Win, Lose or Draw

by Peter Corris

  Then Bruce McBain, the Coolangatta boat dealer, rang me. I thought I was going to be in for more abuse but not so.

  ‘I still think you’re a bastard, Hardy, but you’ve done me a favour and I’m going to repay it.’

  ‘I’m not aware of doing you any favours. I thought I told you to take a long holiday.’

  ‘You did. I left briefly, but now I’m back because the air has cleared.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘I followed the news. D’Amico has left the country with a murder charge hanging over him, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So I’m safe from him. The bonus is that Cantini’s gone as well. His connections with D’Amico came to light and his enemies started talking. He’s resigned and done a flit. I’ve had trouble with that crooked bastard for years and I’m glad to be rid of him.’

  ‘I can imagine. Well, good luck to you. I could do with some good news myself.’

  ‘I’m not sure how good it is but when he was in Sydney, it must’ve been just before you … before he was killed … Harris phoned and changed his plans and arranged for his boat to be taken to Sydney. When I read what had happened to him I decided to release the boat anyway, to … clear the decks, you might say.’

  He laughed at his own joke, a happy man.

  ‘Who did you release it to?’

  ‘Bloke named Mathieson. Mick Mathieson. I know him; he’s worked on charter boats around here for years. Good sailor. Harris said Mick owed him a favour and that he was posting a cheque to me for the docking charges and some repairs. The cheque took a while to get here and to clear but it did and Mick got to work on the boat. Got it ready and took off.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Day before yesterday. I thought about it before I decided to call you but you never know when doing a favour for someone like you might prove useful in these hard times. We’ve had some bad weather off the coast to the south that’ll slow Mick down and might make him put in somewhere. But the northerlies and westerlies are due about now and they’ll send him on his way.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Hmm, five hundred nautical miles, near enough. Depends on how she performs and how hard he pushes her. At a guess, another five or six days.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where he’s going to end up, exactly?’

  He laughed again, Jolly Bruce McBain. ‘He’s bound for Botany Bay.’

  I asked McBain if he knew why Harris had changed his mind about selling his yacht and he said he didn’t.

  ‘Lance loved that boat. Maybe he just couldn’t bear to part with it.’

  ‘Or he didn’t need the money.’

  ‘You’d know more about that than me.’

  I got a description of Mathieson from McBain and asked whether it was possible to sail the Zaca 3 to Sydney single-handed.

  ‘For Mick Mathieson? Sure.’

  He rang off and I sat back and thought about it. Had Harris told Juliana at some point about the boat being brought to Sydney? There was a chance that he had once he’d put her under lock and key. He was the gloating type and he’d said she knew the whole score. It was a reasonable bet—especially after he’d betrayed her—that she’d make a try for the boat. I supposed there were marinas and moorings in Botany Bay and I had a few days to work with before the Zaca was due.

  I arranged a meeting with Gerard Fonteyn at his office and told him about the development.

  ‘You’re a yachtsman, Mr Fonteyn,’ I said. ‘I want to enlist your help to find the boat. I believe she’ll try to get it, either to sell it or to … go somewhere. I understand there are quite a few moorings in Botany Bay.’

  He looked older and greyer than when I’d first met him but his body language was positive and his mind was as alert as ever.

  ‘Yes, certainly, but that’s not the only reason you’ve told me this.’

  ‘True. I feel you have a right to be involved at this point, because what we’re actually doing is setting a trap for your daughter. It could be dangerous, depending on the company she’s keeping and her state of mind. There could be a need for negotiation. Best if you were personally involved.’

  ‘Supposing this works and Juliana does get to the boat, shouldn’t the police be included?’

  ‘Possibly. Again, that’d be up to you.’

  ‘Perhaps the police should be notified at this point.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But you don’t think so.’

  ‘Too much to go wrong. After all the noise about Harris’s killing this is still a live story. If we alert the police now and it leaks to the media, the man controlling the boat might be frightened off and Juliana might change her mind. Or both.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do what I can to locate the boat. When is it due

  to arrive?’

