When Yesterday Comes Calling, page 10
`He wasn't my friend,' she squeaked, tears streaming down her face. `I never even—'
`That's all right then, is it? To get a stranger tortured and slaughtered. That's okay with you?' I leaned over and spat into her face. `Well, lady, it's not okay with me. And it won't be okay with Greg, or the police, or Patrick's family.'
`Please, I didn't know they'd do that. I didn't, please.' She was crying in earnest as Greg came back, clapping his hands happily.
`What's the matter, Wendy, love? I told you Harry—'
I just looked at him. `Ask Wendy who she told I was going up to the mountains to see Anna. And when she's told you that, ask her what she told the same person about Patrick, you know, our friend and colleague. That she told him I'd asked him to do some searching for me. And then ask her if she knows what happened in Kashmir, to me. Oh, of course you told her that didn't you? You told your trusted secretary all about that. Well, she just sold me down a mountain side that the mountain rescue people said I should never have survived.'
He looked from one of us to the other, amazement etched across his broad face.
I went on. ‘And when they find out that I now have the stuff Patrick found, Wendy dear, they'll be coming for you next and guess what, I don't care. But there is one small chance for you to stay alive beyond the moment I read Patrick's research.'
`Enough, Harry. This is Wendy you're talking to not one of your criminal mates from wherever,' hissed Greg.
`No, this is a friend who's mates with criminals from the mob—' Wendy let out her breath with a whoosh. `Yes, that's right, the m.o.b, Wendy. Bad, bad people, who don't let anyone off the hook, especially if they fuck up. And you have fucked up, Wendy. You got caught. Now give me names and I can get the police to hide you in exchange for information. You might even get off a conspiracy to murder charge. That's the only chance you have. Take it or leave it.'
I got up and walked away to the sound of Greg's anguished voice. `Is all that true, Wendy?'
I passed the waiter carrying my steak on my way out and was tempted but my rage overwhelmed my hunger and I kept going. As I expected they were right behind me as I stepped out into the sunlit street. Wendy tugged my arm and as I turned I slipped and staggered into Greg. We grabbed each other in a parody of a two-step and fell against the wall.
A passing car mounted the footpath, missed us, but ploughed straight into Wendy. I looked up at the last second to see her look of horror before she disappeared under the car. It continued on, clipping several passers-by before taking off at speed into the lunchtime traffic.
Whether there was a silence or whether it was just my silence I had no idea. Greg and I peeled ourselves off the wall as people appeared from everywhere. Everything was moving in slow motion. It was like walking through treacle as I tried to walk towards Wendy. I dreaded what I'd find and caught myself thinking that at least for her it was quick, not like Patrick.
Several people had beaten me to her. I pushed them aside and knelt beside her smashed body. Her eyes were open and there was still a spark in them. Somehow she was still alive. She looked up into my face and whispered.
`Too late…Harry.'
`Who, Wendy, who?' The voices roared around me.
`What's he doing?' - `Is she dead?' - `Get him away.'
`Phone calls, English…man…Looka.' Her eyes closed as hands dragged me away and multiple sirens screamed ever louder. Greg pushed past me but the crowd pushed him back too in spite of his calling out, `she's my friend, she's my friend!'
She'd been my friend too and now she was not. The ambulances came and took her away. We had no idea whether she was dead or alive. Several other ambulances came too and as they cleared the accident scene I asked the paramedics which hospital they were taking their charges too. Most had gone or were going to the Royal Melbourne Hospital.
The police arrived at the same time as the ambulances and we were very quickly pointed out to them. Greg was in tears as he told them she was his secretary; they were sympathetic but dogged in their questions. Why were we there? Did we see the driver? The number plate, the colour, make? How come if we were with her, we weren't hit?
One fellow who was writing everything in a notebook said people had noticed me leaning over her.
`Yes, I was,' I said, `she is my colleague's secretary and my friend. She seemed to want to say something so I bent over to hear her.'
