My Brother's Keeper

Chapter 9



FRIDAY 23 NOVEMBER 2012

According to Ned, he had used the spare room on a regular basis when Norma was alive and since her death he’d continued to stay there roughly one week out of every four or five. They were his clothes in the wardrobe. Karen, apparently, was happy with the arrangement. He had his own key, which was waggled in front of me as proof. In the excitement of learning she was going to meet her daughter, Karen had obviously forgotten to tell Ned and me about each other. He claimed to have been as surprised to discover me in the house as I clearly was to discover him. Though we had each, he repeated several times with increased emphasis, reacted rather differently to the situation. He had tried to wake me to introduce himself, whereas I had flown at him like a freakin’ she-devil. Despite his words, it seemed to me he actually looked quite thrilled each time he said it and I noticed some new little detail was added with each repetition. Finally he settled on the story: I threw myself at him like a freakin’ she-devil and set about ripping him apart with my bare hands. No doubt by the time the story had done the rounds I, the she-devil, would have ripped off each of his limbs and consumed them one by one. Even as a joke, I didn’t want to encourage him by suggesting it. At least he’d had the decency not to refer to the she-devil being stark bloody naked when she attacked him. Not yet, anyway.

Eventually I apologised, begrudgingly. The explanation of my deep-sleep condition fascinated him. Well, he seemed fascinated. But he was an inveterate charmer from way back, this one, with his elaborate storytelling and the attention he paid. With every new story the accent grew stronger. I accused him of turning it on when it suited.

‘Oh, well, everyone loves the Irish, you know.’ He swirled his wine around the glass before knocking it back. ‘Except the Irish,’ he added, with a wink. Normally I hate being winked at, but I laughed.

‘So where are you from then?’ I asked.

‘I was born here, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘And now?’

‘And now I’m based in Perth, but I travel between here and Australia on a fairly regular basis.’ He stopped as if he thought that was information enough. It was unusual to meet someone who didn’t want to dominate the conversation with information about themselves.



‘How come?’ I’m a born questioner.

‘Well, I’m one of the partners in a restaurant in Perth and another in Melbourne, though that’s more of a bar than a restaurant, really. And I’m a silent partner in a little place here in Parnell.’

‘What’s the difference between a silent and a sleeping partner?’ I asked. ‘I’ve always wondered.’

‘I thought you’d know all about that, being the expert on sleeping and all.’ He tilted his head in my direction and I smiled and tilted mine back at him. He wasn’t going to let the she-devil incident go easily.

‘So why restaurants?’

He seemed to genuinely think about my question before delivering me an expressive shrug. ‘I’m a useless cook.’

‘You own restaurants because you can’t cook? Seriously?’

‘Well, no. The one thing you can say about me is I don’t do anything seriously. I’m constitutionally unsuited for it. I’m told that’s part of my charm.’ They were right about that. ‘But even though I’m a dreadful cook myself, I love food. Actually, I don’t so much love food as the eating of it. With other people, I mean. There’s just nothing that compares with sitting at a table with a bunch of people, eating and drinking and carousing. I love it, especially the carousing. What do you love, then?’ Innocent though the question was, it made me blush. He smiled so readily in response, maybe the question hadn’t been innocent at all.

We talked and drank wine and crunched the ice cube splinters from our makeshift ice packs, then at three o’clock he cooked up the only dish he claimed to be able to cook: a big plate of scrambled eggs and toast. We squatted on stools either side of the benchtop island, fork in one hand and ice-packed facecloths against our sore bits in the other, while he filled me in on the family history. His father, Arthur, had been in a relationship with Karen’s mother, Norma, for ten years before he died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. That was two years ago. Ned liked Norma. He was an adult when his father started up with her and he had no problems with their relationship at all.

‘They made a great couple,’ he said. Karen’s father had been killed in a car accident more than a decade earlier and Arthur’s first wife, Ned’s mother, died when he was a teenager. After his father’s death, Ned continued to stay at Norma’s when he was in Auckland. He said he hoped Norma enjoyed his company. ‘She and Dad used to have a good time together. He was good company and she missed that when he was gone. I could make her laugh,’ he said, smiling appreciatively at the memory of her. ‘She liked a good laugh.’ Having spent a few easy hours with this man I could well imagine she did enjoy his company, particularly with her man-friend dead and her only child in prison.

‘What about Sunny?’ I asked. ‘Did Norma see much of her after Karen went to prison?’

He shuddered dramatically and polished off a forkful of eggs before answering. ‘It was a terrible, terrible thing Karen did. Norma never forgave her, you know. Well, who could? Even if you were her mother.’

‘But she did keep up the contact with Sunny?’

‘No. She decided it was best not to.’



