Catching up with Ramsay Hewitt was proving to be tricky. If he kept on the move like this I could be at it for weeks. But I thought it’d be worth giving Mrs Kipps a ring later on. She’d said she didn’t know where he was but with Ramsay it was more a matter who he was with, and Mrs Kipps just might have some ideas about that. Her remark about wanting him in gaol might be something I’d have to edit out when I next talked to Tess.
I drove back towards the city at a leisurely pace, turning things over in my mind. I’d decided there was no-one out to kill me just now so I didn’t pay much attention to the traffic around me until I spotted a police car some distance back and weaving through other cars. Being a mostly law-abiding citizen, I eased my way over to let the car get through to wherever it was going.
It drew alongside of me and the uniformed cop in the passenger seat waved me into the kerb. The Falcon is a bit shabby but has no obvious unroadworthy features I was aware of, though who examines their tail-lights on a daily basis? There was nowhere to stop so I cruised along until there was. The police car stayed right behind me and I could see the one who wasn’t driving talking on his two-way. Not a cracked light or a bald tyre then. We were in Queens Street heading for Drummoyne and I pulled over into the car park adjacent to a small reserve. I did a quick mental check: no opened bottles containing alcohol, no concealed weapons, no bodies in the boot.
I sat there while they approached and when I saw they were both young I got nervous. Ninety per cent of police shootings are done by an officer under thirty — something like that. I wound the window down and put both hands on the steering wheel. See, no gun.
One approached and the other hung back with the two-way in his hand, as per regulations.
‘Mr Hardy?’
‘That’s right. What’s up?’
‘Step out of the car, please.’
Things are looking up. The old-style cops would have said, ‘Out!’
‘You open the door,’ I said. ‘If I drop my hand you’d have an excuse to shoot me.’
He nodded and opened the door. Serious guy. I climbed out slowly, partly not to alarm him with any sudden movement, partly because with a still braised stomach and a few years on the clock, that’s how I felt like getting out of the car.
‘Could I see some identification, please?’
‘You think I’ve stolen my own car?’
He was young, nervous and lacked a sense of humour, bad combination. He put one hand on his pistol and held out the other. I gave him my driver’s licence and he examined it closely before handing it back. ‘You’re wanted at Hurstville Police Station, Mr Hardy.’
I shook my head, ‘My lawyer phoned in early this morning.’
He spoke to his mate with the two-way. “The gentleman says his lawyer… made representations.’
The other cop spoke into his radio and then indicated in the negative. ‘Still wanted.’
‘Are you going to take me or can I drive myself?’
‘You can drive.’
‘Going to give me an escort?’
I said it partly to get up his nose, partly to get an idea of how serious this was. Predictably, he took it seriously and had to check with his mate again. More two-way talk and the second cop approached, looking relieved. My guess — no escort.
‘They say it’s in the nature of a request, but if the gentleman shows any signs of resistance we’re to escort him.’
I held up my hands in surrender. ‘I’ll go. I wouldn’t want to take you blokes from Drummoyne to Hurstville. What’s Hurstville got?’
The two-way cop grinned but the other one seemed to be considering the matter. ‘C’mon, Charles,’ two-way said. ‘He’s said he’ll go in.’
Charles, he would be a Charles, looked at his watch. ‘I’ll advise them of the time you started. Drive carefully, Mr Hardy.’
‘Always,’ I said and got back in the car. It was lunchtime or close enough, and I’d be buggered if I’d turn up at a police station for how long I didn’t know without having had lunch and perhaps a couple of quiet nerve-soothers.
Inspector Beth Hammond leaned forward slightly across the desk that separated us. ‘Would you mind telling us why it took you three hours to get from Canada Bay to Hurstville?’
‘I stopped for lunch.’
‘This isn’t a joke, Mr Hardy.’
‘I agree with you. I don’t find anything funny about being stopped by policemen and ordered to go somewhere without being told why.’
Stankowski stood against the wall of the bare and cheerless interview room. Perhaps their version of good cop, bad cop was standing cop, sitting cop. ‘It was a request.’
‘The man making the request put his hand on his pistol.’
The two detectives exchanged a glance before Hammond got back to business.
‘Your client, Mr Price, has made a statement in which he says he hired you to investigate his daughter because he feared she was getting into bad company.’
‘That’s true as far as it goes.’
‘He says as far as he knows you’ve never been to his house. Your fingerprints were found in the house in association with some of Mrs Price’s blood. Coming on top of you being one of the last people to see Jason Jorgensen alive and the professional at the golf club identifying you as a man who misrepresented himself as a sports agent, I think you have some explaining to do.’
I said nothing and thought about it. I was still thinking when Stankowski spoke up. ‘Getting your lawyer to phone in some cockeyed story about your phone being tapped doesn’t help your credibility.’
‘Yours isn’t so hot either, Detective-Constable. I don’t know the status of this interview. You don’t seem to be making a record of it unless you’ve got some sneaky device and I haven’t been told of my rights. If you think I’m involved in a couple of murders…’
‘You’re helping with our enquiries,’ Hammond said.
I nodded. ‘That makes it sound voluntary.’
Stankowski lost patience first which might help to explain why he was out-ranked by Hammond. He pushed off from the wall and would have loomed over me if he’d been a bit taller. ‘Come on, Hardy. You’ve been around. You know the ropes. Something’s going on with these people, this Price and his family and friends. Two of them are dead. Someone brained that kid and dumped him in the river and someone shot that woman up with pure heroin..’
That was news. Hammond gave him a furious look and I knew why. I shook my head and made a movement to suggest I was going to get up from the chair, if not immediately then soon. ‘No way. You’ve got me implicated in two murders. I’m not going to answer any questions without my lawyer present.’
‘We can hold you for a time,’ Hammond said. It was warm in the room and she was beginning to look a little uncomfortable in her suit. Same style as yesterday, blue instead of black.
‘You won’t,’ I said. ‘You know it isn’t worth your while.’
‘I’d do it to take you down a peg or two,’ Stankowski muttered.
‘But you’re not the boss.’
It was the second time I’d faced Hammond down and she didn’t like it. Stankowski liked it even less. In the old days they’d have locked me up, planted something on me or verballed me, had their way. But times have changed. I almost sympathised with them. Almost.
I pushed my chair back. ‘Will that be all?’
They didn’t answer and I walked out of the room. I got to the car and dialled Price’s home number. No answer. I tried the office with the same result. Hope I get you as you’re just about to slip it in, I thought as I punched in the numbers for his mobile.
‘Martin Price.’
Martin now — widower, serious man. ‘This is Hardy. We need to talk.’
‘Yes, we do. Did you find Danni?’
‘I did. Look…’
‘I thought you would. Those police are hopeless. I want to hire you to find out who killed my wife.’
18
‘That’s a crazy idea,’ I told Price. ‘I can’t question people who don’t want to be questioned or get warrants to search places, or offer immunity to informants who might be involved. That’s how it’s done and it’s police work.’