`And did she say anything, Mr…er…?'
`Nichols. No, she whispered but I couldn't make out any words.' We left our details with them and set off for my car.
We rang the Royal Melbourne to ask if Wendy Lorimer was there. After a whole lot of to-ing and fro-ing they told us she was. But they wouldn't give us an update on her condition. Not even to say if she was dead. That information, a snooty admin person said, was for her relatives. Did we know her next of kin? Of course we did. Could we wait at the hospital for them? Of course. After Greg had left a message for her sister who was the only relative he knew of, we didn't speak until we arrived at the hospital car park. We continued to sit in silence for a long time in the dim light of the underground park.
He spoke first. `Was all that true?'
`Do you really think I would make it up, Greg? Yes, it was.'
`And do you think that hit run was on purpose?'
`Yes. They were watching her.'
`Or were they watching you, Harry?'
That was what had been churning up my stomach contents for the last half hour. While I blamed her for betraying Patrick, was his death and now hers, my fault? If she died that was. Had my singling her out set her up to be killed? As Patrick's research for me had caused his?
That way lay insanity. I could not let myself take that much responsibility. It would be like saying that if I hadn't got out of bed this morning she wouldn't be dead. True but only remotely. Wendy had made a pact with the devil and the devil had exacted his due.
18
But who or what the fuck was Looka? A person? Another Englishman? If it was a name it didn't sound like an English one. Was it Bentford's hit man?
I had to explain to Greg. `I suspect both. Yes, whoever it is has had me in his sights since Kashmir. You know that. Now they've got to Wendy, but what she did was her choice, Greg. I didn't ask her to betray me or Patrick. She chose to do that and when you play with the bad guys, you…take your chances.'
`You were going to say, you get what you deserve.'
I was but nobody deserved what happened to Wendy. Or Patrick. Or me either. We harnessed our dread and headed up to emergency to wait for Wendy's sister and news. After what I saw of her it wasn't likely to be good. Greg slumped in a chair but I couldn't sit down. I still didn't know what Patrick had found. It must be dynamite if he, and now Wendy, had died because of it. Then Greg was on his feet as a plump, dark-haired woman in a caftan and a colourful scarf around her hair, rushed up to him. It was Wendy's sister, Marie.
`Where is she?' The woman was in tears and frantic.
Greg put an arm around her shoulders and led her up to the triage office. I hung back. I didn't know the woman and was afraid my rage at her sister might show. They disappeared down a corridor while I looked around the waiting room. It was almost full. Mostly people staring at the floor or the almost silent television screen, with a few intermittently howling children. It amazed me how people were riveted to a TV screen even though they had no idea what the program was about.
Greg came back alone. Wendy was still alive but critical and had been moved to intensive care. Marie had been taken up there to be with her sister. He didn't look too hopeful.
`Did anyone give an assessment of her chances?' I asked.
`No, of course not,' he snapped. ‘They don't have crystal balls, you know.'
I guessed he'd asked and that was the answer he'd got so I didn't pursue it.
`Do you want to go back to the office?'
`I suppose so. Nothing here for us. The poor woman, Harry. Whatever you think she's done she didn't deserve this.'
`No.' Then I remembered. Looka. Wendy had said, `Looka.' An English man, Looka. Was it a name? Her sister might know. I had to get to intensive care to ask her what Wendy might have been trying to tell me. I ran over to the lift. Greg had said, `up to intensive care' so it would be listed. It was on the sixth floor.
Greg followed me into the lift. `What are you doing? Leave the bloody woman alone, Harry. Have you no decency, man?'
I ignored him. Greg was a nice bloke but these were not nice times. I followed the signs down a corridor until I found a small sitting room just before a nurse’s station. Wendy's sister was sitting there alone with a box of tissues in her lap. I slid into the chair next to her as she looked up.
`I'm so sorry, Ms…er…do you mind if I call you Marie? I'm a colleague of Greg's and Wendy's and was there when this awful thing happened. In fact, Wendy said something to me just before she…lost consciousness.'
