Times of Trouble (23 page)

My nerves gave me
enough energy to quicken my step, and by the time I reached the
train station, I was out of breath. The timetable board didn’t give
me any inspiration, but I recognised the station ‘Town Hall’ in
central Sydney, and decided it was best to head somewhere familiar.
There had to be a police station around Town Hall somewhere. I
bought my ticket and walked to my platform. I pictured Katie doing
this exact same thing at Central Station during her final moments.
Had she felt like me? Like a hunted animal? My skin crawled at the
thought of what had happened to her. There was no way she fell onto
the tracks accidentally. I understood now her urgent desire to get
away, to hide wherever she could from these men. I just wished she
had made it onto her train.

When my train slowed
to a stop in front of me, I slipped into a carriage, and sat
between two large men. They hardly noticed me; both were intently
reading their newspapers. But I felt comfort in the fact I wasn’t
alone. It was hard to imagine how someone might try to hurt me with
two strong strangers on either side of me. With nothing to occupy
my mind but disappointment at yesterday’s debacle, my eyes followed
the route of my train on the plastic map stuck to the wall opposite
me. I hadn’t realised how many stops it would be to get into the
city. The taxi ride to Parramatta last night had been so frantic
that it went by quickly. But this train journey seemed to be taking
forever.

When we finally
reached Town Hall station, it was so packed with people getting on
and off trains that I felt safe dodging my way through the crowd,
and jumping on an escalator. I recognised where I was: right in the
centre of the city. I tried to catch someone’s eye, to ask if they
knew where there was a police station, but the streams of people
walking past were so focused on their own destinations it was
impossible to get their attention. Then I noticed an old woman
sitting on a low wall near the entrance to the station, and went
over to her, my sudden proximity making me impossible for her to
ignore.

‘
Do you know if
there’s a police station around here?’ I asked.

She looked up from
her shopping bags, and pointed her finger directly at the building
at street level, above the train station.

‘
There’s one in
there, love’ she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the
world, which I suppose it was.

I hurried in the
direction she was pointing, and saw a shop front with the familiar
blue and white police logo on it.

There were already
several people at the counter, so I stood in line behind them. They
all looked angry and impatient. From what they were saying, I
guessed one of them had her handbag stolen on the train, and they
were trying to get some action out of the bored looking policewoman
behind the desk. She was slowly writing on a form, looking about as
interested in the description of the thief as most people are in
the finance report on the news. Just as I started to feel
impatient, wondering how long I would have to wait in line, my
mobile phone rang, making the people at the desk turn and glare at
the shrill intrusion of sound. It was Liam.

‘
Where the hell are
you? I was so worried when I woke up to find you gone.’

I had expected him to
be a bit concerned, but he sounded more annoyed than worried. I
almost felt flattered. But then I reminded myself he was probably
angry that I was taking control of the search without telling him,
rather than concerned that something had happened to me.

‘
I didn’t want to
wake you,’ I lied. ‘I’m at the police station in the city. I’m
going to tell them about what’s going on.’

I heard his sharp
intake of breath, the warning sign he was about to explode with
rage.

‘
Ellen. I told
you…’

Just as his rant
started, the people at the desk stepped aside, and it was my turn
to speak to the policewoman. I didn’t even wait for him to
pause.

‘
I have to go,’ I
interrupted. I hung up and turned off my phone.

‘
I need to speak to
someone about two murders, one in London, and one in Sydney, and
some people who are after my sister and me.’

I hadn’t really thought about
exactly what I would say, so when the words found their own way out
of my mouth, I realised how little information I actually had to
tell anyone. Maybe Liam was right. There was no point talking to
police until we had something concrete to say. The policewoman made
me feel even more
unconfident
about my decision,
looking at me like I was a speed hump in the way of her morning tea
break.

‘
Take a seat.’ She
pointed to the plastic chairs behind me. ‘I’ll get one of the
detectives from City Central to have a word with you.’

Ok, this was a start.
A detective was exactly who I needed to speak to: someone who dealt
with major crimes. Now that I had another wait on my hands, I was
determined to work out how I was going to explain everything. I
needed to make them realise how serious the situation was, and also
be as concise and straightforward as I possibly could with the
small amount of information I did have. I wished I had done some
more research before I came, but now these men knew about me too,
there didn’t seem time to waste for fact finding. I had no idea
whether Sophie would be in trouble for prostitution, especially
since her crimes, if any, were committed in London. Should I leave
that bit out?

Before I had made up
my mind, a tall, thin, middle aged man stamped into the waiting
area and was pointed in my direction. He seemed grumpy and rushed,
avoiding eye contact in case that gave the impression he was
friendly. He didn’t introduce himself, but asked me to follow him,
and we went down a dingy corridor and into a cramped little room.
It looked like someone had used a very small budget to try to make
it seem comfortable and friendly, but this had been so long ago
that now it just seemed tired. Light blue walls, dark blue carpet
and an oval shaped grey desk with two plastic chairs. The detective
offered me one of the chairs, and sat down heavily on the other,
his wiry frame looking edgy and impatient, his eyes shrewdly
assessing me.

‘
My name is Detective
Williamson. I’ve been told you want to talk to someone about a
murder?’

I nodded, and was
ready to start talking, but he wasn’t finished.

‘
At this stage, this
is an informal conversation,’ he explained, going through the
motions of following some sort of protocol. ‘If it is decided we
need you to make a statement, it will be recorded at a later time.
Do you understand?’

