Detained (44 page)

He leant down, spoke low only for her. “I love you, and I’m sorry I did this to you. I need this Darcy. I want this.” She was trembling all over. “Don’t give them what they want. Don’t crack. Be as angry as you want with me, but be true to you. This is your next headline, my darling, and I want you to run with it.”

“I want you to be everything that's you, deep at the centre of your being.” — Confucius

Darcy asked the next few questions as if she was absent from her body. All the light was gone from her eyes. She might’ve been a Spider Slayer robot with damaged circuitry. This, right now, was the hardest part. The part where Will had to trust she loved him enough to come out of this.

He told her how he buried Norman, leaving Pete out of that scene. He told her how they used Pete’s inheritance to get out of Tara and start their new lives. He didn’t think skimping on the detail would matter. He didn’t think this part of the interview would even air. Aileen had taught him well, they had their sound bite.

When Darcy finally failed to ask another question, Alan waddled in and ended the interview, telling her he’d script a close to camera for her to read, not trusting her to be able to do it herself. At least he knew his business.

The crew vaporised so cleanly Will knew mobile phones were getting a work-out, and every journalist mate or police contact in the city owed a favour would be getting a call.

He had one to make too. But he had Darcy to consider first, and he no longer cared if they looked like more to each other than friends for life. He’d just abused her trust in the worst way possible, on top of all the grief he’d already given her, and she needed to be cared for if he had any chance she’d eventually see this his way.

She was still sitting in her lounge chair, she had her eyes closed as if meditating, but she looked anything but in a state of grace.

He touched her knee and she rocketed out of the chair. “Don’t Will.” Both hands came up defensively. “I can’t talk to you. I don’t even want to look at you.” Then she put her fingers to her mouth as if to wipe away his last intimate touch.

“I cannot understand why you did that. I thought when I left you in Tara you were well, whole, but that’s clearly not the case. You’re...I can’t even...you’re not stable...there is no way to...”

She stopped, closed her eyes, and when she opened them Will could see her confusion had dropped away. “That you would do that to me, after what we agreed. That you would do that to someone you say you love. You bring a whole new meaning to the word ‘essential’. It appears to mean anything you can use to your own advantage.”

Will weighed up his options. Darcy’s anger was controlled, tempered by flaring outrage, deep disappointment and resentment. She wasn’t likely to listen to anything he said. But he couldn’t leave her like this.

“Look at me, Darcy.” He used his command tone, and in spite of trying to ignore him by resolutely keeping her eyes on the floor, she glanced up. He moved then to cup her face, feeling her resist, but she was trapped by the lounge chair behind her knees and the idea that Alan and Merrit were still in the room, and to pull away would cause a worse scene.

“I’m the same man you left in Tara, a better man than when you arrived. I wouldn’t do a thing to hurt you, or the possibility of us. But I had to do this, and I hope you’ll come to understand that in time.”

She tucked her chin down to break eye contact, and twisted to move past him. “I’ll never understand it. I’m through here, through with this. Goodbye Will. I’d wish you good luck, but you don’t need it. You’ll find a way to get what you want, some essential person you can string along and manipulate. I understand now that’s what you always do.”

She turned away. “Alan, I’m ready to shoot the close.”

She left him standing in the circle of light, feeling freshly bruised.

He put his hand in his coat pocket. Fought the urge to run after her and plead his case on bended knee. He was prepared to do it, but his chances of success right now were severely hampered by his pending arrest. Not that they’d call it that officially, but the tabloids, websites and social media would give the concept a thorough workover. Starting right about now.

Merrit was there. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll find my way. I’m sure you’ve got other things you’d rather be doing.” He was very sure Merrit and Alan wanted him off the premises pronto so they could get their promo package to air without him threatening an injunction.

Merrit backed away with a platitudinous thank you. Though given the gift Will just gave him and the network, maybe it was real gratitude and just sounded like the kind of toadying response he’d have once wanted to physically strike from someone’s mouth.

Phone in hand, he moved towards the studio door. He knew Darcy was aware of him from her poker stiff spine, and the way she turned from the sound of his shoes on the cement floor. He refused to even contemplate that might be the last chance he had to look at her in the flesh.