Marie looked up with swimming eyes. `Please tell me. They may have been her last words and I need to know.'
`What she said was quite strange. She mentioned a - Looka?'
I was caught totally off guard by her reaction. Her face twisted into fury and she jumped up. I immediately stood up and stepped back.
`I'm sorry—'
`No, not you,’ she hissed. `Looka is L.u.k.a. I told her to stay away from him, that he was bad karma. And now look what's happened.'
She burst into gulping sobs so loud that a nurse came rushing into the room. After we all settled Marie down, she explained. Luka was a young man she reckoned had seduced her sister. He was at least fifteen years younger than her and had met her in a bar.
`How crazy was that?' wept Marie. `She picked him up in a bar. This kid. And he's not even Australian. He's a fucking, handsome young wog!'
Greg and I looked at each other. I remembered Beverley's niece saying something similar about her sister's choice of man. Prejudices run deep and long it seems, even in this multicultural age.
`Did she say where he was—'
She cut me off. `I told her he was after her for a reason, that he wanted something from her and she abused me. Why couldn't I be happy she found someone to love, she said? But you know her, Greg. Wendy's never been attractive to men and this young bloke…give me a break. And now this.'
She broke down again. I tried another tack.
`Why do you say he's bad karma, Marie?'
She mopped her eyes. `I'm a spiritual pathfinder. I help people find their path in life, you know creatively, spiritually and peacefully. I know a bad man when I see one. This Luka is a dark spirit and he has hold of my poor lost sister.' The tears flowed again. `This is all because of him. I know it is.'
I went back to my question. `Where is he from, Marie, and do you know his other name?' Dread was rising up my throat like a tide.
`I think he's from Serbia and his name is Mad-something. It's a long name…the name of a devil.'
`Is it Mladenovic?'
`That sounds like it but all those sorts of names sound the same to me. Do you know him?' Her eyes were almost bugging out.
`No, I don't, it's just a name I've seen written down.'
`Well, if you find him, let me know because I'll kill him for this. He might not have driven the car, but it was his darkness that caused my lovely sister's destruction.'
Greg sat next to her and hugged her. `No, you just use your spiritual strength to pray for her and pull her into the light, Marie. That's what you'll do best. Leave the darkness behind. Others will deal with that.' He looked straight at me.
I wasn't surprised by Greg's gentle compassion though the language was unusual for him. Marie relaxed and told us then that Wendy was in an induced coma, had life-threatening injuries but there was a chance that she could survive them.
We left her clinging to that hope. I was seething. Another malignant Mladenovic. This one had slipped under my radar completely. Wendy was in her late thirties at the most, so if this prick was fifteen or more years younger he must be only early twenties. But in the same breath as Luka, Wendy had mentioned an English man. That wasn't Luka. Her sister made quite clear that Luka was not English.
It must be Bentford unless there were dozens of Mladenovic cousins. Why did he seduce Wendy, a sensible older woman? Was it to get at me? No. This had been set up months ago. It must have something to do with Anna, but why now? What had changed? A light switched on. Anna's mother's death. Anna was now the last Mladenovic in Australia. I was peripheral. A nuisance. Nothing more. We headed for the car park and I drove Greg back to the office and dropped him there.
`Keep me in the loop, Greg. And it might be an idea to think about Wendy still being in danger if these people think she can dob them in.'
`Jesus Harry. Stop being so fucking paranoid.'
'Shit happens, mate. Remember Kashmir.'
I decided to drive back to Anna's before I trawled through Patrick's stuff. A few reasons. First, I wanted to delay knowing what had killed Patrick until I was sitting down and had time to go through it properly. Second, I was nervous for her, and third, I wanted to ride that damned horse.
I think I challenged the speed limit all the way back up to the mountains. I was enjoying having a current model car, too. I hooked into Bluetooth and called Anna hands free. She picked up straight away which I didn't expect. She was normally out and around the property minus her phone at that time of the day. The skin on my back crawled.
