Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [62]
Jack leaned the shotgun on the wall behind him. His arms were very heavy. He could feel his heartbeat pound in his fists. He guided MacAllister to the Volvo and helped him into the passenger side. Then he got into the driver’s seat. Annabelle waved him away and turned to Harris. They started to argue. Jack glanced up at Kininmonth and saw Annabelle’s daughter, Louisa, staring down from one of the windows. He turned away and started the Volvo’s engine. He tried to tell himself it was not always the bad guys that got driven out of town.
18
THE ADRENALINE FADED SLOWLY from Jack’s body: his hands shook a little on the wheel. His guts were tight, shoulders stiff, the taste in his mouth metallic. Some light repartee might have helped, but MacAllister was not talking. He remained silent the whole way back to Sydney, even after Jack had stopped at a supermarket in Campbelltown and bought him a packet of frozen peas for his nose. Sometimes MacAllister had a tendency to sulk. This was one of them.
‘What about a game of I Spy?’
MacAllister ignored Jack. He inspected the improvised cold pack and then switched on the radio. Classical music filled the car, along with a lot of static.
‘Is that a no?’ Jack glanced at his friend. A scowl flashed over MacAllister’s face like a flame.
Eyes on the road and the rain, Jack drove and tried to remember to breathe. But his mind kept throwing punches, replaying the scene at Kininmonth, and his regret grew with every wet mile that slipped under the wheels.
At home, a couple of shots of Tullamore Dew did nothing to dispel the unease. Neither did a few more. Lois sensed the tension and stayed in the bedroom. Jack smoked and picked at the stitches in his stomach and thought about a lot of things that added up to nothing.
Slowly, silently, the afternoon soaked up the evening. He fell asleep on the couch.
Next thing, the phone rang. It was Annabelle Kasprowicz.
‘I need to see you.’
Jack rubbed his face. ‘What time is it?’
‘Nearly midnight. I know it’s late, but —’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at home. Please, can you come over?’
‘What’s the rush?’
‘The police were here this afternoon. They rang me at Kininmonth and asked me to come back and answer some questions.’
‘About what?’
‘My father.’ Annabelle paused. ‘They think he had something to do with Edward’s death.’
Jack tried to focus. The room was thick with darkness. He closed his eyes, lowered his head.
‘And what did he have to say about it?’
‘He didn’t say anything. He’s not here.’
‘Isn’t he back from Hong Kong?’
‘No. And I don’t know where he is. That’s what they questioned me about. They think he never went to Hong Kong.’
Jack’s mind started to sift a few things, but it was slow work at this time of night.
‘He was meant to be back yesterday but I still can’t get him on his mobile. I’ve been trying every five minutes since the police left. I’m afraid, Jack.’
Lois padded in from the bedroom. Jack leaned across and switched on the lamp. A soft reddish light spread through the lounge room. His arm twitched. He remembered Durst.
‘Where’s hubby?’
‘Please, not now, Jack.’
The bottle of Tullamore Dew stood a third full on the coffee table. Jack poured himself a couple of fingers.
‘I’m here alone,’ said Annabelle. ‘I can’t sleep.’
‘Too much hot-shoe shuffle.’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘Jesus, Jack.’ Annabelle’s voice tensed.
Jack slugged the whiskey. ‘What was Clifford Harris talking about? Are you really getting a divorce or just playing a nice round of family swindle?’
‘For God’s sake! I’ve already told you. What do I need to say to make you believe me?’
‘Try anything believable.’
‘Okay. How’s this? I’m glad you hit him. You loosened one of his teeth. He spent a lot of money on them.’
‘His or your father’s?’
‘Mine.’
‘I thought you didn’t have any.’
‘Not anymore.’
Jack turned his glass on the coffee table in small half-circles. ‘So what’s the deal? Who gets what in the society divorce of the year?’
‘Goodnight, Jack. You know where I am.’
She hung up the phone.