In the corridor he speed-dialled Pete.

“You never could do anything quietly could you?”

“Not really my thing, quietly.”

“She better be worth it. I assume she scratched your eyes out, and you’re in need of medical attention again.”

“Funny guy. No, but she’s deep in the hating of my guts period as expected, and I’m not sure how long the ice age will last.”

“You’re all over the radio news. ‘Tycoon possible manslaughter rap’.”

He’d reached the reception area, and came face to face with the vision of himself playing on the big flat screen saying, “I chose to let Norman Vessy drown.” Barbie was trying to hide under her desk while taking a photo of him with her phone. He smiled at her, gave her a clear shot. Might as well. The days of avoiding the limelight were well and truly over.

“Oh yeah, I’m a headline junkie, and we know what the next one will be.”

“Aileen has money on, ‘Parker Implicated in Stepfather’s Death’. Quickly followed by, ‘Abused Parker Cleared of Charges’.”

Will sighed. Sounded like Aileen was still on board. “Not bad, but I’m going with, ‘Parker Arrested for Murder’. Far more brutal, and far less accurate, so it’s got to be a winner.”

“You know I think I liked it better when you were paranoid about avoiding the press.”

On the other side of the glass doors, Will saw a dark coloured Ford pull up, the flicker of red and blue lights across its back window. “Gotta go, I think my escort is here.”

He buttoned his jacket, put his sunnies on, stepped out into the car park and smiled. Not for the boys in plain clothes, but for the army of photographers already assembled and shouting his name.

The taller of the two detectives said, “This way, Mr Parker,” ushering him into the car, as if he was vying for Bo’s job. When he was seated in the back, the man said, “We’re taking you to area command in Surry Hills,” and then nothing more was said.

Will thought about trying to make conversation, but figured they were annoyed enough with him and antagonising them further was probably a dumb thing to do. They rode in silence for a good half hour through the early peak hour traffic.

At the police complex, Will was led into an interview room, and offered a glass of water, tea, or coffee. No one had tried to intimidate him, hit him, cuff or gag him, or so far, accuse him of anything. He was ‘co-operating with a police investigation’. Things in his career as a criminal were looking up.

“Mr Parker. We’d call you Mr Brown, but we’re aware you did a legal name change.”

“Call me Will.”

“Will, I’m Max Zarova. This is my colleague,” Max indicated the taller man, “Trent Deeves.” The two men sat opposite Will. “We’ll be interviewing you today. One of the more unusual cases we’ve been involved with wouldn’t you say, Trent?”

“Man phones police to report his involvement in a death by drowning eighteen years ago, and requests a lift to lock-up. I’d say that’s unusual, Max. Bloody unusual. And who’d have guessed the same man had very recently been arrested on charges of murder? Of course that was in China, and he was declared innocent, but still, makes you think doesn’t it?”

Will looked from beefy Max to tall Trent. Bastards were enjoying this.

“Might say the man was very arrogant,” said Max.

Talking about him in the third person was getting boring. “I’d agree with that, gentlemen.”

“You would?”

“I would.”

“Perhaps you’d like to tell us what happened?” said Trent.

Will grinned. Now they were getting down to it. He noticed they weren’t going to ask if he wanted a lawyer. They’d noticed his suit was probably worth a couple of mortgage payments, it was all quite fair really.

He started at the beginning, with Margaret Dunn’s death, and Robert Dunn palming him off on Norman Vessy as a labourer and childminder. He got to the part where he drove himself and Pete, without a licence, to the hospital, might as well lay it all out there, when the door opened. He said, “You’re late,” as Pete came in.

Pete breathed irritation. “You couldn’t wait ten minutes?” He turned to the two detectives and put his hand out, his blue-faced Harry Winston flashing, ‘hello, seriously expensive lawyers watch’ as his suit coat and cuff shifted with the extension of his arm. “I’m Peter Parker, representing Will Parker.”

“You’d be the former Peter Vessy,” said Max, consulting a folder in front of him before he stood to shake Pete’s hand. Trent followed him, Pete saying over the top of the handshake, “Where are we up to?”

