by Peter Corris
‘Easy,’ he said. ‘I’m not armed. Rod Templeton, Central Coast Serious Crimes, undercover.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘It’s true,’ Kristine Tanner said.
‘He’s convinced you. Let’s see him convince me.’
‘I can give you some names and numbers.’
‘Okay.’
He rattled off three names. One I knew, Ted Power; he’d worked with Frank Parker, my friend who’d retired as a deputy commissioner of police a few years ago. I knew Power had worked undercover in his time and was very likely to be in a supervisory role in that shadowy world now.
I put the .38 on top of the TV. ‘I’ll check with Ted later. Might as well hear your story now, for what it’s worth.’
‘You won’t believe him,’ Kristine Tanner said.
‘I might. We’ll see. At least I’m willing to listen. Sit down, Ms Tanner, and Rog ... or Rod, why don’t you bring a chair in from outside.’
He knew I was testing him all the way—provisional about believing him and giving him instructions. He handled it well, shot a quick nod to the woman, opened the door, grabbed a plastic chair and brought it in.
I opened the mini-bar and offered one of the little bottles of gin to Kristine, who glanced at her companion and shook her head. I tossed a can of VB to him and picked up my can.
‘Let’s hear it,’ I said.
~ * ~
It wasn’t surprising to learn that the Tanners were a major preoccupation of the Central Coast Serious Crimes unit. The father and sons and several cousins were involved in much of the criminal activity over a wide area stretching up towards the Northern Rivers district, west to Orange and south towards Sydney. They were into drug importation and distribution, armed holdup, protection rackets and a lot more. In fact the criminality had extended back two generations and, while several members of the extended family had served gaol sentences, the Tanners had enjoyed what looked like a charmed life,
‘Mainly due to police corruption,’ Templeton said. ‘But that’s changed lately and they’re under pressure. And when crims come under pressure things tend to happen. You can’t provide something, you can’t protect someone, you can’t settle a dispute. Cracks appear. You’d be aware of that, Hardy.’
I was, and with every word he spoke I was more convinced he was the genuine article.
Templeton went on, ‘Hector and Joseph are in trouble. There’s no green light, not even yellow, and funds are drying up. They badly need that buried money.’
‘What about Jobe?’ I said.
Kristine said, ‘That’s part of what’s happening. Dad’s old and he’s got religion. He was baptised a Catholic and it’s sort of come back to nag at him.’
I finished my beer. ‘Bit late from what I’m told and from what I’ve just heard.’
She looked distressed, almost out of her depth. ‘Catholics can be forgiven.’
‘Jobe knows the old days are gone,’ Templeton said. ‘Hector and Joseph, him particularly, either can’t see it or don’t want to. Jobe’s trying to ease out of all the crooked connections— the drugs, the payoffs, the money-laundering scams through the clubs. He’s trying to keep himself out of gaol and protect Kristie and save Hector and Joseph from themselves.’
‘Big ask,’ I said.
Templeton hadn’t opened his can. He put it on the floor. ‘When I said cracks are appearing, I meant it. It was much too easy for me to get on the strength with them. I had the mocked-up credentials all right, but if they’d really checked properly they’d have backed off
‘Still might,’ I said.
Kristine looked alarmed but Templeton shook his head. ‘No, they’re feeling the heat. A few of their heavies have sloped off to other parts.’
I rubbed the arm where he’d hit me. ‘You’re convincing.’
‘I had to let them make the play.’
‘So what do you want me to do? Always supposing I believe all of this.’
Kristine looked tired and stressed. ‘Like I said, don’t tell bloody Johnnie that Hector and Joseph are on his side.’
Templeton shook his head. ‘This is where Kristie and I think differently.’
‘What is it between you two?’
Kristine’s attitude to him, in her looks and body language, which had been wholly supportive, was now half accusatory, half submissive.
Templeton clasped and unclasped his big hands. ‘Look, Kristie came to us with the story, about Twizell and the money and everything. It made sense.’
‘So the money’s real?’
‘We think it is.’
‘You think.’
‘There’s been a rumour around for a while that a big shipment of cash being sent from a finance company to who knows where went missing. The word is that it was an inside job and the security firm hushed everything up and wore it, because they had a huge contract about to come their way and didn’t want any black marks on their record.’
‘What about the people who took the money?’
Templeton shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
They hadn’t answered my question about their relationship but it wasn’t too hard to work out by this point. The undercover guy and the informant fall in love. It happens.
‘So,’ I said, looking at Templeton, ‘what do you want me to do?’
‘Go along with what Hector’s asking you to do.’
