Free The Other Side of Sorrow by Peter Corris

people. Well, he went to NIDA. What does that say about him?’
    I let her waspishness pass. ‘I don’t know anything about NIDA except they train actors there. Didn’t Mel Gibson go there?’
    â€˜Dropped out I think, like this one. That’s another thing I don’t like—this dropping out. Jesus, Cliff, how’re you going to
find
her? You can’t just wait for her to turn up.’
    â€˜I’ll keep looking. That’s all I can do. I’ll talk to people at these schools they’ve gone to. Try to squeeze something out.’
    Cyn took a long swallow of her drink. ‘Yes, of course. You have to find her. You have to talk to your daughter.’
    And you probably need to talk to yours,
I thought but didn’t say. I just nodded.
    Cyn’s eyes narrowed and at first I thought she was experiencing some deep pain, but it was a gesture of concentration, penetration. ‘You
know
she’s yours, don’t you, Cliff?’
    I took a drink. ‘I was a dropout, too,’ I said.
    Cyn smiled and the fatigue and fragility momentarily fell away. ‘So you were, and you didn’t turn out so badly.’
    I left, promising to keep in close touch and tell her everything I learned even though I’d already glossed over many things, particularly about Talbot, and I didn’t plan to change. She thanked me and reminded me again of my stake in the matter. For no good reason, the thought of DNA testing came into my head and I recoiled from it. She didn’t mention the cheque and neither did I.

10
    I spent the next morning working hard and not getting far. I spoke on the phone to a NIDA lecturer who remembered Talbot.
    â€˜He thought of himself as a method actor,’ he said. ‘And he thought that just meant being his normal, charming, conceited self. He was wrong and he didn’t like it when he found out.’
    Through a contact in the Corrective Services Department I tried to get information on Talbot’s prison record and failed. I went to the TAFE college in North Sydney where both Talbot and Megan had studied and drew a blank with Talbot. No one remembered him. But Dr Sylvia Davis, who taught something called environmental philosophy, remembered Megan.
    â€˜Very bright,’ she said. ‘Her first semester results were HD.’
    â€˜Sorry, that means?’
    â€˜High Distinction. First class honours in the old style.’
    The college, with its multiple acronyms, codes and facilities like condom-vending machines in the toilets, had made me feel very old style. I asked what had happened to Megan subsequently.
    Dr Davis didn’t even have to consult a file. ‘She dropped out. Didn’t submit an exercise, didn’t turn up for her seminar presentation. That’s the worst sign.’
    â€˜Did you try to find out why?’
    She sighed and looked around her tiny office, cluttered with books, folders and video cassettes. ‘Mr Hardy, have you any idea of what my work load here is like? You were lucky, you caught me with fifteen minutes to spare. Look, I wrote a note to the address we had on file. It came back stamped “not-known-at-this-address”. That’s all I could do. I’m sorry. I hope you can find her. She had great potential.’
    No comfort, that. I went to my car and sat thinking, working out the best way to tackle Talbot’s mother. The mobile rang.
    â€˜Mr Hardy? This is Tess Hewitt. I’ve been trying to get you for an hour or more. Why don’t you answer your mobile?’
    â€˜I don’t carry the phone with me. Can’t stand it. Have they shown up? Are they there now?’
    â€˜Been and gone,’ she said. ‘I think you should get over here. A man’s been killed.’
    â€˜Killed? What man? Who by?’
    â€˜They say Damien Talbot did it. He and Meg were here, now they’ve gone.’
    â€˜Jesus. Right, I’m on my way.’
    â€˜No, on second