Читать книгу Grievous Harm - Sandy Curtis - Страница 5

As the shuttle bus wound its way into Sydney from the airport, Kate Maclaren watched the old industrial sections change to workers' cottages, then terrace houses, and finally the ever-growing skyline of concrete, steel and glass. Workers dressed to combat winter's chill hurried from the buildings into shadows created by the afternoon sun. Traffic noise reverberated from the asphalt and vibrated through the little bus.

She still felt groggy from the sleeping tablets she'd taken to cope with the long flight from LA. Getting enough money to fly to Australia had meant selling her father's guitars, her last tangible link to the man who'd called her the apple of his eye and whose death had left her mother a frightened shell, barely coping with a world that she suddenly had to deal with on her own. Well, not really alone. Kate felt the familiar sadness well up. There was her and Paul - until he'd been killed in an accident so like their father's that her mother believed it was a sign that she was now meant to live alone.

If Paul and Melanie and Cindy hadn't come back to the States after Dad died…and if Paul hadn't ridden his friend's motorbike…and if Melanie hadn't taken Cindy and returned to Sydney to live with her mother…

Tears filmed her eyes. She blinked them away, willing the memories to go and take with them her choking sense of loss. She shook her head against the thoughts tormenting her. So many 'ifs' and so useless to think them. She hadn't told her mother the real reason for her trip to Australia. She'd simply said she was going to visit Melanie and Cindy. Self-absorbed as always, her mother had only expressed concern that Kate wouldn't be on hand if she needed her. The truth had knotted Kate's stomach. At least twice a month she phoned Melanie, determined to keep contact with her sister-in-law and the niece she loved like a daughter. Recently Melanie had seemed more cheerful than she had been since Paul's death, rambling on about a new church she'd been visiting and how she and Cindy had been made to feel so welcome; although six-year-old Cindy hadn't shared her mother's enthusiasm. Kate had bought Melanie a computer so they could stay in touch through emails and Skype, but two months ago Melanie had told her that the church didn't believe in that kind of technology and had cancelled her internet account.

Six weeks ago Kate had discovered Melanie's phone had been disconnected, and she'd wondered if her erratic sister-in-law had once again run out of money to pay her bills. Letters had proved useless, and Kate did what she'd been forced to do once before in the year since Melanie's mother had died - she'd asked for a week's vacation and booked a flight to Sydney, dreading a repeat of having to bail Melanie out of yet another financial mess.

The taxi was an extravagance. The shuttle bus wouldn't go as far as Melanie's suburb and Kate was too exhausted to battle public transport.

She paid the driver, hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders, and turned towards Melanie's terrace house. Unlike some of the terrace houses the taxi had passed, the ones in this street hadn't seen any attempt at restoration. A century of grime covered the sandstone blocks, and the wrought iron fences were brown with rust.

The street was deserted. Narrow, and only two blocks long, with no breeze moving the shrubbery in the tiny front yards, it was as still as an old painting. Kate felt she was suspended in time. She shook her head to fight off her lingering sleepiness.

Melanie's small front yard was unkempt, the grass long, the gerberas in the garden bordering the tiny patio choked with weeds. Kate frowned. Although Melanie loved flowers, she wasn't much of a gardener, but gerberas had been her mother's favourite flowers, and she'd always looked after them.

A creak that would have done justice to a horror movie tightened Kate's already tense nerves as she pushed the gate open. An envelope lay on the cracked concrete path, its whiteness stained with dirt and rain spatters.

An envelope with a United States stamp.

Stomach clenching, Kate lifted the lid on the letterbox attached to the gatepost. Mail. Lots of mail. She grabbed it and flicked through the envelopes. Five window-face. Four with printed labels. Three plain with US stamps. The letters she'd written in the hope Melanie would read them and contact her.

Crushing the mail to her chest, she hurried up the path. The old brass knocker on the front door had lost its shine, and Kate's apprehension grew. Keeping it polished had been another way in which Melanie had tried to keep her mother's presence alive.

She grasped the smooth metal and banged it hard. She heard its 'thunk' echo inside. Seconds ticked by. She knocked again and waited, dread seeping into her bones quicker than the encroaching evening chill.

The thick lace curtains on the front window had been drawn, but hadn't met completely in the middle. She pressed against the glass and peered inside. The living room looked as it always had, heavy old tapestry lounge scattered with cross-stitch cushions, coffee table, bookcase, television in the corner. Kate had always thought the room looked gloomy, but now it made her shiver. It looked so disused, as though-

Flowers. On the coffee table.

