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Will weighed up his options. Darcy’s anger was controlled, tempered by flaring outrage, deep disappointment and resentment. She wasn’t likely to listen to anything he said. But he couldn’t leave her like this.
“Look at me, Darcy.” He used his command tone, and in spite of trying to ignore him by resolutely keeping her eyes on the floor, she glanced up. He moved then to cup her face, feeling her resist, but she was trapped by the lounge chair behind her knees and the idea that Alan and Merrit were still in the room, and to pull away would cause a worse scene.
“I’m the same man you left in Tara, a better man than when you arrived. I wouldn’t do a thing to hurt you, or the possibility of us. But I had to do this, and I hope you’ll come to understand that in time.”
She tucked her chin down to break eye contact, and twisted to move past him. “I’ll never understand it. I’m through here, through with this. Goodbye Will. I’d wish you good luck, but you don’t need it. You’ll find a way to get what you want, some essential person you can string along and manipulate. I understand now that’s what you always do.”
She turned away. “Alan, I’m ready to shoot the close.”
She left him standing in the circle of light, feeling freshly bruised.
He put his hand in his coat pocket. Fought the urge to run after her and plead his case on bended knee. He was prepared to do it, but his chances of success right now were severely hampered by his pending arrest. Not that they’d call it that officially, but the tabloids, websites and social media would give the concept a thorough workover. Starting right about now.
Merrit was there. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll find my way. I’m sure you’ve got other things you’d rather be doing.” He was very sure Merrit and Alan wanted him off the premises pronto so they could get their promo package to air without him threatening an injunction.
Merrit backed away with a platitudinous thank you. Though given the gift Will just gave him and the network, maybe it was real gratitude and just sounded like the kind of toadying response he’d have once wanted to physically strike from someone’s mouth.
Phone in hand, he moved towards the studio door. He knew Darcy was aware of him from her poker stiff spine, and the way she turned from the sound of his shoes on the cement floor. He refused to even contemplate that might be the last chance he had to look at her in the flesh.
In the corridor he speed-dialled Pete.
“You never could do anything quietly could you?”
“Not really my thing, quietly.”
“She better be worth it. I assume she scratched your eyes out, and you’re in need of medical attention again.”
“Funny guy. No, but she’s deep in the hating of my guts period as expected, and I’m not sure how long the ice age will last.”
“You’re all over the radio news. ‘Tycoon possible manslaughter rap’.”
He’d reached the reception area, and came face to face with the vision of himself playing on the big flat screen saying, “I chose to let Norman Vessy drown.” Barbie was trying to hide under her desk while taking a photo of him with her phone. He smiled at her, gave her a clear shot. Might as well. The days of avoiding the limelight were well and truly over.
“Oh yeah, I’m a headline junkie, and we know what the next one will be.”
“Aileen has money on, ‘Parker Implicated in Stepfather’s Death’. Quickly followed by, ‘Abused Parker Cleared of Charges’.”
Will sighed. Sounded like Aileen was still on board. “Not bad, but I’m going with, ‘Parker Arrested for Murder’. Far more brutal, and far less accurate, so it’s got to be a winner.”
“You know I think I liked it better when you were paranoid about avoiding the press.”
On the other side of the glass doors, Will saw a dark coloured Ford pull up, the flicker of red and blue lights across its back window. “Gotta go, I think my escort is here.”
He buttoned his jacket, put his sunnies on, stepped out into the car park and smiled. Not for the boys in plain clothes, but for the army of photographers already assembled and shouting his name.
The taller of the two detectives said, “This way, Mr Parker,” ushering him into the car, as if he was vying for Bo’s job. When he was seated in the back, the man said, “We’re taking you to area command in Surry Hills,” and then nothing more was said.
Will thought about trying to make conversation, but figured they were annoyed enough with him and antagonising them further was probably a dumb thing to do. They rode in silence for a good half hour through the early peak hour traffic.
At the police complex, Will was led into an interview room, and offered a glass of water, tea, or coffee. No one had tried to intimidate him, hit him, cuff or gag him, or so far, accuse him of anything. He was ‘co-operating with a police investigation’. Things in his career as a criminal were looking up.
“Mr Parker. We’d call you Mr Brown, but we’re aware you did a legal name change.”
“Call me Will.”
“Will, I’m Max Zarova. This is my colleague,” Max indicated the taller man, “Trent Deeves.” The two men sat opposite Will. “We’ll be interviewing you today. One of the more unusual cases we’ve been involved with wouldn’t you say, Trent?”
