test 14.04.23

His thick hair had protected his head, but blood was oozing out and trickling across his forehead. I wet a washcloth in the bathroom, filled a glass with water and brought them to him. I put the cloth up to his head and lifted his hand to hold it there. I put the glass in his other hand and lifted it to his mouth.
‘Drink it,’ I said.
He was dazed and uncoordinated but he gulped down some of the water and kept the cloth in place. My shoulder hurt where he’d hit me but compared to him I was in very good shape. His leg twitched and he yelped as the knee hurt him. The pain seemed to clear his brain and he stared at me as if he couldn’t believe someone so much older had taken him so easily.
‘You’d be Alexander Mountjoy,’ I said. ‘Michael Tennyson’s pimp and gofer.’
‘Fuck you,’ he said.
‘We’re going to have a talk, Alex, but first I need a drink.’
‘My leg’s...’
‘Badly damaged and the longer it stays without treatment the worse it’ll be. You might try this new synthetic stuff the footballers go in for. Not sure if it’ll work for the medial and the cruciate, but...’
‘Talk about what?’
‘Hang on.’
I went upstairs and got the miniature tape recorder Hank had given me as a birthday present and put it in my pocket. Then I got a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses from the kitchen. I poured two hefty drinks, gave him one and put my hand in my pants pocket to turn on the recorder.
‘Let me get a few things straight. You’ve been helping Tennyson harass Jane Devereaux - delivering obscene material, following her, and you broke into her flat and stole some letters, right?’
‘Fuck you again.’
‘The longer it takes, the worse for the leg.’
‘Okay, okay, yes. I did what I was told to do. No one got hurt.’
‘Why is Tennyson doing this?’
‘He’s crazy, he’s obsessed with the ugly cunt.’
‘And you drove your car at Mary Oberon. Was that on Tennyson’s instruction, too?’
‘Yeah, that bloody whore fucked up. She was supposed to screw Forrest up good and proper, but she wasn’t up to it. She was supposed to get photos and she fucked that up.’
‘And she wiped the emails.’
‘Right, the dumb cunt.’
‘Tennyson’s an unforgiving employer, eh?’
He didn’t respond.
‘All right, here’s the big one. Why did you shoot Bobby Forrest?’
He’d drunk most of the scotch and was wincing with pain but suddenly his manner changed. He gaped at me.
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘I didn’t shoot him.’
‘Tennyson said he’d have him killed.’
He shook his head and the movement hurt his leg. ‘Look, Tennyson’s crazy but he’s not that crazy. He’d have got me to beat him up, sure, and I’d have been glad to do it - cocky brat. But that’s all.’
It wasn’t what I expected to hear and I had to struggle to control my reaction. The trouble was, I believed him. His surprise and alarm were genuine, no doubt about it.
‘You followed him and Jane Devereaux in a white Commodore. Forrest spoke to me just before he was killed and he was being followed by a white Commodore.’
‘There’s a million fucking white Commodores.’
That was true.
‘Tell me what happened tonight.’
He told me that he’d phoned Tennyson and reported that I’d hit Jane Devereaux. Tennyson told him to wait for me and hurt me.
‘Kill me?’ I said.
‘No! Just put you in hospital for a long time.’
‘Weren’t up to the job, were you?’
‘Call an ambulance.’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ I took the tape recorder from my pocket, turned it off, rewound it a bit and hit play.
‘... crazy, he’s obsessed with the ugly cunt.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Mountjoy said.
I poured him another drink. ‘Got your mobile on you, Alex? You’re going to give Tennyson a call.’
‘No.’
I pointed to his knee. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some bone splinters drifting around in there. Every minute counts.’
He made the call and I took the phone.
‘This is Cliff Hardy. I think you know who I am.’
‘Yes.’
A nicely modulated private school voice.
‘I’ve got Alex Mountjoy here and he’s not feeling very well.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes. I’m going to play a tape of our conversation. I suggest you listen carefully.’
I played the tape. Mountjoy sweated. He used the wet cloth to wipe his face.
‘What do you want?’ Tennyson said.
‘It’s not a question of what I want. It’s what I demand, what I insist upon. I can make as many copies of this tape as I like and send them where I choose, starting right now. Imagine the TV news, imagine the blogs, imagine the share prices of your companies.’
‘Go on.’
‘You are not to make any kind of contact with Jane Devereaux. You are not to phone, email or write to her, nor to approach her.’
‘You hit her.’
‘That was a charade. Mountjoy fell for it and so did you. Have you understood so far?’
‘Yes.’
‘Think about the restraining order she could get if she used that tape.’
‘You’ve made your point.’
‘I’m not finished. You are not to cause her any professional difficulties. I know you have influence in the publishing world. If she runs into any trouble that threatens her position the tape gets distributed. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Same goes for me. Any smell I get of your interference in my affairs and the world learns what a pathetic, bullying prick you are.’
That got to him. His voice took on an edge: ‘Is that all?’
‘No, you’d better send some people for Alex. We’re at my place in Glebe. A couple of paramedics and a tame doctor if you have one. Better bring a gurney and some way he can travel comfortably.’
‘I gather you thought I was responsible for Forrest’s death.’
‘I was wrong there. Do you know who was responsible?’
‘No, but whoever it was has my congratulations.’
He hung up. I handed the phone back to Mountjoy.
‘He’s not happy, Alex.’
They arrived forty-five minutes later - two men in tracksuits with a trolley and another in a business suit with a doctor’s bag. I met them at the door and waved them in with my .38 in my hand. The doctor looked startled when he saw the gun; the other two didn’t.
‘Has he had any medication?’ the doctor asked.
‘Scotch,’ I said.
One of the tracksuited guys sniggered.
I stayed by the door while they made their arrangements. The man who’d sniggered approached me, showing that his hands were empty.
‘What did you do to him?’
‘Not much. He mostly did it to himself.’
‘Good on you, he’s a ripe shit.’
Mountjoy yelped and swore a couple of times and gave me a filthy look as he was wheeled past. I watched as they loaded him into the back of a station wagon. Then one of the helpers walked back to Mountjoy’s Commodore. I waited by the open door with the pistol behind my back until both cars had gone.
I put the gun away, finished my drink and poured another. I got rid of the bloodstained cloth and sat with the tape recorder in my hand. I ejected the cassette - a tiny object to have such a decisive impact. Sort of decisive. I called Jane.
‘It’s over,’ I said.
‘What do you mean, Cliff?’
‘Tennyson and Mountjoy weren’t behind Bobby’s death but I’ve fixed it so that Tennyson won’t bother you again. He won’t ever contact you or cause you any professional trouble.’
There was a pause. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘I applied the right kind of pressure to the right person.’
‘That’s the answer you gave me once before. It means you won’t say.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Jane. It just means that you can get on with your life without worrying about Tennyson.’
‘And without Robert. So you still don’t know who killed him?’
‘No, but I’ll keep looking.’
‘However can I thank you, Cliff?’
‘Just send me a copy of the book about the top copper.’