Not bright splashes of colour that Melanie would have placed in the old crystal vase. The blackened, drooping stalks and decayed petals sent panic soaring through Kate's veins. Melanie might be erratic, but there was no way she would leave flowers like that. What had happened? Had they been in an accident? Surely the police or hospital would see her contact details in Melanie's purse? Suicide? No, no, Melanie wasn't like that. Or was she? She'd been depressed after Paul had died, but that was only natural. But there was no way Kate could see Melanie hurting Cindy. Murder? Surely the neighbours…

She pushed the mail into the side pocket of her backpack and rushed down the path. Within seconds she was knocking on the door of the next terrace house where Melanie had said an elderly friend of her mother's lived, but no-one answered.

Ten minutes and six houses later she'd managed to speak to only two neighbours, and they lived three doors down and only knew Melanie and Cindy as someone to nod to as they passed by.

'Do you have a photo of your sister-in-law and niece I can put in the Missing Persons Unit database and our database?' the police sergeant asked, long thin fingers tapping his computer keyboard.

Kate took her iPad from her backpack. 'It's digital, but I can send it to you.'

The sergeant smiled. 'Even better. Save me scanning it. From what you've told me,' he said as Kate accessed the photo and transferred it to the location he gave her, 'your sister-in-law seems to make a habit of getting herself into financial difficulties. Could it be that she couldn't cope and saw leaving town as a way of dealing with a problem that seemed insurmountable?'

Kate found that scenario hard to accept, but had to admit that Melanie didn't have a great track record for reliability or clear thinking. 'It's possible,' she conceded, 'but highly unlikely. She's always contacted me when she's realised she can't fix things on her own. And I can't see her leaving like that, not without letting me know. She knows how upset Cindy would be.'

'We'll access those bank account details you've given me and see if there's been any recent activity. You don't have a key to her house so we can check inside?'

'Sorry, no,' Kate sighed. Melanie had meant to get a spare cut for her during her last visit but, like a lot of Melanie's plans, it had never eventuated.

'Can you recommend some inexpensive accommodation where I can stay? Something not too far away?'

The sympathy on the sergeant's face said he understood 'inexpensive' really meant cheap, and he wrote down the details of a backpackers' hostel in Kings Cross. 'It's clean and the price is reasonable. We'll contact you if we find out anything, but please let us know if you find out anything helpful.'

The hostel was located towards the lower end of Kings Cross. Originally a hotel, its three-storey Edwardian façade hid a modernised interior with light-coloured walls and polished timber floors. Palms growing in white iron-lace planters gave a cheery feel to the high-ceilinged foyer.

Although a single room cost more than a bed in a dormitory, it was still a lot cheaper than a hotel, and the bonus free nights for longer stays would come in handy if her search for Melanie and Cindy took as long as she feared.

The desk clerk, young, tall, and more bone than flesh beneath his multi-coloured sweatshirt, greeted her with a smile straight from a dental ad. 'Hi. I'm Glen. Sorry, darls, but I have to see your passport. It's the law.' Gleaming white teeth flashed again as she showed him. He noted the details and thrust the register and biro at her. 'There you go, love.'

In spite of the anxiety that ate into her with the persistence of a headache, she found herself returning his smile. His hair, bottle-white and gelled to bristle-stiffness, combined with his pale cheeks, reminded her of a drawing of a toothbrush Cindy had sent her after she and Melanie had returned to Sydney. Kate's heart tightened at the memory of her niece's belaboured letters spelling out her love for her aunt.

I'll find you.

Kate saw the clerk's eyes widen, and realised she'd given voice to her silent vow. 'Sorry. Jet lag. I have relatives in Sydney but they seem to have left and I don't know where they've gone.'

'Ooh, bit of detective work, eh? I love a good mystery. Just ask if you need any help.' He held out a key and several sheets of paper. 'Your room's on the first floor; see the plan. Maps are on the stand over there if you need one.' He waved a hand and Kate smothered a smile at the tiny flower faces painted on his fingernails. 'And there's a barbecue on the rooftop at six-thirty.'

'Shrimp on the barbie?' she asked.

Glen laughed. 'We call them prawns over here, love.'

A childhood of following her father's dreams of a successful singing career from gig to gig had taught Kate to pack sparingly, and it wasn't long before she had distributed the contents of her backpack into the wardrobe in her room. She spread the map on the bed and worked out the closest public transport to get back to Melanie's house in the morning. Her finances wouldn't stretch to more taxi rides, especially if her stay in Australia was extended. Tomorrow she'd knock on more doors. Surely a woman and child couldn't disappear without someone being aware of it.

