Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout

by Garry Disher

  Chaffey alighted at Bourke Street, stepping down from the tram in careful stages, his movements as slow and ponderous as he could make them, thereby doing his bit to fuck up the timetable. Traffic braked for him as he heaved toward the footpath.

  He found himself face to face with the three bronze statues bolted to the footpath. They were tall, rubbery-looking caricatures of businessmen, their faces a little desperate in the swirling toxins. They were also painfully thin and Chaffey, spotting a swagger of body builders outside a nearby Sports Barn, wrapped his big arm around one of the statues and grinned. The body builders, all violet shellsuits and body hair, stopped chewing and posturing, looking about for the insult.

  Chaffey steered a straight course down the mall. He did not have to dodge or weave or break his stride. As he walked his eyes darted left and right, hoping that Raymond was still unknown to the law.

  Even so, Chaffey had to admit that the mall was a good place to meet. The centre mile of the city was as useful as a sieve to anyone trying to seal it off. It was made up of lanes and alleys and back streets, all leading away from the centre. Raymond could easily slip away, or hole up inside the centre mile, up in some mens lavatory along a dim corridor on the second or third floor of a seedy side-street building where the tenants gave singing lessons, altered suits, made dentures.

  Chaffey reached the ticket booth. He spent a few minutes circling it, reading the posters, then he stood facing up the mall toward Parliament House, his hands seeking purchase on his soft hips.

  Raymond materialised at Chaffeys shoulder, tall and fluid-looking in a tuxedo, very calm and still, yet clearly prepared to vanish into the shopping crowds if he felt threatened. Chafe, old son.

  Chaffey beamed, his mind ticking over. Raymond was a long streak of quiet menace to look at, a man with a hard, cautious mind. Most thieves that Chaffey dealt with were full of doubt and spite and contradictions, their minds tripping them up every minute of the day. Here was a man who registered, analysed, then acted, all of it manifested in extreme alertness.

  He did like to play the tables, though. Whats with the tux?

  Raymond grinned. Just finished an all-night session.

  Win?

  Got your five grand, plus the paper I was talking about.

  Not here. Lets go.

  They walked up Bourke Street to Chaffeys club, on the corner of King Street. It was a cloaked and sombre warren of private rooms and alcoves, where lawyers met clients and other lawyers. It was a place where Chaffeys conversation with Raymond would go unremarked, even if it was overheard.

  Raymond stretched his long legs. In the briefcase.

  Chaffey opened it. Travellers cheques, crisp and new, and a roll of $100 bills. Twenty cents in the dollar, he said.

  Raymond shifted in his chair. The leather, old and cracked and friable, creaked under him. I was hoping the five grand plus the paper would cancel the ten I owe you.

  Chaffey closed the briefcase. He gave a short laugh. Fair enough, but I think you owe me in spirit, if nothing else. I can put two jobs your way, one pays fifteen grand, the other a hundred.

  Raymond watched him carefully. Hundred grand? What do I have to do for that?

  Ive got a client prepared to pay a hundred thousand dollars for a collection of paintings.

  Where are these paintings?

  At present theyre hanging in the University of Technology in West Heidelberg, Chaffey said.

  For the next ten minutes, he described the job, explaining how lucrative art theft was. This job, he concluded, will be a pushover. No alarms, no cameras.

  Raymond stroked his bony jaw. I dont know. What do I know about art? Id need a partner, someone who knows that kind of thing. He paused. Whats the other job?

  Chaffey told him about Steer and Denise and the remand centre. You get fifteen grandup front, hows that for a sweetener? All you have to do it spring Steer, hole up with him and his girlfriend for a couple of days, then deliver them both to a freighter anchored off Lakes Entrance.

  Raymond turned a little sulky then. It spoilt his looks. Spring some guy from remand? Bit downmarket isnt it?

  Chaffey shrugged. Quick, easy money. All you have to do is drive a car and babysit for a few days.

  Ill think about it.

  You do that, Chaffey said.

  Raymond stiffened, cocked his head. Sirens. Hear them?

  Just so long as they havent come for you, old son, Chaffey said.

  * * * *

  Five

  Wyatt ran and the cops ran, Wyatts shoes snickering minutely across the prefabricated concrete levels of the parking station. The cops were noisier, shouting, grunting with exertion, their footwear heavy and booming. As he ran, Wyatt took a baseball cap from the pocket of his jacket, threw the jacket under a parked car and rolled the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. It was not much, but a little was often all he needed.

  Wyatt reasoned it through as he ran. If Heneker had warned the cops, then theyd have arranged a trap at the parking station. Instead, they arrived late, indicating that theyd followed Heneker without foreknowledge of the actual meeting place.

  There was only one explanation: Liz Redding had shaken off the effects of the Mogadon and alerted the police in Melbourne to tail Heneker. And that meant shed come to suspect that Wyatt had the jewels after all and wasnt simply making a run for it. She was a cop, and Wyatt was Wyatt, so it was only natural that shed suspect further treachery beyond the obvious and assume that hed attempt to strike a deal with the insurance company.

