The Coast Road

by Peter Corris

  ‘Your boss’s inside with his head stove in. The cops are on their way. Do you want to stick around and talk to them or would you rather piss off?’

  He looked at me, then at the gun, walked to a white Merc standing nearby and drove off without a word. I went through the gate and knocked on the door.

  ‘Elizabeth, it’s Hardy.’

  The door opened slowly and Tania beckoned me in. We went down the passage to the sitting room. One wall was blood spattered. A big, dark-haired man was lying face up on the floor. The light-coloured rug was stained around his head. He wore a suit and tie and the tie had been loosened at his fat neck. Larry Buckingham had put on a lot of weight since his playing days. His eyes were closed but his chest was moving.

  Elizabeth Farmer sat in a chair beside him, her hands still gripping the club. The adrenalin that had energised her when she made the phone call had gone. Her normally high, healthy colour had drained away leaving her sheet white. She looked worse than Buckingham. A pistol lay on the floor, half under a chair.

  ‘You called the police and the ambulance?’

  Tania nodded. ‘Elizabeth, Cliff ’s here. It’s all right.’

  Elizabeth stared at me sightlessly. ‘I’m a teacher,’ she said slowly. ‘A scholar. I hate violence. I don’t hit people.’

  ‘This man played a part in the death of your father,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you hit him again.’

  She shuddered. ‘This is awful. Awful.’

  ‘It’d be a lot worse if you hadn’t hit him. Tania, can you get her some brandy or something? And something for me as well.’

  Tania stepped around Buckingham and bent down to kiss Elizabeth’s cheek. ‘You were wonderful, darling. I’m proud of you.’

  Before the troops arrived, I phoned Farrow in Wollongong and began to tell him what had happened. He cut me off.

  ‘You’ve got him?’

  ‘He’s lying here with a very sore head. Just beginning to come around.’

  ‘Hang on to him. Barton’s been talking. Larry Buckingham’s in big trouble.’

  ‘The uniforms’ll be here soon,’ I said. ‘Dr Farmer and I’ll have some explaining to do.’

  ‘Call me the minute they arrive and let me talk to the senior guy. I’ll set him straight. What happened?’

  I gave Farrow a quick summary and he was still on the line when the police and the ambulance arrived. The cops took a look at the scene and knew they needed help. I handed the mobile to the one who looked least shocked.

  ‘I’ve got Inspector Farrow from Wollongong CID on the line. He wants to talk to you.’

  The cop looked relieved. He took the phone, identified himself and listened. He said yes several times and looked at Buckingham and the paramedics.

  ‘He seems to be okay, sir. Yes, the woman’s distressed but unharmed. There’s a pistol on the floor. No, we won’t.

  Yes, sir, he’ll go to hospital under guard.’

  He handed back the phone and wiped sweat from his face with the back of his hand. Inner-city cops see all kinds of things but this must have been unusual—an up-market terrace, a villain on the floor, blood and a gun, two women clinging to each other and a battered male with a .38 stuck in his belt and a tumbler of brandy in his hand.

  ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘What a mess.’

  ‘Constable,’ I said. ‘It looks just fine to me.’

  Elizabeth and Tania were close together on the arm of a chair, both with brandy in glasses, as the paramedics worked on Buckingham. They examined the wound on his head, stabilised his neck in a brace and got ready to slide him onto a stretcher.

  ‘How is he?’ I said.

  One of them looked up. ‘Severely concussed; no fracture. Needs stitches. Pretty tough bloke. Think I recognise him—Larry Buckingham, played for the Tigers.’

  ‘In the good old days,’ I said. ‘Hello, his eyes are open. Better strap him down.’

  They eased the stretcher under Buckingham and ran heavy straps over and under. Locked them. Buckingham stared up at me, trying to focus.

  ‘G’day, Larry,’ I said. ‘Didn’t quite work out your way.’

  His pale lips moved but I couldn’t catch what he said. I stared down at him—a hundred plus kilos of fat and muscle and money devoted to creating havoc in the world. Reduced to this. I thought of the lives he’d cost and the ones he’d damaged and I was almost sorry that Elizabeth Farmer hadn’t hit him harder and somewhere fatal.