Frying onions and sizzling steak. Kate breathed in the smell as she stepped out onto the rooftop, where huge canvas sails provided cover from the elements. She watched as backpackers filled their plates and sat at the tables clustered around the barbecue.

'First night's meal is free, love,' Glen said when Kate proffered her money. 'How did you go with the map? Did it help?'

She nodded. 'I just have to figure out what train to catch.'

'Station's not far away. Just ask at the ticket office.' He pointed to a table laden with baskets of bread rolls and stainless steel containers filled with salads. 'Just grab some and line up at the barbie.'

Fifteen minutes later Kate chewed through the last mouthful of her steakburger and washed it down with a can of bourbon and Coke. She tossed her paper plate in the bin, walked over to the stone parapet surrounding the rooftop, and gazed at the street below. Traffic, people, lights, all moving, hustling, noisy. So close and yet so distant, so removed from how she felt and the fear of what she might find tomorrow.

Glen walked up next to her and placed his glass of wine on the parapet. 'If you can't find their new address you can always check the electoral rolls. It's compulsory to vote over here so it's one way of tracing people.'

'Thanks, but I doubt my sister-in-law would remember to do that.'

A cool breeze swirled across the rooftop. She shivered, the knot of anxiety in her chest tightening further.

The fence and front wall of the terrace house adjoining Melanie's showed signs of neglect, but the garden spilled yellow and white daisies onto the path and neat shrubs provided a green barrier to the tiny paved porch. Two wrought iron chairs and a table squeezed into the small space.

Kate ignored the brass knocker on the front door and pressed the electric doorbell installed at the side. As the chimes ended, the door opened a fraction. A wrinkled face framed by stark white hair appeared above the security chain.

'Hello,' Kate smiled. She had a fleeting memory of having glimpsed sight of the old woman during her last visit from the States. 'I'm looking for Melanie Maclaren. I'm her sister-in-law, Kate.'

Before she could say any more, the old woman shook her head. 'She's gone.'

'Do you know where she's gone? Please? I've come all the way from the States to see her.'

'Won't do you any good.' Rheumy eyes showed sadness, then disgust. 'Once that mob got hold of her she was no good to anyone.'

The door began to close. Kate raised her hand to stop it, but she was too late. It shut with a thud. Pushing back the fear caused by the old woman's words, she was about to press the button again when she heard a scraping noise. The door opened, this time without the security chain holding it.

'The little girl looks like you,' the old woman said as she shuffled out and sat on one of the patio chairs. 'So I thought you had to be telling the truth. And that Yank accent. But her hair was long last time I saw her, not short like yours.'

Kate sat on the other chair, her heart thumping in anticipation. 'When did you last see her?'

'Weeks ago. Melanie came over to tell me that she'd given her mother's house to that church mob.'

'What? She gave them the house? Her mother gifted that to her before she died because she wanted Cindy to have some stability in her life.'

The old woman snorted. 'Well, she never got that from Melanie. Your brother must have loved her a lot to put up with her flibbertigibbet ways.'

The deep stab of loss that always came when she thought of Paul prevented Kate from answering for a moment. 'Paul was…solid. Melanie relied on him a lot. That's why she had such trouble coping after he died. I'd hoped, when she said she was going back to Australia to live, that she would pull herself together for Cindy's sake.'

'Not a hope,' the woman snorted. 'Melanie's always been a needy little thing. When she got involved with this so-called religious group they just took over her life. At first she asked me to mind Cindy so she could go to their meetings, then she started taking Cindy with her. Not that Cindy liked it.' She smiled indulgently. 'She could be a stubborn little thing at times. Pity Melanie didn't have some of her backbone. Just gave her house to that church mob and went to live in one of their communes. It all happened just about overnight.'

Commune? Kate's head reeled. 'Do you know where?'

The old woman shook her head. 'She didn't say. I don't think she even knew herself. Just packed a few suitcases, a car pulled up, and off they went. I'd tried to persuade her to sell the house and put the money aside for Cindy's future, but she reckoned she didn't have to worry. Said her new family would look after that. They especially loved children.'

Suspicion rose in Kate's chest like bile. A church that took your house in exchange for a place in their commune sounded more like a cult.

'Cindy still had that quilt you made her when she was a bub. The patchwork one with teddy bears and butterflies,' the woman said, as though sensing Kate's distress and wanting to reassure her. 'She told me how much her Aunty Kate loved her because that was the only sewing you ever did and you did it just for her. She even showed me how you made a bear pocket on it for her pyjamas.'

Kate nodded, the sudden lump in her throat making it impossible to speak.

'It was rolled up and tied to Cindy's suitcase the day they left.' The old woman's voice was a mix of sadness and regret.

