Chapter 9

Anna knew the guy was dangerous well before the interview. His reputation had been the gossip of the town for months, but the show was important and she was confident she could handle him.

Mal 'The Man' Mouton was the face of 'Smash or Crash, ' a show on rotation at MTV that featured new music videos and a guest critic. Anna was booked as the guest tonight and she was supposed to give her opinion after each video as well as some ditzy chatter.

Mal and Anna sat in the studio on a two seater with popcorn and a fake remote, as if they were at home watching television. Behind them was a screen with silver graffiti and a battered guitar amp - meant to represent some students' 'crash pad.'

Mal was very good looking and he knew it. He was a skilled operator who knew just the right amount of flattery and the moves to go with it. He'd reputedly dated some of the most prominent young socialites in town and it was clear, practically from the outset, he expected Anna to be his latest conquest.

Anna was dressed in her usual blacks and violets - tight, short pants and a brief top. Her midriff attracted Mal's roving fingers like a magnet and every time she leaned forward, she could feel his hand drift over her arse. He was careful, though, not to freak her out and his moves were smooth, but persistant. Just at a point where she was becoming annoyed or flustered, he'd switch tack and ask a question, as if he was really interested in her mind.

But egotists like Mal had little interest in anyone's mind, let alone a sexy blond's. That he was a gold plated cad Anna had no doubt, but there were few guys she couldn't handle and she thought Mal just a boy who hadn't grown up.

A video of Blue Rembrandt's latest release was next and Anna couldn't help trashing the song. The Blue Rembrandt gig had all but sunk The Curse's chance of breaking in America, although the boys were hardly to blame.

Mal was a little put out. His guests weren't supposed to voice any opinion besides, 'Oh, yeah, that was great!' Record Companies were sponsoring the show to promote their music, not put it down.

"You don't like them?" Mal asked, raising his eyebrows. "isn't the lead singer really cute."

"Oh sure!" Anna bristled, "why don't you date him!"

Mal recovered smoothly but Anna could tell he was angry. During the ad break he asked her to tone it down and 'can the smartarse comments.'

For the rest of the show Anna was in a slow burn and Mal had trouble keeping his cool. At last it was time for the credits and the agony was over. It was then the producer invited them all to 'Flapper's, ' a night club where celebrities went to pretend they wouldn't be seen at play.

In reality, everyone that believed they were anyone went to 'Flapper's' for no other purpose than to be seen at 'Flapper's.' Anna, naturally, was well-known there, having paraded herself around the scene. She agreed to go along, as did Mal, hoping, probably, to pay Anna back for making a fool of him on his own show.

Ecstasy tablets were duly handed around in the car and Anna took one. She then texted Michelle, telling her where she was going, before keying her mobile into her number. One press of the call button was enough to signal her friend that something was wrong. Michelle had insisted on this precaution long ago and it had become routine.

Some time later, Mick jerked awake to the shrill scream of Michelle's phone. He looked at the time and saw it was 3am. His girlfriend woke soon after and grabbed the phone. The caller ID was all she needed to know.

All she could hear were muffled sounds. She flicked back to the texts and saw an address, sent by Anna no more than an hour ago.

"Mick!" she said, and showed him the text. He nodded straight away and rolled out of bed. Michelle started to get up and he ordered her back to bed. No way was he going to take a heavily pregnant woman where he was going.

Mick's present to himself was a Chev Camarro, nicknamed by everyone as either 'Mick's Folly' or the 'Yank Tank.' It guzzled petrol but he didn't care. It was red, made a lot of noise and had an engine, the size of which, wouldn't look out of place in a World War Two fighter plane.

Michelle, sitting in bed fretting, heard the rumble, the squeal and the roar as Mick blasted up the road to town.

The address was in a leafy suburb, well into the hills, where stately villas rubbed shoulders with overpriced townhouse complexes. He found the place, a million dollar condo hidden behind flowering cherry trees and a wrought iron gate. A silver Mercedes soft top was parked in the drive and he saw a Porsche SUV half hidden in a carport.

Mick left the Camarro outside and walked up the drive. Above, he saw a light in what he thought was the lounge, shortly before a blaze of outdoor security lights lit everything up like a stage.

There was no answer to the doorbell so Mick walked around the back. Behind was a small, floodlit swimming pool and patio area accessable through glass sliding doors from the main house. These were wide open and he could see signs of a recent party with glasses, bottles and an upturned chair. In the pool, Mick saw a woman's coat floating, although he didn't think it was Anna's.

Standing outside, Mick rang Anna's number hoping to hear it, but it was turned off. There was nothing for it but to enter.

Stepping inside, he called out, but there was no response. He strained his ears for any sounds but the place was as quiet as a churchyard. A door led into a hallway and at the end of that was a staircase. Mick walked softly along the hallway, listening carefully for any sound. It was then he saw a pair of legs at the foot of the stairs, and blood.

Mick crossed the short distance and saw Mal Mouton, shirtless, and bleeding from a wound in his side. His breathing was laboured and he was moaning softly. Mick checked his pulse before calling 111.

Looking up the stairs he spotted Anna, sitting and rocking. Her eyes were glassy and he didn't think she recognised him.

"Anna, Anna," he called, "what happened?" But there was no response. She was either out of it or in some kind of catatonic state, he couldn't tell.

