Ill-Gotten Gains (16 page)

I think all this invisibility rubbish is exactly that. I am perfectly visible to those who matter in my life. Who cares about the rest?

It was a picture-perfect winter night, crisp and cloudless with a moon that was just a sliver from full. Trees were silhouetted against the charcoal sky like cardboard cutouts, without the slightest breeze, and the flat black of the road was like a typewriter ribbon. If such things still existed.

Fortunately the unpleasant young policeman had taken over from Matthew at midnight so I had no compunctions about leaving him to guard an empty house while I strolled up to meet Deb by the highway. Also fortunately she had been prompt, because it was extremely cold. For the first time since the accident I was wearing my hat, even if it did combine with the collar to give me a monochrome mushroom look. I was also wearing black pants and a long black coat,
Matrix
-style, and rather fancied the appropriateness of my outfit. Deb, on the other hand, had just gone with jeans and a puffy, noisy ski jacket.

We reached the traffic lights outside Majic at precisely three am. The town seemed eerily frozen, not a breath of life, a flicker of movement. Instead the landscape had a tranquillity that was almost tangible. Deb turned off the main street and Sheridan House loomed before us, rising from the earth like a gothic movie set. The turrets, the gables, the soaring inscrutability were made for this time of the night. Apart from some filtered light from the odd window, no doubt for security, and the distant glow of streetlights along the highway, the only illumination was the swollen moon and a scattering of stars. Any moment a grim-faced Hugh Jackman would stride purposefully across the car park, sword in hand. One could only hope.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Deb, casting the building a glance as she skirted the car park.

I frowned. ‘Hang on, where are you going?’

‘Just around to the back. It’s more private.’ She turned into the rear car park and pulled into a close proximity of where Sam’s car had been. Within minutes of turning off the engine, the temperature began to plummet. Deb rubbed her hands together, her jacket rasping noisily. ‘You’re sure Petra’s coming?’

I nodded. ‘She’s always late. Sorry.’

‘Well, while we’re waiting I’ll show you this.’ Deb’s sleeves rustled as she pulled a sheet of paper from her bag. ‘I was going to leave it till Petra got here, but …’

She flicked the glove box open and a light came on. I saw a printout containing a newspaper advertisement and a column of handwritten dates:
1885
,
1886
,
1887
,
1888
. I leant towards the dashboard to read.

J
ULIUS BURGER, Your wife arrived per
Pemptos
. Communicate at once with William Crosby & Co., 14 Queens-street.

M
ISS M. SHERIDAN, The door is always open. All will be well. J.S., Majic.

W
ILLIAM WHITBY, Esq., of Maryborough, Queensland, please wire your address to ERNEST J.W. CHAMBERS, Solicitor

‘It’s from the
Argus
, a newspaper that was published from 1848 till 1956. The same ad was printed in February each of those years,’ explained Deb, pointing to the handwritten dates. ‘They were the only mention that Lew could find anywhere with either surname.’

‘God, young James didn’t give up easily. Took him four years.’

‘Yes. It’s rather sad.’

I was still staring at the paper. ‘So is the fact that Julius Burger’s wife seems to have been abandoned. William Crosby and Co sound a little peeved.’

‘Poor Mrs Burger. Maybe her second marriage was to someone called McDonald and her future was assured.’

‘Apart from the clogged arteries.’

Deb closed the glove box and took the sheet back, folding it in half. ‘But this means James may not have been aware of a second guy. He calls Matilda
Miss
Sheridan.’

‘Or maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to use that name. Anyway, he probably knew that if she read the paper at all, she’d look under her maiden name as well.’

Headlights flickered from around the corner and Petra’s car eased into view. With a crunching of gravel, she parked next to Deb and leapt out to tug my door open. ‘Come on, it’s freezing! Good god, are you dressed as a cat burglar? You do realise your collar glows in the dark?’

‘You’re late.’

‘I know. Sorry. I hit snooze once too often.’ She slapped her gloved hands together. Her breath came out in puffy plumes. ‘Come on, what’s the plan?’

‘Well, first, not to make too much noise.’ Deb slung her bag over her shoulder and waited until I got out before locking the car. There was enough reflected light to see our way to the rear door. Deb got out a heavy set of keys and sorted through until she found the right one. The door opened with an effort, scraping teeth-jarringly over the flagged threshold, and we stepped through into a dark recess behind the stairs. She pushed the door closed and the lock engaged automatically. A cold, cavernous silence enveloped us.

‘On a scale of one to ten, how illegal is this?’ asked Petra. ‘And how long have we got?’

‘At least two hours and it shouldn’t take us nearly that,’ replied Deb, ignoring the first question. ‘Will’s been getting here early but never before six. I’d like to be out by five.’

Our eyes were already beginning to adjust to the near-darkness, which was itself alleviated as we rounded the corner and started up the stairs. The only sound was Deb’s jacket, which sounded like two canvas tents trying to mate. At the third floor we paused.

