Sucked In (20 page)

‘Stop,' I said. ‘Wait.'

I went into the kitchenette, switched on the jug and opened the top door of the refrigerator. On the shelf beside the ice-cubes was a bottle of Stolichnaya. I poured a tot, put the glass on the table in front of her, sat down and lit myself a cigarette. Margot blew her nose on a tissue, downed the vodka and shuddered.

‘There's no hurry,' I said. ‘Take your time.'

She breathed deep, nodded and started again.

‘It happened the Friday night,' she began. ‘We'd been flat out all day at the office. Prue was home sick with the Hong Kong flu, the temp was out of her depth and the photocopier was on the blink. There were the phones, the fortnightly pay figures. Organisers in and out. Heaps of typing and copying. To cap it off, Charlie landed Mavis with a last-minute job, typing up some documents for a meeting up at the Shack that weekend.'

She scratched her ash on the rim of the saucer. ‘Remember how we all felt sorry for him, the way Merv dragged him up there whenever they had something important to settle?'

She was circling, trying to find a way to tell it.

‘Anyway,' she continued. ‘Five o'clock came and Mavis still hadn't finished. It was her wedding anniversary, one of the big ones. Her family was throwing a turn and there was no question of her working late. Charlie was getting anxious, so I offered to stay back and finish the job. Kind of hoping, I suppose.'

I'd been too dense to notice it at the time, but for months there'd been an unvoiced attraction between Charlie and Margot. Lingering looks and hungry glances, never acted upon. Her offer, and Charlie's acceptance of it, must have been loaded with implicit possibilities.

‘Mum was minding Katie, so I rang and told her I'd be a bit late. Charlie went home to Elsternwick to have tea with Shirley and the kids. He said he'd be back at seven-thirty to pick up the papers. After that, he'd collect Merv for the drive up to the Shack.'

Margot went back to the window and stood staring out into the park. I leaned into the fragile silence, letting her take her time.

It was past seven when Charlie phoned to say he was running late. ‘He said he'd swing past in half an hour, to wait with the stuff at the side door of the Trades Hall, outside Cutlett's office. I could hear his kids in the background and I knew there was no hope of anything happening between us that night.'

Disappointed, dutiful, Margot did as she was asked. As she hurried along the footpath, Merv Cutlett and Sid Gilpin staggered out of the John Curtin.

‘Pissed, of course,' she said. ‘I walked faster, tried to shake them off, but we were all going in the same direction and they started trying to crack on to me. Nothing heavy, just a bit of drunken teasing. They were in a pretty good mood, and I didn't want to get them offside, so I slowed down and walked across the street with them.'

I could picture it clearly. Margot, hugging the buff envelope of papers to herself against the evening chill. Two blokes rolling out of the pub, full of beer, full of themselves. The three of them waiting at the traffic light, the suggestive joviality, Margot's resigned acquiescence.

‘I was hoping that Charlie had already arrived, that he'd be waiting when we got to Merv's office. But he wasn't. Merv and Gilpin were both a lot drunker than I first thought. Merv wanted to get something from his office, something he had to take up to the Shack with him. The side door was locked and he kept dropping his keys. When Gilpin tried to help him, he told him to fuck off, there were still some things he was capable of doing himself. He told him to make himself useful, go get some fish'n'chips for the drive. Gilpin was rabbiting on about whether he should get flake or couta and did Merv want a bloody potato cake, and Merv was fumbling with the door. I was just wishing that Charlie would hurry up and arrive so I could go and pick up Katie.'

Margot absently fingered her wedding ring, a plain band with a row of small diamonds, twisting it round and round. I took the vodka glass into the kitchen and threw the switch on the electric jug.

‘As soon as Gilpin was gone, Merv got the door open. He went down the steps and unlocked his office. A few seconds later, he called up to me. “Hey, girlie. Come and give me a hand.”' She rolled her eyes. ‘Like an idiot, I went down.'

A phone started to ring in the work area. Margot ignored it, butted out her half-smoked cigarette and lit another.

