The Undertow

'That's not going to happen,' Frank said.

'Then she's a childless widow, the poxy bitch. And I'll get a couple of you as well.'

Frank and I both had guns in our hands and Hank had unhooked his tazer.

'Not all,' Hank said. Brave, but his voice was shaky.

Sawtell's mutilated face lost expression and his pale eyes seemed to go blank. 'You think I care?'

A siren sounded briefly in the distance and Sawtell, the ex-policeman, couldn't stifle a small reaction. He swayed just slightly. William, the athlete, now fighting for his life, felt the minute change in the pressure. He threw his weight sideways and rocked the chair to a forty-five degree angle away from Sawtell.

Sawtell swore and fired. The bullet hit William and the impact threw him and the chair to the floor.

Frank shot Sawtell in the chest. Twice.

26

After that it was one big stink. Sawtell was dead and William had a serious leg wound. Hank went out to meet the cops that the professor had summoned, and to get them to call an ambulance. They gave him a bad time-stun guns are illegal for civilians. The kitchen was awash with blood from Sawtell and William. Frank untied William, used the rope to put a tourniquet on his leg, and slowed the bleeding down until the paramedics took over.

At that range, two. 45 bullets, one dead centre in the chest and one lower left to the heart area, leave no doubt. Sawtell must have died within seconds of being hit.

The place filled with ambulance guys, uniformed police, detectives and scene-of-crime people, male and female. Frank and I identified ourselves and were held and cautioned. One of the detectives recognised Frank's name and treated him with a little more respect than he might have otherwise. Certainly more than Hank and I got. Frank told them who the dead man was and it didn't mean a thing to them. The police took possession of stuff Sawtell had in the house, including the sawn-off shotgun.

As we were being escorted to the police cars to be taken to Surry Hills, Hank remembered Cassidy Junior in the boot of the Commodore. The police opened the boot and it was almost comical to see the relief on the small man's face. He put his hands in the air as though he was in a Western movie. But this wasn't the movies. None of us was handcuffed or manhandled. Our heads weren't thumped down as we were put in the cars. Frank was quiet as we watched the ambulance taking his son to hospital pull away and heard the wail of its siren.

Then it was interviews, solicitors, statements, the whole deal. I was in trouble for having an unlicensed pistol and allowing it to be used in a killing. Hank was in trouble over the stun gun. We were all culpable for failing to report a kidnapping and sundry other offences. Near the end of it all I was wrung out and short-tempered and my solicitor, Viv Garner, had to advise me to calm down. We had the chance for a quiet talk during one of the breaks in the interrogation and recording process.

'It'll sort out, Cliff,' he said. 'Another suspension most likely, at worst.'

My throat was dry from lousy coffee and talking. I shook my head. 'Not this time. I've had too many of them. The police'll recommend to the board to lift it permanently.'

'We'll see. Just play along. Don't give them any more to work with. Is there any more? What am I saying? With you, there's always more.'

'I called Rex Wain's killing in anonymously.'

'Just keep quiet about that.'

'I'm worried about Hank. He could be deported. I wonder what Frank's saying?'

'Worry about yourself, mate.'

*

The wash-up could have been worse. The coroner found that Sawtell's death was the result of a justifiable homicide. The police had pushed hard for this, not only because of Frank's exemplary record, but because they were happy to have Wain's murder cleared up-ballistics showed that Sawtell's pistol had done the job-and to have Sawtell himself off their books. It didn't take too much cynicism to understand that the police were happy to have him silenced forever, unable to name names.

With this background they came down lighter on Hank, who incurred a year's suspension of his PEA licence and a period of community service.

'He's an American,' Viv Garner said. 'We don't deport Americans or give them a hard time. Softly, softly.'

I was charged with a firearms offence, conspiracy to conceal a crime and violation of an earlier adverse order governing my conduct as a private enquiry agent. I was given a suspended gaol sentence. My licence was cancelled with a rider that I was ineligible to apply for it to be restored.

'That's unconstitutional,' Viv Garner said. 'We'll appeal.'

I shrugged. 'Let's talk about it.'

William Heysen recovered from his wound, probably thanks to Frank's intervention, because Sawtell's bullet had nicked an artery. Frank visited him in hospital a few times but they didn't hit it off.

'He was humiliated by being taken in by Sawtell,' Frank said. 'Thought he was smarter than that.'

'He should be grateful to you for saving his life.'

'He doesn't think of it like that. I don't know how he thinks. Then there's all this stuff about Heysen and his mother and Sawtell and me and others. He's carrying a lot of baggage. He's hard to reach.'

'He might improve.'

'He might get worse. Would you believe? He knows all about this DNA testing. He says it can only prove that a man can't be the father of a particular person, not that someone else definitely is. There's only a ninety-five point five per cent likelihood. He reckons he'll go with the four point five per cent.'

I could tell that this hurt him deeply but on balance I thought he'd be better off with things arranged that way.

'Forget him,' I said. 'You've got Peter.'

Peter Parker and Ramona had two healthy daughters and took off for Africa with them when the children were six weeks old. Frank and Hilde made plans to visit them. Frank was out of the undertow.

An earthquake hit Indonesia and created havoc where the tsunami had already killed hundreds of people and flattened everything in sight. An Australian relief helicopter crashed and nine service people were killed. It was a boom time for tabloid newspapers and television. The pope died and Charles and Camilla got married, two events I tried to ignore.

Lily and I went on as before, coming and going. We took Ruby Gentle for dinner at the Bourbon and Beefsteak and she demolished her two-person chateaubriand with ease. We had a great night, but Lily passed on the biography.

The appeal mounted by Viv Garner and supported by Frank Parker and others' testimonials to my sterling character failed. As Detective Sergeant Carr had said, I was carrying too much maverick baggage and the licensing board was happy to make an example of me. The profession in future was to be conducted differently.

I couldn't work and the bills kept coming. I ran short of money and made an unannounced visit to Catherine Heysen, who had set the whole thing in motion, to present my unpaid account. She was living in a luxury unit in Potts Point, the Earlwood house having sold for a bundle.

When I identified myself I could hear hesitation before she admitted me. She'd completely recovered from her injury and was her old, cold, composed, regal self in a blue dress, perfect makeup and surroundings to match.