I was shocked. ‘How could that be best? She was the child’s grandmother!’

‘Norma didn’t like to talk about it.’ I waited while he forked some eggs onto a piece of toast. ‘I do know that the day after—’ He paused, toast forgotten. The Ponsonby clock chimed four times before he carried on. ‘You know, I keep wanting to call it the accident but of course it was no accident.’ I nodded. I’d done that too. ‘Anyway, the day after the drowning, Dad and Norma went to the house to see Sunny. Karen was taken away that day, of course. The police came round and she just confessed. Anyway, Dad went off to the kitchen to talk to Justin, offer his condolences and all, and Norma went to find Sunny.’ The accent was back in full force. He turned the ice pack over. I caught a glimpse of red and purple before he pressed it back into the eye socket. ‘And the next minute Dad heard her screaming the house down.’

‘Who was screaming the house down?’

‘Sunny. She screamed and screamed. There was no stopping her. Justin told Norma she should go. Eventually, she turned around and left and Dad followed.’

‘Why?’ I was confused. ‘Why would Sunny do that?’

He went back to the scrambled eggs. ‘Dad thought maybe it was because Norma reminded the child of her mother.’ He nodded in the direction of a framed photo of Norma and Karen on the shelf behind me. ‘They do look alike, don’t you think? Did look alike, I mean.’

A chip of melting ice was dribbling down his neck. I resisted the urge to wipe it away. Despite the intimacy of our earlier contact, I reminded myself we weren’t that close. I craned to look at the photo. He was right. Mother and daughter did look very alike. Sunny continued the family resemblance. I wondered if she knew that.

‘Dad said Norma was devastated. Far as I know, she never went back, never saw Sunny again. Personally,’ he said, carelessly wiping that dribble from his neck with the back of his eating hand, ‘I thought she should have gone back to see the child. She should have gone to the funeral. When all was said and done, it was a bloody selfish decision Norma made.’

‘Selfishness seems to run in the family.’ I clamped my mouth shut. It wasn’t like me to make personal remarks about my clients, especially not to their family. I blamed the 4 a.m. supper and shared ice packs. Annoyed with myself, I carried the plate to the sink, sluiced it under the tap and stacked it on the bench. I leaned my head against the cold fridge door behind Ned. All this time he hadn’t spoken or moved.

‘It was selfish what Karen did, killing that little boy. And what she did to Sunny.’ He swivelled on his stool to face me. ‘But I blame Justin as much as I blame her. He was always so in control, you know?’

This was interesting but I kept my mouth shut. One indiscretion a night was enough, and if I included the freakin’ she-devil attack my indiscretion count was already on the rise. Ned kept the ice pack on his eye with one hand and opened the cleverly disguised dishwasher door with the other. I stacked the dishes into it.

‘And then Karen gets sent to prison, Justin cuts her out of his life, divorces her in a flash, turns his life around completely, marries a stupendous Polish blonde, sires a replacement son and makes himself a cool fortune.’ He set the machine going. ‘Plus he got Sunny. Karen can’t have been happy that he got custody.’ He looked at me expectantly.

‘She’s my client, Ned. Even if I knew how she felt about it, I wouldn’t tell you. ‘

‘Oh sure, sure,’ he said, waving his hand in apology. His accent was back after a sustained absence. He dropped his ice pack in the sink with a loud clatter. His eye was the size of a purple golf ball. It was swollen shut so he probably didn’t see me flinch at the sight of it. ‘I was forgetting myself, us sitting here chatting and all.’

I didn’t intend to go back to sleep and I thought my sore bits would make it impossible but my brain had other ideas. When I woke at nine Ned was already gone. The dishwasher had been unpacked, the bench wiped down. There was a note on it, held down by a wind-up monk wearing headphones: ‘Prego. Tonight. 8 p.m. I’ll be the guy wearing the eyepatch.’

It wouldn’t hurt to have a meal with him. Okay, another meal with him. Call it research. But if the waiter gave me a funny look when I arrived I’d know the she-devil story had preceded me and I’d be out of there toot sweet.

