The Tower (43 page)

‘I was reluctant,' Rochford said, looking at Troy. ‘But Margot was a very persistent woman, and she was in a state of desperation. She talked of killing herself several times.'

‘Do you think—'

‘I want to emphasise that. I thought Margot Teresi was suicidal.'

Bergman was breathing deeply and twitching, looking at Troy as though concerned he might have missed the significance of this.

Troy said to Rochford, ‘You think she killed herself?'

‘It's what I firmly believe.'

‘And what you'll tell a court?'

‘That's correct.'

Troy asked him to describe his visit to The Tower, and the grief counsellor led them through it, step by step. The way he spoke, it was like a child reciting a lesson learned by heart. He said they'd taken the lifts to level one hundred and ten.

‘What was it like up there?'

‘Cold. Windy. Dark. When we walked to the edge there was a sort of metal fence and you couldn't see anything. There was mist.'

Troy remembered that night, what it had been like on level thirty-one. It annoyed him that Rochford's lies could evoke the memory so powerfully. The man across the table was still sweating a lot, but apart from that he was doing well, consistent and assured. Troy asked him what Margot had been wearing, and received a detailed description. As the police had not released information about Margot's bag or coat, this meant Rochford had been briefed by someone who'd seen her that night.

‘How did the counselling session go?'

‘It was a disaster. Margot broke down and we returned to the ground floor with the man who'd brought us up.'

Troy pulled photos of Bazzi and Asaad from the file and Rochford identified Bazzi.

‘I wanted to stay with her when we got downstairs, but this man insisted I leave. She told me to go, she said she would stay behind for a moment. She said she wanted to go up again, by herself. That was the last time I saw her.'

‘And what time was that?'

‘I was there about half an hour, maybe forty minutes. So it would have been something like ten to seven when I left. I didn't check my watch.'

Troy knew from the bank's CCTV that it had been 6.45 pm, so Rochford's estimate was close enough. This piece of information had not been released to the public either. Troy wondered where the real Mr A was. He stared at the man across the table, realising how close he was to the people who were pursuing him. It was one degree of separation; he could almost reach out and touch them.

‘Mr Rochford, I have no further questions.'

As he said this he watched Rochford's face carefully. He could see it shutting down, as though the relief was almost too much to bear. The three men stood up and Troy opened the door.

‘Why don't you go back to the office,' he said to Bergman, half pushing him out. ‘I'll see Mr Rochford off the premises.'

When Bergman was gone, Troy shut the door and turned back to Rochford. He thanked him for his help and they shook hands. Rochford's was almost wet now, and when Troy released it the other man took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.

‘It's a nerve-racking business, isn't it?' Troy said.

‘It's hot in here.'

‘I mean lying to the police.'

‘I don't know what you mean,' Rochford said, without any attempt at conviction.

‘Can we help you in any way? My superiors know everything,' he lied. ‘We can guarantee confidentiality.' For a moment he saw panic in Rochford's eyes. ‘We can protect you.'

‘No one can protect me,' Rochford muttered. Then, summoning energy from somewhere: ‘I want to go now.'

Later in the afternoon, Troy ducked out and bought an anniversary present for Anna. It was an opal ring he'd seen in the window of a shop nearby. The opal was set in silver; he'd always liked the way silver looked against her brown skin. She did like jewellery, lots of it. One of their first arguments had been about the quantity of earrings and bracelets she'd been wearing when they went out to a film. He couldn't remember who'd won, but she still wore more jewellery than most women. He'd come to accept it. Sometimes people would stare, when they went out, but it didn't worry him anymore.

Soon after he got home that night, they drove down to a seafood place at Brighton-le-Sands. Anna had put a lot of effort into her hair and makeup, and was wearing a sari in rich shades of red and brown. She hadn't worn a sari in a long time, and it surprised him when she came out of their bedroom. He wondered what it meant.

They had oysters followed by grilled fish, and talked about the visit from the Duttons yesterday. After a bit he tried to change the subject, but she stuck with it.

Finally she said, ‘Wendy says there's lots of jobs going at the airport.'

‘Boring jobs.'

‘Safe ones.'

She'd never talked about him leaving the job before this investigation. He wondered if it was just the events of last week, or if it had been on her mind for a while.

‘Ralph said he wasn't going to offer me a job because he knows I wouldn't be happy there,' he said with a smile.

He looked around the room, desperate for something else to talk about, but it was too late. Anna's eyes filled with tears.

‘I do want you to be happy, Nick,' she said. ‘You know that.'

‘Do you?'

She stood up and went to the bathroom.

Troy finished the wine in his glass and sat there, not sure how much more of this he could take. There was no pattern to their lives anymore. A waitress came by and filled his glass and flirted with him mildly. It was pleasant. When she left he picked up the glass, looked at its contents, and put it down. One day he might become an alcoholic, as a way of dealing with the way his life was going. He'd seen it happen to other men. But for now, he didn't have the time.

Anna assumed his patience was infinite, based on the belief he would keep coming back to her no matter how often she pushed him away. But one day he might not. Or was that the idea? Was she actually trying to push him away? If he left her, she would get half the house and could take Matt to Brisbane and live near her parents. Which, after all, was what she wanted. It was a shocking thought, and he felt guilty for even harbouring it. But as he sat there the guilt began to fade, while the thought remained.

When they got home he walked the babysitter to her place. He took his time on the way back, enjoying the stars and the spring night air, blowing in from the sea out of sight down the hill. Inside, he cleaned his teeth, turned off the lights, and went into the bedroom.

Anna was there, sitting up in bed in a red nightie he vaguely remembered. The lower part of her body was hidden by the bedclothes, but he could see most of her breasts, and even make out the nipples beneath the red silk. It had been a long time since he'd seen her like this.