`Are you okay?' I asked.
`Why, because I picked up? Of course I am. I'm out near my south boundary right now and get good reception here. What's happened? Anything I should know?'
`Just that I'm coming to stay again. Hope you don't mind. I've got some stuff to go through and I might need you to help. I can't be there until it's dark so will you meet me in Marysville. We could have a meal at the Duck Inn. Six-thirty, I think.'
`See you there.'
She sounded pleased. Great. We hardly ever went on dates, partly because farming demands early nights for early rises and partly, I suspected, because that would be like admitting a commitment. And Anna's devotion to her animals meant we could never go to the city for a night out because we'd have to stay over. Bentford had been amazed that she didn't hire staff to do the heavy work but that was what she bought the place for.
But an hour at the local pub, with good food, and drink which I badly needed, no problem. I got there before Anna and sat in my car to wait. I knew fuck all about being followed so I wanted to see if any cars that I'd seen on the way pulled in behind me.
Nothing did. I drove into the Duck Inn alone. Of course no one yet knew what I was driving. I let out my breath in a huge sigh of relief. That meant that I hadn't triggered the hit and run. But maybe Wendy had. She left me sitting outside Greg's office after I'd put the wind up her. Had she called her paramour to tell him I was asking questions about Patrick?
I was saved from this miserable line of thought by Anna banging on my window. I grinned and climbed out, grabbed her around the waist and walked her into the pub. I was quietly pleased when even though she didn't look at me, she didn't pull back.
We sat at the back with a good view of the door and I made a promise to myself that I'd let the bad stuff slide away. That a good piece of highland steak, some crisp chips and good solid farm vegetables would hold the horrors at bay. And they did. Anna's company and the warmth of the room combined with a belly full of food relaxed me almost to sleep. But I only dropped out a couple of times and only for a fraction a second. Of course Anna noticed but I dodged any interrogation with, `later'.
We drove up to the farm in a close tandem and no cars or trucks tried to do us harm. So far, so good. For us at least. This time only Anna knew where I was. There was no Wendy to betray me. My throat tightened as the image of her broken body filled my vision. I felt awful about what had happened to her but at the same time I was still furious with her for what had happened to Patrick.
19
I was strangely grateful though. Her seduction by Luka Mladenovic confirmed that this entire affair was about the Mladenovic connection. Kashmir, Bentford and now Luka. What were they up to?
When we got back to the farm I set Anna to search for anything about Luka Mladenovic on my office computer while I sat down to work through Patrick's stuff. It was heavy going at first. Like a lot of Patrick's research, it was very dense and full of officialese. Then suddenly it wasn't.
Milos Mladenovic, Anna's grandfather who died in 1990 was apparently dynastically minded. Unlike his daughter who wanted no children. His estate had been divided between his two daughters and the first grandchild who had yet to be born. The body of his business was property, as Anna had heard. And one parcel, acquired early in his career, that was left to the unborn grandchild, was now held in a trust. The trust had been administered by Anna's mother.
The land was defined by its geographical location. Patrick had deciphered that and found it to be most of Docklands. One of the biggest developments in Melbourne. Its acquisition was shrouded in mystery and Patrick put a huge question mark over the legitimacy of that. But he couldn't find anything that would legally void it either. Under the terms of the old man's will the leaseholders and developers were able to do their thing. But with the death of his executor, Anna's mother, everything would revert to his grandchild. Anna.
No wonder the Mladenovic family wanted to embrace her as one of them. No wonder they also wanted to get rid of me. First, they'd be afraid I'd find all this out and queer their pitch to get her on their team. Second, my bet was that one of them, maybe Bentford, would marry her. Which wouldn't happen if she'd already married me. Third, if Bentford married her she would conveniently suffer a tragically early death leaving her grieving husband to inherit this vast estate that he didn't know she had.