I figured that since I was on the clock I should spend the extra time I had in Auckland finding out what I could about Justin. Apricot was a registered company, with both Justin and Salena nominated as shareholders and company directors. It was the same with the gym gear and health supplement importing business, which was registered under the company name of Orpheus. Both the websites for Apricot and Orpheus gave the impression of small-time businesses. Justin also had a specialty wine import business. From what I could make out it was so boutique as to be a company in name only, set up to provide tax-free expensive wines for Justin and Salena and their dinner guests. His own ‘private cellar’ I believe is the term used. I didn’t get very far by tracking the line of imports and sales for Justin’s gym gear and health products so I made a couple of phone calls complaining about missing deliveries and managed to glean much more information about the size of the import loads. On a roll, I followed this up by phoning the gym and posing as the personal assistant of a high-profile media celebrity who wished to remain anonymous. Eventually, after a lot of name-dropping on my part and a rather feeble struggle with confidentiality on hers, I convinced the receptionist to part with the gym’s membership list. By the time I had hung up I was confident my first impressions had been pretty close. Both businesses were doing okay but were hardly mega money-earners, which didn’t entirely gel with the house, the lifestyle and assets so ostentatiously on display. The Herne Bay multi-squillion-dollar villa with the barn-sized kitchen was owned by a trust, presumably for tax purposes — again — and presumably the trustees were Justin and Salena. I was about to check this when I realised it was five o’clock and I hadn’t eaten anything since Ned’s scrambled eggs in the early hours of the morning.

Over a coffee and muffin at Café Cézanne, a little place in Three Lamps, I thought over what I’d learned. It looked to me like Justin was spending more money than he earned from either the gym or the online store. This could mean the money was coming from somewhere other than from legitimate businesses. Possibly Justin had taken his alleged history of drug use to a new level and had switched from consumer to supplier. Possibly this was what Karen suspected, which would explain why she was concerned about Sunny — possibly. Justin’s assistant Anton with his gold-spangled chest ornaments and bulging water-winged biceps would pass as a classic drug-dealer accoutrement. I made one more call.

Oliver was affectionately known by those in the media as ‘accountant to the stars’. He had some luminary clients among the film and celebrity set, who paid him handsomely to look after their books. What made Oliver extremely hot property was that he was the most unlikely of accountants: convivial company, a popular spinner of unlikely yarns, an accomplished singer, lover of the high life and, most importantly, Oliver adored spending money. His own, that is. A generous big spender who was able to legally and legitimately protect his clients’ money from the taxman — the only surprise Oliver offered was that he wasn’t inundated with marriage proposals. I’d done some work for Oliver a couple of years earlier, tracking down his birth mother. It was an emotional time for him and by the end of it we weren’t exactly friends, but we were definitely more than acquaintances. He’d said at the time he’d be happy to help if I ever needed anything. I wasn’t counting on Oliver being Justin and Salena’s accountant but I was confident he’d know who was.

‘You want me to do what?’ he responded archly.

‘I’m just asking you to have a drink with their accountant and if something should happen to come up in conversation that you think might be of interest to me, you could let me know.’

‘And I would do this for you, why?’

‘Okay, never mind. Forget it.’ It hadn’t occurred to me it was a lot to ask until he hit me with the tone. ‘Sorry I asked,’ I added belatedly.

His voice softened. ‘What’s this all about anyway?’

I thought over how much I could tell him. Not much. ‘There’s a kid involved, a young girl. I want to check that she’s okay, that she’s in a safe place.’

I waited out the silence. ‘And you give me your word you’re not working for the IRD?’

‘What!’ I was truly insulted by the suggestion. ‘No. Of course not! What do you take me for?’

I heard him smiling at my outrage. ‘I may or may not be in touch,’ he said. Which was about as good as I was going to get.

Ned turned out to be one of the few men I’d met who could successfully pull off wearing an eye patch. Okay, he was the only man I’d met who had even tried it, but still … He admitted it was as much to avoid the double-takes from passers-by as it was for comfort. The Prego clientele and staff were way too cool to make anything of it. No doubt they thought it was a fashion statement. We were still studying the menu when Karen phoned. She apologised for failing to warn me that Ned might turn up but assured me he was harmless enough. Watching him flirt with the women at the table next to us, I wasn’t so sure about that. Karen admitted she had forgotten about the arrangement Ned had with her mother. She and Norma had been estranged for some years and Karen knew very little about her mother’s life.

‘Luckily, we made up before she died. It would have been terrible if she’d passed away feeling all that anger towards me.’

Feeling a God lecture imminent I changed the subject. ‘Will you move in to your mother’s place now, or are you planning to sell it?’

‘I can live with very little. That’s the only worthwhile thing prison taught me. Actually,’ she added coyly, ‘it wasn’t prison that taught me, it was God. God taught me that.’ I bit my tongue. ‘I’m selling up and leaving the country. But first I have to get things sorted with Sunny.’ Sorted. As if. ‘We’re going to a Christian commune in LA. We’ll live a very simple communal life, Manny and I. He has been so supportive.’

