by Peter Temple
Phillip Epstein, art dealer, didn’t ask to see the provenance, although I had it.
‘You’d expect, what?’ he said.
‘I need twenty-five thousand as soon as possible,’ I said. ‘They should cover that.’
He patted my arm. ‘Sisley,’ he said. ‘I think that’s a reasonable expectation. Where on earth did you get them?’
‘From my wife. Her grandfather once owned the whole notebook.’
He frowned. ‘You’ve got more?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘They’re the only material thing I’ve got left that’s worth anything.’
‘I’ll be happy to advance the twenty-five thousand. We’d want to take our time selling.’
‘It would help,’ I said, ‘if it was in cash.’
He smiled. ‘Let’s go in the back and have a drink. We’re not talking used notes in small denominations, are we?’
‘Large denominations would be better.’
25
Hardhills was as we’d left it: cold, damp, three utes and a dog outside the pub. On the way, Harry said, ‘Fill you in, Jack, next Saturday’s the day. Caulfield, race four. Two thousand four hundred. Bit short for the bloke’s breeding but it’ll do. Next point. We’re puttin a girl on him.’
‘I thought it was going to be Mick Sayre,’ I said.
Harry popped a Smartie. ‘Turns out Mickey’s a bit of a worry,’ he said. ‘Cam here was talkin to a clocker, fella who knows a few things. Says Mickey put a whole Greek syndicate on a plunge up in Sydney. On the day the stable got such a fright when they saw the odds go to buggery, they told Mick, bugger this, we’re not goin on at four to one, we’ll do it another day. Trouble was, Mickey’s more frightened of the Greeks than the stable. Wins three lengths clear. Next start, two to one favourite. Greeks love Mick but he doesn’t ride for that stable any more.’
‘Who’s the girl?’
Harry turned and gave me a wink. ‘You might’ve seen her. Nicest little bum on the turf.’
‘That’s her qualification?’
Harry smiled. ‘Nancy Farmer. Rides for her dad. Harold. Two city wins. Mostly she rides the cattle out in the bush. Cam’s happy. Wanted a girl from the start.’
‘Why’s that?’
Cam was driving the big BMW. He took it around a speeding semi with a smooth change-down and a burst of power before he gave me a glance. ‘There’s two reasons,’ he said. ‘One, women can keep their mouths shut. They don’t get on the phone, go down the pub, do all their mates a favour. Reason two, a little girl’s been looking after this bloke fulltime for a year. They’re in love. Her and her brother’s all that’s ridden him. You don’t want to put some cocky bastard on him, hard hands, knows it all, thinks he can thrash him home.’
‘I’m convinced,’ I said. ‘What about her bum?’
‘Bum?’ Cam said. ‘Since when do jockeys have bums?’
We parked in the same place as before. Cam got out to have a smoke. Harry put his seat back.
‘She’ll be along in a minute,’ he said.
‘The jockey?’
‘Staying at Ericson’s till the race. I want her to get to know this Dakota Dreamin.’
An old Land Rover pulled up next to us. A woman in her early twenties got out, moleskins, checked shirt, short hair, windburnt face: lean as string. Cam went over. They shook hands, said a few words.
Cam came back and got in, drove off. She followed us around and over the low hills and parked next to us at Ericson’s. She was out quickly, waiting, hands in flap pockets.
It was just as cold as the time before. Cam said, ‘This is Mr Strang and Mr Irish, Mr Strang’s lawyer.’ We shook hands. She was good-looking, big mouth, no make-up, a hint of wariness in the eyes.
‘You’re on time. That’s good,’ said Harry.
Tony Ericson came up the gravel path from the stables. More handshakes.
‘Use your kitchen table, Tony?’ Harry said. ‘Bit of talkin to do.’
Ericson led us inside the house and down a passage to a big, warm kitchen with an old Aga stove. We sat down at the table. Harry was at the top. Nancy Farmer was opposite me. She put her elbows on the table and laced her fingers. She had big wrists and strong hands like Harry’s.
