3.5★
“‘Don’t you want to know what happened? she asks.
‘Of course, he says. ‘But I’m not sure how you can help.’
She takes a breath. This is the first times she’s told anyone, trusted anyone.”
There are a lot of first times for trust in this complex story and almost as many times when that trust has been misplaced, particularly for Mandy, who is about to open up to Martin about her past.
We know she’s had what might politely be called a colourful youth, but we (and Martin) have never been privy to a lot of the details. As it turns out, people from her past who have been haunting her are connected to the recent murder of someone in Martin’s life.
The book opens on the beach below their home in Port Silver with Martin playing on the beach with toddler, Liam, Mandy’s son. Martin has been ignoring his phone, but when he finally checks his messages, he hears a horrifying scream from Mandy.
Between these cliffside houses and the beach is a long series of stairs from top to bottom, or in Martin’s frantic state, from bottom to top. By the time he gets up there, hauling Liam, of course, Mandy is gone, kidnapped, taken to Sydney, and there’s a body on the floor.
Mandy is in Sydney, and that’s where the action takes place (after Martin parks Liam with loving rellies and deals with the authorities about the body). He has also had a call from his old Sydney Morning Herald editor and mentor asking him to meet with him urgently about a great scoop he wants Martin to handle. So it’s back to the Big Smoke.
He has been a foreign correspondent (as has the author), so it’s interesting to see his flat, his pad, and some of the ‘trophies’ he’s collected.
“... a carving of Christ, from deep in the Amazon, a declaration of rebellion from the Arab Spring, a bullet-holed road sign from Africa. ... He’d once been proud of them, impressed by his own achievements, curating an exhibition in his own honour, but now they seemed try-hard and sad. Who else decorates walls of their living room with work-related memorabilia? Dentists with X-rays of recalcitrant mandibles? Accountants with challenging spreadsheets? Politicians with high-denomination brown paper bags? ... The Museum of Martin ...”
I suspect the author may speak from personal experience. But who doesn’t like to be reminded of the old adage, “The older I get, the better I used to be”?
The cast of characters grows, with so many people apparently not who Mandy or Martin thought they were. Journalists, judges, reporters, cops, investigators, friends, colleagues. They didn’t know who was trustworthy, and they occasionally had doubts about each other. Not surprising, considering the secrets Mandy reveals.
Turns out, she was engaged to someone before. Turns out ‘he’might have been a crook, might not, might have been an investigator, might not, might . . . it’s a story full of ‘what-ifs’and ‘why-didn’t-I-know-betters’ and all those soul-seeking questions that we ask in hindsight.
I think what I actually like best was the Sydney of Martin’s cadetship that he describes. I lived near Kings Cross in the late 60s and used to wait with friends for the truck to come to deliver the Saturday Morning Herald, an enormous paper, that had all the most recent classified ads for jobs and places to rent. You had to be quick to get the plum offerings!
“Of how after an evening of drinking and carousing they’d stagger up to Taylor Square at midnight to buy the papers fresh off the truck. The big, fat Saturday papers, still warm from the presses. Still smelling of printer’s ink, like fresh-baked bread to the young tribe of reporters, leavened by classified ads and supplements. And waking the next day to find the paper there to greet him, among the cigarette butts and empty bottles and the hangovers, left open at the page where he’d found his newly-minted byline.”
I remember those warm bundles and elbowing each other to grab a copy. (I didn't know anyone with a byline though!)
I listened to the audio, because that’s what was handy, but I think I should have waited for a print version. There were too many people to keep track of, and it’s too hard to skip back to check the who’s who when a character pops up again later in the story.
Dorje Swallow is a good narrator with a pleasant voice and manner. There were times that I wasn’t sure who was speaking, although that can happen in printed material as well. If I have to wind back in the audio or flip pages back and start counting who the alternating voices are, I lose my place inside the story and move outside. Not satisfactory.
So for that reason, that the complexity made it hard for me to keep track of people (and I stress “me”), I am downgrading my overall rating. Others have loved this, and I do like Hammer’s writing, so I’ll be looking for more. 😊