‘Well, are you coming to bed or do I have to get out and haul you in?' she said, her voice slightly hoarse.

Actually he felt like crying, an absurd feeling that passed quickly. He said he wouldn't mind being dragged in and she said it was time for him to show a bit of enthusiasm. ‘I've been waiting here for hours, wondering what you've been getting up to with Aleisha.'

The words came out awkwardly but he appreciated the effort, and got out of his clothes. Pulling down the sheet, he climbed in next to her.

The thing was to take it as slowly and gently as he could. It would not be easy, the way he was feeling, but he told himself he could do it. She was still just sitting there, nervously, which helped calm him down. Twisting around, he kissed her softly on the side of her mouth. He kissed her some more and she turned slightly towards him, and responded for a moment, the feel of her skin and the smell of her almost overwhelming him with memories of what they'd had in the past.

But there was still no response, and presently he stopped. She just sat there and he put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and he tried to rub her back. Then he saw her eyes were full of tears. Again.

‘I'm sorry, Nick,' she whispered. ‘I just can't.'

She started to get out of bed and he took hold of her wrist and said, ‘Wait.'

With sudden energy she pulled her arm from his grip and moved to the side of the bed. He could have held her but he was so angry he didn't trust himself.

‘Don't you dare,' she said.

‘I'm not doing anything,' he said. ‘I just want you to know we have to do something about this, we need some help.'

She slid out of bed, picking up her dressing-gown from the floor and slipping into it as she stood up, so he caught only a glimpse of her lower body.

‘Let's not talk about this tonight, not on our anniversary,' she said. ‘Please.'

‘Won't you tell me what you're afraid of?'

‘I'm not afraid of anything. You keep saying that, and it makes me really upset. I've just lost interest for a while, it's quite common.'

‘This is destroying our marriage, Anna. I want us to go to counselling.'

As if that would automatically fix things. But you had to have some sort of plan. Plans implied hope.

‘I just need more time.'

‘You said that six months ago. There is no more time.'

Her face contorted in anguish. ‘Don't say that.'

‘I can't wait any longer.'

‘My whole life depends on you. Don't you still love me?'

He said nothing.

‘Have you found someone else?'

He was on the point of telling her about Wednesday night. But with a strange wailing sound, she turned and ran from the room.

The noise worried him. He stood up, all desire gone, and put on his pyjamas. The sound she'd made had been like an expression of pain. He went down the hall and found the door to Matt's room was locked. For five minutes he knocked on it gently and spoke to her, but there was no response. If the boy hadn't been in there he might have broken down the door, but having a child changed things. He went back to bed, thinking about the sound she'd made, her tears, all the emotion coursing through her body, her life. He realised he still loved her, and that this was the problem. If he didn't love her, everything would be much easier.

TUESDAY

Thirty-eight

A
sound woke him, and he saw from the bedside clock it was early morning. Very early. He lay there for a few minutes, remembering what had happened last night with Anna, then thinking about work and Geoff Rochford. The man might be in the same situation as himself, lying awake somewhere in the city, thinking about the hold these people had over him. He wondered what had happened to the real Mr A. Perhaps he was dead. They would have to look at any murders of unidentified men his age in the past week. Suicides, too.

Troy got up and went out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The door to Matt's room was open, which surprised him, and he looked in. Anna and the boy were gone. Matt's change bag was missing too. He raced to the front door and pulled it open. Anna's car was no longer out the front of the house. The faint odour of exhaust fumes lay in the cold night air. It must have been the sound of her driving away that had woken him.

In the kitchen he found a note on the table, almost two pages long. Anna wrote that she was going away for a while because of the guilt she felt at not being able to fulfil her duties as a wife. She was terrified something might happen to him at work, after the shootings in The Tower. She couldn't raise this with him because it would make him angry, and she feared his anger. She also wrote she was scared he would no longer love Matt should anything happen to her. And she feared Troy might harm her physically; after the way he had behaved last night, she feared for her safety.

Troy couldn't follow the note, he couldn't follow her thoughts. This was not the way things were. He put the letter down, wondering about her state of mind, what she might do to herself and Matt. He did not think of himself as a particularly violent man, yet here she was, writing of fear and terror. If their normal life together could produce such a storm of emotion, he wondered what the sight of the video footage would do if she ever saw it.

‘Jesus,' he said.

It was a prayer. A short one.

He wondered where she'd go. She had a lot of friends, but most of the really close ones were in Queensland, where she'd grown up. He couldn't think of anyone in Sydney she'd go to at this time of night, although it all depended on her state of mind, whether the letter marked her lowest ebb or was just a point on a descent into further chaos. He remembered a woman she'd been close to in her nursing days. Sara. But they hadn't seen her in a while. Maybe the Duttons. He hoped Matt would be all right, told himself that the boy liked sleeping in his capsule in the back of the car, he'd probably be fine. Troy wondered whether to call Anna's parents in Brisbane. There was a good chance she'd been in touch with them already, maybe even talked about all this. She rang her mother several times a week.

The question was whether to pursue Anna at all. That was his instinct, but he knew there were times when instinct should be resisted. Anna had said in the note she needed to be by herself. Maybe he should respect that. If he went after her, found her and brought her back, they'd only be where they'd been yesterday.

Unless she wanted him to come after her.

For hours these possibilities swirled around his mind, stimulating and exhausting him by turn. He couldn't help thinking about himself, how weak the blackmail made him, vulnerable because of what was being done to him when he should have been strong for her. Your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.

At some point, while it was still dark, he fell asleep again. But he awoke at dawn. There was no sign of Anna or Matt, and he thought about calling the Maroubra police. But it was too soon. Maybe later in the morning. It was too early to go to work, so he decided to have a run.