The Reward ch-21

by Peter Corris

  Jesus, she said. Oh, Jesus.

  I said nothing, just clung to her and struggled against a mad impulse to weep and-laugh at the same time. I could feel myself shaking and she pushed back against me.

  Cliff, whats wrong? Are you having some kind of fit?

  No, no. It was just so good. So good.

  She rolled away; the condom had come free and semen or lubricant or both was on her thigh. She stood beside the bed smiling down at me. She had pulled the cover off and the top sheet down before we started, now she lifted the sheet up over me and shoved a pillow under my head. She unhooked her bra. Her large brown nipples were erect and I reached out to touch the nearest one.

  She slapped my hand away. Enough. Have a little sleep, why dont you. Im taking a shower.

  My body was hot and the pillow and sheets were cool. I was weightless, floating, and I was asleep before she got her stockings off.

  When I woke up she was sitting at the end of the bed looking at me. She was wearing a floor-length white satin robe, modestly closed across her chest. Its an odd feeling to wake up with someone watching you. Did you dribble or say something you shouldnt have? I must have looked troubled.

  Why are you looking like that? she said.

  Like what?

  There was a sort of angry look on your face.

  I dunno. I sort of thought how vulnerable a sleeping person is to one whos awake.

  She laughed. Jesus, thats paranoia if ever I heard it. I suppose it goes with the job. Makes it a bit hard on your women, though.

  Youre right there. Im not good at hanging on to women, or theyre not good at hanging on to me. I suppose trust has something to do with it.

  Well see. Where dyou want to go from here, Cliff?

  On, I said.

  Me, too. She crawled along the bed to me and I reached for her and we lay with our arms around each other. She smelled of shampoo and I stroked the fine, strong white hair.

  Wondering about that? she said.

  A bit, but I like it. Its beautiful hair.

  Its one of those things you read about but it actually happened to me. I had red hair, well, dark red. I was in a car crash once. Not too serious, cuts and bruises and concussion, but I saw what was going to happen before it did and got the fright of my life. My hair turned white while I was in the hospital. Not overnight, but over a couple of weeks. I dyed it for years but now I like it this way. You dont think it makes me look old?

  Couldnt.

  Thank you. Well, weve made some progress. Were great in bed, and we both like curry. I wonder what else we might be able to do together?

  Travel, maybe?

  Thats a thought. Where?

  Paris?

  Jesus, this is speeding up. What…?

  Id looked at my watch on the bedside table. It was after five. It felt as if Id had ten minutes sleep and it was more like a couple of hours. I moved in the bed and she detached herself.

  Im sorry, I said. I have to see someone pretty soon.

  She patted my shoulder. Thats OK. Who?

  Ramona Becketts mother.

  Well, thatll be interesting for you. What… never mind.

  Go on.

  I was going to ask you what line youd take with her, but its none of my business. I just wish I had something as interesting as that to do myself, instead of just waiting for this bloody settlement to come through. She jackknifed off the bed like a gymnast. Youd better have a shower. Cant go calling on an elderly lady smelling like that.

  I showered and dressed. She had a bottle of white wine open when I came out to the living room and she put a glass in front of me. Tell you what. Give me that picture you had and Ill ask around about him. I know how this place works.

  I was doubtful but I took out the photo. What will you say?

  What would you have said?

  Itd depend on who I was talking to.

  Well, likewise. Anyway, the security in this place is so tight youd get nowhere. Do you realise our keys only allow us to access our own floors and the roof? Thats where the pool and spa and saunas are. And the gym. At least I can ask around in the lifts and the public spaces.

  I handed the photo to her. OK, thanks. That could be a big help, but you have to promise you wont follow it up if you get a bite.

  No way. Ill just tell you next time we meet, which will be when?

  Tomorrow.

  Yes. Can I come to your office? Youve invaded my inner sanctum, I wanna get a look at yours.

  We agreed to meet there at noon. I finished the drink. We stood up simultaneously and kissed.

  I wouldve called you, Cliff, she said. Just about now.