‘He was standing behind the door. As soon as I stepped inside, he jumped me. Put his arms around me and tried to kiss me. He was always a bit of a letch, but this was the first time he'd ever got physical. I didn't really take it seriously, just pushed him way. But he stumbled backwards and dragged me down with him. And when I tried to stand up, he shoved his knee between my legs and pinned me underneath him. He was slobbering all over my face and telling me I was beautiful.'

She spoke in a flat, drained monotone, paying out the words one at a time. It was as if she was making an accounting to herself, as well as to me.

‘I told him not to be stupid, that he was hurting me, but he wouldn't listen. He held his hand over my mouth and started tearing at my clothes. I was kicking and struggling, trying to get up, but he had my hair pinned to the carpet. That awful brown shagpile. I couldn't breathe. He ripped my pantyhose and started to undo his pants. He was only a skinny bloke but he was strong, a lot stronger than me. I was really, really scared.'

The jug boiled and switched itself off with a sharp click. I gingerly rinsed Jodie's mugs and spooned coffee into a plunger, my attention wavering no more than an inch from Margot's face.

‘I was struggling, trying to get out from under him. I grabbed the lead to the desk lamp and pulled it. The lamp crashed onto the floor and I grabbed it by the stem and hit him with it,' her hand bludgeoned the air. ‘Hit him as hard as I bloody could.' Abruptly, she stopped, her fist poised as if still closed around the stem of the lamp. ‘You ever see Merv's desk lamp?'

I put two mugs of coffee on the table. ‘Solid brass shell casing, right?' I said. ‘One of Merv's very tasteful items of militaria.'

She nodded. ‘The base was a kind of starburst of bullets.' She fanned out her fingers. ‘Anyway, it did the trick. Knocked him out cold. I rolled him off me and managed to find my feet. At that exact moment, Charlie came through the door.'

I pictured what he saw. Cutlett, insensible on the floor, his pants undone. Margot, dishevelled and terror-stricken, standing over him with the lamp in her hand.

‘Charlie immediately took charge of the situation. He was so calm, so gentle. He took the lamp away from me, put his arms around me, just held me until I stopped trembling. Then he sat me down in a chair and examined Merv. He was still out cold. I thought I'd killed him, but Charlie said there was no blood, he was just stunned, that he'd be okay.'

She went into the kitchenette and came back with a jar of sugar and the bottle of vodka. She poured a nip of Stoli into each of our coffees and sat back down.

‘He was wonderful,' she said. ‘He wanted to know if I was hurt, did I need a doctor. He was going to call the police, but I wouldn't let him. We all knew stories about girls who'd gone to the cops and wished they hadn't. I wasn't thinking straight. The main thing I was worried about was being late to pick up Katie. Charlie said he'd sort things out. He made sure I was okay, escorted me to the toilet to clean up, called a taxi and sent me home. He told me not to worry, that he'd take care of Merv.'

She started to light another cigarette. I took it from her and slipped it back in the packet. There were five butts in the saucer and only one of them was mine.

‘And so he did,' I said.

‘Yeah.' She laughed harshly. ‘Splish, splash.'

She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced at the taste. But at least the tension was draining from her face.

‘I did exactly what he said. I picked up Katie and went home. All that night and all the next day, I kept thinking he'd ring me. He didn't. I realised why when I saw the Saturday evening news.'

Charlie had taken care of Merv all right, successfully disposed of his body, evidently aided by Barry Quinlan. He'd taken care of Margot, too, made sure that she wasn't called to account for Cutlett's death, spared her the ordeal of the judicial process.

‘I can't even begin to guess what he told Barry Quinlan and Col Bishop. All he'd ever tell me was that neither of them knew that I was responsible,' she said. ‘I knew he couldn't possibly have told Shirley. Whatever he did, he'd done for me. I didn't need to know the details. Does that make sense?'

I nodded. The vodka gave a bitter aftertaste to the coffee. I added sugar, but it didn't help much.

‘I couldn't bear the idea that he should have to explain himself. To me, or anyone else. The important thing was that he understood how grateful I felt. If he ever tried to raise it, I'd just put my fingers to his lips and turn away. And when he died…well there was nothing left to say.'

Nor was there anything I could say. I reached across and gave her hand another squeeze. It wasn't so cold anymore. That was something. Certain things were clearer now, but we were still only half-way there. We faced each other across the rims of our mugs, sipping the vile coffee. Margot waited for me to speak.

