The Undertow

The beautifying smile spread around her face again.

'You're quite supple yourself, Mr Hardy. I wonder how many lies William told you about me.'

'I wonder, too.'

That actually drew a laugh. She took a moment to collect her thoughts and tidying the magazines seemed to help her. I noticed her wince as she stretched her right arm further than she'd intended. I've had shoulder injuries; they're a bastard to endure, and slow to come right.

When the magazines were lined up to her satisfaction, she leaned back in the chair and let out a long sigh. 'I'll be out of here in a few days. As I told you, I'll be safe in the bosom of my family.'

I nodded. Said nothing, not wanting to push it. Catherine Heysen was not to be pushed.

'Yes,' she said, 'I have every confidence in you. Find out, if you can, what the hell is going on.'

That was uncharacteristic and revived my doubts about her. It often seemed that she was like an actor, working from her own script, but it was the go-ahead I needed.

They picked me up on the hospital steps. They had the bulk. The suits, the shoes. They showed me their warrant cards-Detective Sergeant Wilson Carr and Detective Constable Joseph Lombardi.

'We need to talk to you, Mr Hardy,' Carr said.

'At your disposal. What say we go to the pub across the way and you can shout.'

Neither smiled. Carr said, 'You're coming with us to Surry Hills to answer a few questions.'

You don't argue with them but you don't show fear if you can help it. 'My lucky day,' I said. 'I walked here so I won't get a parking ticket.'

They escorted me to a car driven by a uniform. Lom-bardi got in the back with me and Carr got in the front.

'What would this be about?' I said.

Carr half turned and spoke over his shoulder: 'It'd be about you shutting up until we get there.'

We all preserved silence on the drive. I hadn't had much to do with cops in recent times but they never really change. They've got a tough job and there's a lot about police culture that makes it still tougher. There are rotten apples in many barrels and no one quite knows how many and in what barrels. Frank Parker once said the job was like playing football with the members of the two teams changing every few minutes along with the rules. Confusing.

At the Police Centre I was taken to an interview room and set down to wait. At least it wasn't like the old days when the decor was early fifties and you could imagine the slaps from the telephone books and the smell of Craven A cork tips. The room was carpeted, the chairs were upholstered and the table was round. Chummy, almost. The worst that could be said about it was that the air conditioning was a touch low and I was a little overdressed for the temperature.

Carr and Lombardi came in and the junior man got the recording equipment up and running but didn't activate it. They'd obviously been in discussion with someone higher up and didn't seem quite so confident.

'This is just an informal talk,' Carr said.

'Okay. Mind if I invite my solicitor along?'

'That won't be necessary. A few questions, the right answers, a little cooperation, and you're on your way.'

'With a Cabcharge voucher back to Newtown?'

Carr drew in a deep breath. He removed his suit coat and hung it over the back of his chair, giving himself time to get composed. When Lombardi went to do the same Carr stopped him. If this was good guy, bad guy it was hard to interpret. They were uneasy with each other as well as with me.

'Why did you visit Mrs Heysen in hospital?' Carr said.

'She's a family friend.'

'You're determined to piss me off, aren't you, Hardy?'

I shrugged, looked at Lombardi, and very deliberately slipped out of my jacket. 'You've got your job to do and I've got mine.'

'Mrs Heysen's late husband was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder. Now she's been shot. A private detective known to us as a troublemaking arsehole visits her. We want to know why.'

'Did you ask her?'

'She wasn't cooperative. Seems to have a prejudice against the police service.'

I shook my head. 'I can't think why anyone would feel like that.'

'Let me put it this way. A serious crime has been committed and you're withholding information.'

'Let me put it another way,' I said. 'You're suddenly interested enough in this to bring me down here. Why? You show me yours and I might show you mine, if I have anything to show.'

The two exchanged nods. Carr stood and picked up his jacket.

'Okay, Hardy,' he said, 'have it your way. But we've just about had enough of you and your cowboy games. You've done time for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice and destroying evidence. You ought to see the file we have on you.'

'I'd like to.'

'That's exactly what I mean. You love to take the piss, don't you? I'll tell you this-your old mate, former Deputy Commissioner Frank Parker, can't protect you now. We'll be keeping a close eye on you and the reality is that your fucking licence to operate in your crummy profession is hanging by a thread. One false step and you're gone and good riddance.'

I stood and lifted my jacket from the chair. Lombardi stood and we three big men faced off with the tension crackling between us. Again, in the old days it would have been dangerous and I would've expected to get hurt. Not now.

Lombardi went to the door and swung it open so that it crashed back against the wall. A uniformed officer standing there jumped at the noise.

'He'll see you out,' Lombardi said. 'Piss off!'

19

Over the next week and a bit I tried to show that I was still on the case. I went to the hospital without actually seeing Catherine Heysen, but giving that impression. I took a good look at the rear end of every medium-sized red sedan I came across. Anyone watching me would have known what that meant. I went to a Target store and bought a baseball bat, which I left on the front passenger seat of the Falcon. I carried the. 38 and I watched my back. Nothing happened.

Frank, back from his flit to Brazil, phoned me at the office. He told me that he and Hilde had taken to Peter's intended, Ramona, straight off. He said the feelings seemed to be mutual and that arrangements to get the pair of them home were proceeding smoothly. I made the right approving noises.

'But that's not what I want to talk to you about,' Frank said. 'The DNA test result's come through. It's positive in that it says there's only one chance in a couple of hundred thousand that the boy's not my son.'

'How's Hilde taking it?'

'She's okay with it. Not enraptured, but… interested and a bit more than that. Any luck locating him?'

I told him more or less what I'd told Catherine Heysen, but in starker terms. He listened without interrupting, the way he does.

'We'd better meet,' he said when I'd finished.

'Yeah. She's also hired me to continue the investigation into the Heysen case and the attacks on us.'

There was a pause before he spoke. 'You said us. Has she got to you the way she got to me?'

'No.'

'Good. I told you I'd back you on that-looking for the kid and all the rest of it.'

'I'd rather take her money than yours. You're right, we should meet. Let's make it as public a place as possible.'

'Why?'

'I'll tell you when I see you.'

Centennial Park seemed as good a bet as any other, and we met there mid-morning on a grey day. All the better for there being fewer people about and making it easier to spot anyone suspicious. But there are always walkers, joggers, rollerbladers and cyclists, so the park is never empty.

We met at the Oxford Street gates and strolled in. Straightaway Frank's trained eye spotted that I was carrying my pistol in a shoulder holster under my jacket.