  ‘I’m told you like your women young, Larry,’ I said.

  ‘Pity you came up against a real one.’

  27

  Detectives from Newtown arrived and it took another couple of calls to Farrow to sort things out with them. Eventually Buckingham was carted off and the cops departed. I was left alone with the two women and the depleted brandy bottle. Elizabeth was coming out of her mildly shocked state but looked ready to keel over pretty soon. Clear-headed Tania wanted to know everything down to the last detail.

  ‘I haven’t got to it yet,’ I said. ‘But I’m going back now to talk to the person who’s got the answers, with no reason not to tell me. In fact she’s got every reason to tell me.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Tania said.

  ‘Wendy Jones.’ I tapped my front teeth with the tumbler. ‘You remember her, at the casino.’

  ‘Oh, yeah—the hard-faced blonde.’

  ‘That’s her.’ I drained the last of the brandy and stood up. ‘Are you going to be okay, Elizabeth?’

  Tania put her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. ‘Of course she’s okay. She’s the heroine of this episode, isn’t she? You were a bit slack, letting him get to her like that.’

  ‘Tania,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘No, you’re right. I tried to contact Elizabeth to get her to lay low while this plan of mine went down but I couldn’t reach her. I should’ve tried harder.’

  ‘I was on the course.’

  ‘Practice makes perfect,’ I said. ‘Great five iron.’

  Elizabeth’s face lit up—she was Germaine Greer the younger again.

  I’d had two solid belts of brandy on an empty stomach and was feeling the effects as I drove the short distance back to Matilda’s office. I scanned the street carefully after I parked but there was no activity out of the normal. I’d told the cops where Lonsdale and his mate were hiding and they should’ve been in the bag by now. No reason to think Buckingham still had cards to play, but best to be sure. I hit the bell and announced myself. The door clicked and I went up to Matilda’s office. My feet wanted to drag a bit on the stairs and I realised that I was tired, physically and mentally, at a deep level. But I fought the feeling off, helped by the brandy buzz. I sucked in some deep breaths and went into the office.

  Nothing had changed. Matilda was still behind her desk and Wendy was in the armchair. Hank sat in a chair tilted back against the wall.

  ‘Dull party,’ he said. ‘You bring some take-out, Cliff ?’

  ‘No. You can go, mate. Many thanks.’

  He let his chair drop and slipped out of it in his athletic fashion. ‘Ladies,’ he said and went out.

  Wendy shifted in obvious discomfort. ‘My hands are numb, you fuck.’

  I perched on the edge of the desk. ‘Won’t be long.

  Larry’s gone off to hospital with a concussion—’ ‘Bullshit,’ Wendy said, but she didn’t mean it.

  ‘It’s true. Dr Elizabeth Farmer, Associate Professor of Linguistics, got him with a five iron about here.’ I touched the spot above my right ear. ‘Dropped him like a stone. Severe concussion, according to the paramedic. I had a word with the Wollongong cops as they were wheeling him out. Like I told you, Barton’s been talking and put Larry right in it. He’ll be under guard and there’ll be some charges. I’d guess supplying drugs, accessory to murder, maybe more. He’s gone.’

  ‘He’ll still have some reach from prison.’

  ‘That’ll be your problem. As far as I’m concerned if you tell me what I want to know and make it convinci
ng, you walk away from the arson charge and the association with Lonsdale and Buckingham and Barton and the whole bunch.’

  Wendy looked at Matilda, who offered her nothing. Wendy was tired and the events of the night had taken a big toll on her. She licked the jewelled teeth but it was just a habit now, not a statement. ‘Okay. Larry wanted the land on account of the mine shafts. There’s going to be much less traffic up around there now that the coast road’s closed for a couple of years. The mines run right back under the scarp and come up near the surface on the other side where he owns some more land. He reckoned to tunnel down to meet up with the shafts. No big deal. His idea was to set up a speed and ecstasy lab and a hydroponic dope operation underground. He’s already got all the gear—generators, pumps and all that. It’s in a police garage in Thirroul somewhere. He could build up a bloody great plant well out of sight and ship the stuff out from his own private property.

  It’d be worth millions.’

