by Garry Disher
In a slow pass along the street front outside Vallances flat, Raymond noticed that the Venetian blinds were closed and the front step was piled with newspapers. He felt the beginnings of another panic attack. Vallance had found other investors. Right now he was out diving on the wreck, stripping it bare. Leaving the Jag two blocks away, Raymond returned on foot and knocked on Vallances door.
When there was no answer, he stepped back and examined the neighbouring flats. They looked as mute and unlived in as Vallances, and there was only a seagull watching him, so he lifted his foot and kicked at the lock until the flimsy wood splintered and he could push through into the stale interior.
Within a few minutes it occurred to him how temporary the flat was. A few days earlier, when hed stayed the night here, his mind had been on his prick and the gold coin, so he hadnt noticed the bareness. Now the flat looked what it was, a dingy place, probably rented furnished for a short term, the kind of place you walked away from.
Yet there were clothes in the closet and toiletries in the bathroom. Some eggs in the fridge. The answering machine was turned on.
Raymond thought his way into Vallances skin. Hed fear burglars, a high unemployment place like this. Burglars headed for your usual places: cupboards, drawers, coat pockets, freezer compartment, under the lid of the cistern. Where wouldnt they look? Raymond started with the exhaust fans, one in the kitchen, the other in the bathroom. Nothing. But he kicked a tile on the bath and it clattered to the floor. Behind it were gold sovereigns, silver florins and gold and silver ingots, and it all fitted nicely into a red vinyl Thomas Cook bag.
The next step was Quincy. Raymond found the captain listed in the local phone book, a weatherboard house near the waterfront. Again parking the Jag some distance away, he returned on foot to scout around outside the back fence. It appeared to him that Quincy was out. His only impression was of silence and dashed hopes.
He vaulted the fence. A patch of buckled asphalt outside the back door told him something about Quincys past couple of days. Empty gin and beer bottles, leaking their dregs into a cardboard box; a lumpish garbage bag slumped against the wall, ribbed and jointed within by tins, cigarette packets, chicken bones.
He had a clear view through the window to a greasy sink and an overflowing ashtray on the table. At the end of the kitchen was an archway, and beyond that, in the curtained gloom of the living area, Raymond saw the body of the sea captain.
He tried the rear door. It wasnt locked. He went through to Quincy expecting to encounter the odour of death, but only alcohol fumes and cigarette smoke thickened the air and Quincy stirred when he prodded him.
Wheres Vallance and his bird?
Quincy propped himself on an elbow, looked at Raymond, collapsed again. Gone out for smokes, what do you reckon?
Raymond opened the blinds and returned to Quincy, hauling roughly on his arms and pushing him into a chair and slapping his face left and right. Are they out at the wreck? Are they stripping it?
Quincy shook his head and pushed at Raymonds hands. What do I know? They never told me nothing. Theyre all the fucking same, these city jokers.
Raymond wanted Quincys intellect applied to this, not his feelings. He went into the kitchen and filled the electric kettle. A jar of instant coffee lay on its side in the cupboard above the sink. He spooned large quantities of coffee and sugar into a mug, added boiling water and milk, and made a weaker cup for himself.
He turned to find Quincy leaning in the archway, regarding him bleakly. Just clear out, okay?
He ignored him. Drink this.
Fuck off.
A memory boiled up in Raymonds head, of Denise Meickle and what hed done about it. His vision went black for a few seconds. When it cleared he was still at the sink and Quincy was still alive, though pale and alarmed.
Look, I dont know nothing, Quincy said, backing away. The pair of them owe me six hundred flaming bucks, thats all I know.
Have they been here in the past forty-eight hours?
Havent seen them for days.
Raymond thought it over. I want you to take me out to the wreck.
Quincy cocked his head. Itll cost you.
Contempt and satisfaction clear on his face, Raymond slapped the red Thomas Cook bag into Quincys hands and said, Take a look in there.
Quincy peered in. He whistled.
Theres more where that lot came from, Raymond said. Take me out, now, today, and you can have whats in the bag.
Its a deal.
Give me the bag, Raymond said. You get to keep it later.
They walked out into the bright sun, where children rode bicycles and teenage boys tinkered with cars and women walked home from the supermarket. It was hot in the Jag. Raymond wound down his window, for cool air, for air that was not saturated with Quincys pungent, boozy perspiration.
The marina was quiet under the wheeling sky. It seemed to Raymond that no-one saw them prepare Quincys rustbucket for the open sea, not until a voice heavy with authority said, Freeze.
