The Washington Club

by Peter Corris

  For some people, having their private effects snooped into, letters read, diary perused, is the ultimate betrayal. Noting can repair the damage. My theory is that those who leave things where they can be peeped at want this to happen, at least on one level. It’s a convenient theory for someone in my line of work and helps to account for their over-reaction. Others take it in their stride and Claudia was one of them.

  She grinned at me, probing the gap in her teeth with her tongue. ‘Wouldn’t be much of a detective if you didn’t open the odd drawer, eh? I don’t blame you. I’m a terrible snoop myself. Let me loose in your place and I’d probably . . .’ She heard what she’d said and stopped. Apparently, like me, she was living whatever there was between us out minute by minute and this was the first time she’d looked ahead. A bleak expression spread across her face.

  I wanted to comfort her. To touch her, to tame a few of the wild hair tendrils, to kiss her and feel the jut of those marvellous teeth, but I sat still.

  ‘I thought I might be able to get it doctored to pass muster. Thought about doing a flit,’ she said. ‘Just grabbing all the money I could lay my hands on, getting on a plane to Majorca and pissing off out of all this. It looks like they can’t bring you back from there.’

  They can for murder, I thought, but I didn’t say it. ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘I thought about a woman I knew who was in the witness protection program. New identity and all that. She’d got involved in a quite different legal problem, unrelated to what had gone on before, and it was a mess. Her life was hell and she went mad. I thought of how much worse it would be in a foreign country with fake papers and all that. I made a rational decision not to do it and now I’m glad I did.’

  I was glad as well, but I wondered if our reasons were the same. She reached over and touched the Band-Aid on the back of my hand. ‘We can tell everything to this Leon Stratton, can’t we? We can make Van Kep admit he was lying.’

  ‘There’s a problem. Van Kep might change his story if he knew the guy who threatened him was dead. But I can’t make the connection without admitting that I killed him.’

  ‘It was self-defence. He was a known criminal. He tried to blow you up and he had a shotgun. You had to do it.’

  I shook my head. ‘I didn’t report it. I removed evidence and disposed of it. I’d be up to my balls in trouble.’

  She smiled. The bleak look remained and the effect was disturbing. ‘So it’s you or me?’

  ‘No, I’ll come clean if there’s no other way. I promise you that. But we still don’t know who’s behind all this. That’s the real problem. Van Kep knows there are wheels within wheels. One dead heavy may not be enough to sway him. Besides . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want to know, don’t you?’

  She sipped some more wine and reached for the Washington Club brochure. ‘Yes, of course. But mostly I want to be out of the firing line. What’s this?’

  I was doodling, hatching in around Van Kep’s box. I printed the name of the club in block letters and wrote Katz’s name under it, remembering that I’d seen him arrive as I was leaving. I told Claudia about the club and its gardens but she wasn’t interested.

  ‘I hate gardening. How about you?’

  ‘I’ve got a square yard or two of it at my place and it’s always a mess.’

  She smiled. We were back there again, looking into an uncertain future. She flipped through the brochure. ‘Looks expensive. The sort of place Julius might like except he was violently anti-American. Hated the place, hated even to make money out of it.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Cliff, what do we do next?’

  ‘Contact Stratton first thing in the morning. I’ve got a mobile in the car and then . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  I didn’t answer, I was too busy staring. She had left the brochure open at a page extolling the virtues of the Washington Club’s gym and spa. There was a glossy colour photograph of the changing room, all tiles and teak under discreet lighting, showing a big bank of tall, shiny metal lockers. The locker numbers were twenty centimetres high, printed in white paint. Locker number C20 was centre left in the photo, plain as day.

  23

  Claudia must have thought I’d gone mad. I started slapping pockets, digging in, turning out linings. The key was in the fob pocket of my trousers. I held it up in triumph and almost whooped. I took a gulp of wine and grinned at her.

  ‘So you’ve got a key,’ she said. ‘What does it open?’

  I showed her the brochure and the number on the key. I hadn’t mentioned finding the key at Henderson’s hideaway. Now I did. ‘It’s a connection between Katz and Henderson. Has to be.’

