The Washington Club

by Peter Corris

  They found no fingerprints on the rifle itself but they did find a couple of Henderson’s latents on a spare magazine and a silencer. The rifle and the bullets that killed Fleischman and Cy Sackville matched up, so my story got a certain amount of confirmation. I handed over the blast grenade bits and pieces, which convinced them it was Haitch who’d tried to blow my legs off. I showed them where I’d dropped the Colt in the Cooks River. They dragged for it, didn’t find it. Still, and despite Frank Parker’s best efforts, this cooperation wasn’t enough to prevent me from being charged with a range of crimes—manslaughter of Haitch Henderson, abduction of his son, withholding and destruction of evidence. The more gung-ho cops wanted to charge me for Rattray and Katz but the ballistic evidence was all against them.

  I got a solicitor—Viv Garner who’d done his articles under Neville Wran. I thought he’d know a few tricks and he did. He had an office in Balmain near the London Hotel and we had quite a few sessions there on the balcony along with Senor Corona, Herr Heineken and Mr Guinness. The upshot was that I lost my PEA licence—no surprise. The manslaughter charge was dropped and I was convicted for illegal restraint and on the charges relating to destroying evidence of crimes. I was sentenced to a fine of five thousand dollars and three months’ gaol. Viv wanted to appeal but I talked him out of it. Frank had guaranteed me minimum security in Berrima where there was a tennis court and a decent library.

  ‘Three months tennis with no grog,’ Frank said after they’d taken me down and given him a few private moments with an old mate. ‘Make a new man of you.’

  It was somewhere between easy time and hard time, more hard than easy. In good weather I was on garden duty, cutting grass with an ancient mower and weeding without gloves or a hat. The food was boring and the company was mostly the same, relieved by an occasional obsessive—a computer nut, a flat-earther. I missed my daily alcohol ration but I lost weight. That was the only benefit. When it rained I did some interior stripping and painting and suffered allergic reactions so that they took me off it. There was too much cell time, too many inspections, too many minor assaults on your dignity. I tried to cope by reading. I got halfway through Poor Fellow My Country, further than ever before, until I surrendered.

  Viv Garner’s visits helped to break the monotony and kept me in touch with the loose strings. The auditors got to work on the Fleischman finance records but they ran into brick walls at every turn. Katz had spirited the assets away somewhere and creditors were hurting, but the funds had disappeared like Lord Lucan.

  Van Kep admitted his perjury and went to prison for it. He was glad to be out from under the Henderson threat and to keep his secret safe from his old mum. As a result, the charges against Claudia were dropped and she stood to inherit a chunk of whatever of her husband’s assets remained visible and protected from the corporate failure. Not much. Judith Daniels’ share wouldn’t keep her in gin for long. The lawyers paid me a handsome fee, a lot of which went in the fine. It caused me pain that Cy’s name, but not his signature, was on the cheque.

  I spent some time with Claudia before going to Berrima but the relationship had no future. She had fallen under the influence of Ruth Goldman and was taking religious instruction from her rabbi with a view to playing an active part in Jewish community affairs. The last time we met we almost literally could not think of anything to say to each other. I felt angry and ill-used but I still burned her father’s journal.

  After I got out I made enquiries about the restitution of my PEA licence. I was told it was possible but there were many hurdles to jump and hoops to go through. I put Viv Garner on the case and so far progress is slow. I spent some of what remained of the fee on repairs to the house but when one thing led inevitably to another and then on to yet more scraping and restoring, I called a halt. Most of the walls stayed dry through a March wet spell—a big improvement. I collected the NRMA insurance money and one of my major concerns right now is finding another Falcon.