“Your client, your adopted brother, admitted to watching your father, Norman Vessy, drown, in what was probably no bigger than a bathtub in your backyard.”

Pete dragged his chair out and sat, deliberately elbowing Will in the process. “Did you say the creek was a bathtub?”

“No.”

Peter sighed with great fanfare and focused on Max and Trent. “For the record detectives, it was a waterhole, fed by a creek. The size of your average backyard swimming pool in which plenty of people drown every year. In fact, around three hundred people drown every year in Australia. Nearly forty percent of that total are fatalities in creeks, rivers and streams.

“I assume Will made you aware of the circumstances: his age, the fact that I was beaten, and he was protecting me, that he was badly burned, the long-term threat and provocation and Norman’s drinking. I’m sure you’ll recognise this as a clear case of self-defence even without considering Will was a minor under severe mental strain.”

“So you’re a criminal lawyer licensed to practice in Australia, Peter?” asked Trent.

Pete smiled his master deal negotiator smile. “No. I’m a corporate lawyer, but I have back-up outside in case we need it. And I have evidence.”

“Evidence. What evidence?” Will’s chair leg barked on the floor as he shifted to look at Pete.

“Shut up, Will. And I mean that in a legal sense. I have statutory declarations in support of Will’s and my injuries at the hands of Norman Vessy. I have declarations attesting to mental abuse, as well as Norman’s violence and his history as a suspect in cases of grievous bodily harm, theft, and fraud in two states.”

“Fuck, Pete, where’s this stuff coming from?”

Pete didn’t even turn his head. “We were two kids living with the town drunk in a shipping container. You don’t think people noticed what was going on?” He continued addressing the two cops, the exasperation disappearing from his tone, as his lawyer mode kicked in. “Furthermore, I have autopsy evidence, so there can be no suspicion of foul play.”

Will was on his feet. “You dug him up!”

“Excuse me, detectives, just a moment if you would, while I confer with my client, and tell my brother to shut up.”

“This is why you were always broke.” Pete might as well have slogged him in the face. Will was stunned. “You told me you needed money for extra fees and living expenses. One time you told me you had a big heating bill. You were coming to Tara and playing lawyer and you dug fucking Norman up.”

“Are you finished?”

“No. I’m not finished.”

“Sit down, Will. Unless you want to be arrested for real.” Pete didn’t even look at him. He sat down, more from the sheer shock of what Pete had done than from any desire to be co-operative.

Pete was focused on the cops again. “You’ll see the evidence is in order. Not that it should be necessary in any case, but we do like to be thorough, us Parker brothers. You know, with great power comes great responsibility.”

He exploded out of his chair again. “You did not say that.”

“Oh, keep your hair on.”

“Where did you put him?”

“Sit down, Will. I put him back where he came from.”

Will sat. “Fuck me.”

Max gave a pack-a-day smoker’s cough. “There is also the case of concealing a crime, fraud, and theft.”

“Yes. Though whether you could make that stick against two underage kids is a moot point.” Peter slapped another folder on the table. “Evidence of financial restitution to federal government and state authorities. And the deed showing the gift of parkland at lot thirty-three Henry Court to Tara Council. In other words, gentlemen, a sixteen and a fourteen year old boy borrowed money to live on in an unorthodox fashion, and paid it back with interest.

“Of course, there is also the issue of the pre-emptive claim of the inheritance from Donald Vessy, my grandfather. And you might want to do something with tampering with the dead and burial on unauthorised land.” Pete put both arms out across the table, wrists together. “What can I say? It’s me you want, not Will.”

“Faced with what is right, to leave it undone shows a lack of courage.” — Confucius

“Officer, I believe you’re holding Will Parker?”

Darcy didn’t believe it, she knew it. And judging from the amount of media hanging around outside, so did every news gatherer in the city. The only reason they’d let her waltz through the front doors was because she claimed to have evidence on the Vessy drowning to present to police. Now she faced the duty sergeant who was a whole lot more savvy than the baby cop on guard door patrol had been.