Part 10 (1/2)

'What do you mean?'

'What else did you take?'

'Nothing, I'm not a thief.'

I took a deep breath. 'So somebody made a forced entry into his building and ran off with his daughter's electronic notebook, and nothing else? The same notebook he'd refused to give to two visitors earlier in the day?' She didn't say anything. 'You left the wallet, with its photo of me, I suppose?'

After a long silence she whispered, 'Yes.'

Earlier, Bonnie and Clyde had come to mind, but now Laurel and Hardy seemed more like it.

'Sorry.' She was pulling on her jeans.

I said nothing. I was wondering what to tell the police who would surely be on my doorstep first thing in the morning. If they didn't catch us on the highway.

11.

But they didn't catch us on the highway, nor, to my relief and surprise, did they come calling the following day. I got on with my ch.o.r.es and waited, but nothing happened. I did read Luce's note again and again, trying to extract its meaning, without success. And I looked up the word phasmid phasmid in the dictionary. It was an insect of the order Phasmida, apparently, a leaf or stick insect, which immediately brought an image of Marcus into my mind as we'd last seen him, all awkward arms and legs. Was that what she was referring to? Was that how he saw himself, the last phasmid? It didn't make much sense to me, and I wondered about Luce's state of mind when she'd written that note. in the dictionary. It was an insect of the order Phasmida, apparently, a leaf or stick insect, which immediately brought an image of Marcus into my mind as we'd last seen him, all awkward arms and legs. Was that what she was referring to? Was that how he saw himself, the last phasmid? It didn't make much sense to me, and I wondered about Luce's state of mind when she'd written that note.

I continued going back through all the doc.u.ments I had relating to Luce's accident, searching for some new angle, and a couple of days later I found it. The first hint of it was in the bottom corner of one of the last newspaper reports of the accident that Anna had photocopied. It was the small heading for another article that was off the page, and it read, LORD HOWE RACE YACHT SKIPPER QUESTIONED LORD HOWE RACE YACHT SKIPPER QUESTIONED. It seemed an odd coincidence to me, and I decided to find out what it was about. I went to the local library and searched through their microfiche copies of the paper until I found it. It was a eureka moment, and I felt that burn of apprehensive excitement you get when you come across something really big. It was almost as if I could sense Luce's presence at my shoulder.

Australian Customs and Quarantine officials in Sydney yesterday detained the skipper of a boat recently returned from the Sydney to Lord Howe Island yacht race, after a search of the vessel uncovered a quant.i.ty of rare native bird eggs on board. A spokesman for the Australian Customs Service revealed that the search had followed a tip-off, but declined to identify the nationality of the suspect. He said that the illegal international trade in wildlife was estimated by Interpol to be worth $10 billion annually, and was surpa.s.sed in value only by drugs and weapons.

This surely was what I had been searching for. Birds' eggs were exactly the reason why Luce and the team were on Lord Howe Island-the grey ternlet's eggs, to be precise. I did remember that much from what Luce had told me. They were carrying out research into its breeding habits, so you could say that she had died on account of the s.e.x life of a small, rather delicate seabird, listed as a vulnerable species in Schedule 2 of the New South Wales Threatened Species Conservation Act Threatened Species Conservation Act. About the only other thing I could remember about the bird was that the s.e.xes were practically indistinguishable, with no plumage variation during the breeding season, which, as I suggested to Luce, might have been one reason they were a vulnerable species.

And now here was someone recently returned from Lord Howe and accused of smuggling rare birds' eggs. Had Luce discovered what was going on? Had Curtis and Owen been somehow involved? I scanned the papers for the following days, but could find no further reference to the case. Eventually I gave up and walked back to the hotel, head spinning. The race yachts had arrived at the island on the twenty-seventh of September, I remembered, just five days before Luce's accident. She had gone to the party that was held for them on the twenty-eighth, and they had helped in the search for her.

I returned to my room and began going through the police report again, working at it far into the night, until I finally stopped at around four and fell into a troubled sleep.

The next morning I phoned Anna. She said she'd given Luce's diary to the computer whiz who serviced the equipment at the nursing home, but hadn't got a result yet. I told her I had something to discuss with her and we arranged to meet that lunchtime. When I got there she took us to the deserted library room, where she'd arranged a tray of sandwiches.

She saw how agitated I was. 'What's wrong, Josh? Have the police been in touch? Mr Corcoran?'

'No, nothing like that. I've been doing a bit more digging, and I think I've come across something. Look.' I showed her the print I'd taken of the newspaper article, and she made the connection straight away.

'I couldn't find any other newspaper reports about the boat, but you see the timing.'

'Yes, of course. Luce would probably have come across this man at the party they had. What are you thinking?'