Being stalked by a woman and not being able to handle it, that’s bad enough, but... I went home with Miranda. I don’t know why. I suppose I thought I should. I couldn’t get it up for her. She was beautiful and all that, but I just couldn’t. I’ve had some trouble in that department over the years...’

‘You’re not Robinson Crusoe.’

‘What? Oh, yeah, but nothing like this. It was miserable.’

‘Do I have to ask the obvious question?’

‘No. With Jane everything is wonderful. Amazing, really. But Miranda, or whoever she is, has threatened to harm Jane. To physically hurt her. And she says she’ll tell her I’m really gay and that I’m just using her as a...’

‘Beard, the Americans call it.’

‘Do they? Okay. She says she knows I’m not and that she can fix my problem, but she says she’s so hurt that’s what she’d do.’

‘Unless?’

‘Unless I agree to see her, respond to her messages and emails, go on a holiday with her, all that.’

‘These threats come how?’

‘Emails, letters, cards, phone calls.’

He handed me the other photograph. It showed a young woman sitting in a chair smiling shyly at the camera. She had curly, cropped hair, a pug nose and slightly droopy eyes. She wore a blouse and a skirt that covered her knees. Forrest cleared his throat.

‘Jane isn’t beautiful, as you can see, but that doesn’t matter to me. She’s wonderful and I love her, but because I look the way I do... shit, I hate saying this.’

‘She feels she’s not good enough for you while you feel you’re not good enough for her.’

He had large, expressive blue eyes like Mel Gibson and he opened them wide. ‘That’s it exactly. I can’t bear the thought of losing her or of any harm coming to her because of me.’

‘Tell me about the threats to Jane.’

‘They’re kind of veiled, I suppose you’d call it. Nothing like “I’ll throw acid in her face” or like that. But she says how people can have accidents, how they can contract diseases by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She says she knows people who can arrange things and how Sydney is such a dangerous city.’

‘Nothing direct?’

‘No.’