  ‘Come on, Cliff. As soon as you get a reasonable-sized stack of lockers you’re going to get a C20. It stands to reason. Come to think of it, I seem to remember I was C20 back at Fort Street. Or was it D20? Christ, it seems so long ago.’

  Not nearly as long as Maroubra High for me, I thought, but I wasn’t put off. ‘This is the intuitive part of the detective game,’ I said. ‘You might want to call it the feminine part.’

  She smiled. ‘Bullshit. Blarney.’

  I stroked the key. ‘My grandma would say it talked to her. Told her things. That was bullshit if you like. She was just reading all the signs people hold up—I’m rich, I’m poor, I’m happy, I’m a liar . . .’

  ‘And you’ve inherited the talent?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m a rationalist. I get hints, inklings, feelings like everyone does. If they make sense I act on them. If they don’t, I chuck them out with all the other mental garbage. This makes sense. Katz makes sense! What d’you know about him?’

  ‘Next to nothing. I wasn’t privy to Julius’ wheelings and dealings, didn’t want to be. Why does he make sense?’

  ‘Most murders are domestic and corporations are like families these days, aren’t they?’

  She snorted. ‘Not very in this case, I shouldn’t think, more like a despotism. Why would Wilson Katz want to kill Julius?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue and I don’t even need to think about it just now. I’ve got what I think is a link and I’m going to check it out, see what comes.’

  ‘How? You’ve already pretended to be a landscape gardener there. You can’t show up as a plumber wanting to check the toilets in the men’s room.’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’ In truth, I was already thinking of it. I flexed my legs, testing them for age and stiffness.

  ‘You’re not going to break in?’

  ‘No, I’m too old and smart for tricks like that. Would have at one time. I think I’m going to play some tennis.’

  She reached for her cigarettes, stopped herself and drank some wine instead. ‘Tennis! Jesus, I’m facing a murder trial and you’re playing tennis.’

  ‘In the line of duty,’ I said. ‘Let’s go back to bed.’

  ‘I don’t understand you. I don’t know what’s happening here. What . . .’

  I got up, pulled her out of the chair and put my arms around her. I thought I was doing it for her and realised immediately that I was doing it for me as well. Good feeling. We stood there locked together for a full minute without speaking. In my mind I was back in Sydney, back on the job, testing myself, proving myself as always. It’s not something that’s easy to explain, especially to women. Claudia seemed to have some sense of it. She pulled away gently.

  ‘Bed then,’ she said. ‘In the morning I’ll ring the lawyer and go back to town. Is there anything I can do to help you?’

  ‘Anything you can find out about Wilson Katz would be useful.’

  ‘I don’t think . . . Hold on. Julius had his books somewhere. Awful self-help sorts of things. Julius laughed about them, rather unpleasantly.’

  ‘I’d like to see them.’

  ‘They’re in Vaucluse. I could go there and get them. There’s other stuff I should look through. I should put in an appearance over there anyway, or peop
le’ll forget the horrible place is mine, sort of. That’d give me something to do at least, while you’re off being mysterious.’

  ‘We should see Stratton together, then I could drive you to Vaucluse and collect you later.’

  That left it very open where she would spend the night and neither of us wanted to close anything down. What we’d mapped out was far enough to look ahead. I corked up the rest of the wine, she emptied the ashtray and we went to bed. It was cooler now and she pulled a light cover up over us as we lay close together in the middle of the bed.

  ‘If I lie on my back I’ll snore,’ I said.

  She laughed, let out a monstrous snore and wriggled away. I rolled onto my side. We’d left lights on in the other rooms and the bedroom wasn’t in complete darkness. The last thing I was conscious of before I fell asleep was the outline of my holstered pistol on a chair near the bed.

  The Nissan was undisturbed and the mobile phone worked. I made a series of calls, including one to Pete Marinos advising Gatellari of where Claudia would be later in the day. She looked as if she’d like to protest but didn’t. The other calls seemed to amuse her.

  The final call was to Cy’s office. Leon Stratton would see us as soon as we got to the city. We didn’t talk much on the drive. Claudia was mildly interested in the fact that she’d been followed and reported on, but no more than that.