The shrubbery in front of Kate began to blur, and she swiped at her eyes with the side of her hand. 'Do you know where I can find this religious group? And what they call themselves?'

The old woman sighed. 'Melanie gave me pamphlets, trying to convince me to go to their meetings, but I threw them away. I'm getting close to meeting my maker and I'm not changing sides at the last minute. And I'm sorry, but I can't remember where they meet. Somewhere in the city, I think. But I do remember what they call themselves - the Loving Hand.'

An internet search through both the white and yellow pages of the phone book proved futile, and Google yielded only a brief newspaper report about the dubious representation of the Loving Hand as a religion. Kate spent a frustrating afternoon walking the streets of Sydney asking every second person if they knew of the church or where it was. Her anxiety over Cindy's welfare had now escalated into full-blown fear of what Melanie may have led the girl into.

The traffic noise faded as she walked into the backpackers' hostel. Glen looked up from his seat at reception and raised a pale eyebrow. 'You don't look like you've had a good day.'

Kate tried to smile, but she could feel the stiffness in her cheeks.

'Coffee,' Glen said, but it was more a command. He stood up and grabbed the cordless phone. 'I have a secret stash of top quality coffee that will do the trick.'

'But,' Kate indicated the reception desk.

Glen shrugged. 'They can ring the bell. Come on.' He led the way to the communal kitchen, withdrew a key from his pocket, unlocked a small overhead cupboard and took out a jar, percolator and two mugs.

Kate sat at one of the tables and watched. His movements were quick, graceful, and seemed to keep time to an inner rhythm. 'Do you work here full-time?' she asked.

'Usually only afternoons. I'm in a show four nights a week.'

Kate had lived long enough in LA to guess what sort of show, but she asked anyway.

Glen laughed. 'I'm a drag queen, darls. You should come up and see me sometime.'

His perfect Mae West imitation brought a smile to her lips, and Glen reciprocated as he placed a steaming mug in front of her and sat down. 'Now, tell me how your search went.'

Whether it was his genuine concern, her frustration or the coffee, Kate wasn't sure, but she recounted what the old woman had told her. As soon as she mentioned the Loving Hand, she saw Glen's body tense.

'I've heard rumours about them. Nothing goes unnoticed in the Cross.' He put down his mug and took his mobile from his belt. 'I know someone who might know something,' he said as he flicked his finger across the screen. 'I'll be back in a minute.' He gave her an apologetic smile and rose and walked from the room. Kate sipped her coffee, anxiety churning it in her stomach.

'You could have a problem,' Glen said when he returned. 'They're a very secretive lot. If she's involved with them,' he frowned. 'Look, I know where you can find them, but apparently if you go bursting in there asking questions they'll clam up. There's someone who might be able to help you, but I'll have to contact him from work tonight. One of the guys there knows him but I'll have to talk to him first.'

'Where do you work?'

'One of the small clubs on the Strip. It's nothing flash, but I'm hoping I'll get into a big production. I want to be like Carlotta.'

'Carlotta?'

'She started Les Girls back in the '60s. It was the biggest drag queen production in The Cross and ran for decades. She had a sex-change but I'm not aiming towards that. I just love the costumes and the jewellery and the makeup.'

'Do you think this guy might agree to meet me tonight? I could go with you.'

Glen shrugged. 'He might agree.' Then a wide smile lit his face. 'I'd love you to come to the club with me, though, darls. My mum made the outfit I'm wearing tonight, so if I give you my camera you can take a pic for me to send to her.'

'How do your parents feel about your work?'

'Mum's fine with what I do. My sisters are jealous because I get to wear better clothes than they do, my brother tells his mates that I'm an actor, and my father thinks that if I drink beer and watch footy there's still some hope for me.' He laughed. 'I don't tell him that I only watch footy because I love those short little shorts the guys wear.'

Kate's knowledge of Kings Cross had come from a quick visit after Paul's and Melanie's wedding, a film clip she'd seen of the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, and the pamphlets she'd picked up in the hostel foyer. When Glen took her on a tour of the area before taking her to the club where he worked, she was surprised by the number of trendy cafes and boutique shops that interspersed the restaurants and fast food outlets.

It was only when he led her towards the area known as 'The Strip' that she saw the bars, the adult bookshops and the sleazy strip clubs with their garish lighting and spruikers advertising topless waitresses while blatantly hinting at other entertainment, which she remembered from eight years before. Glen greeted some of the people on the street, nodded to others, and steered Kate quickly past some of the more aggressive types. Kate was amused but touched by his protective attitude and didn't tell him that she'd been in parts of Los Angeles that had made her more wary than The Strip did. Some of the situations their father's work had dragged them into had been less than salubrious, especially for a young girl; and Paul, who had wised her up to what some men expected from a woman, had also taught her self-defence moves.