'Well ...' I rubbed my face, trying to put together the chain of logic that had seemed so compelling the previous night. 'It seems to me that the smuggler would have had someone helping him on the island, someone who knew the right places and had collected the rare eggs beforehand.'

'Right.'

'It struck me, going through the police report again, how often the Kelso family crops up. Marcus and the team stayed on their property, went to the party at their house, and were ferried around the island by one of the sons, Bob Kelso, listed as a fisherman. The other son, Harry, runs adventure hiking trips over the mountains at the south end of the island for visitors. You can check out his website.' I showed her some pages I'd printed off. One had a picture of Harry Kelso and a group of grinning, windswept kids roped together against a panoramic backdrop of rugged scenery.

'I think that's taken on Mount Gower, near the cliffs where Luce fell.' I turned the pages of the police report I'd brought until I came to the photographs of the site of the accident.

'Did you look at the index that lists the sources of these pictures?' I asked.

'How do you mean?'

'There are the ones taken from sea level, blurry views up the cliff, using a telephoto lens by the look of them, from a boat pitching in the swell. Detective Maddox took those, from Bob Kelso's boat. Then there are the others, closer shots of the area where Luce is a.s.sumed to have fallen, much sharper but still difficult to interpret. Curtis, the team's photographer, took those.'

'So what?'

'Maddox never went up to the accident scene. He wouldn't have been able to climb up there. Think about it-the investigating police officer never got within a hundred metres of the accident scene. He just had to take Owen and Curtis's word for everything.'

I pointed to one of the views from sea level. 'The place where Luce disappeared was to the right of this b.u.t.tress-you can see its shadow. She was out of sight of Curtis and Owen. Up above you can see the forest coming right to the edge of the cliff. It wouldn't have been impossible for someone else to have abseiled down from there to where Luce was. Someone who knew Mount Gower well, for instance.'

'Harry Kelso?'

'I'm just speculating. But suppose the Kelso boys were doing a bit of illegal trafficking on the side, and Luce overheard them talking to the yachtie at the party, say.'

Anna shook her head. 'She wouldn't have kept quiet about it, that's for sure. She'd have been horrified. She'd have told Marcus.'

'Maybe it wasn't as clear-cut as that. Perhaps she only had suspicions and was trying to get proof-remember how she seemed to withdraw in those last days.'

'And Curtis and Owen were involved?'

'That's possible, I suppose.' I thought of how they were both always short of cash. 'Look, this is pure speculation. It probably wasn't like that at all.'

'Maybe the diary will tell us something, if we can get into it.'

'Yes. The other possibility is to speak to some of the other people who were there at that time. I'm thinking of Sophie Kalajzich, for instance, the girl who cleaned the house they rented and became friendly with Luce. She was on a short-term contract over there, and could be back on the mainland now. There's a Sydney address given in the statement.'

I got the number from directory inquiries, and tried it. An answering machine responded, its message giving me the number of Sophie's mobile. I finally got through to her, saying we were old friends of Luce, and she agreed to see us. She was a model now, doing a job at a photographic studio in Newtown, she said, and we could meet her there and talk between sessions.

The address was a converted industrial building, grubby brick walls hemming a narrow laneway. Inside, past a flashy little logo, the old structure had been given a veneer of white minimalism. From the entrance lobby we could see through to a dazzlingly lit studio s.p.a.ce in which two girls were posing in swimwear. Through another opening, seated models were having their hair and make-up worked over. I saw the expression of bemus.e.m.e.nt on Anna's face as she took it all in, as if we'd wandered in on a freak show.

A woman came past us, heading for the make-up room, and I said, 'Excuse me?'

She stopped and turned to me, disconcertingly pretty, but not quite real, a life-size china doll. The industrial brick and steel of the surroundings made the b.u.t.terfly-bright fabrics and the tanned flesh and the impossible hair seem blatant and somehow embarra.s.sing, even to me.

'We're meeting Sophie Kalajzich,' I said. 'Would you know where she is?'

'That's her.' The woman indicated the model in the yellow bikini. 'I think they've nearly finished. Take a seat.'

I thanked her and we did as she said. There were magazines scattered on a low table beside us. Anna picked one up, touching her hair self-consciously. I was watching Sophie being posed by her photographer across a striped deckchair. She was very thin. Another kind of phasmid.

Eventually she finished and wrapped herself in a robe and came towards us. We introduced ourselves, and she said she could only give us ten minutes before she'd have to get changed for the next shoot. 'This isn't some legal thing, is it?' she asked cautiously.

'Legal?'

'You know, insurance or something. Only I don't know anything about the accident really. I wasn't there.'

'Oh, no!' I smiled brightly. 'No, no, nothing like that. What it is, we're old friends of Luce, and I've been in London all the time since it happened.'