Another frustration arises from the questions that come to your mind as you read. You want to be there to ask the witnesses questions that seem important to you but apparently didn’t to the learned counsel.
As I turned the couple of hundred pages, skipping the dull stuff, I thought I could see what O’Connor meant. John L’Estrange had presented the case against Master in a straightforward manner that seemed to say, Look, no tricks. This is all above board. Judge for yourself. Likewise, the judge’s summing up had been scrupulously fair, without frills or flourishes. Reading between the lines, you could get a sense of her law-and-order agenda as reported in the newspaper, but there was nothing the defence could point to as untoward.
I closed the binder and sat back with only one phrase coming to mind: a very neat package. I’d put my notebook beside the transcript but when I’d finished reading I only had three names written down-Salvatore Verdi, Colin Baxter and Detective Senior Sergeant Karl Knopf. Verdi and Baxter were the customs agents who’d inspected Master’s bags and detained him. Knopf was the forensic examiner who’d analysed the heroin and done tests on the packaging. There was no reason why any of them would be willing to talk to me and possibly nothing to be gained. But you never know. Ten to twelve was a heavy sentence and if any one of them was surprised by what resulted, they might have started thinking… Besides, I had two days before my flight and had already talked to the principals, so it was time to try the supporting cast.
As I finished the wine and poured another glass, I realised that I hadn’t turned the microwave on. I do that. I sometimes take out mugs of coffee and find them stone cold. I heated the food and ate it slowly, enjoying it and the wine and regretting that there was no one to share it with. The murder of my one-time partner Glen Withers some time back, following not long after the death from cancer of Cyn, my ex-wife of many years earlier, had rocked me more than a little. It wasn’t that I thought myself a Jonah, or that I didn’t feel a surge when an attractive woman came into view-like Lorraine Master-it was just that I sometimes wondered what the point was. In my experience sexual attractions, even love, were very transitory.
As I rinsed the dishes I remembered something I’d heard on the radio, maybe from Robin Williams on ‘The Science Show’, that in all creation only some kind of flatworm is truly monogamous and that’s because it fuses with its partner first time up in coitus. Bad night ahead, Cliff, I thought. Go out and find some company.
I found it at the Toxteth, where else? Daphne Rowley, who runs a printing and photographic business in Glebe and has provided me with false IDs from time to time, was playing pool in the pub and gave a cheer when she saw me.
‘A down-in-the-dumps PI named Cliff Hardy,’ she whooped. ‘I’m drinkin’ for free tonight.’
She was right. We played for drinks and she won. I’ve beaten her on occasions, but only when I was up and being positive, as they say. Down and drinking, she whipped me. We ended up over brandies as the pub emptied. Daphne would be collecting her dogs from outside the pub.
‘Tough case, Cliff?’
‘Not so bad,’ I said. ‘I’m going off to New Caledonia in a couple of days.’
‘Fuck you,’ she said.
‘Not original, Daph, I heard that earlier today. Just can’t remember who from.’
The hangover was mild compared to some, but enough to need dealing with. I drove to the Redgum Gymnasium and Fitness Centre in Leichhardt and did a moderately hard workout on the treadmill and the machines. Then into the sauna to sweat out the toxins. Feeling a bit light-headed but better, I came out to find Peter Lo doing curls with impossibly heavy free weights. Peter is Balinese and built low to the ground. I’d say that he’s all bone and muscle except that would suggest he hasn’t got a brain. In fact he has an excellent one. After climbing to a senior rank in the police force working in the forensic branch he’s recently taken leave to do a doctorate in criminology. His thesis was something to do with justice and society.
‘Hi, Dr Lo,’ I said as he paused between curls.
He sighed and flexed his fingers inside his sweat-soaked mittens. ‘If I had a dollar for everyone who’s said that.’
‘Sorry, Peter, I’m not at my best this morning.’
‘Yeah, I saw you head for the sauna. Heavy night?’
‘Not so bad. Can I buy you breakfast?’
‘You mean, “I need your help”, right?’
I nodded.
‘Bar Napoli. Twenty minutes.’ He sucked in air and his chest expanded like a balloon. He reached for a heavier weight. I couldn’t bear to watch and went off to shower and dress.
Meeting Peter was no coincidence. Where I make it to the gym three times in a good week, he’s there five mornings a week. They say that’s too often but it’d be a brave man who’d tell Peter Lo that. I was sitting down with a black coffee and two plain croissants when he strode in. I signalled to Luigi, who brought Peter his standard order-black coffee and raisin toast, no butter.
‘Let’s dispense with the prelims, Cliff. The thesis is going okay, the wife and kids are fine, I bench-pressed a hundred and twenty-five kays this morning. Personal best.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. How are your relations with your former colleagues?’
He took a bite of toast and appeared to chew it the prescribed number of times, whatever that is. He washed it down with some coffee. ‘No problems.’
‘Not afraid you’re stealing a march on them, you being a slope and all?’
He laughed. ‘Every one of them’s just as competitive as me.’
‘How about Karl Knopf?’
‘What about him?’
‘Your assessment.’
‘Eat your breakfast. First class.’
I ate and drank. ‘Would he talk to me if you asked him to?’
‘What about?’
With Peter I was always upfront and honest. He was too intelligent and experienced to deal with in any other way. He saw through evasions and half truths immediately and responded appropriately. I told him about the Master trial and its peculiar tidiness.
‘Karl’s straight, he wouldn’t be in anything dodgy.’
‘Good. I’d just like to get his impression of the way things went down.’
‘It is strange, the prosecutor shooting through like that. How about the customs guys?’
I shrugged. ‘Dunno.’
‘I’ll ask Karl to give you a call and I’ll see if I can find out anything about the customs men.’
‘Thanks, Peter. I’ll owe you. Again.’
He smiled. ‘Never know, you could have given me a footnote.’
Worked out, saunaed, breakfasted and feeling pretty good, I phoned Lorraine Master at her office and Fiona put me through.
‘Anything to report, Mr Hardy?’
‘Not really. Nothing solid but I’m following up on a few things. I’m booked for tomorrow.’
‘The money’s there. I’m faxing you the PIN. Present ID at the bank and you’ll be able to draw on the full amount.’
‘You’re sure I won’t take off for Tahiti?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘What gym did Stewart go to?’
‘Why?’
‘Might be useful to ask around. See if anyone else has been asking around. See if anyone’s interested that I’m asking around. It’s a technique of the profession. It’s called stirring the possum.’
‘I see. Quaint. The Atlas, in Watsons Bay. I go there myself. You could ask about me.’