They’d obviously had this out before because Kristine’s voice was resigned. ‘If Hec and Joseph get their hands on that money they’ll bugger up everything Dad’s trying to do. They’ll finance a bloody crime wave.’
‘You know Twizell’s got a parole hearing next week?’
Kristine looked alarmed. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’
‘He won’t pass it,’ Templeton said. ‘They never get anything out of the first hearing and we can delay the next one if we have to.’
Well, I knew something he didn’t know.
Templeton went on, ‘We won’t let them do what Kristie says. They’ve already started to borrow money and make promises to people you don’t break promises to. If they think they’re close to getting the money, they’ll get themselves in deeper. When they don’t get it, and everyone knows they haven’t got it, they’ll be finished.’
‘Ms Tanner,’ I said, ‘have you got a deal with the police about your father?’
‘She has,’ Templeton said.
I looked at Kristine. She nodded. ‘Rod’s way’s safer for Dad and for me.’
Templeton picked up his beer can and lifted the tab. ‘It’s safer all round.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ I said. ‘From what I’ve seen of undercover cops they don’t always know themselves what side they’re on.’
‘I know,’ Templeton said.
~ * ~
11
Templeton explained that the way the brothers had taken him on as a driver-cum-heavy indicated how much pressure they were under. He said the police had arrested the man they were using and it hadn’t taken long for Templeton, hanging around with attitude and a fake criminal record, to be recruited.
‘You’re playing a dangerous game,’ I said, ‘you and Ms Tanner.’
‘Stop calling me Ms Tanner, for God’s sake. Makes me sound like some old maid.’
‘We know that,’ Templeton said, ‘but if things work out right…’
I couldn’t see it happening but hope has its place. The Twizell case had never seemed completely straightforward and now there were a lot of balls in the air, perhaps too many. But I couldn’t back out. The Tanner threat was real enough. Going along with them would put that on hold for now and was worth doing on that account. And I still had work to do to earn my fee from Wakefield. I said I’d think it over and let them know. Templeton helped Kristine into her coat and we all exchanged mobile numbers.
‘By the way,’ I said, ‘do either of you know anything about a private detective named Pete McKnight being killed in Newcastle last night?’
‘Heard it on
the news,’ Templeton said. ‘I don’t know anything more. I could keep my ears open. Friend of yours?’
‘No, a friend of Kristine’s brothers, or at least working with them.’
‘They don’t have any friends,’ Kristine said. ‘Just each other, and not always that.’
They left. I heard two engines start. At least they weren’t travelling around together. From what I’d heard about the Tanners having eyes and ears far and wide, that would’ve been fatal. Dangerous enough as it was, but perhaps less so if the Tanner influence was waning. Templeton struck me as knowing what he was doing, but love is blind. Was he in love?
I tidied up a bit and was getting ready to go to bed when my mobile rang.
‘Mr Hardy, this is Courtenay Braithwaite. Your client, Professor Wakefield, has asked me to make some recommendations to Corrective Services about Twizell.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m inclined to do it. I didn’t tell you, but I always felt there was something odd about the whole matter.’
‘Odd?’
‘As if the whole story hadn’t been told.’
‘Is it ever?’
‘Sometimes. Anyway, you can tell Twizell I’ll do what I can.’
~ * ~
‘What does that mean,’ Twizell said, ‘he’ll do what he can?’
‘I don’t know—talk to the right people, email them ... Are you behaving yourself these days?’
‘I’m a fucking choirboy.’ He laughed. ‘Hey, you know what I mean.’
It was the first sign of humour I’d seen from him. The little hint of good news seemed to have improved his mood out of all proportion. It’s like that in prison, no matter how long or short the sentence—you inflate the smallest flicker of hope, particularly if it carries the promise of getting out.
The guard by the door wasn’t paying us much attention, but I lowered my voice and leaned forward. ‘I’ve got another message—from the Tanner brothers.’
He’d been affecting a lazy, relaxed demeanour but that galvanised him. He straightened up and drew in a deep breath.
‘Those cunts. What’re you doing talking to them?’
‘I didn’t want to. They grabbed me in the car park here.’
He sneered. ‘Grabbed you? Thought you were supposed to be tough.’
‘Three men, confined space. Bad odds, and then they applied some pressure I’m not in a position to resist. Not just yet. D’you want to hear what they had to say?’
The good humour had vanished. ‘Yeah.’
I’d made my decision: I was going with the scenario Templeton had sketched. ‘I don’t understand it,’ I said, ‘but they say they want to let bygones be bygones and that they’ll protect you when you go for the money.’