  Wyatt ran to the top level, to a door marked EXIT. He pushed through and found himself in a department store cafeteria.

  Better cover than hed hoped for. The chunky white crockery smacked onto plastic trays, the stainless steel cutlery rattled in serving bins, hot quiche steamed behind glass, the chrome rails gleamed and he was swept into a clamorous queue at the servery. Morning tea. He lifted an abandoned Herald Sun from a corner table, loaded two pastries and black tea onto his tray, and went looking for someone who could turn him into a law-abiding citizen.

  All of the tables were occupied, and most of the chairs. Wyatts eyes passed over the tables where hed stand out or invite irritation. He didnt want elderly couples, friends enjoying coffee together, solitary eaters or office workers snatching a break from work.

  There, at the centre of the crammed area of tablesa woman with a pram and two fractious children. Wyatt edged through to the unoccupied chair, said, May I? and unloaded his tray and opened his newspaper. The woman glanced at him tiredly and went back to juggling the competing needs of the baby and the two older children. The children ignored her. They were squabbling over a date scone.

  Here, Wyatt said. He nudged his pastries across the little table. I havent touched these. I dont really want them.

  The woman flashed him a cautious smile. Deciding that he wasnt a threat, she said, Say thank you to the nice man.

  The children stared at him, looked down, muttered aggrievedly.

  Youre welcome, Wyatt said.

  He scanned the newspaper. Hed been living in Tasmania before events had taken him to Vanuatu, and was out of touch. A hold-up man called the bush bandit had been hitting banks in country towns. The reporter used words like cool and unhurried and well-planned to describe the man and his actions. Wyatt wondered who it was. There was a time when he would have known something like that. Whoever the man was, he was part of a dying breed. Junkies had got into the game now. They were vicious and desperate and prone to taking stupid risks.

  Wyatt became aware of a shift in the atmosphere. Police, at least four of them, two in uniform, taking care not to alarm anyone but still scanning the cafeteria. Their heat and eagerness and frustration were palpable. He said to the children, What do you recommend? Should I go and see the new James Bond film?

  They kneeled on their chairs, craning to see his finger on the cinema ads. And their mother looked, welcoming the diversion. If you didnt know it, Wyatt and the woman and her children w
ere a family in town for the dayshopping, morning tea, a film for the kids before they went home.

  A ripple passed across the room and then it was gone, replaced by crockery smack again, laughter, complaints, the sounds of the city feeding itself. Wyatt got the woman to talk. He did that by asking her questions about her children. After a while she began to notice him, faintly longing, faintly wary. She coloured a little, inclined her body toward him, switched from talking about her children to talking about herself. She had no hope or expectation of anything, just grateful that someone should take an interest.

  In a little while, the cops came back, as Wyatt had supposed they would. They found the cafeteria essentially unchanged. There were husbands and fathers among the diners and one of them was Wyatt. They faded away again.

  Wyatt got to his feet, showing reluctance. Afraid I have to go.

  Yes.

  He took the escalators to the bargain basement, alert for trained moves and involuntary gestures, anything that promised troublehands curling near pockets, eyes flicking with recognition, mouths turned away to lapel microphones or radios. He was in a crowded space but moved through it as though along a deserted street, jettisoning the clutter in his mind and limbering his body for the moment hed need to think and act faster than those who were going up against him.

  He saw cops on the way down. They didnt see him. They were abandoning the search. The hard scrutiny had gone out of their faces.

  At the bottom he filled two logoed shopping bags with cheap, bulky kitchen goods. Bit by bit he was building up his credibility. On the way out he bought sunglasses and a straw hat. On the streets of the city he was one among the thronging thousands.

  The city offered trains, buses and planes that would take him out of the state, but he knew that the police would be watching the major terminals. He had to take a less direct and obvious route out. There were flights across Bass Strait from Tyabb, near Westernport Bay. Westernport was also where all this had started, so no-one would be looking for him there.

  He walked to Flinders Street station, stopping from time to time to listen to the spruikers spilling onto the footpath outside the discount stores. Wyatt had no interest in the cheap and useless bargains. He was looking for gestures and movements again.

  He took the express to Frankston. Thirty minutes later he was on the train to Westernport Bay. When he got out at Hastings it was late morning and he did not look out of place among the handful of other shoppers returning from the city.

  Wyatt wandered down the main street. There was an opportunity shop opposite the new library. He went in, stacked the kitchenware on the counter, nodded, went out again, toward the jetty.

  As Wyatt saw it, Liz Redding would be questioning Heneker by now. It wouldnt occur to her that the jewels were still on the yacht. It was a long shot, but maybe they hadnt got around to impounding it yet. Maybe it still sat at anchor.

