by Peter Corris
Slowly, her head came up. With the makeup wiped and the tears blotted she looked like a damaged Barbie doll.
‘Like I said, I’m a mess.’
‘We all have our bad patches.’
‘This is one for sure. Thanks for your help back there. Christ, I’m drunk and coked with it. What do you want, Hardy?’
‘It can wait. Drink some coffee.’
‘Coffee, ugh,’ she said, but she drank, using both hands on the cup.
I sipped my long black. It was scalding hot but she drank hers in a couple of gulps without seeming to notice.
‘More,’ she said.
I pushed my cup across. She dumped four spoonfuls of sugar into it and drank it fast.
‘That’s more sugar than I would have had in five years when I was a model.’
I nodded. She picked up the cigarettes, got her lighter from the bag and lit up.
‘And I lived on these. It’s not a healthy lifestyle and it’s not that much fun.’
‘Money’s good, though.’
She took a couple of deep drags. ‘Not that good, after managers, agents, pills. Christ, the pills I took. Okay, you’ve got me up and running. What do you want and how much can you pay?’
I’d thought through what I should tell her and I kept to the script. I said I needed to talk to Glassop to learn more about Bright.
‘Bloody different characters,’ she said. ‘I don’t reckon they related to each other much.’
‘Right, but you know what those IT nerds are like. They spy on each other.’
‘Do they?’
‘So I’m told. Now you said when you met Glassop in the wine bar he was trying to get off with you.’
‘Don’t remind me. That lip-licking, ugh.’
‘Did you go home with him?’
‘Let’s talk money.’
‘You did, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, all I wanted from him was the same as what I want from you and that’s money. But in your case I wouldn’t mind so much if I had to fuck you to get it.’
‘Thanks a lot. You know the address?’
‘Of course I know it. He was too pissed to drive, so I had to drive his crappy Honda.’
‘What happened to the acting job?’
‘I didn’t get it.’
‘What’re you doing now?’
‘Three fucking guesses.’
I fished the $500 out of my pocket. Her eyes didn’t light up. She stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. ‘Have you seen Rory and Penelope?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are they?’
‘Not together.’
She smiled and reached for the money. ‘Nineteen Scott Street. Hard to forget. My name and I was nineteen once.’
‘Where?’
‘Shitty little place in Balmain.’
‘Phone number?’
‘Are you kidding?’
23
The concussion, the encounter with Jones, the drive to Sydney and the session with Kelly were enough for one day. I drove home, ate a sandwich, drank some wine, took some painkillers and fell into bed with my mobile alarm set for 6 am. Pen’s scent was on the pillows and sheets and her black slip was lying across the bed. It suggested that she wanted to come back, which was exactly what I wanted.
In the morning I showered and shaved and decided I could get by with another flesh-coloured band-aid on the forehead scrape. I’m a quick healer; the cut on my wrist had scabbed. By seven-twenty I was outside number 19 Scott Street, a narrow, single-storey terrace. Like a few other places in the street, the kerb was interrupted by a driveway and the area in the front of the house had been disfigured by a carport. A Honda Civic nosed up against the front window.
The narrow street was clogged with parked cars but a few of the go-getters had already left for their offices and I was able to squeeze in close by. There was a trickle of traffic in the street, not much, and it was all quiet in the houses on either side of Glassop’s.
I rang the bell but heard no sound. I knocked loudly, got no response and knocked again. I heard a shuffling and Glassop opened the door. He was in pyjamas and struggling to get one arm into a dressing-gown sleeve. Without his glasses, he peered at me myopically. His jaw dropped and he attempted to close the door but I pushed it fully open, shouldered him inside and closed the door.
‘Not pleased to see me, Gordon? Why’s that?’
‘I . . . I’m surprised, that’s all.’
‘I don’t think it is all.’
I felt almost foolish doing it, but I took the .38 from my jacket pocket and tapped the barrel against his quivering chin.
‘Jesus, what . . .?’
You see pistols on TV and photos in newspapers, but if you’ve never seen and smelled one for real, up close, it can be a very scary thing. Glassop almost fainted. I put the gun away. ‘Let’s talk,’ I said. ‘You’d be ready for some coffee, right?’
I prodded him down the passage past a door on the left to the kitchen at the back of the house. It was untidy and smelled of take-out food, bad drainage and mould. He stood helplessly in the middle of the room, barefoot and with his dressing gown only half on.
‘I . . . haven’t got any proper coffee. Just instant.’
‘That’s all right. Just make some for yourself. Better put some sugar in it. You look peaky.’
‘You scared me.’
‘Be scared. Be very scared.’
That might have been overdoing it. He turned towards the sink, picked up a mug and reached for a tin of instant coffee near the stove. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to know everything about your dealings with Sean Bright or Steve Ball or whatever he’s calling himself.’
He dropped the mug and his fluttering hand knocked the tin of coffee to the floor.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ I said.
‘I didn’t want . . . He threatened to . . .’
‘I know, I know, but now you don’t have to worry anymore.’
