by Peter Corris
I put the beer down on the verandah rail, took my mobile from my pants pocket and called Farrow.
‘Hardy.’ His voice was an angry rasp. ‘Where the fuck are you? What was all that shit last night?’
‘Did you find Wendy and her pals?’
‘No.’
‘Did you search Lonsdale’s place?’
‘No comment. What’re you playing at?’
I couldn’t hang around much longer. Someone was bound to spot Purcell. I tossed up whether or not to tell Farrow about it. I decided. I told him where he’d find the body of a man I thought to be an undercover policeman.
‘Stay there,’ he said.
‘Yeah, I’ll do that so you can take me in and keep me on a chair for the rest of the day and probably longer.’
‘Stay there.’
‘No chance, and I’ll give you this for free—I don’t think every single one of your colleagues is playing on your team.’
‘What the hell do you mean?’
I cut the connection and drained the beer. The trick to walking as if you’re unconcerned isn’t to whistle or put your hands in your pockets. It’s a matter of minimal upper body movement and pace and line. I reached the Hyundai, unlocked it, got in and drove out of the car park without glancing at the Land Cruiser, although I gave Purcell a silent salutation as I went past.
I headed back to Wollongong. Two police cars going full pelt with sirens screaming shot by as I drove at a sedate pace. I had very little idea what to do next, particularly as I wasn’t even sure I had a client after last night’s doings. I parked behind the railway station and called Elizabeth Farmer. No reply at home; voicemail at the university. I swore several times, then the phone rang.
‘Cliff, this is Tania Vronsky. I just missed your call.’
‘I was checking to see if Elizabeth was still employing me.’
‘Why wouldn’t she be?’
I told her about the phone call from Elizabeth and she laughed. ‘Oh, she’s like that. Jealous as hell. No, I didn’t get off with Jude. She was much more pissed than me by the time we finished playing. I got her home and then got back myself, very late. All’s well. How’re things working out for you?’
‘I don’t know. When you next see Elizabeth tell her I’m still on it and sort of making progress, but the cops might be calling on her.’
‘How exciting. Fact is, Cliff, this business has given our relationship quite a boost. What does she tell them?’
‘The truth,’ I said.
I was sitting there indecisively when I became aware of someone standing by the passenger window. DS Barton of Bellambi rapped on the glass with his pistol, gesturing for me to open that door and the one behind me. He’d have no trouble shooting me through the glass and no compunction either, from the look of him. I opened the doors. A man slid in to the back seat as Barton got in beside me. I took a quick look in the rear vision mirror. Didn’t know him, but everything about him said cop.
‘You look surprised, Hardy.’
‘I am.’
‘Because you’re not in your car?’
‘Yes.’
He held the pistol low, out of sight. ‘Can’t figure it out?’
‘No.’
‘Your girlfriend reported it stolen. You became a hot item after that performance last night. Wasn’t too hard to pick you up.’
I let out a long slow breath. Marisha Karatsky was certainly full of surprises. I was careful to keep my hands in sight on the wheel. Not that it’d make much difference. If Barton wanted to shoot me he could. It was between trains and there was no one much about and it was a fair bet that either I’d have a gun he could use to make it look okay or he’d have a throw-down to hand. It’d been done before.
‘So what’s this about?’ I said.
‘I thought you were smart enough to take a hint that you weren’t wanted down here.’
‘I’m a little slow sometimes.’
‘That can be just as fatal as speed. Start the car and go where I tell you.’
‘Suppose I don’t?’
‘Then you get a clout on the head from behind and you go where we’re going anyway.’
I started the engine. ‘Are you going to let me know what this’s about?’
‘I don’t think so. Just shut up and do as you’re told. Put your seatbelt on and no heroics.’
For the second time, and too close to the first, I felt gun metal behind my ear. Different deal this time—two to contend with and them official and probably experienced at this sort of work. Even if I contrived some kind of crash, I’d be too dead to take any advantage. I had nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer, no way to threaten. I drove like an automaton, obeying Barton’s instructions because there seemed nothing else to do. I was beginning to get the blank-to-everything-around-me feeling, as if I was dead already.
‘Scared, Hardy?’
Barton was breaking his own rules but I couldn’t see much hope in that. If he was a little nervous all that was likely to happen was that he wouldn’t do a clean job.
‘I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.’
‘Oh, job satisfaction? I’ve got plenty of that.’
‘Nice hit on the undercover guy. Who’s handy with the .22—you or the silent one in the back?’
‘Not something for you to worry about.’
‘You might worry about who he’s told what to.’
‘Oh, I know all that. And I know he’s told you bugger-all.’
I chewed that over just to have something else to think about. If what Barton said was true, Purcell’s operation was compromised somehow. Too bad. He’d seemed good at what he did.
I realised that we were heading for the waste area where the bikies held their races and drug supermarket. I hadn’t taken in much about it on my last visit because my night vision isn’t all that flash. Seemed like a good place for what this pair had in mind—quiet when not noisy, out of the way, dirty, and with lots of leather and denim watchdogs. All the traffic had dropped away as we’d left the main roads and now we were on a rough, narrow strip of bitumen that was rotting and falling in at the sides. It twisted and turned as it went through patches of scrub and saltwater flats—not the best scenery for your last look at the world.