  12

  Wollstonecraft is not that far from Glebe as the shark swims, but its a million miles away in atmosphere and economics. I got out of the car to walk about, kill a few minutes and take in the ambience. The first thing that struck me was the quiet. A few cars purred by but otherwise the only sounds were from birds in the trees and garden sprinkler systems. A telephone booth I passed held a full set of intact directoriesWhite and Yellow Pages.

  As I negotiated my way to the Beckett house I reflected that the middle classes have apparently held out here against change. Their big houses still sit on big blocks with high fences and hedges. No granny flats and subdivisions. Apartment buildings have gone up, particularly near the railway station, but they were all solid and gracious, like the houseshigh-rent places, not likely to attract anyone who might let down the tone. The migrant influx must have had an affect on the commercial life of the suburb, but my guess was that it hadnt changed the domestic patterns. The word Waterloo was sculptured into a hedge. Thatd be right, I thought, Anglophilesd be thick on the ground around here. I wondered how Gabriella Vargas had fitted in. She mustve liked it, hadnt moved.

  The house was probably the best one in the best street, a cul-de-sac with bushy parkland along one side and at the bottom. It looked out across a stretch of reserve towards Balls Head Bay. Behind the three-metre hedge I could see the top levels of the elegant sandstone mansion and the word villa came to mind. On a good day youd have a great view of the yachts on the water from up there and be breathing air that would have less lead, carbon monoxide and other poisons in it than that inhaled by most Sydney residents. There were only two cars in the street, visitors, obviously. Here, you drove through your gates and tucked your Merc up snugly for the night in your garage or car port. I checked my watch. Six-twenty. She didnt like people being late. I wondered how she felt about early.

  I pressed a button on the gatepost, announced myself and pushed the gate open after the click. The front garden was a nice blend of paving stones, grass, shrubs and flower beds. There were a couple of benches situated where shade would fall at the right times of day. I went up three sandstone steps to the wide front porch and pressed another button, plenty of index-finger exercise in this neck of the woods. The door was opened by a small woman in a dark dress with a white collar. In the old days shed have been able to take my hat, cane and gloves, now she just had to show me to the room where Cavendish and Mrs Beckett were waiting. I was still six minutes early.

  Drapes were drawn against the still strong outside light and the room was gloomy. An eye injury I suffered a few years back has slowed down my ability to adapt from light to dark. Id have to be careful not to bump into the furniture. Cavendish stood beside a chair in which Gabriella Beckett sat. It was hard to see her clearly in the poor light. Perhaps that was the idea, but I got an impression of great beauty and great sadness. As I got closer I could see that her skin was dark and drawn tight over high cheekbones. Her nose was slightly hooked and her eyes were deeply sunk or maybe only seemed that way because of the nose. Her hair was white with a creamy tinge. She wore a black lace dress with long sleeves; she looked to be tallish, but if she weighed fifty kilos thatd be all.

  Good evening, Mr Hardy, she said. Her voice was slightly accented, hitting the middle syllables.

  Mrs Beckett. Good of you to see me. I nodded a
t Cavendish.

  Lets make this brief, Hardy. Mrs Beckett isnt well.

  Im sorry to hear that. Apart from being too thin she looked fine to me. I struggled to see a resemblance to Ramona but it was too long ago for me to have a clear picture.

  Please sit down, Mr Hardy. I understand you have certain information about the circumstances surrounding my daughters disappearance.

  I sat in one of the rather severe chairs arranged around a low table in the middle of the room. I was only two metres away from her now and fancied I could see what old Josh had gone for. Almost old, she was striking, when young she must have been stunning.

  Thats right. And certain questions. I wanted to cut Cavendish out of the exchange as much as possible and the easiest way to do it was to refer to him as if he wasnt there. It sometimes works. Has Mr Cavendish briefed you?

  Partly. Im hoping you can be more frank with me than you were with him.

  Cavendish moved away from her chair and sat across from us where he could observe her perfect profile and my battered one. I couldnt see any reason not to tell her what I was about and I did. Having told it all to Claudia just recently, I could lay it out succinctly. I didnt mention Barry Whites murder though.

