I Know Nothink
Thursday, March 3, 2022, 2pm
Brighton
Dan
Dan perched on the vintage two-seater 1960’s occasional armchair. He admired its upholstery, a stunning turquoise woven velvet. Francis Renard sat opposite in a matching single armchair.
‘You can’t get too comfortable in these chairs,’ Renard leaned back and crossed his long legs, ‘or get too heavy.’ Renard chuckled. ‘We once had a colleague of El’s here. Walt Wilberforce, chaplain from Yatala, actually. On the big side. Sat where you’re sitting. Chair had to go in for repairs after. There’s a good repairer down on the Broadway. Took ages to get it back.’ Renard laughed and fidgeted. ‘Guess these chairs keep us honest as far as weight and fitness goes.’
Dan stroked his chin. Hmmm, honest. Let’s see how honest Renard will be. He sighed wishing Eloise Delaney could be a part of the interview as she was so astute in reading people. However, he knew that El being there would ruin the interview. Being a close family member to Renard. Wife, actually.
‘So, Francis,’ Dan said, ‘can I call you Francis?’
Renard nodded. ‘What’s this about, Sir?’
‘We are looking into an incident that happened in November 1980. Saturday night November 29 to be precise. Do you remember that day?’
‘That’s over 40 years ago.’ Renard shrugged. ‘To tell you the truth, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast.’
‘You remembered Walt Wilberforce.’
‘He-he, lucky guess, oh and association with the chairs.’ Renard rubbed his ear and his face flushed a bright pink making his bald patch more prominent. ‘So long ago, I have no idea what I’m supposed to remember.’
‘Okay, let’s start with some basics, then,’ Dan leaned forward. ‘What make and model car were you driving at the time?’
‘Ah, that brings back memories.’ A wide smile spread across Francis Renard’s face. ‘A red and white 1967 Kombi.’
‘Good memories?’
‘Yeah, had some good times in that van.’
‘I bet you did.’ Dan scribbled 1967 Kombi on his notepad, then pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Do you give your consent for me to record this interview?’
Renard gestured with palms open upwards. ‘Sure, I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘Right, now, I believe you were friends with Sven von Erickson at the time.’
‘Uh-huh, where this going? I’d rather not be dropping my mate in this, whatever it is.’
‘Alright, I’ll leave Sven out of this for now.’ Dan shifted his weight on the spongy cushions of the occasional lounge chair. They certainly didn’t allow one to get too comfortable. ‘Okay, what were you doing, I mean for employment, in 1980?’
‘I was a panel beater come mechanic, back in the day. Gap year, I mean, ended up being several years. I was still growing up, you could say. After dropping out of engineering in 1979, I went back to university as a mature-aged student to study Physics. Never looked back. That’s how I met Sven, actually.’
‘What was the name of your boss at the time?’
‘My boss? Hmm, some German, I remember. A perfectionist. Hard, really hard on me. Nothing I did was good enough.’ Renard scratched his chin. ‘But his name? It’s so long ago, I can’t remember.’
Dan placed a laminated photo of a red 1976 Ford Falcon XB on the glass coffee table that divided them. ‘Does this jog any memories?’
Renard jerked back and folded his arms. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Look mate, I worked on tonnes of cars. They came in, I fixed them up, they went out. Well, eventually, once the old boss…’ Renard sniggered, ‘can’t remember his real name, but we lads who worked at his shop, called him the Car-Nazi. Anyway, once Car-Nazi said it was good enough. Which, it never was, by the way. Oh, what a cruddy job. One of the reasons I went back to uni. And the pay was peanuts. You see, I wanted to have a gap year or two, to work, save up some dough and travel. You know, go overseas. See the world. But, never had enough, and the old Kombi was a money pit. Mon Dieu, talk about endless repairs.’
And, without Dan uttering another word or question, Francis Renard was off, back in the world of the 1980’s. For a start, the Detective Inspector was pleased that he’d successfully tapped into Renard’s memory files. That is, until he began wandering off track on his trek around Australia and sighting a fleet of UFOs on the Nullarbor Plain.