  ‘Hard to say. The best guess is another few days.’

  ‘And I’ll think hard about the police when—and if—we reach a crucial point. Thank you, Mr Hardy.’

  ‘Don’t thank me yet. It’s no more than a possibility and there’s no definite plan for the next step, even if it works.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m hopeful. Ah … what about Foster?’

  I shook my head and he nodded solemnly. There was nothing else to say.

  28

  Sitting and waiting is one of the things I do worst. I was worried about Colin Cameron. I was sure he’d have photos of me in conversation with Harris and, having followed my investigation since Norfolk Island, he had other photos and information that would allow him to cobble together a story he could sell about the Juliana Fonteyn case. I needed to keep him in line and the best way to do that was to hold out renewed hope for his great coup.

  ‘Thanks for keeping quiet about me,’ he said when I phoned him.

  ‘Are you being ironic? I thought you might fancy the notoriety.’

  ‘Not just now, thanks. Given my visa, the last thing I need is attention from the authorities.’

  ‘Come on, this government doesn’t do nasty things to people with pale skins and freckles who speak with English accents.’ ‘That’s as may be. Anyway, to what do I owe the honour?’ I gave him an outline of the way things stood and told him Gerard Fonteyn would stick to the agreement to let him talk to Juliana if she came through intact.

  ‘What about being in on the denouement?’

  ‘I can’t promise that, things might happen very quickly. But I’ll keep it in mind.’

  ‘I got a good close-up of the boat when it was moored in Coolangatta. Could that help?’

  ‘It might, yes.’

  ‘I’ll send it.’

  That seemed enough to keep him sweet. My next call was to Hank, who said he was standing by.

  ‘What about Megan?’

  ‘She understands and she forgives you. She tells me to be careful.’

  ‘We both have to be careful. If Juliana shows up in company I’ll probably need you; if she shows up alone you can fade away and I’ll shout dinner at Thai Pothong.’

  I went back to doing what I do badly, but not for long. Having a drink in the Toxteth hotel I bumped into Joe Chambers. I’d paid for Foxy’s stay and the cleaning bill so we were on good terms again.

  ‘I saw that low-life who went off with your Mr Charles Foster,’ he said.

  ‘You did? Where? When was this?’

  ‘Yesterday evening. I was walking my dog and I saw him on a seat in Foley Park. He had a couple of plastic bags and a sleeping bag. I think he’s dossing there.’

  ‘It’s a stone’s throw from the cop shop.’

  ‘There’s places you could get out of sight. Anyway, just thought I’d mention it.’

  I bought him a drink and pressed him for a detailed description of the man. A close observer of humankind in his way, Joe was able to provide it—tall, thin, straggly beard, shoulder-length dark hair, dark cargo shorts, denim jacket.

  It was after ten o’clock on a cool but clear night. I went home, got a torch and walked the seve
ral blocks back to the park on the corner of Glebe Point and Bridge roads. The restaurants and cafés in the vicinity were doing business, but quietly, and traffic was light. The park had recently undergone renovation, with the war memorial being cleaned up and more benches (with dividers in the middle to deter sleepers) installed and some attention had been paid to the garden beds. As a resident and ratepayer I’d taken a casual look at it after the refit and had a good idea where a person might sleep rough in concealment. The street lights didn’t have much effect other than to cast long shadows and the park was quite dark. Using the torch, I followed the path from the memorial to a point where the garden grew densely and head-high between the path and the wall that bordered the park. A loud snore told me I was on the right track. I moved closer, pushed aside some branches and the torch beam hit a figure huddled in a sleeping bag beside the wall.

  Crouching, I moved up beside him and shook his shoulder. He stirred and I shone the torch directly into his face. He jerked awake, blinking furiously and trying to shield his eyes.

