‘Looks like it, boss.’
‘But if this bloke’s as smart as you make out why did he switch off the light as he left?’ Watkins splayed his palms and scanned the faces at the table.
‘Because,’ Harry said, ‘it’s an automatic reaction. He does it without thinking. The way people do, leaving their flats. Or a flat they have a key to, where they have been used to coming and going as they like.’
Harry leaned back in his chair. He was sweating like a pig, unsure how much longer he could wait for another drink.
‘I think the man we’re looking for is Otto Rechtnagel’s secret lover.’
Lebie stood beside Harry in the lift.
‘Going out for lunch?’ he asked.
‘Thought I would,’ Harry said.
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all.’
Lebie was good company if you didn’t want to talk much.
They found a table at Southern’s in Market Street. Harry ordered a Jim Beam. Lebie looked up from the menu.
‘Two barramundi salads, black coffee and nice, fresh bread, please.’
Harry eyed Lebie with surprise. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll pass this time,’ he said to the waiter.
‘The order stands,’ Lebie smiled. ‘My friend will change his mind when he tastes the barramundi here.’
The waiter left and Harry watched Lebie. He had placed both hands on the table with fingers spread, looking from one to the other as if comparing.
‘When I was young I hitched up the coast to Cairns, along the Great Barrier Reef,’ he said to the smooth backs of his hands. ‘At a hostel for backpackers I met two German girls who were travelling round the world. They had hired a car and driven all the way from Sydney and told me in great detail about all the places they had been, how long for and why they had been there and how the rest of the trip was planned. It was clear not much had been left to chance. Perhaps that’s the German mindset. So, when I asked if they’d seen any kangaroos on the trip they laughed and assured me they had. It was of course implicit that they had ticked that off on their “things-to-do” list. “Did you stop and feed them?” I asked, but they looked at each other dumbfounded, and then at me. “No, ve did not!” “Why not? They’re quite cute, you know.” “Aber, zey vere dead!”’
Harry was so astonished at Lebie’s long monologue that he forgot to smile.
The waiter came and put the Jim Beam in front of Harry. Lebie looked at the glass.
‘The day before yesterday I saw a girl who was so pretty I felt like stroking her cheek and saying something nice to her. She was twenty-odd, wore a blue dress and was bare-legged. Aber, she was dead. As you know, she was blonde, had been raped and had bruising around her neck from strangulation.
‘And last night I dreamt these meaninglessly young and pointlessly beautiful girls were filling up all the roadside verges around the whole of Australia – from Sydney to Cairns, from Adelaide to Perth, from Darwin to Melbourne. And all for one solitary reason. We had closed our eyes because we couldn’t face the truth. We hadn’t done enough. We had allowed ourselves to be weak and human.’
Harry knew where Lebie was heading. The waiter came with the fish.
‘You’re the one who’s come closest to him, Harry. You’ve had your ear to the ground, and you may recognise the vibrations of his feet if he approaches again. There will always be a hundred good reasons to get drunk, but if you’re chucking up in a hotel room, you’re no use to anyone. He isn’t human. So we can’t be human. We have to show our powers of endurance, we have to show our powers of resistance.’ Lebie spread out his serviette. ‘But we have to eat.’
Harry put the whiskey glass to his mouth and watched Lebie as he slowly drained it. Then he put the empty glass on the table, grimaced and grabbed the knife and fork. The rest of the meal passed in silence.
43
A Big Fish
SANDRA WAS STANDING in her usual spot. She didn’t recognise him until he was close.
‘Nice to see you again,’ she said, her eyes distant with small pupils.
They walked over to Bourbon & Beef, where the waiter immediately ran over and held the chair out for her.
Harry asked Sandra what she would like, and ordered a Coke and a double whiskey.
‘Christ, I thought he’d come to turf me out,’ she said, relieved.
‘I’m a kind of regular,’ Harry explained.
‘How’s your girlfriend?’
‘Birgitta?’ Harry was quiet. ‘I don’t know. She won’t talk to me. Feeling terrible, I hope.’
‘Why do you hope she’s feeling terrible?’