  ‘I’m getting used to it,’ she said. ‘I’ve just realised that there’s a lot of it going on. As soon as you do or say anything that lifts your head out of the shell, antennae pop up everywhere.’

  ‘I suppose so. Trouble is they’re watching the wrong people a lot of the time.’

  ‘You’re thinking about Wilson Katz.’

  ‘I am. Did he ever make a pass at you, anything like that?’

  ‘Hard to say.’

  I was negotiating the bends south of Avalon and couldn’t look at her. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘He’s on the make all the time. There was so much happening back there I couldn’t think straight, but I remember now. His nickname was Tom—“Tom Cat”. He had a reputation for screwing every willing female he met. I wasn’t willing but he held up the sign just the same. I think it was just a matter of habit with him.’

  The Sackville chambers weren’t exactly gloomy, too busy for that, but you got the sense that something was missing and that the place was waiting for a new style to evolve or impose itself. Leon Stratton was a tall, fair-headed character with blue eyes and white teeth. He seemed to be smart and energetic, which is what you want in a lawyer. He was very well up on the Fleischman case but this came out in his responses to what Claudia and I had to say rather than as something he advertised. Impressive. I told him about my interview with Van Kep. He listened closely, then shook his head.

  ‘Quite unusable, of course, Duress, intimidation, all that. Not that I’m saying you didn’t handle it well, but I can’t see any way for us to apply pressure for him to change his story.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘And Van Kep would know that. He’s flaky, won’t be a good witness for the other side, but he’s more scared of whoever threatened him than of a perjury charge and he’ll hold up, more or less. Still, what I’ve said should help to convince you that Mrs Fleischman had nothing to do with her husband’s death.’

  He didn’t respond to that and Claudia and I exchanged looks. Of course it was more complicated than I was prepared to let Stratton know at this point. Even if Van Kep learned that the actual threatener was dead he was still likely to stick to his story just in case and to avoid a perjury charge. All I had were indications of a conspiracy to frame Claudia and not a shred of solid proof. I told Stratton about my meeting with Judith Daniels.

  ‘Not so good,’ he said. ‘How will she go in court?’

  I thought about the woman’s impressive profile and figure, her style. ‘Just fine, if she’s sober, and there’s no reason to think she won’t be.’

  ‘Quite. Well, there may be a way to discredit her—if she’s had treatment and so on. But the first thing to do is get the trial date put off and an extension of Mrs Fleischman’s bail. Shouldn’t be any problem about that, given the circumstances. Then I suppose I can open talks with the other side, see if they’re willing to give a little . . .’

  ‘No,’ Claudia snapped. ‘No deals. I didn’t do this and I won’t be punished for it.’

  Stratton pursed his lips and suddenly looked less boyish and handsome. I could see him some years down the track with jowls from too many business lunches and thinning hair. He was a deal-maker, no doubt a shrewd and advantage-seizing one, but not a fighter. Claudia had a head of steam up. I sensed that she’d taken a dislike to Stratton. The strategy he’d proposed for dealing with Judith hadn’t gone down well. But this was dangerous. At this point, we needed his level-keel approach.

  ‘I’m pursuing some lines of enquiry,’ I said quickly. ‘I think they’re promising and may . . . open this whole matter out. Do I have your authority to proceed?’

  That put the ball right on the service line in Stratton’s court. He was smart enough to see that he could lose the brief if he followed the line of least resistance, and he’d have known that Cy would’ve backed me all, or almost all, of the way. Was he about to break ranks with the revered boss not yet buried? Not his style. He smiled, showing the great teeth and made a note on a pad, showing his keen mind. Although there wasn’t an ashtray in sight, Claudia flicked out a Salem and lit it. A look of annoyance crossed Stratton’s face before he smoothed it away. He was discomforted though—he didn’t have an ashtray, possibly about the only client comforter he didn’t have, and he had no idea of what to do about it.

  ‘Of course, Mr Hardy. You have carte-blanche, subject to the usual restrictions.’

  ‘Good. I can get a cheque from Janine?’

  ‘Have you submitted a progress report?’

