Comeback - [Cliff Hardy 37]

by Peter Corris

  ‘Well, not exactly, but you saw him when you staked him out in Clovelly a few days ago. More to the point, he’s seen you. Arthur seems to think there might have been a crappy blue Falcon like the one you drive outside his house, too.’

  ‘Arthur’s right,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think he’d noticed.’

  Pollock smiled. ‘Subliminally,’ he said.

  ‘So you’ve shown a very great interest in us and we’re wondering if we should be flattered or worried.’

  ‘Flattered,’ I said. ‘I was considering trying to join your organisation and I was just checking a few of you senior people out before making an approach. That’s why I made this appointment. I have to say I’m having second thoughts.’

  I heard a movement behind me but I was too slow. A punch hit me hard in the kidneys, drove the wind out of me and buckled my knees. I had to grab at the desk to keep my feet. Salter looked pleased with his result as he should have. The punch was expert, placed in just the right spot and with just the right force. Deep bruise but no rupture, probably. I fought for breath and almost gagged at the foul taste filling my mouth.

  ‘Let the man sit down, Arthur,’ Cochrane said. ‘He needs the chair more than you do.’

  Pollock stood and I collapsed into the chair and concentrated on sucking in air. It felt thin and insubstantial and as if it wasn’t going to last.

  ‘You’ve got a reputation as a tough guy, Hardy,’ Salter said. ‘I thought you’d be able to take it a bit better than that.’

  My voice was a thin wheeze. ‘We’ll see how it goes next time, when we’re face to face.’

  ‘I’m off,’ Pollock said. ‘You can handle it from here. Let me know what he tells you.’

  Cochrane nodded. Pollock took a step and I stuck out my foot. He stumbled and fell flat on his face. Pretty pathetic taking on the little guy but I had to do something. Salter stepped forward but Cochrane stopped him.

  ‘Cool it, Louis. You okay, Arthur?’

  Pollock got up, straightened his clothes and gave me a look meant to be venomous but it’s hard to be venomous when your tie’s crooked and your comb-over’s been disturbed. He pushed past Salter and left the room.

  ‘Let’s start over again. Why’re you so interested in us?’

  I’d recovered my breath and straightened myself up in the chair. My kidneys had the ache that suggests blood in the urine. I’d been there before in my boxing days. My brain was working well enough though.

  ‘I’ve got a question first,’ I said. ‘Your reaction is way over the top for spotting a little surveillance. What’s got you so upset, Ralph?’

  Cochrane and Salter exchanged glances and Cochrane nodded.

  ‘You were seen having lunch with that fat aresehole O’Grady the other day,’ Salter said. ‘Someone passing by your table caught the name Sterling. You weren’t discussing the fucking swordfish and O’Grady wouldn’t be advising you to join this firm.’

  ‘You’re right there,’ I said. ‘He told me not to have anything to do with you but I decided to go ahead and see for myself. And I’ve seen all I want to see.’

  ‘And what have you seen?’ Cochrane said.

  Something interesting that I’ll keep to myself, I thought. I said, ‘I’ve seen a couple of stupid guys worried about a fat man.’

  ‘He’s a journalist and he’s never forgiven Phil for sacking him. You’re snooping on his behalf.’

  I tried to force a laugh but the action hurt too much. ‘You’re wrong. He says he never had it so good. He’s enjoying what he does now. He reckons he owes Phil.’

  They exchanged glances again.

  ‘I suppose we could be wrong,’ Cochrane said slowly.

  I levered myself out of the chair suppressing a groan. ‘Is that an apology?’

  ‘Fuck you,’ Salter said.

  ‘You’ll keep,’ I said. ‘I wonder if Phil knows how you’re handling this?’

  Salter looked worried; Cochrane didn’t. He said, ‘Phil’s much too busy to worry about a nobody like you.’

  Cochrane stood and put his hands on the desk. He leaned forward, so close I could smell his aftershave. ‘You’ve wasted some of our valuable time, Hardy. You’re a loser from way back and now you’re scratching around trying to make a living. Well, don’t scratch around here. Now piss off!’

  He pressed a buzzer on his desk and an answering knock came on the door within seconds.

  ‘Come,’ I said.

  Cochrane growled. The door opened and a woman stood there with an inquiring look on her face.

  ‘Show Mr Hardy out,’ Cochrane said.

  I followed the woman down the corridor, into the lift and we went down to the foyer without a word being spoken. The glass doors slid open.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  She pointed to my chest. ‘The pass, please.’

  ‘I’ll hang on to it as a keepsake.’

  I glanced back at the building as I opened the car door. I thought I could see a figure standing at a window on the second floor about where room twelve would have been. I put the pass in my pocket and drove to the gate. The guard stopped me.

  ‘Where’s the pass?’

  ‘I gave it to a woman inside.’

