As always, Frank tried for a light touch. ‘Cliff, how close are you sailing now to what might be called the waters of significant criminality?’
‘Not that close, and not into the deepest waters.’
‘The shallow waters are the most dangerous. Didn’t you know that?’
‘Frank…’
I must have struck the right note. He agreed to meet me at six thirty after he’d played squash in Edgecliff.
‘Squash?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong with tennis at White City?’
‘Looks like rain.’
I got to the squash courts in time to watch Frank polish off the opposition in the last few points of the final game. Frank was a good tennis player. He always beat me when his mind was on the job and sometimes when it wasn’t. He had a killer backhand, the stroke that was my greatest weakness, and Frank could hit to it off either wing till it broke down. I hadn’t seen him play squash before-a game I hated-but he was just as good.
He farewelled his friend, mopped his face on a towel, and came over to where I sat.
‘Hasn’t rained,’ I said. ‘You’d have been better off playing a real game outside under lights.’
‘I like sweating. There’s a juice bar and a wet bar here. Which would you prefer?’
‘Take a wild guess.’
‘One of your quotes. So happens I know that one- Midnight Run. Good film.’
‘It’s films I want to talk to you about, sort of.’
We went down some steps to a tiny space fitted up like a trophy room with fake cups and plaques in glass cases, and photos of squash and tennis players, golfers and yachtsmen on the walls.
‘Kitsch, I know,’ Frank said. ‘Beer? It’s all foreign.’
‘Stella, then.’
He came back with the bottles and glasses and we poured and lowered the levels. It took me a bottle before I got through everything I had to tell him about Gregory’s proposal and Townsend’s willingness to play along. I felt a bit guilty, but I didn’t tell him about all the rest of it- Morello, Farrow-then I asked him for the favour.
‘Jesus Christ, Cliff,’ he said. ‘This is cowboy stuff.’
‘The Northern Crimes Unit’s a cowboy outfit. To me, this is about Lily.’
He nodded, said nothing.
‘I know it sounds weird, but all you have to do is act a bit. Must’ve done that in your time, Frank. Have to admit it’s interesting.’
‘I wish I could be confident you’ve told me everything.’
I drained my glass. ‘Everything you need to know, mate. Another?’
‘Why not? Okay, I’m in.’
The mobile phones got a workout over the next twenty-four as we arranged to meet Gregory in Blakehurst. The deal was that he’d take up a position some distance from the actual meeting place and observe the arrival of Townsend, Parker and me in a single vehicle-mine. When he was satisfied we weren’t being followed or had an entourage, he’d advise us of the next step.
I collected the other two in Leichhardt. Townsend had his recorder, I had the. 45; Frank’s contribution was three kevlon vests.
I said, ‘How the hell did you get these?’
‘I called in a favour,’ Frank said. ‘I’m fast running out of them, but Gregory’s bound to have a weapon. And from your account of his state of mind it seems like a sensible precaution.’
Townsend put his vest on with apparent enjoyment. He’d obviously worn these things before. I hadn’t, and struggled with the straps. Clearly, Townsend was impressed by Parker’s steadiness. He could probably detect a faint smell of whisky from me, very faint. With Townsend in the front and Parker in the back, I drove towards checkpoint number one.
‘He’s cautious,’ Townsend said. ‘Like you in Drummoyne, Cliff.’
Parker said, ‘He’s experienced. Vince. Gregory had a pretty good record before he went into the Northern Crimes Unit. Some good results.’
We reached the checkpoint and stopped. Waited. After ten minutes my mobile rang.
‘Hardy? Got Townsend and Parker with you?’
He could probably see us, or was bluffing that he could. But he was scripting the scene for now, and I played along.
‘Yes, they’re here.’
‘Right. The caravan park. Stop at the gates and wait. I’ll tell you the cabin number when I’m ready. Approach on foot.’
He sounded composed. In one way that was good, not in another.
‘Have you got a gun?’ I asked before he could cut the connection.
‘Bet your fuckin’ life I’ve got a gun. Several, and I’ll use them if I have to.’
The phone went dead. ‘He’s heavily armed,’ I said. ‘But he doesn’t sound wired.’
Parker said, ‘It’s not too late to call this off. He’s down there somewhere and he’s got drugs and guns he shouldn’t have. I could call it in, and we could take him as he is.’
‘We’d get nothing but bullshit, Frank. And if they locked him up you know the others’d find a way to get to him. He says he can tell me who killed Lily. That’s my focus. You said you were in.’
‘I am,’ Parker said, ‘just spelling it out for you. Townsend?’
‘I don’t know how much Cliff’s told you, Mr Parker, but it’s more than just a story for me. It’s personal as well. Bit like Cliff. Not exactly, but…’
‘Bugger you both,’ Parker said. ‘Let’s get to this bloody caravan park and play it by ear.’
Townsend had the UBD on his lap and a small torch in his hand. ‘It’s down near the water as you’d expect,’ he said. ‘First left, second right.’
A boom gate barred the entrance to the caravan park. Presumably the occupants had means of opening it. A few lights were on inside the area, but at this time of year there wouldn’t be many transients. Hard to tell how many residents. We sat in the car and did some more waiting. The sky was cloudy but cleared to reveal a bright moon. The Georges River water was calm, with no breeze blowing. The lights of Tom Ugly’s bridge were reflected in the water; the sounds of the traffic carried clearly and the car lights gave the scene its only movement. The stillness tested my nerves.
The mobile beeped and I answered.
‘Cabin twelve,’ Gregory said. ‘Set off in ten minutes.’
‘Where is it?’
‘A hundred metres down, bear right. There’s an overhead light. You’ll find it.’
I told the others what he’d said.
‘Bugger that,’ Frank said. ‘Don’t let him call all the shots.’
We got out of the car and approached the boom gate. Frank and I ducked under it.
‘Shit,’ Townsend said. ‘I need a backup battery. Hang on a minute.’
He returned to the car, not moving any more quickly than he had to. I heard Frank give an exasperated chuckle.
‘He’s dancing to Gregory’s tune. Doesn’t want to upset him.’
‘He’s going okay though, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I don’t know,’ Frank said. ‘There’s a lot I don’t like about this.’
Townsend took his time. He rejoined us without speaking and we walked down the gravel road. As my eyes adjusted to the shadows, I saw that the lights showing were mostly in cabins away to the left, towards the water. Gregory’s instructions were taking us in the opposite direction. A thick cloud obscured the moon just then and visibility dropped suddenly.
I hadn’t realised it, but Frank and I, tall men, were striding, and Lee Townsend was almost trotting to keep up. Typically, he made no protest. When we were well down the road, a light showed off to the right. A cabin stood in a space mostly set up for transients’ caravans and vehicles.
‘Has to be it,’ Townsend said.
We stopped as Frank extended an arm to keep us back. He appeared to be sniffing the air.
‘What?’ I said.
The quiet and stillness were blasted by the roar of an engine. A motorbike. No lights, just the shattering sound receding as we stood there, helpless in the dark.