The Other Side of Sorrow by Peter Corris

accessory or something.’
    I told her that the charge of being an accessory in matters like this was largely a bluff and seldom led to any serious consequences. ‘Have you got a lawyer?’
    She nodded. ‘Yes. We’ve had one all along. Bill Damelian. But he’s really an environmental man. I don’t think he does any criminal stuff.’
    â€˜Doesn’t matter. Environmental lawyers deal with bail and all that stuff regularly. And he’ll know who to talk to if it goes any further,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’
    She picked up her glass and looked at me. ‘For some unknown bloody reason I believe you. Why would that be?’
    â€˜Experience,’ I said. ‘I’ve been around lawyers and police and crims for more than twenty years. You get a feel for where the real danger lies. Not always right about it, but …’
    â€˜Okay, the police took Ramsay off, but he was pretty composed and I got onto Bill. He said he’d be right on it. You’re saying he’ll get Ramsay out.’
    I nodded. ‘It mightn’t go so well for the protest, though.’
    She shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some.’ She poured some more wine for us. ‘Thanks. You’re a comfort. Right. Well, Megan. She went off with Damien, I’m sorry to tell you.’
    I repeated what I’d asked her on the phone. ‘Willingly?’
    â€˜I can’t say. I
would
say that I think the scream I heard when I woke up was hers, and that I heard her scream again just before the van roared off.’
    â€˜Meaning that the first scream might have been when she saw the body, so she wasn’t there when it happened, and the second one was a protest at being dragged off?’
    â€˜I hope so. For her sake and yours.’ She looked at me keenly. ‘I don’t really know you, of course. But just at a guess I’d say you’re taking this missing persons case rather personally. How come?’
    I told her. Before she could respond the phone rang.
    She took the call and from the few words I heard I guessed it was from the lawyer so I moved out to the back verandah to give her some privacy. The back garden bore the same hallmarks of neglect as the front. It was somehow sad. I’ve never lived with anyone long enough or in an appropriate place to reshape a piece of land together. Clearly, that’s what had happened here once. A fishpond showed signs of heavy work—not professionally done, but satisfactorily. The flowers in the well-mulched garden beds had been carefully tended at one time; not anymore.
    I wandered down the overgrown path and found a screened-in vegetable garden that told the same story—crude but solid carpentry, a considerable amount of earth moved, subtle touches.
    â€˜What’re you doing?’
    I turned to see Tess on the verandah, shielding her eyes against the late afternoon sun. Her posture was tense, almost aggressive. I walked back, careful to avoid a rake that lay on the ground, teeth up.
    â€˜I was getting out of your way while you were on the phone. Something bad?’
    She nodded. ‘They’re charging Ramsay as an accessory to unlawful death and opposing bail. I thought you said accessory charges didn’t amount to anything.’
    She was upset, looking for someone to blame. Lawyers are great at deflecting blame, I seem to have a knack for attracting it. ‘It depends. What does the lawyer say?’
    â€˜He says he’s working on it. Ramsay’ll have to stay in custody tonight at least.’
    â€˜It won’t be so bad. He—’
    â€˜Oh, he’ll love it! He’s been looking for it for ages. Martyrdom’s just his style, the idiot.’
    We went back into the house and Tess made coffee. It seemed to fit the new mood. She told me that her parents had died in a plane crash when Ramsay, who was ten years younger than her, was fifteen. She’d seen him through