‘You fucked up there. Shouldn’t tell you this, but you’re such a smartarse I can’t resist. His mobile and notebook are missing. You could’ve walked away.’
‘So I look better for not doing that.’
‘Unless you took them.’
‘You don’t believe that.’ I had to hope he didn’t because if he did he’d order a search of the park, including its rubbish bins.
He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. But I have to wonder how you’re making a living. You’ve got no job. Mind you, I’m told your house is falling down and I know you’ve got a crap car, so I suppose you’re living on savings. Can’t do that for very long. You’re bound to turn your hand to something. We’ll be keeping an eye on you and come down like a ton of bricks if-’
‘That’s tonne.’
‘What?’
‘Move with the times. A tonne of bricks.’
He sat back and looked at me. I never saw a man so keen to hit me except those who actually did. Plenty of them. He was stumped for something to say and in the pause an earlier question he’d asked popped into my mind-the one about telling anyone else where I was to meet Williams. I hadn’t, but there was a way someone could have found out-by bugging my home phone. If it had been done it was done cleverly. The jack was out of the wall. You plug it back in and forget about it, don’t you? And there was still the suspicion that Kristos had done the break-in. Then there was that instinctive move to apply a headlock. I felt the need to be very cautious.
I said, ‘I’m finished talking.’
Kristos stood and buttoned his jacket. His care with his clothing reminded me of Gregory. ‘And I’ve finished listening,’ he said. ‘You’re free to go. We’ll need to talk to you again though, Hardy. Could be any time, any place.’
It sounded like a threat, was a threat, but I just nodded. He opened the door and he and a uniformed man standing in the passage escorted me to the front door of the building. Kristos blocked the way, looked out and spun back with a smile on his face.
‘I hope those TV arseholes eat you alive.’
They were massed at the bottom of the steps. Must have been other ways out of the building and I could’ve been given the police coat-over-the-head treatment, but that wasn’t the strategy.
I went down the steps and they surged up halfway. Three microphones were stuck in my face and a voice said: ‘You found the body, right, Mr Hardy?’
The lifting of my licence had attracted some media attention, so the reporters had no trouble identifying me. My career as a PEA was officially shot, but public recognition would have done it anyway. Despite the posturing of some members of the profession, to be known and highly visible is the last thing a private detective needs. You have to be a chameleon, not a peacock.
‘That’s right,’ I said and pushed on, down at least one step.
‘Are you a suspect?’
I laughed and just stood there. They bombarded me with questions which I just ignored. I said nothing at all, standing stock still. In a way, they’re like their viewers- they have short attention spans. Time is money to their bosses in a very real sense, and they all know they have to get their picture and sound grabs quickly and make the most out of them in strict competition with one another. Like seagulls, feed them and they stick around, give them nothing and they go away. I bored them and they left.
I caught a taxi to the coffee place opposite Milsons Point station, bought a takeaway long black and walked down to the park. I wasn’t followed. I sat and drank the coffee, dropped the cup in the bin and retrieved the pistol. I couldn’t see the crime scene from down there and didn’t want to. I walked back to the car which had picked up a parking ticket. With the taxi and the strategic coffee, that made three expenses, and no client to charge.
I had a couple of hours to kill before the meeting with Townsend and Farrow in Chatswood. I wondered if she’d show, after the death of her colleague. I phoned Townsend and left a message. Thinking about Lily and the break-in reminded me that Hank Bachelor-a young American, now Australian resident, PEA I’d occasionally worked with-had set up business as an alarm installer and anti-bugging expert. Anti-bugging was something I used to have the rudiments of, but the advances in technology had outstripped me. Same with alarms. The system I’d had installed was out of date. Hank’s office was in Crows Nest and I drove there after phoning him. He was in his workshop tinkering.
Hank stands around 188 centimetres and would be about a super-middleweight, maybe a light-heavy. He has a big man’s hands and it was interesting to see him doing delicate work with miniature pieces of equipment.
‘Hey, Cliff, my man-’ He broke off, remembering about Lily, who he’d met a few times and liked. His tone became more sober. ‘How’re you doing?’
We shook hands. ‘Okay, Hank. No need to tread softly. In fact I’m investigating Lily’s death and getting into a lot of shit. It’s sort of doing me good.’
He laid the bits and pieces down on his workbench. ‘I imagine it would. Want to come inside for coffee or something?’
‘No, mate. I won’t interrupt you just now. Think you might have a bit of time later?’
‘For you, sure.’
I told him about the break-in at my place, the bypassing of the alarm system and my suspicion that the phone was bugged. I gave him a key and asked him to check on how the intruder got in and dealt with the alarm and if the phone had been tapped. He asked a few questions about the alarm and shook his head at my answers.
‘Antediluvian, man. Want me to put in something better?’
I wasn’t sure I needed it but I agreed. I asked him to ring me on the mobile about the bugging. Hank had given up active PEA work when he married. His wife was Australian, an ambitious professional who wanted to fit in a family somehow, and didn’t want a husband running around the city at all hours in low company. I suspected Hank still had yearnings for just that. He confirmed the suspicion.
‘Anything else I can do? Need some backup?’
‘I’ll tell you if I do. You better make yourself known to Clive, my neighbour on the left. After the fuss he’ll be keeping an eye out.’
‘Will do.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Be over there in an hour or two. Where will you be?’
‘Drinking with a cop and a journalist.’
‘Of course. SOP.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Standard operational procedure. I’ll get back to you, Cliff
Hank is ex-US military and he likes to talk that way when he gets a chance. Luckily, it’s not often. I thanked him and we chatted for a few minutes while I displayed a polite, basically ignorant interest in his work. As I drove away I started to think about what I might do as an alternative to PEA work. Nothing came to mind. Depending on the size of Lily’s legacy there was no need to think about that for now, or perhaps ever. But there was no way to feel good about it either.
The Falcon chugged on the uphill stretches. Lily had laughed at me for keeping it. I stopped at a light and it was as if she was there in the car with me. She’d scoffed every time I spent money on keeping the car going and shook her head at the glove-box that was still full of cassettes-Piaf, Janis, Dylan, Van Morrison, Dire Straits-long after the cassette player had ceased to function.
‘Petrol’s going to hit two bucks a litre soon, babe,’ she’d said. ‘And your fucking V8’ll cost you a fortune. You need a fuel efficient compact with a CD player and an air-conditioner that works.’
‘It heats in winter,’ I said. ‘Sort of. And in summer I can park in the shade and wind the windows down.’
But she was right of course. I needed a new car and she’d made it so that I could afford one. The thought made me sad and then angry.
It was getting close to six o’clock and I hadn’t had a drink all day. Failing a pub, a wine bar in Chatswood sounded like just the go. Standard operational procedure.
12
Winter seems to come early to Chatswood-maybe a matter of the tall buildings blocking out the light and trapping and channelling the winds. The suburb was a bit of a dump in the early days, with one of the grottiest railway stations you’d ever see. My ex-wife Cyn urged me to locate my business there. She said Chatswood was going to grow. She was right, but I didn’t take her advice. They say you can see the Blue Mountains from the upper levels of the towers. Not sure I could’ve handled that- more of a water man myself. I parked underground, the gloom adding to the winter feel. I didn’t know the wine bar and Townsend’s directions were sketchy, but a thirsty man can always find a drink. The place was more than half full on a Thursday night and looked as if it might get fuller.