‘And that name was?’ Carmichael asked.
I shook my head. ‘Fay Lewis knew the name but she was shot before she could tell us.’
‘And you’ve no idea?’
‘All I know is that someone left a threatening message on my computer soon after my first meeting with Mrs Master and that I was attacked about the same time.’
Hammond said, ‘Attacked?’
‘I was knocked down a set of stairs.’
From the looks on their faces they would both have been happy to do the same, now or sometime in the future. ‘C’mon, Hardy,’ Carmichael growled, ‘you know more than that.’
I did, sort of. But there was no chance I’d tell them about Montefiore’s version of the conspiracy to convict Master and the alleged police involvement in getting a big haul of marijuana onto the Australian market. I had no idea whether the story was true, but if it was, a couple of New South Wales cops I knew nothing about weren’t the people to talk to.
All I know is that an average-sized man, or maybe a tallish woman, wearing dark clothes and a stocking mask killed Fay Lewis and Montefiore and would’ve killed Mrs Master and me except that I got lucky.’
‘Bullshit,’ Hammond said.
I shrugged. ‘Ask Mrs Master.’
Carmichael snuffled and blew his nose. ‘Oh, we will. And we’ll jump through any cracks in your stories.’
‘You’d better be careful. She’s a very successful high-powered businesswoman and she’s got a top-flight lawyer.’
Carmichael blew his nose again and Hammond drew slightly away from him. ‘She’s married to a lowlife.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
She jumped at it. ‘So you’ve met Master? That’s interesting.’
I hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it wasn’t disastrous. ‘I saw him out at Avonlea after I took this case on.’
‘You didn’t know him before that?’
‘No.’
‘Or Mrs Master?’
‘No.’
‘How well do you know her now?’
‘What do you mean?’
Carmichael took over. ‘You know what she means. You saved her fucking life, it looks like.’
‘And mine, don’t forget. Where is she, by the way?’
‘By the way,’ he mocked. ‘She’s down the road in Balmain hospital, but if what you say’s right, she’ll be in some flash private place any minute.’
Hammond said, ‘Where did the gun come from?’
‘It was there.’
‘Whose was it?’
‘No idea.’
‘You knew how to use it.’
‘I’ve got one similar. Licensed. But I didn’t have it with me.’
‘You weren’t expecting trouble?’
The air in the interview room was stale and Carmichael was filling it with germs. My chair was hard and my eyes were still stinging from the cordite and plaster dust. ‘Look, I’m getting tired of this. I’ve been cooperative and tried to tell you everything I know. I’ve got a client in hospital, a car collecting fines and a shoulder that hurts like buggery. I’ve also got a solicitor. Do we wind this up for now, or do I contact him?’
Carmichael burst into a fusillade of sneezing and coughing and his high colour got even higher. Hammond looked concerned and when he caught his breath he gave her the nod.
‘Interview concluded at 11.50 am,’ she said and turned off the machine. ‘And you’re a slippery prick, Mr Hardy.’
I suppressed a rude reply.
I took a taxi back to Balmain and found my car sitting on its wheel rims with the tyres slashed. A heavy parking fine and an unroadworthy notice completed the picture. I organised an NRMA tow, watched SOC officers at work behind their blue and white tape up at the flats, and then went into the convenience store for some painkillers and on to the Gladstone for a long overdue drink.
Over the beer, with the paracetamol cutting in to dull the pain in my shoulder, I reflected on what had happened and how things stood. The police didn’t believe me but there wasn’t much they could do about it. The four thousand dollars plus wasn’t a lot of money, not enough to positively contradict my story. That might change if they found a sizeable amount of the money I’d paid out to Montefiore and Fay in Noumea lying around in their flat, but somehow I doubted they would. Those two were the type to spend it and stash it.
I’d described the gunman accurately to the police, which is to say hardly at all. The quick look I’d had at him was consistent with what I’d been told about the Noumea mystery man, but it also fitted about eighty per cent of the Australian adult male population. The name was further from our grasp than before. But maybe not completely out of reach. There was a chance that Reg Penny knew it, just a chance. A better than even chance of knowing lay with Stewart Master, but he wasn’t likely to cough it up. The ‘man without a name’ was in Sydney; he knew my car and office and probably my house. Did he know Lorrie? Hard to say.
I had a second beer and a toasted sandwich and felt more or less composed. I’d left my mobile in the car. I used the hotel’s public phone to call Bryce O’Connor and was put straight through to him.
‘This is a mess, Hardy.’
‘Could be worse. Lorraine and I could be dead. Or maybe you wouldn’t consider that worse.’
A pause. ‘I don’t get your meaning.’
‘Forget it. I’m stressed. The cops say she’s probably gone from Balmain hospital by now. Where is she?’
‘I’m not sure I should tell you. What in God’s name has been going on?’
‘I could fill you in, I suppose, if you dropped the outraged manner and cooperated. A very dangerous person is out there. It’s all to do with Stewart Master’s conviction-a cooked-up job. You’re involved at that point. Then there’s my investigation and who knows how wide it could spread? We’ve got a dead man in Noumea and two dead people here in Sydney. And a wounded woman-your client and mine. This goes beyond the legal niceties, Mr O’Connor. Where the fuck is she?’
‘She’s in the Cartland private hospital in Bellevue Hill. I thought she should be near her business associates and her children.’
‘Very thoughtful. I hope you arranged for security.’
‘I did. There’s a guard.’
‘Good. Contact him and authorise access for me on proof of identity.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because if you don’t, Bryce, when all this gets sorted out, and it will, I’ll tell how you helped to set Stewart Master up for a gaol stretch he didn’t really earn.’
‘You’re being ridiculous, but I’ll make the call and Lorraine can deal with you herself. What possessed you to take her to this criminal meeting I can’t imagine. I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t report you to whatever sleazy authority supposedly regulates your profession.’
‘Nice speech. Good stuff in court, but it sounds like bullshit to me.’
He hung up. Accusing him was a shot in the dark and I couldn’t tell whether it had struck home or not. He was a smooth one, possibly worth his price whoever paid. I rang the Cartland and was told that Mrs Master was sleeping peacefully. The nurse brought the guard to the phone and he confirmed that O’Connor had rung him. He sounded young, alert and American.
‘Please ask when it’d be possible for me to see her,’ I said. I heard some murmuring and then he came back on the line.
‘They say later today, around five o’clock.’
‘Thanks, I’ll see you then. You are…?’
‘Hank Bachelor. Mr Hardy, what exactly is the threat here?’
‘Look out for a guy in a stocking mask with a silenced pistol,’ I said.
The Cartland was as unlike the Victorian piles that house most of our public hospitals as it was possible to be. In fact, with its tinted glass and white bricks and landscaping, it reminded me of the Atlas gym. Lorrie was in a private room of course, on the third floor, no doubt with a view.