‘And you believe she’s capable of carrying out these threats?’

‘That’s the trouble, I don’t know. But I can’t afford to take the risk. I’m embarrassed about all this. The only person I’ve been able to talk to about it was my dad. Can you help me?

It didn’t feel like such a big deal. It was a reversal of the usual stalker scenario, but what could I expect? It was the twenty-first century, change was everywhere.

Bobby said he’d been back to Miranda’s flat but she wasn’t there. He felt too angry to reply to her emails or phone calls because he was worried she might record him saying something he shouldn’t. He mentioned his bad temper. He wanted me to find Miranda and talk to her. Persuade her that the course she was following would only get her into serious trouble.

‘Would you take legal action?’

He finished his drink as he thought about it. ‘I’d be reluctant. It’d be embarrassing and Jane would find out all about it. But Dad says you’re good at getting through topeople. If you thought she was serious about the threats and wouldn’t listen, then yes, I’d take legal action.’

That was sensible. He was smarter than he thought.

I had him sign a contract and pay over a retainer. I asked him for more details on how the particular dating website he’d used worked and he filled me in. I took notes. I got his email address and his postal address, his landline and his mobile number.

Jane’s surname was Devereaux and I got her details, including the publishing company she worked for as an editor. I got Bobby’s agent’s details and those for his father. Bobby and I shook hands and he thanked me profusely. So far all he’d had was a sympathetic ear, and the retainer he’d given me, in line with what I’d learned was the new scale of fees, was steep. I felt I had to have something to contribute immediately. I asked him if Miranda had given him a deadline for carrying out her threats.

‘Not exactly, but she implied I didn’t have long.’

‘If I have trouble finding her, another way might be for you to contact her and arrange to meet. I could step in then.’

He looked dismayed at the prospect, almost angry when I told him that if it came to making contact with Miranda it would be better to do it by phone in case Jane read his emails.

‘She wouldn’t do that.’

‘You never know what a person will do.’

The anger subsided. A flush had come over his face and he’d gripped the arms of his chair so that the structure creaked. He drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t think I could meet her. I think if I did I might...’

‘Do what?’

He shook his head and didn’t answer.

He was suddenly anxious to go and I let him. I stared at the closed door and wondered what he’d been going to say. Was it, I might try to prove my manhood, or I might harm her?

After he left I scanned my notes and the signed contract into the computer and created a file for it. I scanned the photos of Miranda and Jane into the computer and made copies. Then I threw the notes away. They say the paperless office didn’t happen; I kept the signed contract but otherwise I was prepared to get as close to paperless as I could.

Bobby, looking shamefaced, had told me that Miranda’s photograph had attracted him and her list of interests included acting and several sports he was keen on. He’d ‘messaged’ her, got a response and they communicated a few times before arranging a meeting at a wine bar in Coogee. He’d given her his email address and mobile number. Once bitten, he’d been more cautious with Jane and they’d spent more time providing details and filling in backgrounds before they’d arranged to meet. He said he hadn’t been disappointed by her looks when they met at a coffee shop in Randwick. He described her face as fascinating. She hadn’t objected to his intellectual shortcomings. He said they’d laughed a lot and at the same sorts of things. He’d agreed to read some books and she’d agreed to let him teach her to play golf. They went to bed on their third meeting and hit the jackpot.

Stalked 3

Being stalked by a woman and not being able to handle it, that’s bad enough, but... I went home with Miranda. I don’t know why. I suppose I thought I should. I couldn’t get it up for her. She was beautiful and all that, but I just couldn’t. I’ve had some trouble in that department over the years...’

‘You’re not Robinson Crusoe.’

‘What? Oh, yeah, but nothing like this. It was miserable.’

‘Do I have to ask the obvious question?’

‘No. With Jane everything is wonderful. Amazing, really. But Miranda, or whoever she is, has threatened to harm Jane. To physically hurt her. And she says she’ll tell her I’m really gay and that I’m just using her as a...’

‘Beard, the Americans call it.’

‘Do they? Okay. She says she knows I’m not and that she can fix my problem, but she says she’s so hurt that’s what she’d do.’

‘Unless?’

‘Unless I agree to see her, respond to her messages and emails, go on a holiday with her, all that.’

‘These threats come how?’

‘Emails, letters, cards, phone calls.’

He handed me the other photograph. It showed a young woman sitting in a chair smiling shyly at the camera. She had curly, cropped hair, a pug nose and slightly droopy eyes. She wore a blouse and a skirt that covered her knees. Forrest cleared his throat.