  A long shot. What Wyatt found was the yacht tied to a jetty inside the marina with a yellow crime-scene tape all around it.

  He walked back up the main street. At the library door he veered to avoid colliding with one of the librarians. She was young, fair, ready to smile, and glanced at him as he edged past her into the foyer and put coins in the public phone. Wyatt asked about flights to King Island. There was one at 4 p.m. He booked a seat, looked at his watch, and saw that he had four hours to kill.

  * * * *

  Six

  Liz Redding hurried from the staff room at the police complex, coffee slopping over her fingers. They had Heneker in the interview room.

  There were two men with himher superintendent, Montgomery, looking slightly out of his depth, and Gosse, her new inspector. She didnt like Gosse. Shed never seen him smile; he reduced the civilian typists and filing clerks to tears three or four times a week; hed look past you as though you were nothing to him while he spoke to you.

  Montgomery climbed to his feet. Come in, Sergeant Redding.

  Gosse frowned, as though to argue, but then he shrugged and turned away from her. Its already started, Liz thought. Gosse will freeze me out and soon have Montgomery doing it too.

  The room was small and bare. Liz glanced at Heneker. Hed been the last person to see or speak to Wyatt, and she felt a surprising need to be alone with him, ask him if Wyatt looked okay, even though Wyatt had doped her coffee last night and run from her. Shed awoken feeling thick in the head but known at once what had happened. Shed alerted Montgomery from a pay phone in Hastings, and Montgomery had alerted the insurance company.

  Heneker looked nondescript, dishevelled by the struggle in the undercover car park. He brushed grit from the knees of his trousers, dabbed a damp handkerchief at an oil stain. His tie was crooked, his suit coat crumpled, the collar turned up.

  What more can I tell you? he said, looking at Gosse.

  Liz mentally framed a question, but suddenly was racked with yawns. They threatened to lay her across the table.

  Sergeant Redding?

  She gulped her coffee. Im fine, sir.

  Carry on, Inspector.

  Mr Heneker

  He looked up. This being taped? I want a lawyer.

  Youre not under arrest, for Gods sake. A few more questions

  Then I can go home?

  Of course, Liz said.

  Gosse twisted his mouth at the interruption and threw down his pen.

  Heneker took advantage of it. He put his head on one side and narrowed his eyes at Liz. If I may say so, you dont look a hundred per cent.

  A basic rule was: Never let the bastards start to question you. Liz said, Lets start from the beginning. You got a phone call? A visit?

  Phone call.

  After we contacted you?

  Yes.

  Gosse picked up his pen again. His knuckles were white around the barrel. This was his show. A man? Did he give his name?

  Nope.

  Didnt recognise his voice?

  Nope.

  When you saw him, did you recognise him?

  Nope.

  Montgomerys chair creaked. Like a kindly uncle he said, Your firm ever encountered a man with the name of Wyatt before? He does this sort of thing, commits a robbery, negotiates a reward from the insurance company.

  Neither Liz nor Gosse could bring themselves to look at Montgomery. Montgomery would be better off back in Traffic, from whence hed come. One, hed given Heneker a name, if Heneker didnt already have it. Two, Heneker could start doing his own checking now. Three, by butting in hed eased what little tension she and Gosse had been able to generate in the room, meaning theyd have to start all over again. It didnt seem that Heneker had anything to hide, but it wouldnt be the first time that a burglar and an insurance agent had worked hand in hand.

  Heneker shrugged. Wyatt? Was that his name? Cant say I know it.

  Gosse said, Lets go back to the phone call. What did the caller say?

  Wyatt? He

  Not necessarily Wyatt, Montgomery said. There could be others.

  Gosse threw down his pen again. Henekers eyes opened wide. You mean theres a gang?

  Just tell us what the caller said.

  He said straight out that he had the Asahi Collection.

  And?

  Well, naturally my ears pricked up. I mean, there was hell to pay when those stones got lifted. Phone calls from Japan all hours of the night and day. Quiet word from the Japanese consul. You name it, I had to take it.

  Your company wanted the stones back.

  Sure.

  You told the caller that youd meet him?

  Yep.

  Did you suggest the parking station?

  Heneker was getting agitated. He did. You know all this.

  So youd never seen this man before?

  Never. I told you that.

  Liz leaned forward. What did he say?

  Wasnt much of a talker.

  She knew the truth of that. Shed spent seven days with Wyatt and in that time had learnt almost nothing about him. His body had told her thin
gs, communicating desire, even affection and regard, and hed relaxed enough to smile readily, if tiredly, but he had no small talk and he imparted no secrets, even though he was full of secrets. Timea lot of it-might have helped. Time, and stepping over the line. What would it be like, leading his risky life with him? Would he have stepped over the line for her? Shed never know now.

  He must have said something to you. Didnt he offer proof that he had the stones, for example? Didnt he ask how much the reward would be?