This was the first time I’d heard there was a boyfriend on the scene but it didn’t surprise me. I wondered how supportive Manny was in helping Karen dispose of her inheritance. Call me a cynic, but I reckoned there was good chance Manny was supporting that inheritance right into his own pockets. Not my business, I reminded myself. Karen had hired me to find Sunny and I’d done that. She’d instructed me to find out if Sunny was safe and the meeting tomorrow would answer that question for her. My job would be completed and the final invoice would follow in the mail with indecent haste. My credit card balance would breathe a sigh of relief.

‘It might not go too smoothly tomorrow, Karen. You should prepare yourself for that,’ I warned her.

‘Oh, I am.’ Her voice lifted. ‘Manny and I are having a prayer session tonight. We’re asking God to grant me a successful meeting with Sunny. And if that’s not His will, then we’re asking Him to give me strength to know what to do next.’

‘Well, good luck with that,’ I said. Being Christian, she’d no doubt recognise the doubting Thomas tone in my voice.

‘Thank you.’

Her genuine thanks shamed my sarcasm. I tried again to dampen her excitement about the meeting with Sunny but she was irrepressible. Finally, she told me she would write a cheque to cover my extra expenses. It was a gentle reminder of our employer-employee relationship. When I finished the call I was still struggling with an unease, bordering on terror. There was just no way tomorrow’s meeting between Sunny and Karen was going to go well. I relayed this to Ned, who shrugged expansively. I asked if he could articulate what he meant.

‘It means it’s not your problem,’ he explained. ‘Choosing something for us from the menu that isn’t going to break your bank account — now that’s a problem.’

The menu took on a whole new meaning. ‘I’m paying?’

‘It’s the very least you can do, given the state of my eye here, me hearty.’

There was a worrying red and blue streak leaking from below the eye patch, which appeared to be spreading down his jawline at speed. I ordered a salad and encouraged him to be equally extravagant in his choice but before I got to hear his order my phone rang again. Ned spun it around to face him. A photo of Sean I’d taken years ago lit up on the screen, his hand raised above his head in a gesture of farewell. I hadn’t realised until now how prescient the image was. His contact name came up as a large ‘X’ on the screen. Not so subtle with the nomenclature. Ned raised an ironic eyebrow and spun the phone back in my direction.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘It’s me,’ Sean said.

‘Yeah, I know,’ I said.

This was another of those compact little exchanges that pretty much sums up my relationship with my ex-husband. I waited for Sean to pick up the conversation while I watched Ned engage in an animated discussion with the maître d’ about his order. Ned did a lot of pointing at items on the menu. The maître d’ did a lot of writing and nodding. I did a lot of frowning.

‘Where are you?’

‘What do you want, Sean?’

‘How’d the caravan go today?’

‘The what?’ Then I remembered. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t heard. I’ll give him a ring in the morning.’ There was silence at the other end. ‘I’m kind of busy right now, Sean,’ I explained. At that moment a woman at the table next to us shrieked with laughter.

‘Yeah, I can hear that.’

Ned pointed and laughed at my grumpy face and ordered another bottle of what was no doubt an expensive wine.

‘I gotta go,’ I said.

‘Obviously,’ he said.

‘F*ck you,’ I said cheerfully, and hung up.



With the meagre salad and the two bottles of quality rosé, I didn’t put up a fight when Ned took my phone into custody. ‘Two phone calls during dinner is the limit,’ he announced and made a big deal of switching both our phones to mute and placing them side by side on the far edge of the table. No sooner had he done this than mine lit up. Ned studied the photo of Robbie. I’d snapped him one morning as he was heading off to work. I had taken the photo from his bed, which I was still very nakedly in. His look reflected his response.

‘Who’s the good-looking policeman then?’ Ned asked, waggling his un-eye-patched eyebrow at me.

‘Robbie,’ I said, holding my hand out for the phone.

‘You’re in no condition, girl,’ he said, pocketing it. ‘Best call him back in the morning.’

The image of Robbie disappeared into his breast pocket. There was definitely something proprietorial about the way Ned took possession of my phone. The way he spoke of the morning was as if it was going to be a shared morning, a morning after. My panic button was activated. Without making a big deal about it, I knocked back three glasses of expensive water, ordered goat’s cheese and rock melon dessert, slipped the phone out of his pocket while he was engaged in a conversation with the table of women next to us and sauntered a little unsteadily to the ladies where I peed and texted (multi-tasking at its best). Sorry I missed yr call. Goodnight xxx, I wrote. I pulled up my knickers, washed my hands, slapped cold water on my bruised neck, checked for twenty-dollar lettuce in my teeth and finally Robbie texted back, U2 x.



I stared at the message for a long time, thinking of all the different interpretations I could read into that truncated little message. In the end I decided to accept it at face value. I owed Robbie that much. I signed the bill without looking at the total. We ambled the two hundred metres back to the townhouse. We slept in separate rooms. Eventually.