‘Got any biscuits?' I said.

She laughed, and the tension in the room slackened a little. While she searched the kitchen cupboards, I digested the implications of her confession.

If Vic Valentine was right about the forensics, Merv's lamp accounted for the hole in his skull. The rope had probably been used to weigh the body down. Getting him into the car wouldn't have been a problem, not if Charlie was parked right outside the door. He was burlier than Merv and it would only have been a few seconds' work to get him across the footpath. Anybody who happened to notice would've just seen a bloke helping his pissed-legless mate, not an unusual occurrence in that neighbourhood at the time. By the time Sid Gilpin arrived with the flake and chips, they'd already left.

‘So,' said Margot, putting an open packet of Tim Tams on the table. ‘There you have it. I didn't mean to kill Merv Cutlett, and I didn't ask Charlie to do what he did. But those bankbooks haven't got anything to do with it. And if Sid Gilpin or Barry Quinlan or anybody else tries to make out they do, that Charlie was some kind of a crook, I'll…' She was angry again now. ‘I'll…' She broke one of the biscuits in half. ‘Jesus, Murray, I don't know what I'll do.'

‘Then don't do anything,' I said. ‘As soon as you're okay to drive, go home. If the police get back in touch, which I doubt, just tell them you're not feeling well. You've done your fair share of confessing for the moment. Just leave things to me for a while, okay?'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘I'm not completely sure,' I said. ‘I'll ring you later.'

She looked down at the half-opened pile of condolence letters. I gathered them up, along with a Tim Tam, and got to my feet. ‘I'll take care of these. You go home.'

We embraced. The brittleness was still there, but there was something else as well. Something steely I hadn't registered last time. ‘It'll be all right,' I said. ‘I promise.'

I hoped to Christ I was right.

‘Parliament House,' I told the cab driver.

Whatever else I'd got myself into, I still had a living to make. In twenty minutes the Health and Social Services Policy Committee would be looking at my empty chair and making tut-tutting noises.

‘Permanent House?' said the chirpy sub-continental behind the wheel. ‘Near airport.'

‘No such luck,' I said. ‘
Parliament
House. Big joint, top end of Bourke Street. More columns than the
Weekend
Australian
.'

We cruised towards the CBD, stopping to have a cup of tea and a chat with every red light on the way. I pulled out my phone and called Inky.

‘Another record-breaking performance on Saturday,' I said, mouth full of chocolate biscuit.

‘Leppitsch played well.'

‘If you don't count getting reported for striking.' As we reached the Shrine of Remembrance, it started to drizzle. ‘I've spoken with Barry Quinlan. I've also had a word with Sid Gilpin.'

‘And?'

‘Well, Quinlan didn't let any cats out of any bags, if that's what you're asking. He seems pretty relaxed. Didn't give me any openings. Gilpin, on the other hand, is wound up tighter than a clockwork monkey. He's talking all sorts of crazy shit. Little wonder the media's giving him a wide berth. But it might be an idea to give Vic Valentine a buzz, see if there's any further activity on the walloper front.'

‘Something in particular you're concerned about?'

‘Just curious about progress on dem bones. No point in spinning our wheels if it isn't even Cutlett.'

‘I'll see what I can find out.'

The cab driver had found the slowest tram in Melbourne to follow, peering at it through the slapping wipers as though intrigued by the sight. He bore not the slightest resemblance to the official driver ID photo on the dashboard. Perhaps it was the first tram he'd ever seen.

I checked my message bank, hoping that Lanie had called to accept my invitation to the Croupiers' Gala. No such luck. Ayisha was the only caller. I dialled the electorate office. Mike Kyriakis had phoned, she reported, wanting to know if I'd made up my mind.

‘He's talked himself into running,' she said. ‘What do you want me to tell him?'

‘Tell him if he holds off announcing his bid until tonight, I'll take readings of the branch secretaries, see if I can't rustle him up some support. First round votes only. Nobody's going to die in a ditch for him.'

‘By you, I presume you mean me.'

‘You don't keep a dog and bark yourself.'