My evidence of Glassop’s involvement with Bright was circumstantial at best but Glassop had confirmed it with his immediate admission. Bullying a weak person like him isn’t edifying or enjoyable, but I had to keep it up until I had him completely under control. Fear is a great controller.
‘Forget the coffee. Sit down.’
He stumbled to a chair at the kitchen table. I remained standing.
‘You lied to the police about what happened at Wollongong.’
‘I was terrified.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You’re complicit in a kidnapping, if not a murder. And now you’re cooperating with a blackmailer.’
‘He told me what he’d do to me with this horrible knife he has.’
‘Yeah, I know about the knife. You’re not the only one he’s threatened with it. He held it at Penelope’s throat while he raped her.’
‘That’s what he threatened to do to me unless I agreed to help him. He told me I had to . . . do something when he gave the signal.’
‘I understand. That’s a nasty threat, but you can forget about him and get yourself clear of all this if you do what I say.’
I told him he had to produce all the material Bright had entrusted him with and talk to some people about what Bright had arranged with him.
‘What people?’
‘You’ll see. You told me you kept everything of importance on a flash drive. Do you have this stuff in that form?’
He nodded.
‘All the texts and phone calls?’
Another nod.
‘Good. We’re off to Canberra.’
‘I’m not going to Canberra.’
‘You are, Gordon, either willingly or unwillingly with your feet tied together and sitting on a plastic sheet.’
‘A plastic sheet. Why?’
‘It’s a fair way. You might need to piss and you can’t get to a toilet with your legs tied together, can you?’
Glassop cleaned himself up. He gave me the flash drive from his keyring and anoth
er he detached from one of the several computers he had in the second bedroom. I also took his mobile phone.
He protested. ‘I need that. I’ve got clients.’
‘What sort of clients?’
‘None of your business.’
It was his first spark of resistance and I let him have it because I’d already snooped in the office while he was showering and seen that he was working as a mobile troubleshooter for Mac computers.
I wasn’t relishing spending a couple of hours with him but it couldn’t be helped and I needed information. Once we were underway I asked him if he’d read the material Bright had assigned to him. He admitted that he had.
‘Summarise it.’
‘Come on, there’s a ton of it.’
‘Does it focus on one person in particular?’
‘Three people really, but, yeah, one who’s properly in the shit.’
‘And that is?’
‘This MP named Polkinghorn, who’s a real scumbag.’
‘What’s he done?’
Glassop enjoyed detailing the misdeeds of others. ‘You name it. He took bribes from pharmaceutical companies when he was Minister for Health and he connived with lawyers to inflate legal bills and took kickbacks.’
‘Is there any one big thing in particular?’
‘Do you call ten million bucks big?’
‘Big enough.’
‘That’s what it cost an auditing firm for him to sign off on a shonky audit that kept a company afloat long enough for the directors to strip it and disappear.’
I switched off the voice recorder I had in my pocket. This sounded like the stuff Jones was after and he’d be glad to have the gist of it in Glassop’s version.
‘How long would it take for someone to work through the dirt?’
‘All of it, or just Polkinghorn?’
‘Just him.’
‘Depends how good the person was.’
‘Assuming he or she was good.’
‘Could do it in a day. Does it matter?’
‘With luck that’s as long as you’ll have to sit around after you turn the data over to a Mr Jones and brief him.’
He licked his lips, stared out the window at concrete and bush and said nothing.
‘How much did Bright pay you?’
‘Five grand.’
‘How much did you charge O’Hara and Pen for the fake IDs?’
‘Not much. Should’ve been more. Rory owes me money, but Penelope was paying.’
‘I doubt you’ll collect. O’Hara’s broke.’
‘Shit. How about you? This must be helping you. Must be worth something.’
I laughed. ‘Mate, all you’ve done is save yourself from Bright and gaol. That’s if everything works out right. Be grateful.’
‘What do you mean, if it works out?’
It was my turn to shut up. I let him stew.
Twenty kilometres short of the ACT border I stopped at a service station to allow Glassop to have a piss. I checked the toilet and saw there was no way out but the way in.
‘You think I’m going to try to run away?’ he said.
‘I don’t know you well enough to tell what you’d do.’
‘I’ve got no transport, no money. You’re responsible for me.’
Strange thing for a grown man to say, but in a way Glassop wasn’t fully grown and he certainly wasn’t much of a man. While he was occupied, I called the number Jones had given me.
‘Yes?’
‘This is Hardy. I’ve got the man you want. He has all the data and he knows all about Polkinghorn—your target.’
If he was surprised that I knew that much he didn’t show it. ‘You’ve been busy. Where are you?’
‘Not too far away.’
‘Here’s where I want you to bring him.’
‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘I’m calling the shots now. I don’t take him anywhere until you deposit Penelope back in our motel with her belongings and she phones me to say she’s seen your guys drive away and that she’s locked in and safe.’
‘If I don’t agree?’
‘You will. I’ve got what you want. You can handle Bright and Polkinghorn any way you please. The backup man’s defused now and he’s bloody harmless. You might actually find some use for him. There isn’t much he doesn’t know about computers.’
There was a long pause before he spoke and I had a sense that he was conferring with other people. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘These arrangements will take some time.’
