The Dunbar Case(51)

‘Like I said, I’m not so interested in all that.’



‘Bullshit. You’re interested and so am I.’



‘You’re right.’



‘I wish you were here. I’d like to fuck you, but I guess it’ll keep. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?’



‘You will.’



‘You sure?’



‘I’m sure.



‘Goodnight, Cliff.’



She put a lot into that, but I was beginning to realise that Marisha put a lot into everything and you never knew what really mattered to her and what didn’t matter quite so much.





~ * ~





22





Watson summoned me to the police station and I made a full statement of my dealings with Hector and Joseph Tanner, my meetings with Twizell and the encounter with Templeton. They recorded it on video and provided a transcript. I signed it. I handed in Hector’s Beretta. Nothing pleased them and I didn’t expect otherwise. I was instructed to contact the police immediately if I heard from Hector, Twizell or Templeton and threatened with prosecution if I didn’t.



There was a message from Wakefield at the motel. I phoned Marisha’s number and spoke to Kristie. She said she’d take us to her storage locker. I phoned Wakefield. He arrived in his Mercedes and we picked up Kristie. I told Marisha I’d be back after this bit of business.



‘For a celebration?’ she said.



‘We’ll see.’



Kristie was impressed by well-groomed Wakefield in his suit and behind the leather-padded wheel of his Merc. She rode up front with him. We drove to Broadmeadow to a concrete yard enclosed by a cyclone-wire fence. It housed about fifty lockable sheds ranging from the size of three-car garages to ones like Kristie’s, not bigger than a decent-sized garden shed. God knows what secret and illicit things were inside the sheds. Kristie had a key to the gate and we drove in and parked beside her spot. She unlocked the door and stepped aside.



‘I haven’t been here for a while. It’ll be musty.’



‘What did you do with the stuff from your flat?’ I said.



‘I told you, I did a flit. I dumped it. I thought I was starting a new life and here I am, back with the old stuff.’



‘It could still be a new beginning for you,’ Wakefield said, ‘if what’s here is what I’m looking for.’



I started to move some cardboard boxes. ‘How’s that, Henry?’



‘Well, I’m thinking about a book and a film and selling the manuscript itself. It could amount to quite a lot of money and Kristine and I would have a contract.’



That surprised me. I hadn’t thought Wakefield was the sharing kind, but he had seemed to find a quick rapport with Kristie. He took off his suit jacket, tucked his silk tie inside his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.



‘Now, what are we looking for?’ he said.



‘A trunk, a sort of sea chest,’ Kristie said.



‘Of course.’



We moved boxes and large Chinese zipped laundry bags until we reached the chest. It was a small version—more like a woman’s travelling trunk than a sea chest, but it had faded stickers on it and was tied around with rope. Wakefield picked it up almost reverently and carried it out into the light.



‘Fingers crossed,’ I said. I offered my Swiss army knife but Wakefield insisted on untying the knots. Then he stood back and invited Kristie to open the trunk. Impeccable manners.



Kristie squatted, undid the clasp and lifted the lid. She took out some letters tied with faded ribbon and then a heavy object wrapped in brown paper.



‘This is it.’



She eased the paper away to reveal the black, gold-embossed cover of a large Bible. Most of the pages had gone and the covers were used to protect and keep together some more letters, some photographs and a stained, bound notebook, quarto-sized. She presented it like a votive offering to Wakefield, who held up one finger.



‘Just a minute.’



He put the notebook on the concrete and took a pair of surgical gloves from his suit jacket. He pulled them on and opened the notebook. He turned several of the closely written, yellowed pages carefully. He closed the notebook.



‘My God,’ he said softly. ‘It’s the journal of William Dalgarno Twizell.’



I didn’t know whether the courtly gesture was an act or whether it came naturally to him, but he took big Kristie Tanner in his arms as if she was a fragile ballerina and kissed her on both cheeks. She liked it.



~ * ~



Wakefield insisted on stopping to buy champagne on the way back to Marisha’s flat. Kristie sat with the little trunk on her lap and kept stroking the faded, peeling surface.