  ‘What the fuck …’

  ‘Take it easy,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to hurt you or cause you any trouble. I just want to know where Foxy Fonteyn is.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I take back what I said. I will hurt you if you lie to me. You met up with him a while back and you both got high in his apartment in Forest Lodge. Then you both took off. Where is he?’

  He was a weedy, under-nourished twenty-year-old or thereabouts and having a big man carrying a heavy torch looming over him wasn’t something he could cope with. His breath was rank and his sleeping bag smelled of urine. His beard was crusted with whatever he’d last eaten. I calculated where his right knee was and brought the torch down on it hard. He yelped.

  I used the light to turn on my voice recorder and then trained it on him again. ‘I’ll repeat the question. Where is Foster Fonteyn?’

  ‘Take the fuckin’ torch away. Foxy’s dead, man. He’s gone.’

  He told me he and Fonteyn had drifted around eking out the money I’d laid out, spending it mostly on booze and drugs.

  ‘Foxy heard the news about this missing chick who’d turned up and then vanished and he said it was his sister. They said she was from a wealthy family and I said he should get in touch and, you know, score some dough. He said he couldn’t do that. He didn’t tell me why, or if he did, I forget. We were both pretty fucked up. He was depressed and always going on about how guilty he felt and about something … yeah, swimming.’

  ‘Swimming?’

  ‘Said he and his sister were great swimmers. Who the fuck cares? Anyway, we ended up at Maroubra Beach one night, by the rocks there, with some smack and pills. I was feeling crook and didn’t want any. Foxy shot up and took the pills. Then he said he was going to swim to New Zealand. Man, he was wrecked. Off his face.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He crawled down to the water, clothes, boots and all, and went in and started swimming and he was right, he could fuckin’ swim. But, shit, not with that load on. He got a fair way out but I’ve got good eyes. I saw him go under twice and come up but the last time he didn’t come up.’

  ‘I haven’t heard of a body being washed ashore.’

  ‘Are they always?’

  I had to admit I didn’t know. They never found Harold Holt or Commander Crabb. But I knew Maroubra Beach and its rips and currents. Foxy could well be on his way to New Zealand, but he’d never see it.

  ‘You didn’t try to stop him?’

  He looked at me with genuine puzzlement. ‘Why would I do that? He’s better off.’

  I could see his point. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Travis Wilson.’

  ‘ID.’

  He fished out a long-expired student card with a photograph that still resembled him, but only just. I gave him twenty dollars and left him there. I believed him and so would anyone listening to the recording; he didn’t have the imagination to invent such a story and some of the details rang true.

  I walked home and a light rain that would make it uncomfortable for him began to fall. Now I had information for Gerard Fonteyn but the question was when to give it to him—before or after the idea I was working on played out? The man with the Midas touch seemed to be paying for his good fortune bit by bit.

  29

  Gerard Fonteyn rang me four days later.

  ‘The Zaca is due to arrive in two days,’ he said.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I have contacts. She has a mooring booked at the South Botany Sailing Club down near Sandringham Bay. Do you know where that is?’

  ‘Not really. Somewhere around Ramsgate?’

  ‘That’s right. The skipper will contact the yacht-club secretary twelve hours before he’s due in. That’s the protocol. When he does, the secretary will contact me. What’s our plan?’

  As I expected, he intended to be on the spot. And he’d earned the right.

  ‘We’re hoping Harris told her where the boat was coming to. Or he might have mentioned it earlier. Maybe it’s a favourite mooring of his. She’ll only have a rough idea of when but if I’m right that she’ll target the boat, she’d be likely to keep her eye on the South Botany Club. She knows about yachts, maybe she could get someone to tell her when the Zaca’s called in.’

  Fonteyn could see the thinness of this as much as I could and he had to challenge it. ‘You’re assuming that she’s … functional.’

  ‘She looked okay in the brief glimpse I got of her and she was alert enough to take advantage of a pretty brief distraction. She’s been through a lot. We just have to hope that it’s toughened her up. It’s all we’ve got.’