His eyes got a faraway look as if he was envisaging scenes and conversations in the distant or not so distant future. He glanced at the guard, who gave him a hostile stare in return.
‘That’s something to chew on,’ he said with the faraway look back in place.
I waved my hand in front of him to get his attention. ‘Back to the business in hand, my client’s matter. He’s come some of the way towards you.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
Clearly the Tanners’ message had claimed top place on his agenda. If he had hopes of the Tanners they’d be balanced by misgivings, but a couple of million dollars would draw the focus of most people.
The guard looked up at the clock. Not long to go.
‘The Tanners’d rob their grandmothers,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t mind talking to them. You get a day release organised and we could do that.’
‘It’d be closely supervised.’
‘There’s ways. I have to thank you, Hardy, although I’m sure you’re a bastard at heart. You’ve given me something to think about apart from counting the fucking days and weeks and months.’
‘So glad,’ I said. ‘Now how about my business?’
‘Yeah, there was a family Bible and all sorts of letters and shit. Talk to Kristie, she knows more about it than me.’
I’d learned something of this from Kristine but it wasn’t the time to say so. ‘How come?’
‘We’re related, third cousins twice removed or some such shit. My grandma and hers were sisters, I think, or cousins. Anyway, she’s the one who knows about the family history.’
He realised what he’d said and covered his face with his hands. ‘Jesus, I’ve blown it. Your bloke won’t give a fuck about me.’
I was thinking fast. The business with the Tanners and the buried money was no affair of mine, but I had a score to settle with them over the threat. And I felt some guilt about Pete McKnight’s death and regret about Marisha, and it was all connected. I wouldn’t be able to let it all drop.
‘No,’ I said. ‘A deal’s a deal. I’ll try to make sure he sticks to it.’
~ * ~
When I got back to the motel I looked through the documents Wakefield had given me and confirmed the Tanner-Twizell family connection Kristine and Johnnie Twizell had referred to: William Twizell’s de facto wife and the mother of his son. It was a long time back, but in those days people tended to remain in the one locality and marriages between cousins and less closely related people were common down through the generations.
It was going to take time to ease the restrictions on Twizell, if it could be done at all, and I had nothing better to do than to pursue the written account that was supposed to put flesh on the bones of the second survivor of the Dunbar story. I had Kristine’s mobile number and I rang it.
‘Kristine, this is Hardy.’
‘Kristie, for God’s sake.’
‘Kristie, I need a number for Hector to tell him I’ve delivered the message.’
‘Why would I help you do that?’
‘Come on, it’s probably the best way.’
‘You fucking men. You always know what’s best, don’t you?’
‘Not always, no.’
‘Mr Cool.’
She gave me the number. ‘Is that it?’
‘No, I need to talk to you about another matter entirely. Can we meet somewhere?’
‘Oh, yeah, sure, I’ve got nothing better to do than run around after you and get Hector and Joseph all suspicious.’
‘Sorry, but it’s important. What do you do for a living?’
‘Nothing. I’ve got a disability pension. Johnnie left me with some impaired movement. What d’you want to see me about? Planning to double cross ... somebody?’
‘Nothing like that. It’s about history. A shipwreck.’
There was an electronic silence, then she said, ‘Are you serious?’
‘I am, yes.’
‘All right, I’ll meet you. Not at the motel, though. Somewhere on the road back to Newcastle or the boys’ll start wondering why I’m here.’
‘What have you told them so far?’
‘Mind your own business. What are you, a detective?’
She named a pub I’d seen on the way out of Bathurst and agreed to meet me in an hour.
I rang Hector.
‘Hector Tanner?’
‘Could be. Who’s this?’
‘Hardy. I delivered the message to Johnnie.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said it gave him something to chew on.’
Hector chuckled. ‘It so happens I know you’re not lying. We’ve ... I’ve had a message from him myself that says he has hopes of getting some outside time soon. That your doing, Hardy?’
I imitated his tone. ‘Could be.’
‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘No, if I ever get the chance I’ll make you sorry you threatened me the way, you did. But for now, with a job on hand, can I assume your threat to me is dropped?’
‘Call it on hold. Just keep the fuck out of it.’
He cut the call. There were a lot of things Hector didn’t know. He didn’t know I knew about the buried money. He didn’t know one of his minions was a cop. He didn’t know that I’d
have to keep monitoring Twizell at least for a while, and he didn’t know I was about to meet up with his sister, who wished him no good. That was too much ignorance for someone in his position and could make him dangerous. Trouble was, there were things I didn’t know, like who killed Pete McKnight and why, and whether Marisha’s dealings with Jobe Tanner were as secure as she thought.
