He looked us over. 'Knew it would be you.'
'Uh, Mr Walenski,' I began.
'You want the rest of my book. Well, it's not ready.'
'How much is ready?'
His faded eyes gleamed with satisfaction. 'It's gripping isn't it? It just poured out of me all those years ago. And it's good, even if it is a first draft. I did go back and begin to tidy it up but I never got past marking up the corrections on the first couple of chapters. That's what I'm doing now, retyping the worst pages, only my fingers aren't as fast as they used to be.'
'I'm used to messy scripts. I can read around your corrections.'
He shook his head. 'This has to be just right.'
Great, a perfectionist. I persevered. 'I'm fast and accurate. I could type it.'
'No, I'm refining as I go.' He drew back, hands coming up between us in a classic defensive gesture. 'Besides, on the first read through I crossed out certain things and now I'm putting them back in. Since you're going to clear O'Toole's name I owe it to him to reveal us, warts and all.'
I was going to clear O'Toole? This was news to me. But I wasn't about to correct him. I had to have that manuscript. It gave me an edge on Tucker, on Pia, all of them. Arthur wanted my project to lay Genevieve's ghost to rest but for me, it was bringing her to life. I itched to push past Walenski and claim both the manuscript and the tapes.
'When will you have it finished?'
'Can't say.'
Frustration ate at me. I took out a card and scribbled my current address. 'This is where I'm staying. When you've got the next chapter ready, bring it over.'
'I don't drive.'
'Take a taxi. I'll pay.' I handed the card to him.
When he read the address, he stiffened.
'Yes. I'm renting One-Eight-One, next door to your old place.'
'I haven't been back since they bulldozed the boarding house,' he confessed. He grimaced and looked up at me. 'It's been almost 25 years, but in some ways it's as raw as if it had happened yesterday. I've just been listening to the tapes. O'Toole's voice brings it all back.'
At that moment he seemed very fragile. I glanced behind him. Down the narrow hall the flat was dim and cluttered, smelt of old age and last night's fried onions. I had the feeling that time had stood still for Walenski, and if I'd come here 10 years ago the flat would have been much the same. I seemed to see him, trapped in a cycle of endless routine as life passed him by. My scarred palm itched and I rubbed it on my thigh. 'Is there anything you need, food, money?' Housekeeper?
He shook his head, starting to close the door.
'It's Tucker, isn't it?' I demanded. 'He killed her.'
Walenski laughed.
Damn. 'Who then?'
'You'll have to wait.'
'I can't wait.'
He laughed, gently this time. 'It seems the less time you have left, the easier it is to wait.' He continued closing the door.
'You'll bring the next chapter as soon as it's ready,' I pressed.
He nodded. 'You can get your foot out of the door now.'
I eased back and turned to Monty as Walenski shut the door on us.
'You're right,' Monty said. 'That was much gentler than the way you handled Tucker.'
I laughed. Couldn't help it.
We headed down the steps.
Monty didn't say anything as I drove back to One-Eight-One. When I left the garage I saw Smokey lying in the sun, snoozing. I was going to say something to Monty about lazy cats, but the phone rang. I ran inside and grabbed it. 'Yes?'
'What did you say to Tuck?' Arthur asked, not a great one for social niceties.
I sat down, all my doubts about Arthur flooding back.
Walenski had proved to be genuine but how did Arthur know where to find him? I hit speaker phone so Monty could hear. 'How'd you find the missing witness?'
'You saw him?'
I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see me. 'Yeah. How did you find him?'
'Joe talk to you?'
Did this mean Arthur didn't know about the book? Maybe he'd just put us onto Walenski for the insight he could give.
'He opened up,' I temporised.
'Good. I thought he would.' Arthur's voice dropped. 'Mortality makes you reassess your life. Joe has an inoperable cancer-'
'Liver cancer.' It just popped out. Monty looked surprised.
'Yeah. So, he told you? He doesn't like to talk about it.'
'Just a guess.' I shivered and changed the phone to my other hand, so I could rub my palm on my thigh. I glanced at the sliding doors. Even though sunlight glinted on the maple's brilliant leaves I felt vulnerable and exposed. So much so, that I gestured to Monty to close the blinds. He didn't ask why.
Meanwhile, Arthur continued. 'So you see, I didn't find Joe, he found me. Late last year. He needed money for the specialist but there's nothing they can do. He won't see Christmas.'
It all fell into place. With only months to live, Walenski no longer cared if the public knew he was a homosexual, who fancied teenage boys. He had failed to provide his best friend's alibi 25 years ago and now he wanted to see justice done. It seemed O'Toole's ghost was haunting him, as Genevieve's had been haunting Arthur.
But if Walenski's book proved O'Toole was not her killer, then who was?
'You still there?' Arthur asked.
'Yeah.'
'Tuck is spitting nails.'
'He said Genevieve was a no-talent hanger on. Did he used to bash her?'
There was a long silence.
I could wait.
Monty took the seat opposite me, stretching his legs. Head tilted to one side, listening to every nuance in Arthur's voice.
'Tuck called me. He's threatening legal action,' Arthur warned. 'Says he was planning a movie based on his autobiography and he doesn't want an unauthorised documentary coming out at the same time.'
'Great. That's the kind of publicity I need.'
Arthur laughed. 'You're good at playing the tough bitch, aren't you?'
Was I? I couldn't help wondering at his phrasing, and his motivation in all this. 'Why did you give me the mystery witness?'
'I loved her,' he said, and hung up.
I put the receiver down slowly, meeting Monty's gaze. I must have looked stunned because laughter crinkled the skin around his eyes.
'Arthur Davidson, man of many parts,' he whispered.
'I should've told him he was on speaker phone.' I felt guilty.
Monty studied me.
'What?'
'How'd you know Walenski had liver cancer?'
I shrugged and slid my hands into my pockets, pressing my itching palm against my thigh. 'Looks like Jake Tucker's going to be a bastard and try to stop me from making the doco.'
'He doesn't know you like I do.'
I grinned then stood up. 'I'm going to photocopy Walenski's book and post the copy registered mail to Nan.'
'Good idea.'
'Reading the book has given me some ideas for then-and-now stuff. You can cruise St Kilda take