The Dunbar Case(48)
I’d had a similar thought myself, but then I wasn’t worried about the money. It loomed as more important now and Marisha’d want to know the outcome, if any. I started the car and got moving. I’d had a fair amount of brandy but I’d blotted it up with the bread and cheese and there was still a way to go before any chance of being breathalysed. I felt clear-headed, but Kristie had been through the wringer; she fell asleep and snored.
She woke up when we hit the paved road.
‘Did I snore?’
‘You did.’
‘Ever since those bloody operations. What now?’
It seemed to be as good a time as any. ‘Do you know where Twizell buried the money?’
She laughed. ‘Not a clue.’
‘Did Templeton ask you?’
‘I don’t want to talk about him. I did a flit from my flat, owing rent, and chucked my shitty job. I missed Dad’s funeral because of that bastard and now I’ve got nowhere to go. Shit I’m a mess.’
‘I’ve got a friend…’
‘You’ve got a friend? That surprises me. You’re a hard case.’
‘You’d know. Anyway, she’s a tough nut, too. She’s a journalist working on a book about your family. She’d like to talk to you. She had the inside running with Jobe until Joseph ...’
I let her sit for a while. She stared out the window as if she was reviewing her life from who knows when to that point. ‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘Why not? The things I could tell her.’
‘She won’t pay you, but she’d put you up for a bit, give you some breathing space.’
I drove through the suburbs, careful not to attract any attention. I was probably still over the limit and a booking for DUI was a complication I didn’t need. Kristie was silent, picking at the flaking paint on her fingernails. She had a lot to think about—a dead father, a brother in gaol and one on the loose; two ex-lovers and a lot of money. What I wanted her to think about was the Twizell papers, but they seemed secondary to everything else.
I headed towards Redcliff but pulled over.
‘What?’ Kristie said.
‘I’m calling Marisha.’
‘Marisha. Bloody pretentious name. Where does it come from?’
You have to know when to just let the talk flow. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Could be Russian.’
‘Remember when everyone was all worried about Russia?’
‘I do.’
‘Before my time. Were you worried?’
‘I was just as worried about the Yanks.’
‘Are you worried about the Muslims now?’
‘Not especially.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’re divided among themselves, I think. They’ll squabble.’
‘I haven’t heard that.’
‘People are saying it. It’s not original.’
Cars passed us as we stood with the wheels just out of the drainage gutter. A hoon with his radio blaring broke her pensive mood.
‘You know how to talk to people, don’t you?’
I shrugged. ‘It’s what I do—talk, and listen.’
‘You really want to know about old Granny Twizell’s papers, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
She smiled. ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.’
~ * ~
21
Marisha was at home and hard at work but she was happy to be interrupted to meet Kristie. The two women circled each other warily. When Kristie indicated her willingness to be interviewed and to comment on some of the material Marisha had assembled, things went better. There was a small sunroom off the living room which Marisha used for storage, but it contained a divan and they arranged for Kristie to sleep there for a few nights while they did their business and she worked out what she wanted to do next.
But I had business of my own with Kristie and when Marisha went out to buy some supplies I tackled her.
‘You were going to tell me more about the Twizell family papers when you got the news about Jobe. I want to hear what you have to say. It’s what I came up here to work on before things took the turn they did.’
‘I’d just about forgotten that.’
‘I hope you haven’t forgotten where they are.’
‘It’s a funny thing; I was quite prepared to go on disliking you but you’re really a nice bloke under all the can-do stuff, aren’t you?’
I shrugged. ‘Hope so.’
‘I’d be interested, except that you’re hot for Marisha, right?’