‘What do you do that could get Bobby killed?’
‘I run a business that provides men and machinery to construction companies. You wouldn’t believe what goes on in the tendering process, the bribes, the deals, the fucking politics of it all. I step on toes all the time.’
‘What kinds of toes?’
‘Big ones. Bad ones.’
‘Why the clothes? The Mafia image?’
‘The people I deal with-union types, security guys-you’ve gotta look the part. I need your help, Hardy.’
‘You’ve got a funny way of going about getting it.’
‘I said I was sorry, for Christ’s sake. What do you want me to do, kiss your boots?’
He was naturally aggressive, but so am I. ‘Drink your coffee and make that your last cigarette. Passive smoking kills. Have you stayed out of trouble the last twenty-odd years? I seem to remember you were in a spot of bother once.’
He drained his mug and stubbed out the cigarette. ‘I’ve sailed a bit close to the wind a few times, I suppose, but I’ve never had any charges laid since. . what you’re talking about. I was young and dopey back then.’
‘Not that young. What d’you mean you need my help?’
‘What do you bloody think? I want you to find out who killed my boy.’
‘And then do what?’
He felt for his cigarettes, remembered and stopped. He shook his head. ‘No, I’m not asking you to drop him in a hole. Let the law take over.’
He was hard to read. The aggression was real enough; it masked the grief, but that was real, too. Believing and trusting him was another matter. But how many of my clients had I fully believed and trusted? A majority, I thought, but not a big majority.
‘Well?’ he said. He wasn’t pleading but he wasn’t demanding either.
‘Why me?’
‘I remember that you were good. Discreet, didn’t blab about what you were doing and you got it done. You’re involved in this anyway. I’ve got blokes I could get. . ask to do it, but they’re too close to my business.’
‘You don’t trust them.’
‘You could say that.’
‘You reckon you’ve got candidates-people who might’ve wanted to hurt you this badly?’
‘Yeah, a few. I don’t know. It could still be connected to that fucking online dating shit. I wish he’d never. .’
He broke off and looked at me, his eyes shrewd. ‘You’ve got some ideas of your own, haven’t you?’
I told him Bobby had paid me some money and that I’d followed up a couple of leads out of obligation. I said I had some more questions and some ideas about how to ask them.
‘You mean who to ask them.’
‘No, I mean how to find out who to ask.’
‘You’ve lost me, but that’s what I want to hear. Will you do it, Hardy? I’ll pay whatever it takes.’
I wanted to do it and I had to do it. I had no other client and the publicity I’d got wasn’t likely to bring people running. I felt the obligation to Bobby and an obligation to myself to follow up the leads I’d uncovered, and I’ve never liked leaving unfinished business.
I keep a few contracts in the house from the time when I worked at home. My contracts are about as bland and non-specific as the law allows. They simply state that the undersigned has agreed to commission my services as a private inquiry agent and agrees to the following terms and conditions. These relate to the schedule of fees, my responsibility to report findings and termination arrangements. Frost read it through very carefully. The space for the amount of the retainer was blank. He put a big, blunt, nicotine-stained finger on it and looked at me.
‘Negotiable,’ I said.
He nodded, took out his wallet and peeled off ten hundred-dollar notes.
‘Give me your bank details,’ he said. ‘I’ll transfer five grand today. Will that do?’
I filled the amount in on the form. He nodded, took a silver ballpoint pen from his breast pocket and signed both copies. I signed and gave him one copy. I wrote the bank account information on the back of one of my cards.
‘I’ll need names and any relevant information about the people you suspect,’ I said.
He flicked the card before tucking it away with his Ray-Bans. ‘I’ll put it all in an email.’
‘Just a few more things. Bobby’s mother?’
‘Died ten years ago. The usual, breast cancer. We were separated.’
‘Have you met Bobby’s girlfriend, Jane Devereaux?’
‘Once. Nice girl.’
‘That’s all?’
‘It was a very brief meeting. I’ve got to go. Arrangements to make when they release Bobby’s body. Shit, have you got any kids?’
‘One, a daughter.’
‘Try not to outlive her.’
‘Let me know the arrangements,’ I said. ‘I’d like to be there.’
‘I will. Thanks, Hardy.’
We shook hands and I saw him out.
I phoned Frank Parker. He was in the city and we arranged to meet for a drink at a pub in The Rocks. I walked. I had two solid measures of brandy inside me on an empty stomach and the last thing I needed was a DUI problem. I enjoyed the walk through Walsh Bay and the sound and sight of the harbour always gives me a lift. The pub had a colonial theme but it’s not overdone-no leg irons, no cat o’ nine tails. I got there first and settled inside with a middy of light. In fact the theme was more nautical than correctional and I studied the paintings of tall ships as I waited.
Frank appeared carrying a stubbie. ‘Got any convict ancestors, Cliff?’
‘A couple, I believe.’
‘Me, too. Cheers. Okay, exploit me.’
‘Ray Frost, what do you know?’
Frank almost choked on his drink. ‘Ray Frost-you’re not in trouble with him, are you?’
‘No, he’s a client.’
Frank shook his head, took a drink and cleared his throat. ‘I thought you’d have more sense.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s a crook. He’s also a ruthless bastard.’
‘He said he hasn’t been in trouble for years.’
‘All that means is that he hasn’t been caught. He’s seen off a few people who got in his way. Not that they didn’t deserve it.’
I remembered Frost’s phrase, I’m not asking you to drop him in a hole. I said, ‘He’s Bobby Forrest’s father. He wants me to help find out who killed his son.’
‘Don’t touch it.’
‘He thinks it could be something to do with his business. Some kind of payback.’
‘I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. He’s bad news, Cliff. He’s a standover merchant. He puts pressure on people to accept his bids for jobs. Not only on the construction people, on the contractors and sub-contractors as well.’
‘What kind of pressure?’
‘Every bloody kind-financial, political, physical.’
‘Wouldn’t it be standard practice in that kind of game?’
‘Frost took it to a new level. He’s been up before a few Royal Commissions.’
‘When?’
‘The last one was only a couple of years ago.’
I drank some beer and wished I’d bought it full strength. ‘I must’ve been overseas. When before that?’
‘Back a bit. He’s cunning and he’s got some protection. What has he told you?’
‘Not much. He says there’s a few people who’d be capable of hurting him in that way. He’s sending me the names.’
Frank finished his beer. ‘I’m driving, that’s all I can have. Don’t take him on, mate. You’d be out of your depth. He’ll be using you for sure. That’s what he’s good at.’
‘He seemed genuine.’
‘He would. Well, that’s my advice. You’d be smart to take it.’
He patted me on the shoulder and left. I drank the rest of my beer and resented its thin taste. I bought a scotch and a sandwich. Graham Greene said the main function of food was to blot up alcohol. He had a point.
Frank’s advice was usually good, but he shouldn’t have said I’d be out of my depth. I was already wondering whether I was too old for the business and I didn’t need my best friend to be expressing the same doubts. It made me determined to find out who killed Bobby Forrest and why.