  ‘No you didn’t. She just called me.’

  I nodded. ‘Good security.’

  I tossed him the pass and drove out.

  ■ ■ ■

  I stopped at the first set of shops I came to and bought some painkillers. My back was aching and sending shooting pains up to my shoulders. I took three pills and sat on a bus stop seat drinking a takeaway coffee waiting for them to work. I stamped the image of Louis Salter on my brain—about my height and a bit heavier, maybe fifteen years younger. He had ginger hair and a long chin. The expertise of his punch suggested some kind of combat training, maybe military.

  There was a reasonable chance of meeting up with him again. For one thing I still hadn’t sighted Anton Beaumont, but there had been something distinctly conspiratorial about the behaviour of the three senior associates. I had no idea what it was about but they were overanxious about something. Salter had reacted oddly when I mentioned Phil Tyson. I wondered whether Phil knew how his minions handled apparently minor matters.

  ~ * ~

  8

  There was no blood in my urine and I bounced back pretty quickly from the kidney punch. My doctor, Ian Sangster, whistled when he saw the bruise.

  ‘One of your best,’ he said.

  ‘Well placed,’ I said. ‘On the button. You can really deliver a whack there without fear of hurting your hand.’

  ‘You’d know. Just watch yourself for a few days. There could be some collateral damage.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Don’t ask. I must say, apart from this you’re in better shape than you were a while ago. Getting back to work’s obviously good for you if you can just avoid the heavy stuff. How’s your sex life?’

  ‘On hold...wrong expression. In abeyance.’

  He laughed. ‘Use it or lose it.’

  I thought about it as I walked down Glebe Point Road to get a coffee and do some thinking. I’d underestimated the Sterling guys and knew I’d have to rethink my strategy to get a look at Anton Beaumont. Or maybe not. I’d rattled the other three; so perhaps it was time to keep on rattling.

  I sat in the sun and ordered a long black and flicked through the paper. The minority government was still being cautious, the opposition was still being aggressive and the independents were still being as independent as they could. It wasn’t very interesting but the opinion polls showed the voters were happy. Australians like a quiet life.

  ■ ■ ■

  I rang Frost. I didn’t have much to report but I wanted to ask him about the Sterling associates I’d met. Before I could do that he thanked me for going to the funeral.

  ‘Sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you,’ he said. ‘It was good of you to come.’

  ‘It was a big turn-out,’ I said. ‘He was popular. I d
idn’t see the girlfriend there—-Jane Devereaux.’

  ‘I asked her, left a message. I suppose she had her reasons.’

  I asked him about the Sterling men.

  ‘I know Cochrane. He’s a tough prick. Don’t know much about the others. Do you reckon Cochrane could have had a hand in it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but there’s something going on there. The blokes I saw are up to something.’

  ‘You mean a few of them could be involved in killing Bobby?’

  ‘No, I’ve got the feeling it could be something in the future, but I suppose it could be connected.’

  ‘Well, stick with it, Hardy. With you on the job at least I feel like I’m doing something.’

  It wasn’t a ringing endorsement but it was all I could expect. I finished the call and my mobile rang straight away An unfamiliar female voice.

  ‘Mr Hardy, this is Jane Devereaux, Robert Forrest’s friend. I wonder if it’d be possible for me to see you.’

  Robert? I thought. ‘Yes, Ms Devereaux. How would you like to arrange it?’

  ‘I’ve taken some leave. I’m quite free. I could come to your office. Would later this morning suit you?’

  ‘That’d be fine. Do you know where my office is?’

  ‘Yes, I have the card you gave Robert. That’s how I know your mobile number.’

  ■ ■ ■

  She was on time. She knocked confidently and walked in the same way. She was medium-size in height and build, looking taller in very high heels. She wore a dark skirt with an ice-blue silk blouse and carried a substantial briefcase. Her fair hair was curly and short. The photo I’d seen hadn’t done her justice; she had fine-grained skin and though none of her features was striking taken separately, in combination her face became interesting and drew my attention. Her manner was assertive but her smile was shy. I stood and we shook hands.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mr Hardy.’

  She had a slight countrified drawl. I asked her to sit down and watched as she lowered the briefcase to the floor. She sat straight; her skirt rode up exposing slightly heavy legs, flattered by the high heels. She wore light makeup, no jewellery other than small silver earrings.

  ‘I’m sorry about Bobby,’ I said. ‘I liked him.’

  ‘People did,’ she said. ‘I hesitated about coming to see you because I thought you might have given all those sordid details to the press.’

  I shook my head but she went on before I could say anything.

  ‘But I asked around and I was told it’s not the sort of thing you’d do.’

  ‘That’s right. Do you mind my asking who told you that?’ ‘Harry Tickener. We’re doing a book for him—a collection of pieces from his newsletter.’