‘Nancy,’ said Harry. ‘Mr Delray told you he wanted you to ride a bit of track on this Dakota Dreamin before Saturday.’
She said, ‘That’s right.’
Harry said, ‘This horse is goin to win.’
She kept looking at him, no expression.
‘It’s goin to win,’ Harry said, ‘because it’s the best horse in the race. There’s nothin else happenin.’
Nancy nodded. A little tension went out of her shoulders. ‘Why me?’ she asked.
‘Like your style, good hands, got a bit extra out of that Home Boy in the spring.’
‘Didn’t get me any more races in town,’ she said.
Harry smiled. ‘This’ll be the makin of you. Tony, tell Nancy about this bloke.’
Tony Ericson didn’t do much public speaking but he got through it. At the end, he said, ‘He goes down the beach every day. Me girl rides him in the water, on the sand. Four days he does a bit of track, not too much. Not the way the others do it, but he’s rock-hard now. Just right.’
Nancy said, ‘You trialled him at the distance?’
Tony shook his head. ‘No. He’s bred for the two miles but he’ll run a strong race at anything over two thou.’
She looked around the table. ‘I’ll do my best.’
Harry said, ‘You’ll understand if I say you can’t make any phone calls without Mr Ericson’s with you? You got a mobile with you?’
She shook her head. ‘Is this big?’ she asked.
Harry nodded. ‘Big enough.’
The tip of her tongue came out and moistened her lower lip. ‘I don’t have any calls to make,’ she said.
‘Good,’ said Harry. ‘There’s a thousand for the week’s work here. You want to talk about the race fee?’
Nancy looked at him, unsmiling. ‘It’s laid down.’ She paused. ‘Excuse me, are you the Harry Strang…?’
‘Things go right,’ Harry said slowly, ‘Mr Ericson here is a generous owner.’ He patted the table with both hands. ‘Well, business over. Let’s have a look at the bloke.’
At Dakota’s stable, a small girl in overalls was waiting, stroking the horse’s nose. She had short red hair and freckles.
‘This is me girl Denny,’ Ericson said. ‘Slim’s sort of her horse.’
Nancy shook hands with Denny. ‘Pleased to meet you, boss,’ she said. ‘Now that’s what I call grooming. You want to bring him out?’
The girl blushed with pleasure.
Dakota came out calmly, gleaming like a horse in a painting. Denny handled him as if he were a big labrador. He was saddled and bridled inside a minute. We walked behind Nancy, Denny and the horse to the track. Dakota had his head down, his neck extended. He looked as if he were deep in thought, a horse at peace with himself and his surroundings.
‘Walks like a stayer,’ Harry said. ‘You can always tell.’
At the track, Nancy adjusted the stirrups, swung up effortlessly.
‘Have a little muck about, get the feel of him,’ said Tony Ericson.
We watched for fifteen minutes while she took him up and down the track, trot, canter, short gallop, bit of walking around. When she came back to us, she said, ‘Nice horse, likes to run,’ rubbing his jaw. She got off and gave the reins to Denny.
‘Walk with me,’ Harry said. They hung back. When I looked around, they had their heads together, Harry talking with his hands. At the top of the gravel path, they caught up.
‘Friday, I’ll be back, talk some tactics, look at some movies,’ Harry said.
On the way home, Harry said to Cam, ‘Girl can ride. Strong, too. You got a feelin?’
Cam flicked a glance at him. ‘You know what Oscar Wilde said? Only one thing makes more of a fool of a man than a woman. And that’s a horse.’
Harry said, reflectively, ‘That so? Didn’t know old Oscar rode horses. Knew he rode everythin else.’
The sun came out as we drove over the Westgate Bridge. Off to the left, far off in the distance, I could see the observation platform at Yarra Cove. They had put three flags on it now. Big flags.
26
I got in another two hours’ work at Taub’s. The three tabletop boards had to be joined with hide glue. Charlie wouldn’t use anything else for this kind of work. Some cabinetmakers use epoxy resin glues. The joints were claimed to be stronger than the woods they joined. When I mentioned this to Charlie, he said, with feigned incomprehension, ‘Stronger than the wood? You want joints stronger than wood, welding is the trade.’
