I stood and looked at him for a minute or two before I called the police. One meeting and a phone call didn’t amount to much of a contact. But he’d told me things he’d only told one other person-his father. Somehow that mattered. The older I get the younger the young seem, and Bobby Forrest had seemed very young. I felt a mixture of emotions-pity, anger, guilt-as I keyed in the numbers.
4
Over the next few hours I told the story four times-to the uniformed cops at the scene, to the detectives there, again at Strathfield police station and again at the central police complex at Surry Hills. That took us well into the afternoon. I was tired, hungry and strung out. I’d had too much dispenser coffee; the taste in my mouth was foul and my mood was worse. My hands were dirty. I’d been tested for gunfire residue and the tissues I’d been given to wipe the testing solution away hadn’t done the job. They’d taken the SIM card from my phone.
Detective Inspector Sean Rockwell’s mood wasn’t much better than mine.
‘How long have you been back in business, Hardy? A month?’
‘Bit more.’
‘And this happens.’
He consulted a sheaf of computer printout. As well as telling the police what had happened I’d given them the memory stick and they’d printed out the Forrest file. Nothing else I could’ve done. They’d have seized the computer in any case and I already had a conviction for withholding evidence. A private inquiry agent has no privilege of confidentiality, especially when no lawyer has been involved in the case contract. Rockwell’s look of disgust snapped my fragile control.
‘Do you know why this bloke came to me? I’ll tell you. Because he was worried about a serious relationship he was in and, quite reasonably, he knew that if he went to you lot the story would leak out to the media within the hour and he’d be fucked. That’s why. He wanted me to handle it. . discreetly. It all went wrong and I’m sorry about it, but don’t come all high and mighty with me. I’ve said all I’m going to say and stayed long enough. Charge me with something or let me go.’
‘I’d love to,’ Rockwell said, ‘charge you, that is.’
‘I bet you would, but you’ve got nothing on me. You know everything about it I know. His mobile’ll confirm he rang me just before he was shot.’
‘No sign of his mobile.’
I shrugged. ‘The killer must have taken it.’
‘Or you did.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Who knows what a loser like you would do? Anyway, we don’t quite know everything. We don’t know what you found out when you checked on this. .’ he looked down at some notes he’d made, ‘Miranda’s address.’
‘Dead end, I told you. Short-term rental. She was on the game. Your blokes there must know about it, probably got freebies.’
He slammed his fist on the desk and some of the sheets of paper slipped to the floor. ‘Piss off, Hardy. And stay right away from this fucking mess you’ve created.’
‘Where’s my car?’
‘Impounded for further investigation.’
That meant they’d take it apart carefully and just stick it back together any old how or not touch it and just hang on to it to punish me.
‘My house keys?’
‘Collect them on your way out.’
I was escorted from the interview room to the front desk where I picked up my keys. They kept my sim card and I was issued with a receipt for it and my car. As soon as I got outside I was bailed up by a clutch of reporters-cameras, microphones, tape recorders, the works.
‘Mr Hardy, was Bobby Forrest on drugs?’
‘Why did Bobby hire you?’
‘Was it suicide?’
‘No comment.’
I pushed through them and hailed a taxi. They persisted while I got in, still filming and firing questions. They’d be at my house for sure. I gave the driver Megan’s address in Newtown and he had the sense not to say a word for the whole trip. Perhaps he was a central police station specialist.
Megan took one look at me and stood aside. She was holding Ben and he reached out to grab my hair. It was better than being asked questions.
‘I need a drink,’ I said. ‘A big one.’
Megan had seen me stressed quite a few times before. She just nodded. ‘You know where it is.’
I made a large scotch and ice and took a big pull on it before sitting down. Megan put Ben on the floor and he surprised me by tottering across to a shelf of toys and pulling some out.
‘He’s only ten months old.’
‘Nearly eleven. He’s early at everything. Be careful what you say. He understands a lot. What’s happened, Cliff? You look a wreck.’
It was close to six o’ clock and I asked her to turn on the television news. The death of Bobby Forrest and my encounter with the media was the lead item. The body of actor Bobby Forrest, star of several television series and recently cast in the lead role for a major film, was found at Strathfield today. It is understood that the body was discovered by private investigator Cliff Hardy who, it is assumed, was working for Bobby Forrest. It is not known what Mr Hardy was employed to do or exactly how Bobby Forrest died except that a gunshot was involved. Speculation that Hardy was acting as a bodyguard has not been confirmed. He was interviewed by police for several hours this afternoon but would make no comment. Bobby Forrest. .
The report went on to give more details about Bobby’s career and included several clips from his television appearances. I worked on the drink and let it all wash over me. Megan turned the set off at the end of the item. Ben was building a tower of cardboard blocks. He had it up nearly as tall as himself and when he put the last one in place he gave a whoop and knocked it down.
‘I hope you weren’t his bodyguard,’ Megan said.
‘I wasn’t.’
I sketched in some of the details while I helped Ben rebuild his tower a few times.
‘The police don’t really suspect you, do they?’
‘No. But they’ve warned me off having anything more to do with it.’
‘If I know you. .’
‘He gave me a solid retainer. I’m honour-bound to work it off.’
‘Yeah, yeah. You can’t afford to step too far out of line.’
‘Never could.’
‘And it never stopped you. Do you have any idea who killed him?’
‘No. It was a nasty, tricky business, but I had no idea it was this serious. Have to think about it.’
We dropped the subject, picked it up again for a while when Hank came home. These days he’s mainly doing electronic security work, and when I told him the police had taken my SIM card he looked worried.
‘Means they’ve got all your contact details and data.’
I shrugged. ‘No data to speak of, not at this stage, and I’ve nothing to hide, really. But does that mean I’ve lost all that stuff?’
‘No, dummy. When I set up your phone I fixed it so your contacts would be stored in the phone itself. Let’s have a look.’
I handed him the phone, he fiddled with it and nodded. ‘Yep, all there. I’ll put in a new SIM card and you’re up and running.’
Ben went to bed. Megan made dinner. I cleaned up. I slept on the couch, soundly, with two solid scotches and half a big glass of white wine inside me. I distracted Ben for a while in the early morning while Megan got things done and then walked home. No media, but cigarette butts, a couple of crumpled tissues and the open lid of my letter box showed that they’d been there.
I reviewed what I had on the computer file and added the one thing I hadn’t told the police-that I had a forwarding address and a name for ‘Miranda’ from the serviced apartments’ concierge. If they followed up my interview with her they’d find that out, probably, but it might take them some time. I could see if there was anything to be learned at 26 Hood Street, Burwood, just to feel that I was still earning Bobby’s money. And because I don’t like being told what and what not to do. If I found out anything useful I’d probably tell the police. Not necessarily. A one-man, unpaid hunt for a murderer still held an attraction for me, at least theoretically.