  ‘He’s an old friend.’

  ‘So I gathered. He encouraged me to come and see you.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I believe I know who killed Robert.’

  I studied her for a second before replying. She seemed to be in command of herself, not showing signs of outward grief but carrying some kind of burden.

  ‘Have you spoken to the police?’

  She smiled. ‘They interviewed me after Robert died. Not very thoroughly. I didn’t tell them what I’m about to tell you. Did you read those tabloid articles about Robert and me? All that “plain Jane” and “brains before beauty” stuff?’

  ‘No. I was aware of it though.’

  ‘It was very hurtful and humiliating. I haven’t got over Robert’s death. I’m trying to, but it’s hard. And I haven’t got over that humiliation. I couldn’t go to the funeral. I’ve written a note to Robert’s father. It has affected almost everything I’ve done since. I’ve been made a figure of fun. The police wouldn’t take me seriously. And I have no proof.’

  ‘You’d better tell me about it.’

  She straightened her shoulders and made herself more comfortable in the chair. ‘I’m not a sexually attractive woman at first glance. I know that. My mother told me so. But I am very highly sexed and I’ve never had any trouble attracting men. I’m also highly disciplined and I knew an MA would help me get the kind of job I wanted in publishing. So I kept everything under wraps while I worked for the degree. It took a while to get the job and in that time I went a bit wild. I screwed around—men, women, youngish and oldish.’

  I nodded.

  ‘This is about two years ago. I’ve only had the job a little over a year. In that wild time I met a man and we had a very hot affair. A crazy affair. He was married. I broke it off when I got the job. I didn’t need the distraction and there was no future in it anyway. He wouldn’t let go. Maybe he tried; he went away for a while but he came back. I met Robert only a month or so ago and—’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, but if you say you can attract men easily why did you do this online thing?’

  ‘It was in reaction to what I’m about to tell you. I decided to be more careful about men. When this man I’m talking about found out about Robert he threatened to kill him.’

  ‘Threatened how?’

  ‘Letters.’

  ‘Have you still got them?’

  ‘No, he broke into my flat and stole them.’

  ‘You didn’t tell...Robert about this?’

  She frowned, which made her look older. I guessed she was a couple of years older than Bobby.

  ‘It’s ironic, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Robert kept his stalker from me, I suppose because he was afraid he’d lose me, and I did the same. I was very, very deeply in love with him. I wanted to keep him so badly. I wanted it more than anything I...’

  She broke down at that point. Her voice fell away to a whisper and she sobbed quietly with her hands covering her face. She had slim, elegant hands. I took some tissues from a box on the desk, got up, took her hands away gently and gave her the tissues. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose. It was more ironic than she knew. They’d both been keeping the threats directed at the other to themselves.

  ‘Thank you. I’m sorry. I’m usually not...’

  ‘It’s all right. When you’re ready I’ve got a question for you.’

  She nodded, drew in a breath and made a fist around the tissues. ‘I’ll answer if I can.’

  ‘What kind of car does this man drive?’

  She looked disappointed. ‘Car? I don’t know, something very expensive. Why?’

  ‘I think the person who killed Bobby was driving a white Commodore sedan.’

  Her heavily lidded eyes opened wide. ‘Oh no, he didn’t mean he’d do it himself. He meant he’d have it done.’

  ~ * ~

  9

  I don’t think my jaw dropped, but I stared at her.

  ‘Who are we talking about?’

  ‘Michael Tennyson.’

  ‘You mean “Media” Michael Tennyson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Michael Tennyson was a merchant banker. He was big in conservative politics, big in the media, big in sports promotion and arts patronage. He was a flamboyant publicity-seeker who’d made all the right moves before the GFC and had escaped unscathed. There were rumours of criminal associations but there always are with high-profile types like Tennyson.

  Jane explained that she’d worked as a freelance editor for several publishers and magazines before landing her present job. Tennyson was a part-owner of one of the publishers and they’d met at a gathering to launch a book Jane had helped to edit.

  ‘It was a gala affair,’ she said, ‘as everything Michael had to do with tended to be. All the glitterati were there. You wouldn’t think Michael would take any notice of me, but he did.’

  Her face became animated as she spoke, perhaps recalling the heady days, perhaps from anger at what had happened. Her colour heightened and her eyes took on a strange intensity.

  ‘I can see why he would,’ I said.

  ‘Can you? Well, he did and he came on very strong. There were letters and flowers and phone calls and meetings and gifts. And sex. Lots of sex. As I said, I got tired of it and didn�
�t need it once I was working at something I loved, but Michael didn’t. He went on a business trip to the States. He said it was to get over me after I’d told him I wanted the affair to stop. I don’t think it was, not really. Overseas trips are just part of his normal agenda. He’d lie about anything to get what he wanted.’

  ‘You said he broke into your flat.’