I measured out a quantity of hide glue, golden granules, dissolved them in water, added some more granules and heated up the liquid in the glue pot. While it was warming, I put the boards on the gluing stand and dry-clamped them. The fit was good. I unclamped them and, when the glue was hot, I carefully painted it on two interior edges with a hogbristle brush. Then I put hardwood strips down the outside to protect the outer edges and one-inch dowels outside them to spread the clamp pressure. I tightened the eight bar clamps, the outside pair first, then alternately on each side. At each end and at three intervals along the surface, I used three-by-three hardwood cauls and C-clamps to make sure that the pressure of the bar clamps wasn’t distorting the assembly.
It had to be absolutely flat. There were no second chances.
Then I tinkered with the clamps for a good fifteen minutes, trying to ensure that I had enough pressure but didn’t force out glue and starve the joints. ‘Trust your hands,’ Charlie used to say in the early days. ‘If you’re straining, it’s too tight.’ I didn’t quite understand this: Charlie could tighten the nuts on the Sydney Harbour Bridge with his bare hands without taking any strain.
When I’d cleaned up, I went home. Reluctantly.
Sunday night. I cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom, fed the dishwasher, tried to read the Sunday Age, opened a bottle of wine, drank half a glass, stared at the contents of the fridge. Made a cheese and gherkin sandwich. Women come into your life and all the hard-earned self-sufficiency deserts you. Suddenly you’re half a person again.
The phone rang. Long-distance beeps.
‘Jack Irish?’ Ronnie Bishop’s friend Charles Lee in Perth.
I said I was sorry about Ronnie’s death. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t interested in Ronnie anymore.
‘Jack,’ he said. ‘I should tell the police this now that Ronnie’s dead. Remember I told you about the answering machine tape? How it was missing?’
‘I remember.’
‘Well, I found it. About half an hour ago. Under the drinks cupboard next to the phone. It must have slid under there when the burglar tipped out the phone table drawer. It’s got the messages from Melbourne for Ronnie.’
‘Have you listened to them again?’
‘Yes. They’re from different people. The first one left a name and phone number. Danny McKillop. Do you want the number?’
I said, ‘No. I’ve got that number. What about the other one?’
‘There’s just a message. No name. It’s a man.’
‘What’s the message.’
‘I’ve written it down. He said, “Ronald, listen to me carefully. It’s absolutely vital that you bring the evidence. You were stupid to take it and now you’ve been doubly stupid. I’ll have to extricate you.” Then he says something that sounds like “sculling’s the one in trouble”. And then he says, “Ring me when you get here.”’
‘Can you play that to me over the phone?’ I said.
Charles hesitated. ‘I can try. I’ll put it on the stereo tape deck and hold the phone near the speakers. Hang on.’
I could hear him moving about the room. There were a few false tape starts, then he came back on and said, ‘Here goes.’
There was an electronic whine, a pause, a throat-clearing. Then the rich voice of Father Rafael Gorman said, ‘Ronald, listen to…’
When the message finished, Charles said, ‘Did you get that?’
I said, ‘Loud and clear.’
‘Do you know who it is?’
‘I think so. Well done, Charles.’
‘I should tell the police, shouldn’t I, Jack? It could be very important.’
I made a decision without a second’s conscious thought. ‘Charles,’ I said, ‘this is important but I want you to wait until I call you before you tell the police. It won’t be more than forty-eight hours, I promise. Will you do that?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes. Yes, I will. Jack, there’s something else.’
‘Yes?’
I waited.
‘This is probably quite meaningless.’
I waited.
‘I certainly wasn’t going to tell those men, but there was something the day Ronnie left for Melbourne.’
‘What was that?’ I said encouragingly.
‘Well, I drove him into the city that morning. I had the day off. He said he had to get something out of his safe deposit box at the bank. I dropped him outside and waited, double parked. He was only about five minutes. Then we drove back to his place. His suitcase was already packed and he opened the zip compartment and he took something out of his jacket pocket and put it in.’