  ‘Cy just wanted a final report.’

  He nodded. He was itching to say something like ‘Things are going to change around here,’ but he didn’t. All three of us exchanged nods and we left the office, Claudia nursing the long ash on her cigarette. She dropped it in a pot-plant immediately outside the door and turned to me, smiling that great, toothy smile.

  ‘What a prick,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. But we need him for the time being.’

  ‘He thinks I did it!’

  I shook my head and took hold of her arm. She was wearing a collarless white cotton shirt, loose black trousers and medium heels. I wasn’t trying to steer her in any direction, I just wanted to touch her and a hand on the arm is about as much as you can do in legal chambers. ‘Worse than that. I don’t think he cares who did it. He just wants to win, but a win for him, as he sees it, could mean five years or so in gaol for you.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Fucking right, no.’

  We moved away from Stratton’s door down a corridor, past the rooms of Cy’s other associates and partners to the general office area where three or four people worked at telephones, word-processors and photocopy machines. Miss Mudlark saw us and I steered Claudia over to her.

  ‘The funeral’s tomorrow, Mr Hardy,’ she said.

  ‘I know. I’ll be there.’

  Miss Mudlark looked somewhat drowned. Her brown hair was lifeless and lying flat on her round skull and the shine had gone out of the brown eyes. She looked at Claudia briefly then looked away. I could read her thoughts: It’s because of you he’s dead. But I still didn’t know whether or not that was true.

  We went to the lifts and waited.

  ‘I thought you were going to get a cheque from her?’ Claudia said.

  ‘I was just needling him, the way you did with the cigarette.’

  She smiled. ‘I like you.’

  ‘I like it that you do.’

  24

  I pointed the 4WD towards Vaucluse where it would have lots of mates—Land Cruisers and Pajeros with unscratched duco. Claudia was tense beside me. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
/>
  ‘I’m sure. Yes. I don’t care if the staff think I killed Julius. Bugger them. The place is mine until someone takes it off me. Bugger them!’ I could feel her whipping herself up and I didn’t discourage it. Wandering around in a joint like that where the gardener and the housekeeper thought you were a murderer and where the only memories were bad ones would take some nerve.

  She laughed. ‘Think I’ll have a swim. The pool was the only really good thing about the horrible place. I’m a good swimmer, came third in the state under-18 breast stroke. How about you?’

  ‘I’m not much of a breast stroker.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘I used to surf a bit when I was young. Should have joined the life-savers and all that but I wasn’t public-spirited enough. And I didn’t like marching. Funny thing is, I went into the army for a few years a bit later.’

  We talked background until I drew up at the gates to the Fleischman residence. The sun was high and hot and a swim sounded like a good idea, but not for me here, not today. Claudia reached across and squeezed my arm.

  ‘I’ll be all right, Cliff. I’ll stay here for a while. Might even stay the night or I might go to Kirribilli. I’ve got your numbers. I’ll let you know.’

  ‘What’s the number here?’

  She told me and I wrote it down. ‘If you stay, I’d like you to let a man named Gatellari come in. You heard me talk about him earlier. He’s good and he wouldn’t get in your way. There must be about a dozen guest rooms in that place.’

  From where we were you couldn’t get much of an idea of the size of the house and she looked at me curiously.

  ‘How d’you know that?’

  ‘I scouted around here a few days ago.’

  She squeezed again. ‘My very own detective. Talk to you later.’

  She climbed down, opened the back door, pulled out her overnight bag and walked towards the gate. I watched her easy, graceful stride and the way she stood. Straight back. Swimmer’s shoulders. She spoke into the intercom and waited before pushing the gate open. A quick wave and she was through and tramping up the drive. Despite myself I couldn’t help thinking that she still had her old passport with her. For detective read suspicious and mistrustful, also bloody near exhausted. Driving, love-making, talking to lawyers and getting very little sleep as a combination isn’t recommended for the almost-fifty brigade. My days in the Maroubra surf, when I could stay on a board for hours waiting for a wave and ride in one after another, paddling straight back out for more, were long behind me. Besides, I had to save my strength for a funeral and tennis.