  Its possible, she said.

  Cavendish leaned forward. Gabriella…

  She fended him off with an imperiously raised forefinger. Sean and Estelle both hated Ramona. She gave them reason. She was far more attractive and much more intelligent than they. Her father adored her, of course. She was a difficult child and, I have been led to believe, a dangerous woman. But she was interesting, unlike the other two.

  It all sounded a bit clinical to be coming from a grieving mother, but then, it was a long time ago. Are you saying its possible one or both of them could have worked with the investigating officer to repress a ransom note and so cause Ramonas death?

  She shook her head slightly, not enough to disarrange the creamy white hair. No. They certainly wouldnt have acted together. They dislike each other almost as much as they hated Ramona. Wallace mentioned your question about the police and it set me thinking. Sean and Sergeant Hawkins were similar typesbeer and horses men. Sean lacked courage but the policeman may have supported him.

  Estelle?

  The corners of her mouth turned down. Far too stupid to do anything beyond check a hem length and advise on a flounce. I have to say that her success in the fashion business just proves what mindless nonsense it all is.

  What does Sean do now?

  Hes on the board of four of his fathers companies and owns stock in them and others. He draws massive fees and dividends and does nothing to earn them.

  Cavendish was shaking his head but she ignored him as I had hoped she would. I said, But you dont know anything that points directly to Sean being involved?

  For the first time she began to look tired and I was able to believe that perhaps her health wasnt good. She clasped and unclasped her long fingers and worked at the thin wedding ring. No, nothing, she said. But Sean bitterly opposed the announcement of a reward. He even argued with his father about it, something he almost never did. Of course, Joshua won. He always won. Always.

  There were things to explore here, but Cavendish had had all he could take of being cut out. He stood and towered over us both. I think thats enough, Hardy. Youve covered the ground you said you wanted to explore. Enough.

  Wallace tells me that you are a capable man, Mr Hardy. With a reputation for violence and honesty. Thats an unusual combination. Ramona combined unusual elements in her character, too. Perhaps you are the person to unravel the mystery.

  The sadness was stronger in her now than the beauty and I got up slowly, more in response to that than to Cavendishs bluster. She held out her hand and I took it. It was cold and I could feel the bones in her fingers. Learn all you can, Mr Hardy. I still want to know what happened to my child.

  Cavendish escorted me to the door and came through it with me. He waved the servant off and stayed beside me on the longish walk to the front door, which he opened with an easy familiarity.

  Looks like Id better have a word or two with Sean, I said. I dont suppose youd facilitate that as well?

  Cavendish shook his head. I think you should drop it altogether.

  Whys that?

  For Gabriellas sake.

  I think she wants me to pursue it.

  Youre trading on an old womans vulnerability.

  I wanted to hit him. The words had tripped off his tongue so easily. I couldnt have come up with such a glib phrase, but I felt sure that it described precisely what he was doing. Shes not so old, I said. And I dont think shes all that vulnerable.

  You dont know her, he said. His body language tried to ease me through the open door but I resisted.

  Thats the funny thing, I said. I almost feel as if I do.

  What do you mean?

  I dont know.

  Look, Hardy. You may have given her something to latch onto for a while. But its a fantasy and you know it. If you would agree to let all this fade away quietly I could be of some help to you. Not to put too fine a point upon it, I could perhaps put some remunerative work your way.

  I looked at him. He was overdressed for the day and sweating slightly, but not only because of the suit. His hair stuck to his skull, his face was redder than it had been, and he looked agitated. I took two quick steps away and left him in exactly that state, feeling that the interview had really been quite productive. I took a quick look back at the house before I opened the front gate. Cavendish still stood in the open doorway and he was talking into a mobile phone.