* * * *
Thirty-four
It had started with an anonymous phone call to CIB. The caller had been very specific, CIB had swooped outside the casino, and now it was paying off. As soon as Vallance and the girlfriendand Christou, the poor sod they were putting the hard word onarrived at the police complex, Gosse separated them and began by questioning Christou.
Then he went to Vallance and said, without preamble: Mr Christou said that you offered to show him a shipwreck site.
Might have done. Whats it to you? Its business, private, between me and him.
Gosse stared at Vallance. The man was a clothes horse: dark suit, expensive aftershave, a high gloss on his black shoes.
He said that you were forming a syndicate and did he wish to invest.
So? Nothing wrong with that.
Is that where you find your suckers? The gaming tables?
Gosse agreed with the Opposition that the casino was a blight on society. Certain crime statistics had skyrocketed because of it. Good peopleincluding copperswere blowing all they had on a throw of the dice or the fall of the cards. It made mugs of a lot of people, and attracted mugs, like this Christou character, who owned a cluster of market gardens and had more money than sense.
Mr Christou has given us a statement. In it he says that you showed him items of treasure from a wreck. Is that correct?
Vallances fingers went tock, tock on the interview table. He shrugged.
Mr Vallance, for the sake of the microphone, please answer yes or no.
Yes.
Coins, in fact. Are these the coins you showed him?
Gosse poked a shoe-polish tin toward Vallance. The lid was off. There were two florins and a bronze token nestling in tissue paper. Could be, Vallance said.
No could be about it. We found these in your possession. Now, where did you get them?
A shipwreck. Nothing wrong with that.
I can think of several things wrong with it. For a start, you are obliged to inform the authorities. Have you done that?
Paperwork, bureaucrats, Vallance said. All takes a while.
Gosse pressed on. Its also a problem if the coins have been looted from a protected wreck. See what I mean?
Its not protected. I found it fair and square. Its not even on the register.
So you dont mind if we have an expert look at these coins, Mr Vallance?
Vallance cracked a little. He wiped a bony finger across his upper lip. Do what you like.
Gosse got up to leave the room, saying Interview suspended and the time for the tape, and pressing the pause button. As he got to the door, Vallance called out, I asked for a lawyer. Wheres my lawyer?
Legal Aid is stretched to the limit. Therell be a solicitor here to see you as soon as ones available.
Gosse stalked down the corridor. The sergeants room was almost empty. A tired detective, rubbing his face, was yawning into the phone on his desk. Another detective was at the bank of filing cabinets.
Both looked up. Havent seen her.
I need her to look at some old coins. Tell her to contact me the minute she comes in.
Then Gosse went still, his eyes far away. Get her on the blower.
Sir?
Do it, ring her home number. Now!
Shrugging, rolling his eyes at the other sergeant, the man at the desk referred to a list and punched in Liz Reddings number. They waited. The seconds mounted.
Answering machine.
Shes done a runner, Gosse said. I can feel it. Right. Find her. I want her brought in. Quick as you can.
Right, sir.
Gosse was high in colour now, the blood pounding in his head. You, he said, pointing to the other sergeant. Get hold of whoever weve got attached to that shipwreck protection outfit, get him or her over here at the double.
Yes, boss.
Then Gosse gathered himself, counting slowly, and made his way to the interview room where Allie Roden was being held.
He stepped in quickly, pleasantly, a busy, efficient man with a job to do. He studied her file, letting the silence work on her, then looked up. Well, youre in the poo, wouldnt you say?
She was bored. Would I?
There were times when Gosse hated the games you had to play. They played their side of the game, you played yours. His head started to pound again. He decided to fight dirty. Were filing a procurement charge. Mr Christou said that he was being offered sex as an incentive to invest in a shipwreck syndicate.
She flared. Thats not true!
By far the more serious charge is theft from a shipwreck. According to Vallance, you have him in tow so that he can impress the mugs with his knowledge of diving and shipwreck history. Its your scheme, though, all the way, he says. You do all the heavy talking. And heavy breathing, if were to believe Mr Christou. And, frankly, I do.
I dont know anything. Im just along for the ride.
Gosse pushed his face close to hers. Mr Christou said that four investors were involved, fifty thousand each. Did you have sex with the other three? Well find them soon enough. They have security videotapes at the casino. All we have to do is identify who youve been seen with.
She pouted. Dont know anything.
She pronounced it any think. The pout spoiled her looks. Her hair was dank and smelt of cigarettes, alcohol and expensive perfume soured by sweat. Breathing shallowly, Gosse sat back in his chair. He regarded her for some time, then went back along the corridor to Vallance.
Miss Roden is quite upset. She says you made her have sex with these investors and one of them gave her herpes.
Vallance went white. His hands flashed to his groin. That bitch.