A couple of buildings I hadn’t noticed before were scattered around the area—sheds mostly, a couple of shipping containers, a sagging prefab garage. Barton directed me to drive over close to the garage which meant going around a high pile of aggregate being readied for laying. I considered trying to run the car up its side to get it to roll and then take my chances but with two guns on me the chances weren’t worth the effort.
I pulled up by the garage. ‘Now what?’
‘Out carefully, hands behind.’
I stepped out and Barton’s mate neatly handcuffed me.
‘Right,’ Barton said. ‘Let’s get this over with. Get the bobcat, Jake.’ Jake slid open the garage doors. I heard an engine start up and the bobcat lurched out into the sunlight. It stalled.
Jake swore and got the motor running again at high, noisy revs. Another stall and he repeated the procedure.
‘Has he got a licence for that thing?’ I said.
‘Brave face. On your knees, Hardy.’
‘No chance.’ I turned and walked away from him. There was nowhere to go and I knew I couldn’t outrun him with my hands pinioned, but he was going to have to chase me and shoot me and when he did I was going to be on my feet.
‘Stop!’
I didn’t.
I heard the shot and for an instant I thought he’d missed and waited for the next. Then three shots followed in quick succession and I hit the dirt, fast and hard. Without hands to protect my fall I landed on my face, bounced and skidded and my eyes and mouth filled with dirt. I lay still, spluttering and coughing and blinking. I rolled onto my side and screwed around to look back. The bobcat was where it had stopped and its motor was still running but Jake wasn’t at the controls. He was pushed back again
st it with his hands held high. A figure writhed on the ground, yelling obscenities and throwing up little puffs of dust.
I pulled myself up, tripped and fell and got up again.
My eyes were streaming but my vision was clearing. A man who I could now see was in uniform jerked Jake’s hands down and cuffed him. The other man stood near the figure on the ground talking into his mobile phone. He started walking towards me, still talking, and I could see that he held a pistol in his hand. He stopped talking and closed the phone. I backed off a few steps, not knowing what to think.
He swung around and shouted, ‘Shut that fuckin’ thing off !’
The motor died and the area became quiet. The man who’d issued the order reached behind him and holstered his pistol. He walked towards me with his hands open in a benign gesture. I recognised Inspector Ian Farrow from Wollongong and realised that I was still alive and likely to remain so.
Farrow stopped a metre away. ‘Hardy,’ he said. ‘You are one lucky, lucky bastard.’
22
Sirens wailed and an ambulance and more police cars arrived but I was oblivious to most of it. They uncuffed me, sat me down in the back of a car with the door open and gave me a damp towel. I wiped at my eyes and mouth and felt the sting of fresh cuts and the dull ache of developing bruises. My face was pretty battered, my knees were sore and my clothes were a mess. I didn’t care. I was alive. After a while I looked around and cracked a smile although it hurt my face. A flock of seagulls was perched on top of the bobcat that had been brought out to plough me under.
The ambulance and one of the cop cars sped off and Farrow had the time to come over and talk to me. I thanked him before he could say anything.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Let’s get you back to the station and I’ll fill you in. You’re all right, aren’t you? Nothing broken?’
‘Never better, considering.’
‘Right. I’ll get one of our blokes to drive your car. Or rather, Ms Karatsky’s car.’
One of the cops started up the bobcat and the seagulls flew away. I watched them as they headed off towards the coast. I fastened the seatbelt and leaned back prepared to enjoy the ride. With my eyes clearing and my mouth starting not to taste like the inside of a football boot, I was beginning to think about what I was working on and how what I’d just been through bore on it. I decided to give it up until I’d heard from Farrow. I closed my eyes and found myself humming ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’. The cop sitting next to me gave me an odd look and I grinned at him. It still hurt to smile, but not as much.
‘We’ve known Clive Barton and some of his boys, like Jacob Henderson, were dirty for a while,’ Farrow said. ‘They’ve been under surveillance. Drugs mostly, import and manufacture, but also facilitating armed hold-ups and maybe the odd hit.’
We were sitting in Farrow’s office in the Wollongong Police HQ. I’d had a decent wash and gargle and had a mug of coffee in my hand. My cuts and abrasions and bruises weren’t hurting too badly thanks to a couple of Panadeine Fortes.
‘But Clive was very careful and we had nothing solid, so when they picked you up and had you lined up for an execution, it gave us the opportunity to arrest them. And that’ll allow us to put some pressure on the bunch. See who’ll squeal on who.’
Elizabeth Farmer would have said ‘whom’ but I wasn’t going to quibble. Farrow went on to say he’d monitored Marisha’s report of the stolen Hyundai and when the team tailing Barton and Henderson saw that they had picked me up they knew they had something and went into action.
‘I didn’t see anyone tailing me and believe me I was looking,’ I said.
‘We were well back. We were only able to get close when Jake started fucking around with that bobcat. Bought you some time. Anyway, that’s what I meant when I thanked you.’
