Prohibited Zone (28 page)

‘Bullshit, I need more than a fucken bandaid. You've broken me fucken hand.'

I went to Janeway, felt in his shirt, found his phone and used it to call an ambulance. Emergency calls are always recorded so I put on an accent that came out sounding like Charlie Chan.

‘Man have no dick,' I finished, then folded the phone and put it in my pocket. I crouched next to Janeway again and used my handkerchief to wipe the knife handle that was sticking out from between his legs, hoping it would be enough to remove Saira's fingerprints. I flashed the torch into his face and he didn't react, his open eyes not even blinking. His skin was the colour of bleached bird shit. He had stopped moaning but his blue lips were moving spastically.

‘Let's get out of here,' I said.

We passed the ambulance on our way down the hill, its lights flashing but no siren; they were probably hedging their bets in case it had been a prank call. I reckoned the cops wouldn't be too far behind.

I parked in a side street in Darlington and turned to face the back, where Lucy and Saira were huddled together. Lucy was leaning her head on Saira's shoulder and Saira was stroking her long black hair. In the wan yellow light of a streetlight, Saira looked like a nun and Lucy like a refugee.

‘You okay?'

They both nodded.

‘How did he get you, Luce?'

Her hands went to her shirt as if she was checking it was still done up. Then she put them back together. ‘He just grabbed me at my place,' she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She had to clear her throat. ‘I had been out to dinner with a girlfriend and when I got home he was there, hiding behind the garage. He grabbed me, taped my hands behind my back and put tape over my mouth. Then he pushed me into his car and we drove away. He wanted to know where you were.

I wouldn't tell him.'

‘Lucy, I'm sorry.'

‘You didn't do it.'

She was staring inside at what was now a memory. ‘He is such a
creep
.'

‘What did he do to you?'

‘He groped me.' She shuddered. ‘Put his dirty hands on me, my breasts, my . . . he hates you, Steve. He was focused on getting at you, getting Saira. He said he was saving me for later, that he would come back for me. I got the feeling he was capable of almost anything.'

‘Well, he's not capable of too much now,' I said. ‘Thanks to Saira.'

Saira shifted in her seat and moistened her lips with her tongue. She picked up Lucy's hand and held it. ‘We have justice now.'

It was a sedate drive back to Port Willunga. I had come down from my adrenalin high and felt weary and washed out. Lucy and Saira stayed sitting together in the back, whispering; they didn't include me in their conversation. We pulled into the driveway just before two. I helped Lucy out of the car and Saira took the other side. The light was on in the living room and Kara and Ray watched us from a gap in the curtain. We ushered Lucy inside and eased her onto the sofa.

‘I'm alright,' she said. She tried to smile and we stood watching her struggle with her bottom lip. When she got it under control she looked up. ‘You must be Kara.' She slowly held out her hand. Kara took it and sat down next to her. ‘I'm Lucy. This is my place.'

‘I'm so sorry,' said Kara.

Lucy raised her eyebrows, again in slow motion. ‘For what?'

‘For bringing you into contact with Janeway.'

‘It's not your fault.'

I told Kara and Ray what had happened at the university while Saira fetched a glass of water for Lucy. Ray had been standing in the background, but he moved forward now and introduced himself to Lucy.

‘I am a medical doctor,' he said.

She sipped from the glass and then put it on the coffee table. She held her hand to me and I helped her to her feet. ‘I think I will take a shower now.'

‘You have been sexually assaulted,' said Ray. ‘If you want to press charges against the perpetrator you should be taken to a hospital. They can examine any bruising or scratching you might have, and take samples.'

‘We can't report it,' I said. ‘Saira knifed Janeway. The bastard could die, for all I know. He got what he deserved, but we can't go to the police.'

‘I don't want to go to hospital, anyway,' said Lucy. ‘I don't want to talk to police. I just want to go to bed.'

Ray studied her face for a few seconds and nodded. ‘Then a shower would be a very good idea.'

She turned and shuffled out of the room, her hand managing to grasp the door handle at the third attempt. She looked in our general direction without appearing to see any of us. Her eyes were unnaturally wide.

‘Thank you, everyone.'

I got up to follow her, but Saira touched my arm.

‘I will look after her tonight.'

She followed Lucy out of the room and soon we could hear the sound of the shower running.

‘Are you going to tell us what happened?' Kara asked me.

‘Are you going to get me a drink?'

‘What do you want?'

‘Anything that's in abundant supply.'

I didn't see Lucy or Saira again that night. They called Ray into Saira's bedroom and he was there for about ten minutes.

‘They will sleep together tonight,' he said when he emerged. ‘I think it is a good idea; it will comfort them both.'

‘Do you know what actually happened to her? Was she raped?'

Ray shrugged. ‘The definition of rape is subject to interpretation. Did a sexual act occur? If you define that as penetration of the vagina or anus, then probably not. Perhaps he penetrated her with a finger, but she says not. Nevertheless it was clearly an aggravated sexual assault and has caused her a great deal of trauma.'

‘How is she?'

‘Physically I cannot say because she did not wish to be examined. She says there is no damage. She has been traumatised, as I said, but I think she is strong. With the right support, she will recover. I am sure it helps that retribution has already been delivered.'

‘How is Saira?' asked Kara.

‘She is also strong. She has found some peace tonight.'

By now it was nearly three. Ray looked like he wanted to go to bed. I told him to take the master bedroom. Kara stayed sitting in an easy chair. She seemed to have been waiting for him to leave.