‘I’ll go guard first,’ I said, mainly because I needed to use the bathroom anyway.

Deb nodded. ‘Okay, half an hour sentry duty each. That should do us.’

They continued down the hallway to the Historical Society room, and Deb unlocked the door. I turned to scout my position. A small alcove between the bathroom and the passage contained a window that looked out over the main car park, together with what would normally be a wonderful view of the valley. At the moment it was dark, with just smudged streetlights in the distance. I couldn’t see the rear car park but was less worried about that direction as it was seldom used and, besides, I was confident that even from upstairs I would hear the rear door being used. In fact, I could probably hear it from my house.

It was during a flurry of emails yesterday afternoon that I remembered Leisl Akermann mentioning a database with past inhabitants of Majic. This, we had rapidly realised, was our best chance of finding the man Matija had eloped with, if indeed that was what had happened. At the very least, it was an avenue that needed to be closed. We were working on the assumption that they married at some point during or after 1885, resulting in a name-change that removed both Matija Majic and Matija Sheridan from the records. This meant that every eligible male in 1885, and then working backwards, needed to be checked against a genealogical site that Lew had provided. It would have been easier to download or print the records, and then go through them at our leisure, but apparently the database was protected and the printer coded. So we were stuck at the centre and Lew was stuck at home, sitting by their computer and waiting for his share of names. We were anticipating quite a few.

I checked the car park and then used the bathroom, bruising both shins in the darkness, before settling myself on the window ledge and wrapping my coat tightly around me for warmth. Star light, star bright, I wish I had this wish tonight. I put one hand on the window, starfish-like, and felt the chill seep into my skin. I simply could not imagine Ruby providing community aid in a Third World country. I couldn’t even imagine her providing community aid in a
First
World country. This was a girl who struggled to provide aid in the kitchen. Scarlet was the one with a strong sense of social justice, while Lucy was the one who was brimming with altruism. Ruby was my sporty one and, later on, my restless one. Flitting along in her older sister’s shadow and trying to find her own place in the light. I wasn’t sure that selling her only viable asset and running away for a year was going to do it.

‘Psst, my turn,’ hissed Petra. She grinned when I jumped. ‘Great guard you are.’

‘I was watching the car park.’ I yawned and then adjusted my collar as I rose. ‘What’s the time? Oh, and how’s it going?’

‘Ten to four, and boring. No luck yet. Shit, it’s freezing!’

I left Petra briskly rubbing her arms in the alcove. As soon as I opened the office door, I realised why she had felt the temperature so keenly. It was toasty warm in here, with two small electric heaters glowing fiery red. Deb, now jacket-less, was in front of a computer in the corner but was busily keying into her smart phone. She was wearing her red-framed glasses. I walked over to examine the monitor. It contained a complex spreadsheet of names and dates and numbers.

‘Okay.’ She turned and gestured towards a nearby chair. An iPad sat on the desk. ‘I’ve got the database on this computer but we don’t want to use any others in case someone checks the history. So we’re using our own devices to check the names. Lew’s got the computer at home, I’m using my phone and you’ve got the iPad. Make sense?’

I nodded as I slipped off my coat and sat down. I used some books to build a stand for the iPad, bringing it up to my impeded line of vision. Henry Cornwallis was the last name that had been checked. A black-and-white photo showed a gloomy-faced man with an equally gloomy-faced wife and a pair of gloomy children. Fun times at the Cornwallis household.

‘Not all have photos,’ said Deb, glancing at the iPad. ‘Anyway, the site is loaded so you just key in the name and check the information. If there’s no record, or not enough details to rule him out, then write him down here.’ She slid a notepad across and opened it to a page with about eight names. Then she flicked it back to the first page. ‘I’ll write the names to be checked here, and you cross them off as you go. Ready?’

I nodded again and got started. It was slow and tedious work, particularly as the site reloaded itself with each new name. Even more annoying was the fact my iPad kept slipping from its stand, causing Jeremiah Eastermann or James Titchfield or Henry Dore to go spinning from horizontal to vertical and then back. A headache formed slowly in the base of my skull and worked its way forward to my temples. Every so often Deb’s phone would buzz and she would relay a fresh list of names to Lew. He seemed to be working quicker than either of us.

After half an hour, Deb loaded the notepad with names to be checked and then took her turn at guard duty. Petra swept into the room and went straight to the heater, holding her hands over the glowing bars.

‘We’re never going to find this guy,’ I commented, taking a moment to stretch.

‘I no longer care,’ said Petra. She sat down in Deb’s chair and picked up the smart phone, then put it down again. ‘I thought espionage was supposed to be exciting. And less frigging cold.’

‘I’m thinking of buying Dad’s old shop. Turning it into a townhouse.’