‘Any time. Do you think Barton had anything to do with Purcell’s death?’
‘It’s possible. One of his other cronies is a target shooter. Be hard to prove though.’
‘So I’ll have to testify when they go up for abduction and attempted murder?’
Farrow remained silent.
‘Won’t I?’
‘That’ll depend on how it works out. What else gets admitted to. Who else gets given up. You know how it works.’
‘Sure, so now that we’re pals, you can tell me whether you got hold of Wendy Jones and Lonsdale and the other one.’
Farrow shook his head. ‘No sign of them. Checked out of the Novotel and vanished.’
‘What about Lonsdale’s shottie?’
Farrow had to consider that one. Eventually he nodded.
‘Found a sawn-off shotgun in his panniers. We want him.’
‘Wendy’s a part of this Farmer thing I told you about. She’s got something to do with whoever’s interested in that land. Barton didn’t bother properly investigating the fire that killed my client’s father. He’s tied to it as well.’
I talked on for a bit, describing the first time I’d been taken for a ride, and Farrow made some notes. ‘We’ll ask him about it and I’ll let you know if we get anything.’
‘You know there’s something big being planned down here,’ I said. ‘I put some pressure on that Lonsdale character to tell me who’d ordered me killed but he said he’d be dead himself if he talked. He meant it.’
Farrow shrugged. ‘Could’ve meant Clive.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just a feeling. Barton strikes me more as senior management than a CEO type. And there’s some big seed money around.’
I told him about the inflated price paid for Sue Holland’s land, even considering the high prices in the area, and the possibility that Wendy Jones was involved in the fire that killed Frederick Farmer. As soon as I said it, it struck me that the suspicions about Farmer’s death had firmed up to something like a fact and I reacted sharply, almost spilling my coffee.
‘What?’ Farrow said.
‘I thought Farmer’s death was an accident—the fire was just an attempt to shift him, but what if he’d sussed out why his land was wanted and he was deliberately killed to shut him up.’
‘That’s very speculative.’
‘Speculation is my middle name. If it’s right it puts Wendy in the frame for murder. What’s being done on that score?’
‘Everything possible and you stay out of it. After what’s happened recently I don’t imagine you want to tangle with a bunch of speed freak bikies.’
‘No, but it’s not the bikies I’m concerned about, it’s Wendy’s connection with the string puller. You must have candidates.’
‘Oh, there’re candidates, but again, keep clear.’
‘I was hired to find out what happened to my client’s dad and why.’
‘Well, you’ve got a good theory. Sell her that.’
I put the coffee mug on his desk and looked at him.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but it’s a police matter. We’ll keep you informed of course.’
‘Okay.’ I got to my feet and Farrow stood up too.
‘If you’d stuck around the way you should’ve when you found Purcell, this wouldn’t have happened to you.’
‘And you wouldn’t have got the handle on Barton.’
‘True.’ Farrow smiled. ‘And then there’s the little matter of the car you stole.’
‘Borrowed, and I left her a note.’
‘Doesn’t seem to have mattered. Well, I’ll leave you to sort that out.’ He reached into his pocket and handed me the keys. ‘Car’s out front. Watch out for yourself, Hardy.’
We shook hands and I went out. I couldn’t say that I felt safe. I didn’t know how far Barton’s influence spread in the Illawarra force or what reprisals might be taken. He and Henderson wouldn’t have risked driving around in the Hyundai so they must have had someone standing by to dispose of it and someone to pick them up. Farrow had spoken of another rotten apple, the target shooter, but
there could be more.
I flinched when a shadow slanted across in front of me on the steps of the police building.
‘Take it easy, Hardy. It’s me, De Witt.’
He was there in his long, lanky, relaxed way, the first civilian I’d seen in quite some time and I was glad to see him. ‘Jesus, you gave me a fright.’
‘Not surprised. I’ve just been hearing what fun and games you’ve been having. I can’t write about it because it’s all sub judice, but when the time comes . . .’
‘Like I told you, you’ve got the story.’
He looked me up and down and I remembered the state of my clothes. ‘You’ve been earning your money,’ he said.
What money? I thought. I’d seen bloody little of it for the knocks I’d been taking.
‘I’ve got things to tell you,’ De Witt said. ‘I imagine you’d be ready for a drink.’
I looked at my watch. It was almost three o’clock and I’d had nothing to eat since early morning and nothing to drink but coffee since then. ‘I could do with a few drinks and a feed.’
We went to a restaurant where I used the toilet to put on a clean shirt and pants from my bag. I ordered a steak and a bottle of red wine. De Witt had fish and mineral water. He wanted to know about the morning’s events and I filled him in off the record, for now. I was able to concentrate on my food and drink because De Witt had to get up frequently to go outside and smoke. Made me glad I didn’t. I was forking in the last of my chips when he got around to giving me his news.
‘I turned up something interesting on your Matilda Sharpe-Tarleton.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Seems she’s got an interest in a company called Kembla Holdings. That is to say, her real estate firm does.’
‘And what does Kembla Holdings do?’