I was relieved to
have an informal discussion, as that seemed likely to prevent the
tracing of official records, on the off chance Liam was right about
the risk. Again I nodded, pausing to check if he was going to say
something else. But he just looked at me expectantly, so I started
to speak. And as I spoke, his bored looking expression started to
waver, until he was sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning
towards me as if to hear me better. At various stages, his face
took on a look of recognition, or understanding, that I couldn’t
really explain. But he didn’t interrupt, so I just kept talking
until I had nothing else to say.

‘
My name is Ellen
Goddard. I live in Adelaide with my mother. I have recently found
out my sister, Sophie Goddard, is in danger from some people who we
think might have killed two of her friends. She sent an email to my
mum about four months ago, asking for help, and saying she was in
danger. She moved to London seven years ago, we had completely lost
contact with her until mum got the email. Mum hired a private
investigator to find her in London, and he managed to find out why
she was so frightened. Her boyfriend Danny was murdered in their
apartment. I don’t know much about that, except Sophie and her
friend Katie were terrified. They thought they were going to be
next, so they flew to Sydney about three months ago. Katie had her
son with her, Charlie. When I found out about all this, I decided
to come to Sydney to help find Sophie. The private investigator has
found out that Katie was killed last week. She was pushed in front
of a train at Central Station, and you… I mean… the police are
investigating her murder. I don’t think the police know she had a
child. His name is Charlie, and he is now with Sophie. The private
investigator and I worked out where Sophie was living yesterday,
but when we got to her, she didn’t realise who we were so she
escaped with Charlie in a car before we could follow her. Then when
we got home, there were some men waiting for us outside where we
are staying, and when we drove off, they followed us. They were in
a blue Magna. We think they are after us too, but we lost them. I’m
now staying with my uncle in Parramatta, but I thought it was time
to talk to the police about it, because it’s getting out of
control.’

To my surprise,
Detective Williamson seemed to jump five steps ahead of where I
thought he would be.

‘
Does the name ‘Molly
Lane’ sound familiar to you?’ he asked, with a puzzled expression
on his face.

I gulped. How on
earth could he know what Sophie’s alias was? He could tell by the
look on my face that I knew exactly who Molly Lane was.

‘
How could you know
that? Liam told me…’

I shifted in my
chair, suddenly anxious to speak to Liam. He had said the police
would be useless, but what if they knew more than we did about what
was going on?

‘
Liam is the private
investigator?’ he asked.

‘
Yes, Liam Kingsley.
He’s here in Sydney with me.’

The detective started
stroking his chin, staring at the table as if he was piecing
thoughts together in his head before he spoke.

‘
And you don’t happen
to know what Danny’s last name was, do you?’

At first I couldn’t
remember, but then the article about his parents’ accident flashed
into my mind, and the name came to me…

‘
Wright. Danny
Wright.’

‘
I don’t believe in
coincidences,’ he said slowly, ‘but you have no idea how much that
belief is being challenged today. Do you know what your sister does
for a living?’

I felt my cheeks
blush, and I kept my head down. Again, he could read my expression
without me having to say a thing. His tone changed to something
resembling compassion when he saw how ashamed I was of where the
conversation was heading.

‘
Please don’t worry
too much about that. It’s not that she was a prostitute that has
brought her to our attention,’ he offered, almost sounding
flustered at having to comfort me.

What then? How on
earth had he heard of Molly Lane?

‘
I think your sister
may have been doing more than just soliciting men. There has been a
complaint made against her and her associate Danny Wright, who we
know to be deceased.’ Complaint? Was it possible Sophie wasn’t
quite the innocent victim in what was going on?

‘
What do you mean,
complaint?’ I asked.

‘
We had a fax from
London Metropolitan Police. They are also looking for your sister.
She has been implicated in a fraud charge. One of her clients was
blackmailed by Wright, and then by another man, Frank Sporalli.
Wright got 20,000 pounds out of him and Sporalli was trying to get
another 10,000.’

Frank. The accountant
who took $30,000 of my mum’s money for information about where
Sophie was? Why was I not surprised that he was a dodgy shit? As I
took this in, the detective kept talking.

‘
Mr Sporalli has been
arrested. He was apparently relieved to be somewhere where no one
could get to him, and didn’t apply for bail. It seems there are
some people looking for revenge.’

So it would seem. But
what was this blackmail about? Just as I was about to ask, my mind
came to the obvious conclusion I must have missed, not wanting to
believe it was true.

‘
So Sophie, Danny and
Frank were blackmailing a client, threatening to publicise that
they were a client?’

‘
That’s the
one.’

I felt humiliated on
Sophie’s behalf. How could she get involved in something like that?
Wasn’t it bad enough that her profession was dodgy, without having
to do something completely criminal as well
?
I felt sick
again, just as I had when Liam told me about Sophie’s job. This was
a Sophie I just didn’t know. I had been so devastated to find dope
in her pocket, but compared to prostitution and blackmail that was
nothing!

‘
So how much trouble
is Sophie in?’ I asked.

‘
It sounds like a
police cell might be the safest place for her.’

‘
Who was she
blackmailing? Wouldn’t it follow that this is the person who has
killed Danny and Katie? Isn’t murder a bit more serious than
blackmail?’

‘
Of course. The
detective working the case in London has thought about that
possibility. But the person who brought about the complaint is a
member of parliament. If he was hell bent on revenge, and was
taking these people out one by one, he wouldn’t go to the
police.’

He had a point, but I
wasn’t so sure. Maybe this was the best cover he could get; turn
himself into the victim, and bring in the police to make it look
like he could have nothing to do with the killings. That wasn’t so
farfetched, was it?