Yes.'
Thanks for the drinks. Stay there. You'll be hearing from us.'
He walked out, moving very steadily the way you do when you have a heavy, but not too heavy, load on.
I went back to the motel, checked Twizell out and tried not to think about him. I couldn't help thinking about Templeton, weighing him up the way Twizell had. I had a score to settle with him from back when I didn't know he was a cop and I felt I owed him something more now. It was only luck that I hadn't caught some of the shotgun pellets and it only takes one in the right spot to do a lot of damage.
I tried to put myself in his shoes and, as I sifted through the things he'd done, I knew what I'd be worried about- certainly Hector Tanner, the police service he'd deserted and possibly the people who'd stolen the buried money in the first place. And the difficulty of recovering it if Twizell talked, as he probably would. He might have to use Twizell and if he did, the odds might shift.
I'd had enough to drink and had no interest in food. A motel room can be one of the loneliest places in the world. I watched the news on television but my interest in the royal wedding was less than zero and it seemed to be blotting everything else out except the death of Bin Laden. Pakistan was getting shitty about it, but an American commentator made the point that it had probably assured Obama of another term.
Is that why he did it?' the interviewer asked.
Look,' the commentator said, he took a big risk and it came off. The American people like that.'
What? Taking a risk?'
No, the risk coming off. That's seen as leadership.'
Is it?'
You tell me.'
I picked up Lord Jim and lost myself in it for an hour. I'd set myself to read some of the classics-Conrad, Hardy, Trollope-and I'd been doing it with pleasure for a while. Couldn't come at Henry James, no matter how hard I tried. I was jerked out of the nineteenth century and the jungle and all the moral dilemmas by my mobile.
Cliff, you bastard, it's Marisha. Why'd you take off like that?'
Things to do. Knackered after a hard day, and I wanted to let you and Kristie get acquainted and get to work. How's it going?'
Oh, right, change of subject. Cliff deftly avoids emotional difficulty. Lily told me about that. Well... pretty good. I'm out on the balcony now and she's having a shower so I can talk. She's cagey but she's given me some good stuff and I'm sure there's more to come. It's one of those times when you get on to something and realise you couldn't have done without it. Know what I mean?'
I do. That's good. I'm hoping she's going to take me to the documents my client's interested in tomorrow'
Okay. What about Twizell and the cop and the buried money?'
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.
How did you hear about it, Henry?' Kristie asked.
Henry now, I thought.
Diligent research,' he said.
By whom? I wondered.
Wakefield explained that there had been occasional mentions of the Twizell papers in Hunter Valley newspapers in the late nineteenth century and again later when there was a family dispute over land.
Just a hint,' he said. Just a clue, but with a lot of hard work and a little luck nuggets can be found. By the way, thank you, Cliff. You've done superbly well.'
I doubt Jack Twizell would agree, I thought, but I didn't say anything. All jobs have rough edges.
It was 1pm when we got back to Marisha's place and we had a party. Marisha was happy with her morning's work and she cheerfully went domestic, laying out biscuits, pate and cheese as we cracked Wakefield's expensive champagne.
No flutes?' he asked Marisha as she got out glasses.
Don't believe in them. Too small.'
He laughed. You've got a point.' He poured the glasses full, spilling some. He put his arm around Kristie's broad shoulders. Kristie-to you!'
Are you sure the journal's genuine?' I asked.
I'll have to have it thoroughly authenticated, of course, but I'm pretty confident.'
What about the letters and other stuff?'
Playing devil's advocate, Cliff?'
Someone has to.'
You're right.' Pulling on another set of gloves, Wakefield took the papers from the trunk, handling them very carefully. He unfolded one and swore when flakes of it fell away. This isn't the time or the place. As I say, I'm confident there's a remarkable story to be told.'
He smiled at Kristie as he replaced the papers, putting the yellowed flakes inside on the gloves and restoring everything to the trunk. Then he picked up his glass and took a swig.
Wakefield relaxed his academic manner after a few drinks and told some good stories about his students and colleagues. He took off his tie and seemed to get younger with the wine and with basking in Kristie's admiration. She drank her share and was the most at ease I'd seen her. When Marisha slyly took advantage of this and slipped in a few questions, Kristie responded with some information about the Tanner enterprise that opened Marisha's eyes. Tipping me the wink, she slipped away to make some notes.
We had Van Morrison on the stereo and Wakefield surprised us all by singing pretty good harmony with him- not easy to do.
Marisha came back and we partied on. After a while, with a considerable buzz on, Marisha and I went for a walk on the beach. We took off our shoes, rolled up our pants and splashed along in the cold shallows.