The Other Side of Sorrow by Peter Corris Page B

her body went tight as if she was setting up a physical defence against me. ‘I don’t believe you. Ramsay might get a lot of things wrong, but he’s got an instinct about people. He knows his enemies and he reckoned you were one.’
    I was getting angry. I’d already made my judgement about Ramsay and he was right—I wasn’t sympathetic, but not for the reasons he imagined. ‘He’s wrong this time.’
    â€˜I think you’d better go.’

11
    I knew what was coming next and I was dreading it. An agitated, near-hysterical message from Cyn was on the answering machine when I reached home. She’d got the news on the radio and television and the name of one of the people the police were looking for had hit her hard. I had a shower, pulled on an old tracksuit, poured a stiff Scotch, drank half of it and called her number.
    â€˜Cyn, this is Cliff.’
    â€˜Where the hell have you been? Out screwing some low-life slut I suppose.
Go
!’
    The old Cyn. The old complaint, scarcely ever justified. That ‘Go’ puzzled me, though.
    â€˜I’ve been working. What does “go” mean?’
    â€˜Not you. Never mind. Hang on.’
    I heard sounds on the line—voices, a door, but couldn’t make anything of it. Cyn was away for at least ten minutes and she went straight on the attack when she got back on the line. I stood it for a while and then threatened to hang up if she didn’t stop.
    â€˜Don’t hang up. You didn’t give me all the facts, did you? You didn’t tell me this Talbot was a serious criminal no-hoper.’
    â€˜No, I didn’t.’
    â€˜Why the hell not? Trying to spare me I suppose.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Fuck you, Cliff. When someone’s dying you don’t have to spare them. They’re facing the worst thing there is, the end of everything. When you’ve faced up to that, you can face up to anything else. Are you too stupid to understand that?’
    I finished the drink and immediately wanted more. ‘I’m sorry.’
    â€˜You’re sorry. Fat lot of good that is. Where
have
you been?’
    â€˜I’ve been with the sister of the leader of the Tadpole Creek protest. She was there and saw some things and heard others. There’s a good chance Megan wasn’t …’
    â€˜Wasn’t what? And don’t try to bloody spare me.’
    â€˜Wasn’t involved directly in the death and was taken against her will.’
    â€˜Okay, okay. Just a minute. I have to take a pill. Stay there.’
    I nearly tore a knee ligament bolting for the bottle, the glass and the ice cube tray. I was drink in hand when she got back on the line after what seemed like a long time.
    â€˜I’ve still got some money, Cliff. I can hire lawyers. Oh, what about that friend of yours? Cy …’
    â€˜Cy’s dead. He was murdered.’
    â€˜Oh, God. The life you lead.’
    â€˜We don’t need to talk about lawyers yet. This isn’t a Patty Hearst situation. Megan’s not …’
    â€˜She’s on the run and being named on radio and television. She must be frantic. We
have
to do something.’
    I improvised. ‘I’m going to look for her. Talbot’s possibly left a bit of a trail. Maybe I can track him.’
    â€˜You don’t sound very sure. Why aren’t you doing it now then?’
    â€˜Cyn, I’m human. I’m tired. I …’
    I was cut off by a heavy knock at the front door. ‘What?’
    â€˜Sorry, there’s someone at the door.’
    â€˜Thank God. Let him in, Cliff. That’s all we need to say for now.’
    She hung up and I sat there with my drink in one hand and the receiver in the other without the faintest idea of what was going on.
    â€˜Hello, Mr Hardy. I’m Geoffrey Samuels. It sounds a bit silly to say this, but my mother sent me.’
    The porch light is dim and he was standing back a bit