  ‘So, do we post people there now to look out for her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. There’s any number of places she could watch from without being obvious. I’ll take a good look myself first. Our best bet is to take her when she breaks cover and goes for the boat.’

  As soon as I spoke I realised what a poor choice of words I’d made. I was treating his child as prey. I muttered an apology but Fonteyn was a master of his emotions. His voice was steady when he replied.

  ‘Do you expect any trouble from Mathieson?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. If he’s heard that Harris’s dead he’ll probably just dock the boat, deposit the documents and get out. If he hasn’t, he’ll most likely wait around for a while for Harris to show up. If he starts asking questions …’

  ‘All right,’ Fonteyn said. ‘We have things to deal with and we will. I still have the option to call in the police.’

  I bit the bullet. ‘I have some information that may help you decide that. We’d better have a meeting.’

  Fonteyn was at home helping to take care of his wife, who, he told me, was seriously ill. It seemed as though his debt to fortune was getting heavier by the minute. I drove to Vaucluse. When I announced my arrival the big gate opened and I parked in front of the house sprawled at the top of the bluff. Nothing ostentatious, just big, well-maintained in every way and singing of good taste and money.

  Fonteyn met me at the door and escorted me through to his study—book-lined somewhat untidily and with a view out over the water that would have stopped me thinking. When I asked after his wife he just shook his head. We sat in comfortable chairs. I refused coffee and produced my voice recorder.

  ‘I’m sorry, bad news,’ I said. ‘Prepare yourself.’

  He nodded. ‘Foster?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

  I switched on the recorder and put it on the edge of the desk close to where he sat. Because the device is so small he automatically leaned a little towards it although the volume was up enough to be easily heard. As the voice stumbled on he gradually sank back in the chair. When it finished I turned the recorder off and I said I was sorry again.

  He’d heard the last few exchanges with his eyes closed. Now he opened them and lifted his head to gaze out the window but I doubt he was taking in anything of that magnificent view
.

  He pointed to the recorder. ‘You believe him?’

  ‘Yes, he’s very damaged but not capable of inventing something like that. It rings true.’

  ‘Poor boy. I let him down by … pushing him. His mother warned me but I was busy and took no notice. From what you’ve told me, I didn’t do well by Juliana either.’

  I’d given him an edited version of what his son had told me about Juliana’s reaction to life in the Vaucluse house.

  ‘In a different way,’ I said. ‘But it’s not too late to make amends there.’

  ‘Which brings us to the South Botany Sailing Club and my call on whether to involve the police.’

  ‘That’s right. I’m not saying the police aren’t competent. Some are, but not all and we’d have no control over the people they’d use.’

  ‘And they carry guns.’

  ‘Well, it’d be all square on that count; I’d have one, too. The trouble is the police know about Harris from earlier episodes and they’d link the boat and anyone associated with it with drugs. Given their own record in that area, drugs make them anxious. They’re brainwashed about them and tend to be hard-line; it starts at the Academy.’

  ‘I thought that was changing.’

  ‘Slowly.’

  ‘All right. Anything else against using the police?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s doubtful they’d let you play an active role.’

  ‘So your advice would be to handle it privately.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fonteyn hadn’t got to where he was by being indecisive. He said, ‘I’ll get that twelve-hour alert and let you know. Then I’ll leave those details to you, but I want to be there at the earliest appropriate moment.’

  That was said with something of his customary force but there was an understandable air of reduction about him. I felt that the future of his life hung on the success of this gambit. My stake was less but still big enough.

  I hit the Princes Highway and took it south through Rockdale until the turn-off towards Botany Bay. There were a couple of sailing and yachting clubs along the coast, always set in parklands with large parking areas. A few kilometres inland from here there was bland suburbia but on the beach there was money and signs of it being spent—on big houses in bad taste with a penchant for pillars.