home. I pictured him in his wheelchair on his ledge on the twenty-eighth floor. His brain had been severely damaged by his heart stoppages, and he had not spoken a word since. He was not expected to improve.

Suzi explained that she hadn’t been in touch with anyone since she’d read about Marcus. She confessed that she’d never felt very comfortable with him. Then she asked if I’d like to call in for a cup of tea or a drink. I must have hesitated, wondering what this was all about, and she added hurriedly that she had a little problem she needed someone’s advice on, and she thought I might be the one.

I called in the next morning and she made coffee. Young Thomas was playing contentedly, a far cry from the screaming child Luce and I had babysat. We exchanged news without Suzi getting to the point of the visit. Then, when we’d finished our coffees, she asked me to come with her to the backyard, which apparently was where the problem lay. Beyond a sandpit and a small rectangle of grass, Owen had converted most of the backyard into an immaculate vegetable garden. Raised beds were lush with beans and tomatoes, lettuce and silverbeet, and though weeds had begun to invade since Owen’s death, it didn’t look too problematic to me.

Suzi led me down a central brick path towards the back wall, against which was a compost bin and a small greenhouse. It was filled with potted shrubs, and when I looked through the glass at them I felt a little jolt of recognition. They looked to me like melaleuca, and the last time I’d seen that tight-knit foliage, twisting like green coral, was on Gannet Green, a hundred odd metres up Balls Pyramid.

‘You can’t see them now, they come out at night, but Owen brought back these funny kind of stick insects from Lord Howe Island, that time that poor Luce died. He said he shouldn’t have, really, and we mustn’t tell anyone, especially Marcus or Damien. I really didn’t see why, but he was adamant. Only, there are quite a few of them now, and I don’t think I can look after them properly, and I don’t want them getting out-they’re big, you see, and I don’t know if they bite. They’re horrible things, they give me the creeps, and the thought of them getting onto Thomas or the baby … I almost called the pest exterminator, but Owen was so attached to them. I thought I should speak to you first. What do you think I should do?’

It was a good question. She had no idea how good. For a moment I pondered, the fate of perhaps the rarest creature on the planet in my hands. I decided that if I thought about it for a month I still wouldn’t know what was the right answer, so I just went with gut feeling. Luce had sacrificed her life for these horrible things, after all.

‘I know someone at the Australian Museum,’ I said, ‘who I’m sure will be delighted to arrange for them to be taken away.’

‘Just so long as we don’t get into trouble.’

Actually, it was more difficult than I’d anticipated. The nice lady at the museum thought I was playing some kind of practical joke on her, and became convinced I was from one of those candid camera TV shows. She kept peering over my shoulder, expecting a cameraman to burst in. In the end I had to tell her that Marcus had been instrumental in bringing them back from Lord Howe, and had given them to Owen to keep for him. She knew of Marcus’s reputation, and had read about his suicide, and she didn’t think that any TV show would be sick enough to exploit his death like that. I wasn’t so sure, but at least she was listening to me.

And so arrangements were made to give the phasmids a new home, where they would be nurtured, studied and eventually returned to their island. I was there when the team came to collect them, and watched them being teased and coaxed out of their bushes, awkward, archaic but also rather dignified in their survival. There were seven of them in all, and when they were all rounded up I looked at them and thought how bitterly ironic it was that a woman such as Luce should have died for such ugly little creatures. For a moment I felt angry at the grotesque imbalance, and then it occurred to me how much Luce would have appreciated it. You might say they were her bronze sandal.