‘Really?’ Petra stared at me. She frowned, thinking, and then nodded. ‘Actually, I can see that. Great location, too. No, I think that’s a great idea! When did this happen?’

‘I only looked at them yesterday. I rang the real estate agent who’s handling them and got some prices. The problem is that I’d really like both, but they’re a bit higher than I want to go. I think the owner wants to recoup the architect costs, for starters. But he
should
be flexible. They’ve been on the market for over a year, the motel across the road should make a difference, and he’d be getting rid of both at the same time. So I was thinking …’

‘You want me to make some inquiries?’

‘Yes. Because you’re used to this sort of thing. I can’t do it if the price isn’t right, because I have to allow for actual renovations.’

‘No problem.’ Petra lapsed into silence for a while. ‘Do you remember those carcasses hanging out the back? I hated them. They used to give me nightmares.’

‘I’d forgotten those. Don’t ruin things.’

‘Have you told Mum?’

‘Yes. And she thinks it’s a good idea too. With or without carcasses.’ I looked at the clock. ‘God, it’s half past four. Why aren’t I in bed?’

Petra sighed as she picked up Deb’s phone again. ‘Come on, we’d better get to work.’

I nodded, rather reluctantly, and then typed in Werner Haas. Apart from a mention on two electoral rolls he had no other information so I wrote him down. The next seven names were crossed off for a variety of reasons, such as age, marital status and, in one case, dwarfism. I suspected it would have been more difficult to cover her tracks had she run off with a dwarf. This wasn’t Snow White.

‘Thought I had them for a moment!’ Petra sat back. ‘Thomas Littleton married a Matilda in 1886 but the wrong one. She was born in 1860 and she’s butt ugly.’

‘Maybe she was good in bed.’

‘Well, she’d been married twice before so she had to have something going for her.’

The door opened and Deb slipped inside. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Slowly. Is it time to swap already?’

‘Yep.’ She came over to stand behind Petra. ‘Is that all you’ve done?’

‘There were a couple of complicated ones,’ said Petra. ‘Required extra time. I thought it was important that we be thorough.’

‘You’re right. Well done.’

I stood and picked up my coat. ‘My turn then. How much time have we got left?’

‘Forty minutes max.’ Deb sighed. ‘That’ll bring us to five-thirty and we can’t risk staying any longer. This is shaping up as a real fizzer.’

The chill enveloped me as I left, even worse now that I had spent an hour in the warmth. The only area that remained snug was my neck, encased in foam. I thought about running up and down the stairs for a while, but instead simply took up my earlier position on the windowsill. Nothing had changed.
No visible signs of injury, say forensic experts. Victim most likely bored to death.

For about twenty minutes I played with mental floor plans, mostly around the bottom floor of my proposed residence. I thought about how tired I was, which prompted a series of yawns, my chin pressing down into the collar. Then I decided to visit the bathroom before my replacement arrived. The joys of a middle-aged bladder. I had just settled myself when I heard a muffled whoosh, which was a little disconcerting. But the house was almost one hundred and fifty years old so a few idiosyncrasies were to be expected. I wondered what this room had been back then, because it was doubtful that it had always been a ladies room with three stalls, two washbasins and a hand-dryer. It was odd to think that the girl we were searching for had actually lived here at one time, wandered these halls, touched the walls, gazed through the windows.

The latter thought reminded me that I was supposed to be on guard duty so I finished up, washed quickly and went back to my windowsill. The minutes ticked past slowly, although I had no way of knowing how many. It did seem as if I should have been replaced by now. I decided to count to sixty-nine, because it was three times my favourite number, and then go and hurry them along. I had only reached twenty when the sound of a door opening echoed up the stairwell. I froze, and then leapt to my feet as the stairs creaked beneath heavy footsteps. With my heart hammering, I ran down to the office and pushed at the door. It was locked. I stared at it stupidly and tried again, with similar results.

‘Petra! Deb!’ I hissed. ‘Somebody’s here!’

There was no reply and now the footsteps were even louder. Slow, but relentlessly steady. I looked frantically to my left but the passage ended abruptly just past the Historical Society office. A couple of filing cabinets stood there but I doubted I could cram myself into one of the drawers. Filed under P for petrified. I hesitated another second and then ran lightly back the way I had come, hoping to be able to duck into the alcove. But I had barely reached the last office when a darkened shape hove into view. Both the shape and I immediately stopped, mid-movement. I wondered if it could see me as clearly as I could see it. After a few moments it began to slowly advance up the remaining steps. It reached to one side and light flooded the passageway.

‘Nell? Nell
Forrest
?’

‘Oh my god, Will. Oh god.’ I put one hand up to my chest. ‘I thought –’

‘What are you
doing
here?’

‘What are
you
doing here?’ I replied, opting for the attack.

‘I came in early. So much to get done. But hey, I
work
here! It’s not even five-thirty!’

‘Really?’ I didn’t know what to say next. Where were Petra and Deb?