‘How long?’
‘Miss Marinos will phone you at five o’clock.’
‘Agreed.’ More hours to kill in Glassop’s company.
Jones liked to have the last word. ‘Kyle Swan’s not happy with you, Hardy. He has a suspected ruptured spleen.’
Poor Mr B, I thought. ‘Kyle’s got a soft mid-section,’ I said. ‘He needs to work out more and keep his tiny mind on the job.’
Glassop heard the last few exchanges. He fidgeted nervously. ‘What now?’
‘Sightseeing,’ I said.
24
Killing time in Canberra on a cold winter’s day isn’t easy. We had a lunch neither of us wanted and drove up Black Mountain and around the lake. Glassop was sullen and apprehensive. I was preoccupied, trying to anticipate things ahead. We made a silent, unsociable pair.
I pulled into a car park and waited with the engine running for the heater. My phone rang at five precisely.
‘Hardy.’
‘It’s me,’ Pen said. ‘I’m in the motel. I saw the creep who delivered me drive off.’
‘Have you got the door locked?’
‘Locked and on the chain.’
‘What name are you going by?’
‘My name.’
‘Marinos?’
‘Yes. What are you doing?’
‘What’s Jones told you?’
‘I haven’t seen Jones since you left me in their care. I haven’t been told anything.’
‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
She hung up. I swore and shook my head.
‘What’s wrong?’ Glassop said.
‘Nothing that concerns you.’
The phone rang again. Jones. I confirmed that I’d heard from Pen. He instructed me to drive to Fyshwick, Canberra’s industrial precinct, where I’d be met. I took the road to the airport as darkness fell.
‘Jesus, don’t tell me we’re flying somewhere. I’m scared of flying.’
‘Don’t worry.’
I passed the airport and when I made the turn into Fyshwick a parked Volvo flashed its lights. It pulled out and I followed it through the quiet streets as the factories and workshops closed for the day. The Volvo stopped at a guarded gate in a high cyclone fence. The fence enclosed a compound with a large building like a warehouse in the centre and several vehicles neatly parked. The compound was lit by powerful lamps mounted on high poles in each corner. The guard waved the Volvo through and I followed.
Glassop was licking his lips furiously. ‘Where are we? What’s this place?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. I put my hand in the deep pocket of my leather jacket.
‘You’ve got that bloody gun, haven’t you? I think I’m going to be sick.’
I parked beside the Volvo. The driver got out and beckoned us to follow him. The air was freezing and I could hear Glassop’s teeth chattering as I hauled him across the bitumen to a door in the building. The driver opened it and shepherded us inside.
Plain outside, the inside of the building showed signs of money having been spent. There was a large reception area with high-tech desk, pigeonholes and a few tasteful prints on the walls. Polished tiles on the floor, a coffee table, comfortable-looking chairs, a rack of newspapers, a pile of magazines, muted lighting, almost silent air-conditioning.
Jones, in his immaculate suit and minus the gun bulge, came towards us.
I reached into my pocket for the flash drives and held them out for Jones. ‘T
his is Gordon Glassop,’ I said. ‘This bloke goes by the name of Jones, Gordon. God knows what his real name is.’
‘Please take the drives, Mr Glassop, and come with me.’
I gave the drives to Glassop. His hand was damp.
‘Have you got Bright?’ I said.
Jones nodded.
‘Give you any trouble?’
‘A little. Wait here. I’ll ask Mr Glassop a few questions and then put him to work. I’ll see you when I’m ready.’
I took the voice recorder out, pressed the buttons and played the first few words of Glassop’s statement. Glassop stared at me with a look that would have been angry if he hadn’t been so frightened.
‘The gist,’ I said.
I tossed the recorder to Jones, who caught it neatly. He gestured to the waiting area and steered Glassop towards a wide spiral staircase.
I took a seat and picked up a magazine—Business Today. I put it down and riffled through the pile but they were all business magazines. There were cameras mounted high on the walls and I’d have been willing to bet there were bugs in the furniture. I strolled over to the desk, which held a computer, two telephones and an electronic device I couldn’t identify. I picked it up and a robotic voice said, Please do not touch.
I browsed the newspapers and tapped my feet. If I’d been a nail-chewer I’d have chewed my nails, if I’d been a lip-licker I’d have licked my lips. But all I could do was hum half-forgotten songs and nurse my impatience. I thought of calling Pen but didn’t. There’d been nothing remotely welcoming in her tone.
After more than an hour Jones came down the stairs. He sat in a chair opposite me and held out his hand. I didn’t shake it.
‘No need to be like that, Hardy. You did a great job, quick, too.’
‘That’s me. How do things stack up?’
‘Very well indeed. Your Mr Glassop is very talented. He teased out all sorts of things that whoever encrypted the material, I assume Ms Marinos, appears to have tried to hide. Things Bright also got on to, very damaging things that he was prepared to use.’
‘Bully for Gordon. Now what?’
‘To use your expression, Glassop is defused and so is Bright. We convinced him he has no cards to play now. I’m offering Mr Glassop a position in our organisation. I think he’ll accept.’