  I watched her and mulled it over. Her behaviour was believable enough. What about the information? It sounded convincing. Our natural tendency is to think about what’s above the ground, what we can see, rather than what’s below and hidden from us. Two ways in and out from something totally concealed. I could buy it.

  ‘If he finds out I told you he’ll kill me.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Could’ve been Matilda.’

  Matilda shot from her chair. ‘No, I didn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘So you say.’ I took out my Swiss army knife and cut the plastic restraints. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much, Wendy. Larry’s got to have a lot else on his mind.’

  She brought her hands around to the front slowly and massaged her wrists. ‘Yeah. He’s got investors. They’re not going to be happy.’

  ‘I hope they squeeze him hard. You’re going to need some leverage, Wendy. Matilda suggested you had something on Buckingham. I hope that’s true.’

  ‘You bet it is. Thinking about it, I’m more worried about the cops than Larry. Can I go?’

  I closed the knife. ‘Yep. Just to keep you focused, I dunno about the Beemer though. I told the cops where Lonsdale and his mate were hiding. They’ve probably picked them up by now but you’d be taking a risk to go back there for the car. I suppose there’s some of your stuff there as well. Might have to settle for a quick flit on the Harley. Up to you.’

  ‘You bastard.’

  I shrugged. ‘Hock your teeth.’

  She gave me a look that would’ve stripped paint. She squared her shoulders, zipped her jacket and marched from the room. I nodded to Matilda and she released the door to the street. Minutes later I could hear the angry roar of the Harley engine as it fired up.

  Matilda reached down to her bag, took out a compact and lipstick, repaired her makeup. Her hands moved over her hair as she groomed herself like a cat. When she was satisfied she got up and came around the desk. She sat down next to me, letting me latch on to her perfume and the warmth of her body.

  ‘So you’ve won.’

  ‘Looks that way. Pretty good for a dyke, eh—what Elizabeth did?’

  She nodded. ‘But you don’t seem very happy about it all.’

  ‘A couple of good people are dead. That silly bikie bitch’ll cause more trouble before she’s through. Buckingham’s presumably got plenty of money. He’ll buy a QC who’ll work the system. He’ll sell out his investors. Let’s say they’re Asians. Call them terrorists. That’ll play with the powers that be. He’ll do some time, but it’ll be easy time.’

  Her soft hand was touching one of the scabs on my cheek. ‘So why d’you bother?’

  I removed the hand. ‘You should’ve seen the look on your stepdaughter’s face when it all got sorted.’

  She stiffened and drew away. ‘And as for me?’

  ‘As for you, Tilly,’ I said, ‘you’d better hope Buckingham doesn’t decide to lower the boom on you. But I wouldn’t count on it.’

  Her shoulders drooped and she seemed to shrink inside her smart suit and classy blouse. ‘I’ve got no one to turn to,’ she said.

  I eased myself stiffly up off the desk and stretched. Despite all the knocks and hurts I felt invigorated. I bent, collected the cut restraints and put them in my pocket. ‘That’s the penalty for loving yourself more than anyone else,’ I said.

  28

  What I’d said to Matilda was sound enough, I thought as I drove towards Glebe. Trouble was, I couldn’t help thinking it might apply to me. It was too late and too much had happened too quickly to make such thoughts useful. On auto pilot, I got back home, parked and had the key in the door before I remembered Marisha. Had I promised to go back there? I couldn’t remember.

  Sometimes, after a case has come together, I feel like a creature that should be in hibernation being forced to carry on beyond its allotted time. Not tonight. My brain wouldn’t stop working. I felt bad about exposing Elizabeth Farmer to that danger, relieved, but at the same time embarrassed by how well she’d coped. I sat down and wrote her a long report on all the aspects of the case. My suspicion that her father had been killed because he’d got an inkling of Buckingham’s plan had no foundation in fact and probably never would have, but it felt right. I said that I’d had to offer Matilda a certain amount of protection in return for her cooperation in isolating Wendy. That wouldn’t please her. It would please her even less that I’d let Wendy off the hook, since I was sure she’d been involved in the arson. Again, necessity, but it didn’t sit well with me and I made no reference to it.