  I drove down the cul-de-sac, intending to make a turn and come back. I was committed to this before I noticed the two cars that had cruised up behind me, forming a solid block across the road. They were four-wheel drives with bullbars, the right vehicles for the job and they jammed me against the gutter at the bottom of the street. Two men got out of the blue Land Cruiser and a third from the red Pajero with silver mudflaps. They werent there to discuss insurance or bring me to Jesus. The guy from the Pajero carried an aluminium baseball bat and the others just had their chests and shoulders and that looked like enough. I reached under the seat as I got out and grabbed the length of lead pipe Id acquired when the tribunal that had returned my PEA licence added the proviso that I was not to carry a firearm. Id wound red insulating tape around the pipe to give it a grip and a serious look, but right then Id have preferred my Smith amp; Wesson. 38.

  They knew their business. One of them circled around to cut off a dash into the park and the others pressed forward, herding me towards the edge of the reserve where the trees cast deep shadows. If I retreated. I stood my ground for a second or two and then moved up to the nearest of the 4WDs, using it to protect my back.

  Wont help you, Hardy, the bat man said. He was medium-sized, compact, a dangerous middleweight.

  I glanced up the street. No help from that direction. The trees in the gardens of the big houses blocked any view of this spot.

  I swung the pipe. I can put a dint in that toy of yours though, and in your fucking skull if you get close enough.

  Tough talk.

  Lets try it.

  His jaws were moving rhythmically as he chewed gum. I dont think so.

  He raised the bat and I reacted, tightening my grip on the pipe, but it was only a feint. He flicked the bat from one hand to another. I knew enough about this sort of thing not to watch, to look for something else, but I was too slow. I was aware of a sweeping movement to my left, a throw. I tried to duck but something heavy and hard caught me above the left ear and I went down in a heap. I kept my grip on the pipe though and when a leg came into my field of very blurred vision, I swung at it and felt a satisfying crunch.

  You cunt!

  A boot crashed into my elbow and the pipe was gone. The bat landed close to where the thrown object had and I felt sick in the head and stomach and legs. I could feel blood dripping down the side of my face.

  Easy, a
voice said.

  I was face-down and going under and couldnt turn to look, but the kick to the ribs didnt seem to be in response to the command. Neither did the next kick on the other side or the next thump to the head. I had a sudden, irrational fear for my expensive dental work, but I neednt have worried. The next pain I felt was in my scalp. A hand was gripping my hair and lifting my head up. I smelt Juicy Fruit.

  A taste, Hardy. Just a taste. Give it up!

  I scarcely felt the next blow that blotted out all light and sound and feeling.

  13

  Sweat running into the corners of my eyes and stinging woke me up. I blinked and the stinging got worse, then receded. I was sitting in the passenger seat of my car outside my house. It was 8.33 on the car clock and dark. My head throbbed and I was soaked with sweat the way my diabetic mother sometimes got when she took too much insulin or didnt eat. I could remember her dress being wringing wet as we helped her out of a chair and my father took her into the bathroom. She smelt of gin or sherry or both and shed murmur about how sorry she was. I was sorry myself, but I was sober. The sweating was a reaction to what I was pretty sure was concussion.

  My throat felt as dry and rough as a sheet of bark and I wanted water badly enough to make me consider moving. I turned my head slightly and the pain shifted around a bit but didnt get worse. I put my hands on the dashboard and my ribs on both sides screamed but no bones grated. I became aware that the steering lock was on and that my car keys were in my lap. I moved my feet and felt something on the floor. Slowly I reached down for it and the keys fell. I picked them up and scrabbled for whatever it was Id felt. My fingers touched the taped grip of the pipe and I lifted it. That was easy to do in the confined space because it had been bent into a rough circle. Nice touch.

  Getting out of the car wasnt too hard. Standing up was harder but do-able. The first step felt like it does when youve been in bed for days with the flunot quite real, the ground spongy underfoot. I pushed off from the car and let the door swing closed. The sound it made bounced around inside my skull like a stone in a hubcap. I rested at the gate for a bit, then used the low brick fence to grope my way up the path to the front door. Drunk again, anyone watching might have said, but that would have been very unfair. I couldnt remember the last time booze had made me feel this bad. I made it inside, turning on lights and shutting my eyes against them, and back to the kitchen where I drank three big glasses of water, one after another.