‘This is awkward, isn't it?' she said. I was drinking twelve-year-old single malt scotch that Lucy's husband Mike had kindly brought back from one of his overseas trips and I was savouring every drop of it. I was slumped on the sofa with my eyes two-thirds closed. The whisky was sending me to sleep.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Two lovers under the one roof. Very difficult for you, I'm sure.' Her voice had a flinty edge to it. I raised my eyelids a millimetre, which was all I could manage. Her eyes had a flinty edge, too.

‘What makes you think Lucy is my lover?'

‘It's obvious.'

‘And you're the other one?'

‘Obviously. We're the only two women here, apart from Saira.'

‘Everything is so obvious.'

‘Nothing seems obvious to you.'

‘Lucy and I are friends. Yes, we have been lovers. But she ended it.'

‘When?'

‘This morning, actually.'

‘Why, actually?'

‘She didn't say. We haven't had much of a chance to talk.'

‘Did you tell her about us, last night?'

‘No.'

She hooked some hair behind an ear. She had dark semicircles under her eyes.

‘Why is everything so fucking complicated with you?'

‘Because nothing is obvious to me.'

She sighed, a long, drawn-out, exasperated sigh. I wanted to touch her. I put my glass on the floor, rolled off the sofa and walked to her on my knees. Her bare legs were clenched together. I put my hands on her calves.

‘Are we really lovers?'

‘What the fuck do you call last night?'

‘What do you call it?'

‘Sex? Fucking? A one-night stand? What do you want me to call it?'

I rested my head on her knees and closed my eyes. ‘Christ I'm tired.'

She put her hand on my head and ran her fingers urgently through my hair.

‘So am I. I'm going to bed.' She stood up, me still hugging her legs. I stood up, too, my hands keeping contact with her body until they were around her waist. She didn't push me away.

‘Sleep well.'

The anger or irritation or whatever it was in her eyes ebbed. Then she gave me what I had been looking for. A smile. ‘Apart from anything else,' she said, ‘I want to see your face again when the swelling has gone down. I seem to remember it was quite a nice face.'

The last thing I did before going to sleep on the sofa was put PJ's gun under a cushion. I didn't bother taking off my boots.

22

T
HE
60 M
INUTES
CREW BANGED ON THE DOOR
at seven a.m. I woke with a start and stuffed the gun in the waistband of my jeans, hiding it under my shirt.

Kara greeted them and they tramped into the lounge room, two cameramen, a sound recordist, the producer and Kat Kernell, the star. She was a rangy, restless woman with killer eyes and long black hair streaked photogenically with grey. She took Saira over to the window, studying her closely and speaking softly. Then she clapped her hands and barked instructions to the cameramen about seating and camera arrangements.

‘I want people to see her,' she said. ‘I want close-ups. I want her beauty, her courage.'

‘You got it, baby,' said one of the cameramen. He sported a buzz cut, an earring and a tattoo on his left forearm.

‘Let's get the view, too,' said Kat, motioning towards the window and the ocean beyond.

The cameraman rubbed his buzz thoughtfully.

‘There's a lot of glare.'

‘You're a genius, you can do it.'

Lucy and Ray emerged and Kat fired questions at them, wanting to know who they were and what they were doing there. Lucy told her she was just the owner of the house. Kat pinned her for a moment with a hovering gaze, than shifted to Ray.

‘And you are?'

‘Ray Khoury.'

‘Oh, great! We talked last week on the phone. Good to meet you. You'll be here all day, won't you? We wanna put you on tape.'

Ray said he would be around.

‘Great,' she repeated. ‘Get his life story, will you, Susan?'

Susan was the producer, a middle-aged woman with a tired face she had tried to lift with red lipstick and blue eyeliner. Her hair was a blond bob and she was wearing a red power jacket.

‘Sure, Kat,' she said, just a little heavily. She led Ray to one of the bedrooms armed with a notebook and pen and a small digital voice recorder.

Kat wheeled on me. ‘Can you make coffee?'

I nodded.

‘Keep it coming then. What happened to your face?'

‘I slept badly.'

She laughed. ‘What on, a bed of nails? Where do you fit in around here?'

‘I'm just a friend.'

‘I hope you make good coffee, friend.'

I don't know if it was good, bad or indifferent but she drank four cups of it before nine. It kept me busy in the kitchenette. As I worked I glanced to my left. Kara was staring at me. She looked away quickly, but then looked back. I smiled at her and she smiled at me. It did something to my pulse.

Later, Lucy helped out by washing up. She gave me a wan smile. She looked pale and calm and sad.

‘You okay?' I asked.

‘I'll survive.'

‘I wanted to . . . be with you last night,' I said. ‘Saira didn't let me.'

‘I know. But if I'd wanted you I would have asked. You weren't required.'

Kat spent more than an hour talking quietly with Saira, taking notes as she did. By nine-thirty they were ready for the cameras to roll. Susan applied make-up to Kat's face and turned to Saira. Kat stopped her. ‘No need for make-up,' she said. ‘We want a natural look. Besides, she doesn't need it. The camera will lick her.'

Two chairs had been placed next to the large window at the front of the house, both turned slightly towards the interior of the room. Kat sat on one and Saira on the other. Each had a camera trained on them so that they were silhouetted against the window. A large reflective umbrella was projecting soft, golden light onto the faces of both the interviewer and interviewee. I looked at the scene through a monitor. Saira was wearing a scarf but it was draped only casually over her head, exposing much of her hair. She looked serious, radiant and stunningly beautiful. Behind her, the blurred combination of sky, sand dune and ocean provided a brilliant backdrop. Susan raised her voice.

‘Alright, people, let's go. Cameras are rolling.' The room went completely quiet and we all looked at Kat.

‘What is your name?' she asked.

‘Saira Abdiani.'

‘Where were you born?'