  I read the report through when I’d finished and was dissatisfied. It was plausible, in the true meaning of the word. I emailed De Witt, telling him about Buckingham’s plan as I’d promised to do. It’d be up to him to decide how to use it. If he went into print on it the police wouldn’t be pleased and would probably heavy him. I’d have to hope he adhered to the journalists’ code of ethics and protected his source.

  As I finished the email and before I sent it, the phone rang. Farrow.

  ‘How’s it looking?’ I said.

  ‘Okay. We picked up Lonsdale and another guy at the hotel. No sign of Wendy Jones. Where is she, Hardy?’

  ‘Don’t you want to know what Larry Buckingham’s grand plan was?’

  ‘Sure.’

  I told him. From his silence I guessed that it was news to him, but still I asked, ‘Did you get a sniff of that from Barton?’

  ‘I can’t discuss operational police matters with you.’

  ‘Means you didn’t. Well, be my guest. You’ll find a lot of equipment for that project. A little bird tells me it’s in Thirroul.’

  ‘Let’s back up. Where’s Wendy?’

  ‘No idea. That’s the truth.’

  ‘You keep that information about the mine shafts to yourself, Hardy.’

  He hung up and I sat looking at my message to De Witt on the screen. I certainly owed Farrow; but for him I was buried under a ton of earth and a layer of aggregate down Port Kembla way. But I remembered what he’d said about the way things could play out with the prosecution of Barton and the other corrupt cops, and I’d already had my thoughts about what Larry Buckingham could contrive if he had the money.

  I hit send, and dispatched the email.

  De Witt’s story made the Wollongong and Sydney papers in the morning. He had some of the names and some of the details—enough to give the story flavour and show how a major episode in criminal organisation and police corruption had been orchestrated and exposed. I wasn’t mentioned except as a ‘source’ and that was fine by me. Buckingham was in hospital but under arrest with a battery of charges pending. There were photographs of him in his athletic heyday and in his bloated present. Barton wasn’t mentioned by name, suggesting that a deal was being done. Par for the course.

  Marisha rang me mid-morning.

  ‘That was your case, wasn’t it, Cliff ?’

  ‘What case would that be?’

  ‘Please don’t think I’m stupid. I read the paper. I know my car was dow
n there in Wollongong. The police told me.’

  ‘You’re right. Sorry, Marisha, I don’t like to talk about the work. You never know about loose ends, people wanting to get even in some way. It’s best to keep your friends right out of it.’

  ‘Is that what we are, friends?’

  ‘I don’t know, Marisha. I’m sorry. It takes a while to come down from these things. I’ve been dealing with shotguns and dead men and wild women and crooked cops and it—’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, and wog drama queens and teenage whores. I understand.’

  ‘Marisha—’

  She hung up. I had her number and I could’ve called back. Maybe she wanted me to, maybe she didn’t. I wavered, but I didn’t call. I sat, looking at the phone and remembering. What I’d said was true. I’d got into relationships with women in the middle of cases before and, mostly, they hadn’t gone anywhere. There’s something about the situation, the pressures, the need for comfort and release that can shape your feelings and distort your judgement. One of the penalties of the business, something Cyn had sensed early in our marriage, was that dealing in deceit and mistrust, violence and hurt, so much of the time erodes the ability to believe in anything human. Chinks open in the armour; there are moments and times of love and trust, but they don’t last because the job busts in and cuts them down.

  I tried my usual therapy—a long walk around Glebe, clocking the improvements and the damage and diverting myself by trying to decide where the balance lay. On those occasions when I judged that the ledger worked out in the black, I felt encouraged, other times, not. Today, I was somewhere in the middle and that wasn’t unusual. I tramped back along Glebe Point Road thinking that this was pretty much the way I regarded the state of the country as a whole—good impulses on the part of the many, rotten motives from the few who held the power, for now. The whole thing in the balance. No help there.

  I turned into my street and felt an uplift when I saw Aaron De Witt’s stately old Volvo station wagon, dust-streaked and dented, parked outside my house. It was late enough for a drink for me and to brew up a strong coffee for De Witt. There were things he could tell me and things I could tell him. I was grateful for his concealment of my identity behind the mask of the ‘source’. Made me feel like Deep Throat, whoever he or she was.