‘Jane isn’t beautiful, as you can see, but that doesn’t matter to me. She’s wonderful and I love her, but because I look the way I do... shit, I hate saying this.’

‘She feels she’s not good enough for you while you feel you’re not good enough for her.’

He had large, expressive blue eyes like Mel Gibson and he opened them wide. ‘That’s it exactly. I can’t bear the thought of losing her or of any harm coming to her because of me.’

‘Tell me about the threats to Jane.’

‘They’re kind of veiled, I suppose you’d call it. Nothing like “I’ll throw acid in her face” or like that. But she says how people can have accidents, how they can contract diseases by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She says she knows people who can arrange things and how Sydney is such a dangerous city.’

‘Nothing direct?’

‘No.’

‘And you believe she’s capable of carrying out these threats?’

‘That’s the trouble, I don’t know. But I can’t afford to take the risk. I’m embarrassed about all this. The only person I’ve been able to talk to about it was my dad. Can you help me?

It didn’t feel like such a big deal. It was a reversal of the usual stalker scenario, but what could I expect? It was the twenty-first century, change was everywhere.

Bobby said he’d been back to Miranda’s flat but she wasn’t there. He felt too angry to reply to her emails or phone calls because he was worried she might record him saying something he shouldn’t. He mentioned his bad temper. He wanted me to find Miranda and talk to her. Persuade her that the course she was following would only get her into serious trouble.

‘Would you take legal action?’

He finished his drink as he thought about it. ‘I’d be reluctant. It’d be embarrassing and Jane would find out all about it. But Dad says you’re good at getting through topeople. If you thought she was serious about the threats and wouldn’t listen, then yes, I’d take legal action.’

That was sensible. He was smarter than he thought.

I had him sign a contract and pay over a retainer. I asked him for more details on how the particular dating website he’d used worked and he filled me in. I took notes. I got his email address and his postal address, his landline and his mobile number.

Jane’s surname was Devereaux and I got her details, including the publishing company she worked for as an editor. I got Bobby’s agent’s details and those for his father. Bobby and I shook hands and he thanked me profusely. So far all he’d had was a sympathetic ear, and the retainer he’d given me, in line with what I’d learned was the new scale of fees, was steep. I felt I had to have something to contribute immediately. I asked him if Miranda had given him a deadline for carrying out her threats.

‘Not exactly, but she implied I didn’t have long.’

‘If I have trouble finding her, another way might be for you to contact her and arrange to meet. I could step in then.’

He looked dismayed at the prospect, almost angry when I told him that if it came to making contact with Miranda it would be better to do it by phone in case Jane read his emails.

‘She wouldn’t do that.’

‘You never know what a person will do.’

The anger subsided. A flush had come over his face and he’d gripped the arms of his chair so that the structure creaked. He drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t think I could meet her. I think if I did I might...’

‘Do what?’

He shook his head and didn’t answer.

He was suddenly anxious to go and I let him. I stared at the closed door and wondered what he’d been going to say. Was it, I might try to prove my manhood, or I might harm her?

After he left I scanned my notes and the signed contract into the computer and created a file for it. I scanned the photos of Miranda and Jane into the computer and made copies. Then I threw the notes away. They say the paperless office didn’t happen; I kept the signed contract but otherwise I was prepared to get as close to paperless as I could.

Bobby, looking shamefaced, had told me that Miranda’s photograph had attracted him and her list of interests included acting and several sports he was keen on. He’d ‘messaged’ her, got a response and they communicated a few times before arranging a meeting at a wine bar in Coogee. He’d given her his email address and mobile number. Once bitten, he’d been more cautious with Jane and they’d spent more time providing details and filling in backgrounds before they’d arranged to meet. He said he hadn’t been disappointed by her looks when they met at a coffee shop in Randwick. He described her face as fascinating. She hadn’t objected to his intellectual shortcomings. He said they’d laughed a lot and at the same sorts of things. He’d agreed to read some books and she’d agreed to let him teach her to play golf. They went to bed on their third meeting and hit the jackpot.

The Mary Celeste was a 103-foot ship built in 1861 as the Amazon in Nova Scotia. It was thought by some to have had bad luck due to numerous misadventures. Her first captain died at the very beginning of her maiden voyage and she also collided with another vessel in the English Channel. However, after this rough beginning, the ship had several profitable and uneventful years until she was driven ashore in a storm in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia in 1867. She was salvaged and subsequently sold to American owners who made substantial changes and renamed her Mary Celeste in 1869.