They stopped outside a club with an exterior that declared its owner had tried to emulate the style of better-class establishments. The posters didn't show half-naked women sliding around poles or draped in provocative poses, but displayed dancers in costumes that might be worn by the Folies Bergère in Paris. The doorman raised both eyebrows as Glen winked at him and ushered Kate inside.

'I'll have such a reputation tomorrow. They'll think I'm a changed man,' Glen laughed.

The interior resembled those of many clubs Kate had seen - tables and chairs in chrome and fibreglass, long bar crowded with patrons, curtained-off stage on the far wall with a small section protruding into the room and separating the tables, and music that was really too loud for a comfortable conversation.

Within minutes she was seated near the stage, drink in hand, while Glen went backstage. As the time dragged out and the noise swelled around her and she rebuffed a drunken, over-eager male, the fear that had consumed her since learning what had happened to Melanie and Cindy returned.

It was a relief when the music stopped. The lights dimmed further, the stage was spotlighted and the curtains opened a fraction. The opening bars to 'Big Spender' started to thump through the speakers. One long, stockinged leg appeared around the curtain, followed by a face - makeup perfect, overly eyelashed, and framed by a sleek blonde wig - then a body clad in a glittering long gown in vibrant red. It was only when the figure began to sing that Kate recognised the throaty tones Glen had adopted in his Mae West impersonation. He was far too slim to imitate the buxom movie star, but he had a fantastic voice, and Kate was so captivated she almost forgot to take photos.

By the time the show ended, Kate had relaxed, but when Glen joined her half an hour later and told her he'd arranged a meeting with the man who could give them information on the Loving Hand, her tension returned.

She pulled her jacket close as they walked outside. There was a definite change in the feel on the street, as though The Strip was exposing its underbelly in the pre-dawn hours.

'Come on,' Glen urged, glancing at his watch and keeping his voice low. 'You're lucky he's agreed to meet you. He's wary about who he talks to.'

'Why? What is he afraid of?' Kate picked up her pace to match his long strides. Glen had been unusually reticent in revealing the identity of this mystery person and how he might be able to help, and Kate was starting to wonder what he was leading her into.

His usually smiling face was sombre as he replied, 'He's afraid they'll kill him, like they did his sister.'

Kate took a sip of her coffee and listened to the chatter of the backpackers making breakfast in the hostel kitchen. They seemed so young and carefree, while she had never felt so old. She didn't want to believe the story she'd been told last night, but the man's sincerity and fear had been obvious. What he'd told her seemed incredible, but she had to admit it was plausible. What had Melanie gotten Cindy into?

'Kate.' Glen's voice jolted her back to the present. 'There's a man asking for you. Says he's from the Missing Persons Unit.'

Kate sprang to her feet and hurried to the foyer, Glen close behind. The dark-suited, middle-aged man standing near to the reception desk walked over to meet her, flashing his badge and quickly pocketing it. 'Is there somewhere private we can talk?'

Glen gestured behind the desk to a closed door. 'You can use the office.'

'Do you have any news?' Kate asked as soon as they walked inside.

'No.' The man flipped out a notebook and pen. 'But I have a few questions, if you don't mind.'

'Sure.'

'In that photo you gave us yesterday, your niece was holding a small quilt. Can you tell me where she got it?'

'The quilt? I made it for her when she was six months old.'

'You didn't buy it?'

'No. I made it. Hand-stitched it.' Apprehension almost curdled the coffee in her stomach. 'What's this about? Why are you asking about the quilt? Have you found it?'

'No. We, ah, haven't.' The hesitation in the man's denial increased Kate's fear. She saw the way his gaze flicked away before focusing on her again. What was happening here? 'Have you heard from your sister-in-law?' he continued.

Something was wrong. Kate could feel it in her gut. Could she trust him? She'd been warned that the Loving Hand had connections everywhere, even in the police force. She decided to play it wide-eyed and innocent. 'No. But a friend of hers said she joined the Loving Hand church so I'm going to make some enquiries there. I'm sure I'll find her. She's probably just so caught up in her new life she's forgotten to let me know where she is.'

If scepticism was gold, the man would have been instantly wealthy. He flipped his notebook shut and pocketed it. 'Please make sure you keep in touch with us, Miss Maclaren.'

'Oh, I will. I'll stay here until I hear from Melanie.' She watched him walk from the office before giving in to the trembling in her legs and collapsing onto a chair.