Torn Apart

Hank had just finished reading the copy of In Cold Blood

I'd lent him. He'd said it was one of the best books he'd ever read. I agreed.

'You're right,' I said. 'I've got to work on this.'

'Sure. I remember when you were showing me the ropes in this business and you told me to stop at every piece of information and ask yourself what conclusions to draw.'

'Okay.'

'In this case just two-the guy had something to hide and he was fond of you.'

It looked like another dead end but that often happens and you just have to scratch away until you draw blood somewhere else. I knew someone at Consolidated Securities, the firm Patrick said he was selling out to. The company was a big, international outfit, handling investigation as well as conventional security matters, and one of its policies was to mop up as many smaller operations as it could to increase market share. One technique was to recruit one-man PEAs like me. I'd been approached several times but wasn't interested. Eventually they'd get around to Hank. I phoned Bruce Carstairs, the executive who'd made the offer to me.

'Cliff Hardy,' he said and cleared his throat.

'Don't be embarrassed,' I said. 'I'm not after a job.'

As a practitioner scrubbed permanently off the books by the licensing authorities, my market value was nil. I told him I wanted some information about their acquisition of Patrick

Malloy's share in Pavee Security. Acquisition of that sort was Carstairs' area of expertise.

'Not sure I can tell you anything-commercial confidentiality and all that.'

'He was my cousin and a friend and he was shot to death in my house. I'm helping the police in their investigation and I just need to know a few things-nothing about the money.'

A pause and then he said, 'I'll help as far as I can.'

'Who was his lawyer?'

'He didn't have one. He was legally trained and did all that side of the work himself.'

'What about his bank? He must have paid the money in somewhere.'

'I see what you're getting at. No harm in telling you this, it's on the public record. There was no money involved. It was a straight share transfer-his in Pavee, and it was a substantial but not an outright majority holding, for a number of ours.'

'Can you tell me when it all went through?'

I could hear the keys clicking and remembered what Patrick had said:… all computers and bullshit. Carstairs came back on the line and gave me several dates. The last few coincided with the time of our trip.

'Emails and phone conversations to tie it up?' I said.

'Of course.'

'What about signatures?'

'All provided earlier. Look, I'm sorry… for your loss, but everything was perfectly straightforward. Agreement was reached easily with both parties perfectly happy.'

'Isn't that a bit unusual?'

'It's not unique. Was there anything else?'

I thanked him and rang off. He hadn't remarked on the physical similarity between Patrick and myself because we'd never met. Our dealings had been solely by phone and email.

Two days later I got a call from Dan Munro at Pavee Security. He reminded me that he'd been at the funeral and asked if I was willing for my phone number to be given to a woman named Sheila Malloy.

'Who is she?'

'She says she's Patrick's wife.'

'His wife?'

'That's what she says. I've got her on the other line, Mr Hardy, and she's very insistent.'

'Tell her I'll meet her anywhere she chooses at whatever time.'

8

I'd read that some lawyers feeling the pinch and unable to afford presentable offices were meeting their clients in Macquarie Street coffee shops, so I wasn't surprised that she proposed a cafe opposite Parliament House. Probably meant she'd have a cut-rate lawyer along. She took me at my word and set the meeting for the mid-afternoon of the same day. All this came through Munro, so I didn't even get to hear her voice and he hung up as soon as the meeting was set.

I arrived early as usual but they weren't far behind. Maybe a sign of anxiety or nervousness, maybe not. Sydney traffic being what it is, precise timing is difficult. I watched as they approached-a tall, slender woman in a dark suit and a shorter chunky man, also in a suit which, as they got closer, I could see was a three-piece pinstripe. She was smoking but dropped the butt and put her high-heeled shoe on it before reaching the outdoor table area. I stood and when she saw me she stopped in her long striding tracks and her bag fell from her shoulder.

'Jesus Christ,' she said. 'This is amazing.'

She bent to pick up her bag and her shoulder-length hair fell across her face. She swept it back and moved forward with her hand out. I took it; her nails were long and painted bright red.

'Sheila Malloy.'

'Cliff Hardy.'

'This is Harvey Spiegelman.'

'Solicitor,' he said.

I shook his hand and we sat down at the table. It was partly sheltered by a flapping canvas wall anchored to some uprights. The day was really too cool for sitting outside in comfort, but there were others at the tables for the usual reason-to smoke. Sheila Malloy took a packet of fifty from her bag and lit up. She put the packet and her lighter on the table.

A waiter came out and we ordered.

'Mrs Malloy…' I began.

She smiled and lines appeared on her face. She was probably on the right side of fifty, but not by much. She was good-looking in a rather narrow, thin-lipped way. Her hair was auburn; her makeup was expert. She was very vaguely familiar, but that might have been just that she looked a bit like Sigourney Weaver.

'Call me Sheila. The people at Parvee had heard from Paddy that you looked like him but they didn't tell me you were twins.'

'A genetic thing,' I said. 'We're… were second cousins.'

She glanced around for an ashtray and, not finding one, flicked ash on the footpath. 'Fancy that. He told me he didn't have a relative in the world.'

'He told me he was divorced.'

The coffee arrived and she used her spoon to stir the chocolate into her cappuccino. 'Well, looks like he was wrong about no relatives and I know for a fact he was lying about the divorce.'

Spiegelman leaned forward to sip at his latte, taking care to keep his silk tie out of the way. 'Sheila understands that her husband died intestate,' he said. 'Under the law, she inherits his assets.'

'That sounds right,' I said, 'if she can prove they were still married and that there's no will. That could be legally tricky, wouldn't you say?'

Sheila and Spiegelman exchanged glances. She appeared to be about to speak but he lifted his hands in a soothing gesture.

'What exactly is your interest in the matter, Mr Hardy?'

I almost laughed. I drank off the short black and waved away wisps of Sheila's smoke. 'First off, tell me why you wanted to contact me, because that's the order of things.'

Spiegelman stirred his cup. 'Well…'

'Don't play games with him, Harvey. When I heard Paddy was dead-'

'How did you hear?'

'From the police, of course. I don't use the name anymore but they knew how to find me. They've got us all pegged.'

I nodded. 'Right.'

'And I'll tell you something-television and crime fiction's got it all wrong. They didn't treat me as a suspect. Anyway, I got straight on to that company of his and asked a few questions. They told me nothing really, but your name came up and I remembered that you were mentioned in the paper. I wanted to know if you thought you were in line for some of his money. Is that plain enough for you?'

'That's very plain,' I said. 'And I can give you a plain answer. I don't give a stuff about his money. I'm only interested in finding out who killed him. Plain enough?'

She surprised me then with a smile that seemed to have genuine warmth in it. She put her hand on my arm, almost stroking the sleeve of my jacket. 'We're getting off on the wrong foot here, Cliff. I admit I thought you were going to turn out to be one of his rough mates from his army and drinking days. They used to show up and leech on him. But I can see that you're not like that.'