Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [38]
‘How’s your friend with the knife? Been back to check up on you?’ said Peterson.
‘He’s already in Mexico. We’re meeting in Switzerland as soon as the insurance company pays out on my door. Nothing like a lump sum to set you up for life.’ Jack moved out from behind the counter and walked to the front door. He stood there and held it open. ‘I’m really very busy, Geoff.’
Detective Peterson did not move. He reached out and smoothed the pages of the dictionary still lying open on the counter. Then he turned and slowly made his way over. He stopped beside Jack at the front door.
‘So why’d he pull the knife?’ he asked, eyes bright with conspiracy. ‘You get nervous, try and pull out of the deal? Ran down here to stop him sending it all up in flames?’ He glanced around the shop. ‘Just love the books too much, huh?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Jack tried to contain a worried look but it tightened the muscles in his face.
Peterson did not seem to notice. ‘Brandt must have shown you a few tricks. His businesses burn down every month.’
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said Jack, without looking at him. He let go the door and walked back to the counter. Peterson stepped outside. The door closed with a soft thud. Jack looked up and saw the detective through the glass, grinning and waving goodbye.
He smiled back, whispering through his teeth: ‘Fuck you, Geoff.’
Lunchtime in Double Bay. The sun was sharp and the cold air whipped canvas awnings in violent gusts. Traffic lights shook like TV antennas. Jack got off the bus and cut through Knox Street on the way to Cumberland Gardens, feeling the blood turn blue in his veins. Nobody braved the outside tables: inside, old ladies with grey bouffant hairdos and their forty-five-year-old daughters with not much to do complained and wondered if the council could do something about the wind.
Apart from that, the place was empty. Jack walked briskly. He turned down Bay Street and wondered if Annabelle would be at the house.
In his bag were the Kass books he had been able to find since delivering the first lot exactly a week ago. Jack was still in two minds about whether he should hand them over. A lot had happened in the last seven days. The books might be his only bargaining power: though for what, he had no idea. It would all depend on what Kasprowicz had to say for himself.
The long green gate was open. Jack walked through, noticing again how shabby the front yard looked. Annabelle’s Audi was parked in the carport. He went up the three front steps to the house, crossed the verandah and knocked.
After a few moments, she opened it, trailing a white cloth napkin in her hand. ‘Well, Mr Susko. This is a surprise. Are you collecting for a charity?’
Jack smiled. She was dressed in an oversized black jumper stretching down to her thighs and light grey tights: on her feet, thick white socks. She looked warm and very comfortable. Her hair was loose and tucked in behind her ears. No jewellery, no make-up, clear skin, smooth complexion: the effect was almost rude. The kind of woman who started wars and religious cults.
‘Nice beanie,’ she said. ‘Did your mother knit it?’
‘In case of Sydney blizzards.’
She looked Jack up and down, grinned. ‘Yes, I can see it now. Bit of a mummy’s boy.’
‘I visit every Christmas.’
‘What else could a mother want?’ Annabelle stepped aside. ‘Come in. You’ve just caught me having my lunch.’
Pity it wasn’t a bath. Jack walked through. He waited for her to close the door and then followed her down the hall, into the kitchen.
‘Your father not here?’ he asked, watching her walk and listening to the soft, padded sound of her feet on the hall runner.
‘No. Did you want to see him?’
‘We had an appointment for one o’clock.’
‘He’s in Hong Kong on business. Don’t think he’ll get here in time.’
‘Right.’ Jack thought about getting angry, but the feeling had nothing to grab. Other feelings were grabbing hold of other things.
Annabelle dropped her napkin