The Tax Inspector

35

The first thing Maria noticed was that the Catchprice Motors books were not on Mrs Catchprice’s table where she had left them. There was an ashtray and a glass of some black liquid and when she sat down at the central dining chair on the long side and opened her briefcase she found the surface of the table unpleasantly sticky.

The Hare Krishna was called Fish. He plugged the telephone in beside the bride dolls’ cabinet and Maria began to create the correct emotional distance between herself and her client who now sat down on a yellow vinyl chair some three metres away and arranged her ashtray and cigarettes on its stuffed arm.

Maria looked across the room, frowning. If pregnancy had not prevented her, she would have chosen this as the day to wear her black suit.

She had not been aware there was a call on the line until Fish handed her the telephone and said, without any other preamble, ‘Your office.’ So just as she was steeling herself to threaten Mrs Catchprice, she heard Gia’s voice: ‘I just had a death threat.’

When Maria heard ‘death threat’ she thought it meant a threat of dismissal because of their activities last night.

‘What will they do?’

‘What do you think they’ll do? They’re watching my house.’

‘They’re watching your house?’

‘It was eight o’clock in the damn morning. In the morning. How could he find my name, by eight in the morning, let alone my number? How could he even know who I am?’

‘Who is “he”?’

‘Wally Fischer.’

Mrs Catchprice was holding her ashtray, a small replica of a Uniroyal tyre with a glass centre. She was craning her withered neck towards the conversation.

‘He called you on the telephone?’

‘Not him personally.’

‘Gia, darling, please, tell me what happened.’

‘The phone rang. I was still in bed. I picked it up. It was a man. He said: “This is Dial-a-Death, you insolent little slag.” He said, “Which day would you like to meet your death? Today? We could just burn your car today. Then you could wait while we decided which day you were going to meet your death.”’

‘They’re just scaring you,’ said Maria, but her throat was dry. She had read about Dial-a-Death in a tabloid paper.

‘You’re not listening, Maria. They were watching the house.’

‘They wouldn’t dare. For God’s sake, you’re a Tax Officer.’

‘He said, your slut friend has left. You are alone in the house. It was true: Janet had just left.’

‘Have you called the police?’

‘The police? Don’t be naïve, Maria. You don’t ring the police about Wally Fischer. He pays the police. He lives up the road from the Rose Bay police station. I’ve got to ring Wally Fischer. I’ve got to apologize.’

‘Christ,’ Maria said. ‘I hate Sydney.’

‘Maria, I called you for help.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’ve got to go.’

The phone went dead. Maria closed her eyes.

‘Everything all right?’ said Mrs Catchprice.

‘No,’ said Maria. ‘It’s not.’

She sat for a moment trying to steady herself. She had failed her friend completely.

‘I need those books,’ she told Mrs Catchprice. ‘I need them here right now.’

‘I need them too,’ said Mrs Catchprice. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’ll be a lot better when I have the books. Please,’ she said. ‘I want to wind up this job today.’

‘How nice,’ said Mrs Catchprice. ‘I’m so pleased. There are so many important things I need to ask you.’

Maria heard herself saying, ‘Mrs Catchprice, my best friend has just received a death threat.’