The Police arrived first followed by the ambulance. Mick explained what he saw when he arrived, leaving out any theories or speculation. He was asked to come down to the station to make a statement, and he obliged - following the cops in the Camarro.

Following that he went to the hospital, to where both Anna and Mal were taken. He learned that Mal was in a comfortable condition after receiving a single stab wound with a steak knife. Anna was in detox, with a variety of medicinal and recreational drugs in her bloodstream. A policewoman was sitting in with her, significantly, from the Sexual Assault Detachment. He went outside to call Michelle, then ensconced himself in the waiting room until he could find out how she was.

Mick had an uncomfortable night, bent into one of the hospital's hard seats. Around 8am Michelle arrived with some breakfast obtained from the takeaways across the road.

He knew little that he could tell her. The hospital staff wouldn't talk to anyone who wasn't a relative and no-one could get in to see her except the police.

"Should we call a lawyer?" Michelle wanted to know.

"As far as I'm aware," Mick replied, "she hasn't been charged with anything."

"Your theory?" She asked.

"Mal came on too heavy and she flipped. Y'know what he's like?"

"That's not like Anna. She's usually so careful and there's not many guys she can't handle."

"Well, I guess, there's always the one."

"A high heel in the groin, maybe, but she'd never stick a blade in anyone."

"I guess we're assuming she did it. There may have been someone else who fled the scene. There looked like there'd been a party and there was a coat in the pool. I don't think it was Anna's."

"Ah! So someone else stuck him? Good job!"

"Hey, this is guesswork."

"Where was the knife? Did you see a knife?"

"Good point! No I didn't. There was no blood trail nor weapon at the scene. It looks like someone stabbed him then took off with the knife."

"A regular Doctor fucking Watson aren't you?"

"I just hope the cops figure that out."

Mick next put a call through to Freddie their manager and he assured him he'd have a lawyer ready in case any charges were laid. His next concern was the press and, sure enough, it wasn't long before a reporter turned up at the hospital. It turned out to be none other than Catherine, with whom Mick had a one night stand about a year before.

Michelle's eyes narrowed as she swept into the waiting room. "You after something?" she asked with words dripping in sarcasm.

"Hi, Michelle, hi, Mick," she said, too sweetly, "so it must be true."

"Catherine!" Mick said, "a friend sick?"

"Mal Mouton," she replied, "someone stabbed him."

"Really!" Michelle said, "a 'close' friend is he?"

"We're old acquaintances. So how's Anna? The cops charged her?"

"With what?" Michelle replied, "being a victim of sexual assault?"

Mick squeezed Michelle's hand as a warning but she wasn't being deterred.

"You saying that Mal attacked her?" Catherine asked.

"No!" said Mick.

"Yes," said Michelle.

"Ok," Catherine said, bemused.

"So how come you're chasing ambulances?" Mick asked her.

"I'm the celebrity correspondent for 'The Echo'."

"That sleeze rag?" said Mick.

"Gotta start somewhere. Like you, we're catering to public demand."

"Oh, yeah! Salacious gossip!" said Michelle.

"Wise up, Michelle. Who reads the fucking political pages?"

"Not that you'd find those in The Echo."

"Girls!" Mick intervened, "can we tone it down? This is a hospital."

"So, what, Mick? Anna can't remember what happened? Maybe she was too high, perhaps?"

"Catherine, you don't honestly expect me to answer?"

"Neither confirm nor deny?"

"Back off! I don't know any more than you. We can't get in there."

"Ah, so, the police are in there? Have they arrested her?"

"Catherine, I don't fucking know what happened and, as far as I know, the cops haven't laid any charges. You have to wait like the rest of us."

"So, c'mon, Mick?" Catherine said, sitting down opposite, "what's your theory? Hey, I'll be straight, my editor wants to beat this up. Now if you were to give me an inside angle, maybe I can get him to lighten up."

"All I know is, Catherine," Mick sighed, "we got a message from her around 3 last night asking for help. I went to Mal's and Anna was sitting on the stairs with Mal at the bottom."

"Stabbed?"

"Yeah, stabbed, but no weapon and no blood trail. It seems whoever it was ran off. Anna certainly didn't have a knife anywhere near."

"So? She threw it away."

"Catherine, she was wasted. The paramedics had to practically carry her out. She couldn't have made it down the stairs let alone throw anything away."

Catherine continued, "does she have a drug problem?"

"She gets high now and again. What's so unusual about that?"

"Drugs of choice?"

"I believe she has prescribed medicinals and maybe alcohol on top of that..."

"Aw, c'mon, Mick? You saying she drank a little booze on top of, what, sleeping tablets?"

"Could be. How the Hell should I know?"

"Ecstasy, Mick, she was high on Ecstasy, plus whatever," Catherine told them.

"There, see? You know more than me."

"She practically lives with you, Mick. You telling me you don't know what she takes?"

"Anti-psychotics, Nortriptinol," Michelle interrupted, "they're for..."

"I know what they're for, Michelle," Catherine said, "zonkers! Heavy duty chillers and with a cap of 'E', maybe a glass of Chardonnay or two? It's a Mars' mission, Mick! Major shutdown of the executive floor!"

"Hey, I don't know, Catherine. You'll have to see once they pump her out."

"With that cocktail, hmm? You're right, Mick, she wouldn't feel anything if a wrecking ball hit her on the head. I don't think she could move under her own steam."