said. ‘We’ll try to look in on him.’
She nodded, pushed up her glasses and slapped her way up the stairs.
‘It’s hotting up,’ I said.
Erica was getting the idea. She looked both ways before stepping out onto the pavement. ‘It’s horrible,’ she said. ‘Can you drop me at Bill’s place?’
We drove through the tight, late morning traffic, and I thought of broken bones and hospitals, of which I’d had a bit of experience, and of Australian Chinese families, of which I knew nothing. We passed a restaurant where Helen Broadway and I had eaten, and I thought about her being physical on the farm or talking wittily on the local radio where she had a part-time job. I wondered if she’d smoked her one Gitane a day yet, or was saving it for after dinner. I wondered if she was thinking about me and thinking, as I was, that six months is a short time to havesomething you want and a long time to be without it.
There was a mist still hovering over the park when we reached Mountain’s place. The air was nearly as cold as it had been up at Katoomba, but it had a very different flavour. Erica didn’t have to use her key on the front door: it had been jemmied open and pushed roughly back. It was held half-shut by the splinters.
I pushed past Erica into the front room. The furniture looked as if it had been attacked with a chainsaw—the couch had been up-ended and disembowelled. Stuffing and fabric lay around everywhere and broken ornaments and torn curtains littered the floor. Erica gave a little gasp and darted to pick something up off the floor. She clasped it in both hands and wandered through to the next room.
The chaos continued through the house and was worst in Mountain’s study, where books had been dismembered and papers torn and scattered like losing betting tickets. The search hadn’t been professional and the destruction looked to be the result of frustration and failure. Erica skirted around the messes—tumbled-out drawers, shredded clothes and torn photographs.
‘What’s missing?’ I said.
‘Not much. The shotgun and the car keys. Not kids?’
I shook my head. ‘The TV and the VCR rule that out.’
‘So it’s
them
?’
‘I guess so. Can we make some coffee?’ We rummaged in the kitchen and found two more or less intact cups. I put on the water and spooned in the instant. Erica sat at the table and lit a cigarette. She opened her hand and let a small, gold wristwatch drop onto the pine table. The glass was shattered.
‘It was mine. I left it here. Why’re you looking like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Scowling.’
I poured the water into the cups and added a slug to each from a bottle of Suntory that had been opened and knocked on its side so that only an inch remained. ‘Bloodyuninquisitive neighbours,’ I grunted. ‘This must have been noisy.’
Erica reached for her cup. ‘Never heard them when I was here. Walls must be thick or else they’re out a lot.’ She sipped and made a face. ‘That’s not what’s on your mind, Cliff.’
I drank some of the laced coffee thinking that it was a while since I’d done any spirits drinking in the morning. ‘You’re right. I just don’t understand this. I can see the car mob wanting to get hold of the Audi. They make an investment, and it has to pay off. But this leg-breaking and house-trashing looks like something else.’
‘You mean they might have found out about the man at Blackheath?’
‘Doesn’t seem likely. No, he must have done something to threaten them. Must’ve played a card of some sort.’
‘What?’
‘God knows. I’ve got to talk to Mal again.’
She nodded. She seemed to have lost drive and interest suddenly. She’d been disappointed at the pub, at Mal’s flat and Blackheath, and maybe she didn’t have the mule-like stubborness it takes to keep going. Maybe it was the first violated house she’d seen; that experience takes some people hard.
‘Look, Erica. There’s still a job for you to do here,
She nodded, pushed up her glasses and slapped her way up the stairs.
‘It’s hotting up,’ I said.
Erica was getting the idea. She looked both ways before stepping out onto the pavement. ‘It’s horrible,’ she said. ‘Can you drop me at Bill’s place?’
We drove through the tight, late morning traffic, and I thought of broken bones and hospitals, of which I’d had a bit of experience, and of Australian Chinese families, of which I knew nothing. We passed a restaurant where Helen Broadway and I had eaten, and I thought about her being physical on the farm or talking wittily on the local radio where she had a part-time job. I wondered if she’d smoked her one Gitane a day yet, or was saving it for after dinner. I wondered if she was thinking about me and thinking, as I was, that six months is a short time to havesomething you want and a long time to be without it.
There was a mist still hovering over the park when we reached Mountain’s place. The air was nearly as cold as it had been up at Katoomba, but it had a very different flavour. Erica didn’t have to use her key on the front door: it had been jemmied open and pushed roughly back. It was held half-shut by the splinters.
I pushed past Erica into the front room. The furniture looked as if it had been attacked with a chainsaw—the couch had been up-ended and disembowelled. Stuffing and fabric lay around everywhere and broken ornaments and torn curtains littered the floor. Erica gave a little gasp and darted to pick something up off the floor. She clasped it in both hands and wandered through to the next room.
The chaos continued through the house and was worst in Mountain’s study, where books had been dismembered and papers torn and scattered like losing betting tickets. The search hadn’t been professional and the destruction looked to be the result of frustration and failure. Erica skirted around the messes—tumbled-out drawers, shredded clothes and torn photographs.
‘What’s missing?’ I said.
‘Not much. The shotgun and the car keys. Not kids?’
I shook my head. ‘The TV and the VCR rule that out.’
‘So it’s
them
?’
‘I guess so. Can we make some coffee?’ We rummaged in the kitchen and found two more or less intact cups. I put on the water and spooned in the instant. Erica sat at the table and lit a cigarette. She opened her hand and let a small, gold wristwatch drop onto the pine table. The glass was shattered.
‘It was mine. I left it here. Why’re you looking like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Scowling.’
I poured the water into the cups and added a slug to each from a bottle of Suntory that had been opened and knocked on its side so that only an inch remained. ‘Bloodyuninquisitive neighbours,’ I grunted. ‘This must have been noisy.’
Erica reached for her cup. ‘Never heard them when I was here. Walls must be thick or else they’re out a lot.’ She sipped and made a face. ‘That’s not what’s on your mind, Cliff.’
I drank some of the laced coffee thinking that it was a while since I’d done any spirits drinking in the morning. ‘You’re right. I just don’t understand this. I can see the car mob wanting to get hold of the Audi. They make an investment, and it has to pay off. But this leg-breaking and house-trashing looks like something else.’
‘You mean they might have found out about the man at Blackheath?’
‘Doesn’t seem likely. No, he must have done something to threaten them. Must’ve played a card of some sort.’
‘What?’
‘God knows. I’ve got to talk to Mal again.’
She nodded. She seemed to have lost drive and interest suddenly. She’d been disappointed at the pub, at Mal’s flat and Blackheath, and maybe she didn’t have the mule-like stubborness it takes to keep going. Maybe it was the first violated house she’d seen; that experience takes some people hard.
‘Look, Erica. There’s still a job for you to do here,
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