‘Did you see the news reports?’ Renard asked. ‘I was famous.’
Dan attempted to steer Renard back to November 29, 1980, only to be carjacked by a psychotic hitch hiker in 1984 when Renard and his friends took a road trip to the Flinders Ranges. He was glad to get rid of the van, then. The hitch hiker who stole it, had done him a favour.
Dan again attempted to guide the conversation back to November 1980 asking what make and model cars his friends were driving. To this Renard said he couldn’t remember. So long ago.
The front door clicked and clacked. Footsteps on the floorboards.
Dan and Renard glanced at the lounge room entrance.
‘Hi there,’ Eloise strode through. She looked from Dan to Renard. ‘What’s all this about then?’
‘We have a visitor,’ Renard replied.
‘I can see that,’ Eloise said.
‘Just an informal chat,’ Dan added. ‘Francis has been telling me all about his adventures with UFOs and hitch hikers.’
Eloise looked away and muttered, ‘Can’t help himself.’
Renard looked at his wife and said, ‘Dan was just asking about Saturday night, November 29, 1980, my dear. Do you remember anything?’
‘I was too young, and still in Switzerland, I think,’ Eloise replied. ‘But thinking about that date, and the age of your daughter, I would say that it might be a significant date.’ She faced Dan and explained the recent discovery courtesy of a DNA test.
‘How so?’ Renard asked.
Dan flushed, his face the colour of beetroot, and he chuckled. ‘I guess you got some value out of that old van of yours Francis.’ He glanced at his phone on the coffee table and realised the recording app was still activated.
Renard cleared his throat. ‘Oh, yeah, now, who was I with?’
‘Her DNA results will clear up that mystery,’ Dan said and then rose. He made the assumption that Renard would have been occupied with conceiving his daughter and thus not focussed on the fate of Milo Katz. No use continuing the interview now, he thought, and decided that if he needed more information from Renard, he’d make another time to see him on his own. He picked up his phone, with his notebook, tucked them into his pocket. ‘I better get going.’
Eloise walked him down the hallway. ‘How’s things?’ she asked.
‘Could be better,’ Dan said.
Over the next half hour, on the front porch, view of the gulf on a gentle autumn day, blue water and white sail boats bobbing, he proceeded to tell Eloise about the dramas in his life. His son wanting to move back to Europe to be with his ex. Mooch, actually. They’re in Lausanne, Switzerland. Whatever for, he has no idea. And his relationship with Jemima is under pressure. She’s all fired up about politics and a particular protest movement. Disruptions going on left, right and centre. And he must help police those from time to time and there’s Jemima on the other side. So awkward. What is he to do?
Plus, to make matters worse, he’s been partnered up with Dee Berry. Remember her? Such a difficult personality. And they have history going back to the ‘70’s. History he’d rather forget. Old flame, you see.
[Photo 5: Brighton Beach © M.E. Trudinger 2010]
In the pause while Dan reflects on his lot in life, Eloise asked, ‘Say, Dan, there’s this cold case I’d like to look into, if that’s at all possible. Would you be able to lay your hands on the Percy Edwards files? He went missing back in 1978. And could you possibly pass them in my direction?’
Dan locked eyes with Eloise. ‘Delaney, you know I can’t do that.’
‘But…Also, I think there’s more to the disappearance of Lillie and Sven’s father, Jan von Erikson. And I have this feeling in my gut that Mr. Edwards who disappeared a year later, has something to do with it.’
Dan puffed. ‘You and your gut, El, one day, I believe it will be the end of me.’
‘You will?’
‘I’ll have a poke around.’ Dan shook his head. ‘Can’t promise anything.’
As Dan climbed into his Government issue 2022 Toyota Corolla Hybrid, he remembered that his mobile phone recording app was still running. A colourful word escaped his mouth before he muttered that he must delete the last thirty-minutes of recording. When he gets home and works out how to do such things.
© Lee-Anne Marie Kling 2024
*Feature Photo: Seagulls Brighton Beach © L.M. Kling 2010
***
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