That Empty Feeling

by Peter Corris

  ‘Keppler’s not dumb.’

  She stopped pacing and came close. ‘And he’s dangerous.’

  I put my arms around her. ‘So am I, Sergeant. Let’s go out and eat.’

  Seven people gathered in Black’s suite at the Bondi Regent—Black, me and five Federal Police officers. Introductions were brief and not overly friendly. Which of them were actually members of Black’s unit and which had been seconded from elsewhere I didn’t know or care. Two were in convincing-looking electricity technician overalls. Black spent nearly an hour outlining how it would go down. They would go inside the building just before me; the others would take up support positions nearby. Each of them would communicate with Black via the sorts of electronic systems that require an earpiece. The ‘technicians’ could credibly claim they were getting relevant information from headquarters.

  I had a sense that not all the cops were happy with the arrangement and particularly with my involvement. Black had the floor plan of the Botany Security building and pointed out the largest of the rooms, two doors along from where the receptionist sat.

  ‘That has to be for the boss,’ he said.

  ‘Where’s Sergeant Marr?’ I asked Black. ‘Shouldn’t she be in on this in some way?’

  ‘She is,’ Black said and wouldn’t volunteer anything more. He turned to gaze out at the rain and one of the men in overalls took me aside and asked if I was armed. I showed him the .38.

  ‘I hear you and Bronwen are an item.’

  I nodded.

  ‘She’s bloody good,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why she isn’t here. Anyway, you strike trouble, you fire a shot and we’ll come running.’

  Black went over the plan again, such as it was. We synchronised our watches at Black’s insistence and we were off to Little Bay, me in my car, the ‘technicians’ in a van bearing an electrical services logo and the rest in nondescript sedans. As I drove I was full of apprehension. The team was far from united and, unless my eyes deceived me, every one of them, apart from Black, had some kind of body armour under their overalls and shirts.

  I pulled into a parking space marked VISITORS beside the Botany Security building. I went up the steps and through the heavy glass door to where a female receptionist in a slightly military-looking suit sat at a desk.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I want to see Dick, Dick Keppler.’

  The use of the diminutive startled her as I’d hoped it would. ‘Mr Keppler? Do you have . . . ?’

  ‘Fuck that! I know where his office is. Just tell him I’m coming.’

  She stood and moved as if to block my way. ‘Who . . . ?’

  ‘Cliff,’ I shouted as I brushed past her and headed down the corridor. The second door on the right had Keppler’s name on it and his title of Director. I pushed it open and went inside slamming it behind me. Keppler looked up, the change in his usually set, controlled features registering his surprise.

  ‘Hardy, you can’t just . . .’

  I dropped into the chair across from his desk. ‘Yes I can. This is a different ball game. I’ve been dealing with the Federal Police.’

  He was back in control. ‘How astonishing.’

  Sitting forward belligerently, I told him that I could definitely offer him immunity from prosecution in return for information and the release of Ronny.

  He heard me out with no interruption or any visible reaction. His hands remained still on the surface of his desk and his eyes never left my face. This was a man assured of what he was doing and comfortable in his own skin. When I’d finished he shook his head.

  ‘These are the same terms I rejected before,’ he said. ‘I now hold another card.’

  ‘The game’s changed, chommie,’ I said. ‘The Feds have targeted Lady Mountjoy. They’ll pressure her, offer her some kind of big fish deal that won’t involve you. Rather the opposite. Better to throw in with the authorities now and cut your losses.’

  ‘That’s interesting, Hardy. And quite persuasive. But there’s something you haven’t taken into account.’

  His confidence worried me. ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Do you have any idea how much money is involved?’

  I shrugged. ‘What good’s money when you’re in gaol?’

  ‘This kind of money makes that virtually impossible. You may think you know what’s going on, but believe me, you don’t. The local players, including your friend Bartlett, have been doing all right but the system that’s been developed . . .’ He spread his hands. ‘It’s worldwide, global. You’re an irritant, nothing more.’

  He was convincing in his complacency and I struggled to think of an effective reply. He appeared to lose interest and had begun to shuffle papers on his desk when there was a furious tapping of high heels in the corridor and the door flew open. A tall, blonde woman, stylishly dressed in a suit but dishevelled and wild-eyed, burst into the room and rushed towards Keppler. I recognised her . . . she was the woman I’d seen when I breached the place’s shit security.

  Her voice was a high-pitched American-accented scream. ‘Richard, oh, Richard, I’ve killed that Marr bitch. I had to. She . . .’

  She noticed me. She reached into the pocket of her coat, pulled out a pistol and pointed it at me. I was already moving and she was distraught, and her hand shook.

  I lunged at her but she was too quick and fired, missing me completely. Black’s two officers rushed in with guns levelled. The woman swung towards them but one of the cops shot her before she could aim.

  ‘No!’ Keppler roared. ‘Courtney!’ He came around the desk in a couple of strides and grappled with the shooter. The woman had sagged against the wall, still holding her pistol. I scrambled towards her but this time she managed to fire at the struggling men. The bullet hit Keppler and he collapsed. I knocked the woman’s gun from her hand and the other cop covered her.

  I stood. Two of us on our feet, two on the floor with the blood pooling, one moaning. Keppler was silent and still.

  30

  There was a long silence after I’d finished telling the much abridged story.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Megan said. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘What d’you mean, not a lot? There’s dead bodies everywhere and . . .’

  ‘Keppler was right about the size of the operation and its reach, but he hadn’t allowed for the human factor. Black had sent Bron after Courtney Beal and it must’ve all gone wrong. It was all too big ever to be really opened up. Black was hand-in-glove with the intelligence boys and some politicians. D notices went out to the media and a kind of embargo cloud settled on every aspect of the business. Corporations changed hands, new security protocols regarding petroleum refining and trading were drawn up, blah, blah.’

  ‘Fuck that. I mean what happened to the people?’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Like all of them, you bugger.’

  I told her that Bronwen Marr was posthumously decorated for having lost her life in the course of an action the details of which were protected by provisions of various national security acts.

  ‘That’s a quote.’

  Megan came up and put her hands on my shoulders. I put my hands on her tight-as-a-drum belly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cliff.’

  ‘Yeah. Courtney Beal was patched up and underwent treatment for mental disturbance before being shipped back to the US. Or so I was told. I was debriefed by Black but whether he told me the truth or not I never found out.’

  ‘Who killed Sir Keith?’

  ‘Mountjoy? Probably Des O’Malley, on Lady Betty’s orders. Sir Keith had served his purpose and he was becoming a nuisance. But they never charged anyone. Ballistics can’t match up shells and shot with shotguns as they can with pistols and rifles.’

  ‘Lady Mountjoy?’

  I shrugged. ‘Out of the country the very day it all blew up and never returned. I read that she married someone in Singapore. I don’t think he was a rickshaw driver.’

  ‘And
Ronny?’

  ‘Never found.’

  ‘What? You mean Keppler killed him?’

  ‘I’d like to think so but it’s unlikely. Keppler planned to use him as a bargaining chip and he’d want him alive.’

  ‘But that means . . . ?’

  I nodded. ‘Keppler stashed him somewhere and he never told anyone where. The cops looked into it, but not very hard. I worked on it for a long time but I never got a hint and Barry Bartlett never spoke to me again.’