Is it true? Did you make her have sex with them?
There was only one guy interested in investing. Young bloke. Not Christou, whatever his name is.
Gosse said patiently, Okay, only one prospective investor. Ill ask again, did you or did you not oblige Miss Roden to have sex with this investor so that hed fork out fifty thousand dollars?
Vallance snarled, No. Look, I asked the bitch to be friendly, okay? Make the coffee, be around to answer questions, make hotel bookings, that type of thing. I certainly didnt ask her to sleep with this guy. Bloody hell, shes my bird. Id like to throttle the bitch.
You didnt know?
I had my suspicions. Vallance wriggled in his seat, as though his trousers were tight. She could have taken better care, got him to wear a rubber at least.
Youre infected for life if its herpes.
Vallance began to scratch and tug. Fucking moll.
Gosse said, Look at it this way. Youll do time, two, maybe three years, but the herpes will protect you from the hard men of the yard, keep them off you in the shower. You know, tell them youre infectious and theyll leave you alone. Of course, some of these guys have AIDS, so diey wont care one way or the other.
You lousy bastard.
Make it easy on yourself. Get a load off your chest. Maybe the judgell be lenient.
Vallance was staring at his hands, wiping them on his suit coat and tie. The tie was glossy black silk, patterned with tiny silver diamonds. A lovely tie, now yanked free of the neck, the knot as tight as an almond, bunched up in Vallances fist.
This young bloke who was going to invest, he began.
What about him?
He told Allie a few things. Boasted about them.
What things?
Vallance smoothed the tie. Still his hands offended him. He rubbed them on his thighs. Understand that wed decided we werent going to have any more to do with him. I mean, this salvage thing is legitimate, I dont want some crim investing in it.
Gosse was interested. Hes a crim? Whats his name?
* * * *
Thirty-five
As they drove west from the airport at Wynyard, something she said penetrated the recurring fog in Wyatts head. You tipped off CIB?
Yes.
About me? About Raymond?
Liz Redding wound down the window a little. Some fresh air for your poor head. I said I tipped them off about Vallance.
Oh.
I saw Vallance and his lady friend with your nephew a couple of times. It didnt look right to me. I thought with Vallance removed from the scene, you and Raymond would abandon whatever it was you were up to. I wanted to save you from getting caught.
Vallance had nothing to do with the paintings.
I know that now. I didnt at the time.
There was Bass Strait on the right, a range of mountains on the left, but here the country was featureless, the kind of place where you nodded at the wheel and your speed crept up to 130, 140. Liz, Wyatt noticed, was driving at the limit, her eyes flickering between the road ahead and the rear-view mirrors. She didnt once look at him.
How do you know about Vallance?
I was attached to the Maritime Heritage Unit for a while. My job was to safeguard shipwreck sites from looters and track down looted goods. Vallance was working there, doing research, charting wrecks, that type of thing. He was given the sack. We couldnt prove anything, but we think he was stealing artefacts that were awaiting classification.
Wyatt was silent for a long time. He fished out the silver dollar that Raymond had given him. Artefacts like this?
Liz slowed the car, pulled on to the shoulder of the road. A semitrailer-load of wood ploughed past, storming the little rental car with a gust of wind.
Let me see.
She turned the coin over and over in her slender fingers. Did Vallance give you this?
He gave it to Raymond, Raymond gave it to me.
Did he say where it came from?
Wyatt said wearily, Apparently from a wrecked ship called the Eliza Dean. Vallance had found the ship. It was carrying garrison pay to Hobart when it went down some time in the late 1820s. Raymond went out to the site with Vallance. Said he saw coins just lying on the seabed.
Liz shook her head. I remember when Vallance found that ship. He really did find it, it does exist, but there was never any garrison pay. A cargo of timber and sheep, from memory. Its not an important site. Its tucked out of the way and not even scuba divers or looters are interested.
Wyatt was putting a picture together in his head. This coincould it have come from another shipwreck?
Yes.
It could be one of the things Vallance stole from the Heritage Unit?
Yes.
Wyatt took the coin from her fingers. A traffic policeman slowed, stopped adjacent to them, but nodded and sped off when Liz smiled and waved a road map at him.
Wed better move on, she said.
This is a Spanish dollar, right?
On its own its proof that Vallance was lying to Raymond about the Eliza Dean, Liz said.
How?
In 1813 the English government shipped forty thousand Spanish dollar coins to New South Wales. The Governor knew they wouldnt last, there was a coin shortage, so he stamped out the centre portion of each Spanish dollar and creat
ed two coins from one. The holey dollar, and a coin of lesser value called a dump.
