The Undertow

'Or both.'

'Or both. Do you reckon the media'll dig up the stuff about Heysen and Bellamy?'

Lily considered. 'Possibly, but a lot of the reporters around now think of everything pre-9/11 as ancient history. If she'd been killed maybe, but wounded isn't sexy.'

'A photo of her'd take care of that.'

'Really?'

I nodded. 'But she did her modelling under a different name so they might not twig. It could bring young Billy to the surface though, if he cares about her.'

'Come on, she's his mother.'

'I told you, he's a cold fish and she hasn't seen hide nor hair of him in six months.'

'No one's that cold.'

'I hope you're right. If it's got something to do with the old Heysen and Bellamy matter, I'm back on the same trail, or two trails.'

'You'll cope.'

'I dunno. I'm a linear thinker. Two lines of thought tend to confuse me.'

'Bullshit. I have to go out, Cliff. By the way, I had word today that my house's nearly finished. Be out of your hair soon.'

She kissed me as she went. That was Lily. That was Lily and me.

I phoned the hospital and asked when Mrs Heysen could receive visitors.

'Family?'

'Friend.'

'She's under heavy sedation.'

'Have family members been in?'

'Who is speaking, please?'

That meant the cops had asked the hospital to monitor calls. Fair enough. I hung up. I went back to my notebook and the page with the boxes and arrows and squiggles and tried to come up with an explanation of why anyone would want to kill Catherine Heysen. There were two possibilities as I saw it: one, that William Heysen was involved in some deep, big money shit, and that our enquiring about him had prompted someone to put an end to that enquiring at the likely source. The second was that my scouting around about the Heysen and Bellamy matter had opened an old, tender wound, and someone thought killing Catherine Heysen might cauterise it. I tended to favour the second scenario and wasn't happy about it. 'Mad Matt' Sawtell was a possibility, and Frank and I were both possible additional targets.

'Watch your back, Frank,' I said when I phoned him.

He'd thought it through the same way. 'Watch your own,' he said.

'This woman's brought you a fair amount of grief already. You don't need any more.'

'I feel embarrassed about this, Cliff. But there's some hold-up with Peter's marriage and the visas and that. Hilde's dead keen for us to go over there and meet the girl and see Peter.'

'You should.'

'It feels like running away.'

'Bullshit. It focuses things. I can arrange protection for Catherine, and if I attract any flak I reckon I can handle it. Someone who shoots at a woman at close range, misses, and gets scared away by a Volvo doesn't worry me too much.'

'What about Lily?'

'How d'you mean?'

'With a partner you're vulnerable. You know that.'

'Lily's house is nearly ready. She'll be gone in a day or so.'

'How do you feel about that?'

'In view of this, good. Do a Peter Allen, mate.' Tunelessly, I chanted, 'Go to Rio, de Janeiro.'

'Christ, that's enough to make me do it.'

I kept phoning the hospital. Complications had set in and Catherine Heysen needed a second operation. She recovered quickly after that. Her shooting had attracted no more media attention and, almost a week after it, when Lily had moved back to Greenwich and Frank and Hilde had flown to South America, I went to the hospital to see her.

15

She had a private room with a view back towards the university colleges. Not bad. The room was full of more flowers than she could smell and more fruit than she could eat, indicating that members of her family had been frequent visitors. She was sitting propped up when I arrived. Her hair was arranged and her makeup was perfect. She wore a pink bed jacket over a silk nightdress and looked about as good as anyone who'd been shot could look.

She extended her left hand. 'Mr Hardy.'

'How are you feeling, Mrs Heysen?'

'Not bad, thank you. The people here are excellent and I have my own doctor keeping an eye on things of course. Please sit down.'

'I know the police will have asked you, but did you see the man who shot you?'

'No, not at all. I don't even know that it was a man.'

'Why d'you say that?'

She shrugged and a grimace of pain crossed her face. 'I must not do that. I don't know-there are terrible people around these days of both sexes.'

'It sounds as if you had some… intuition about it.'

'Perhaps. But if I did at the time, it has dissipated now after the operation and the drugs.'

'Can you write? I mean, it's your right shoulder, isn't it?'

'Yes. I wonder. I haven't tried. Why?'

I took one of my cards from my wallet. 'I'd like to talk to the neighbour who helped you. Apparently he wants to stay anonymous. I thought if you okayed it he might talk to me.'

'Mr Lowenstein at number twelve. Yes, I think he might.'

'Do you know him well?'

'I don't know anyone well, Mr Hardy. I obviously didn't know my own husband well. Or my son. If you have a pen I'll write something for Mr Lowenstein, if I can manage.'

I gave her a ballpoint and she found she had full mobility from the elbow down. She wrote on the back of the card and signed it. I thanked her.

'What's this all about, Mr Hardy?'

'As I told you at our last meeting, perhaps you were right all along and someone framed your husband. Frank and I probing into it might have upset that person, who might think you ordered the investigation.'

'Which I did, in a way. But…'

'There's no statute of limitation on murder, or on conspiracy to murder, I think. Not much point in finding your son if you're not around to say hello to him.'

'You think this person might try again?'

'It's difficult to say. Do you know what calibre the bullet was?'

'No, but it didn't do a great amount of damage apparently.'

'What was the range?'

She almost shrugged again, but stopped in time. 'Oh, not far, ten metres?'

'Small calibre at that range sounds like a professional. If you persist…'

'But I'm not persisting, as you put it. You're looking for William and that's all.'

'This hypothetical person probably doesn't know that.'

She was a perceptive woman. 'There's something you're not telling me.'

'You're right. The news doesn't get any better, Mrs Heysen. Frank and I have put out feelers and there's a possibility that William is involved in something criminal and… big. So this attempt on your life could be a warning to him.'

'Oh God, this is horrible.'

'I'm concerned for your safety, and William's.'

'Is Frank?'

It wasn't the time to tell her that Frank was on the way to sorting out the personal problems which had been a part of his response to her initially. But his concern for the son was ongoing, so I said yes.

'When I'm released from here I'm going to stay at my parents' place until I'm fully recovered. I have uncles and nephews. I'll be safe. Then I'm going to sell the Earlwood place and get a flat with state of the art security.'

'That's good,' I said. 'You have my numbers. Please let me know where you are and I'll keep you in touch with our search for your son.'

The session had tired her and she nodded wearily. I went away thinking that she'd originally said she'd hang on to the Earlwood place as a sort of homing device for

William. Did selling it mean she had full confidence in my ability to find him? I didn't think so.

I'd parked semi-legally in a Newtown back street, which was as close as I could get to the hospital. It was a Thursday and busy, with pensions being paid and shops staying open late. I contemplated leaving the car where it was and walking to the office but decided against it. A conscientious parking inspector would certainly book it and I didn't need the expense and the hassle.