‘Any idea what?’
‘No. Something flat, that’s all.’
‘And you think that’s what he’d got out of his safe deposit?’
‘Yes. Well, I can’t be sure. I felt bad about not telling you before.’
‘I’m glad you have now. It could be useful. Keep it to yourself. Thanks, Charles. Ring me if you think of anything else. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’ Then a thought occurred to me. ‘Maybe you can help with something else. Someone I don’t know knows I was in Perth asking about Ronnie. Have you told anyone about me?’
Again, he didn’t hesitate. ‘No. It’ll be that architect bitch next door. When you were in your car I looked around and I could see her shape against the venetian blind upstairs. She thinks you can’t see her, but there’s light behind her. I’ve seen her there before. Once when my friend from work came to keep me company while I was tidying up Ronnie’s garden she had a good look. And then she came out and took the dog up the street and back. It was because she couldn’t see his licence plate from the window, I’m sure.’
‘Who would she tell?’
‘Those men, I suppose. The ones I told you about.’
I said, ‘Thanks again, Charles. I’ll be in touch.’
In the kitchen, I poured a glass of wine. There was a little tingle in my body. I found a piece of paper for doodling and sat at the kitchen table.
Father Gorman had said, Scullin’s the one in trouble. Trouble over what? Danny McKillop’s attempt to get his case reopened? Not if Bruce was to be believed. Why then had Ronnie come to Melbourne if not in response to Danny’s phone call? How would Scullin be involved? What was the evidence his old employer wanted him to bring? Evidence of what? Had Gorman steered Ronnie out to the doctor’s establishment in the bush so that he could be murdered? Did this have any connection with Danny?
The phone rang again. Blinking, I looked at my watch: 11.15. It was Linda. Just when I’d stopped missing her for three minutes at a time.
‘You alone?’ she said.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘I had three girls home delivered from Dial-a-Doll.’
‘I’ve been burgled. The place is a shambles.’
I sat upright. ‘What’s gone?’
‘My laptop. All my disks. Whole filing cabinet emptied. Not the television or the VCR or the stereo.’ There was a pause. ‘It’s a bit scary.’
‘Don’t touch anything. Grab some clothes and come over here. We’ll get the cops in tomorrow.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m okay. I’ve already rung the cops. If I don’t stay here tonight I’ll never come back.’
‘I’ll com
e over.’
‘No. It’s fine. I just wanted to tell you. Hear your voice, really. There’s something else.’
‘What?’
‘Everything I’ve put into the computer system at work is gone. Wiped.’
‘Accident?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Don’t you have some kind of security?’
‘Yes. There’s more.’
I waited.
‘That creep in Sydney I told you about? The regional director?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s told my boss here that I’m to drop any story about Yarra Cove or anything to do with Charis Corporation.’
Suddenly the room felt cold. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said I’d think about it.’
‘Sure you don’t want to come over here?’
‘Yes. I’ll call you in the morning.’
‘Call me any time. How did they get in?’
‘Don’t know. The front door was still locked.’
‘Have you got a chain?’
‘Yes. And two bolts.’
‘Lock up tight after the cops leave. And don’t let the cops in without showing you their ID. Get them to push it under the door or through the letterbox. Okay?’
‘Right, O Masterful One.’
‘I think you’re back to normal.’
‘Getting there. Talk to you tomorrow.’
‘Early. Before you go to work. Goodnight.’
There was a moment’s silence. Neither of us wanted to be the first to hang up.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Missed you.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Life’s been lacking something.’
I put the bars on the front and back doors and looked down the lane for a while before I went to bed. I tried to sleep but I kept thinking about Drew’s description of the rise of the Kwitny empire. He was right. I had been a bit like a yokel from Terang. For a whole decade, I hadn’t paid any attention to anything except cabinetmaking and plodding around looking for people who didn’t want to be found.
27
Linda rang at 7.30 a.m. I was up, just out of the shower.
‘Let’s have breakfast,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got much time.’
