by Peter Corris
Max Savages phone. A pleasant, young female voice, a big improvement on the usual response to a police number. Suddenly, I didnt quite know what to do next.
Ah, my names Hardy, Cliff Hardy. Can I… ah, leave a message for Mr Savage?
Max is here, Mr Hardy. Im Constable Draper. I can act as relay between you if you wish.
Well, how does that work?
I could hear a short, barking laugh on the line. Savage, for sure.
You tell me what you want to say to Max and Ill tell him what you said. Then he speaks to you and you respond. Its very simple really. Just collect your thoughts.
Not very secure.
Dont be insulting. Do you want to talk to Max or not?
Im sorry, Constable. Yes, please tell him Id like to speed things up. Id like a meeting today to work on the material we discussed yesterday.
A pause, then Savage came on the line. Dont worry about Penny, Cliff, shes a heroine. I think we should get together today. Will Barry Whites murder be on the agenda?
For sure, Max. Im sorry if I offended her. Can you bring the notebooks?
A pause, and I could hear Constable Penny Draper talking fast, verbatim as far as I could determine.
Yeah, Savage said, leastwise, photocopies of the interesting bits. What about your office in an hour and a half?
Will you be bringing Penny?
I heard a peal of female laughter before she relayed what Id said to Max.
Savage came back on the line and his voice was softer, without the cop edge. Pennys a paraplegic, Cliff. She got shot in the spine by some redneck dickhead who was beating the shit out of his girlfriend. She does the work of three people around her now. See, us handicapped arent being tucked away in corners any more. No need to say anything. Your office, ninety minutes, OK?
OK, I said. Thanks, Penny.
Have a good meeting.
All of which left me feeling grateful that all my bits and pieces still worked despite the efforts a few people had made over the years to change that. I fetched the paper in from the front step and flicked through it. Barry White had made page three. A brief article, very light on for facts about his death, reviewed his inglorious career and implied that something from his past had surfaced and dragged him down. For all I knew, that couldve been true.
Max Savage dumped a thick wad of photocopy paper on my desk and took the top off one of the two takeaway coffees Id bought. Thats for you, he said. Any sugar?
I reached into the bottom drawer, produced three packets and a wooden stirrer and passed them over. I rifled through the paper. Give me the gist.
Lazy bugger. Max stirred briskly, sipped and sighed appreciatively. Ah, thats good. You mustve had a big night?
I was feeling a bit weary and hoped the long black I had would revive me. Why dyou say that?
Your face muscles are tired. Youre not moving your mouth as much as usual when you talk. Makes it harder to read you.
Sorry, I said, grimacing. That better?
Dont get shirty. Do you want to talk about this first, or about Barry White?
It suddenly occurred to me that Id lied comprehensively to one police officer and now was on the point of telling the truth to a man who was something like a cop himself. Max saw my hesitation and pointed his stirrer at me like a pistol.
Let me guess, you didnt tell all to the Redfern Ds. And youre wondering where my priorities lie.
I drank half of the very hot coffee in a gulp, hoping that it would give me a hit. Right.
Its an open case on my books. Thats all I care about. Any perjury or misrepresentation by you doesnt interest me. How else could you operate? Its understood.
Unbidden, an image of Claudia Vardon came into my head. She was getting back into bed after going to the toilet. Her whole body was silver-coloured in the dim light, like her hair. Id forgotten that Id seen this and I smiled. I felt better, despite a scalded tongue. Sorry, Max. Im stumbling around a bit this morning. Right. I lied to Fowler. I said it was a prearranged meeting with Barry. It wasnt. He rang me in a panic. He needed help. No details. I was about half an hour too late. The other thing is, someone had been through his stuff before me and taken everything personal.
Max nodded and finished his coffee. Ringing you suggests it was all to do with the Beckett case, but not necessarily.
The Beckett case could all be bullshit. Grogans a drunk. He could be making it up. Maybe Barry was just looking to hire some protection and it didnt quite work out.
Finish your coffee. Its doing you good. Nice try at devils advocate, Cliff, but it wont wash. Theres stuff in Hawkins notebooks and the other reports on the file that back up what Grogan says.
Like?
Max had changed his suit, shirt, tie and shoes from what hed been wearing the day before. Only the briefcase was the same, and the keenness. How many police notebooks and internal memos have you seen?
I grinned. I can think of a few Id like to have seen, but I havent actually seen any. None.
Ive seen bloody thousands, a lot of em mine. I can read between the lines. Hawkins interviewed everybodythe father, the stepmother, the half-sister, the half-brother, the servants. He talked to everyone who sighted her in the last couple of days. But he didnt push anything. You can tell from the notes. He went through the motions, quite skillfully really, but its there to see if you can read it. He was playing a dead bat.
I thought about this. You said everybody what about friends?
Ah, youve put your finger on something there. Not a single friend or acquaintance was talked to. Hawkins says that she didnt have any. That seems to me unlikely. He could be covering something up here.
It sounded possible. Everyone has friends, dont they? Then an image of Ramona Beckett came to me: she was reaching out to tap ash off her cigarette. Her dress stretched tight over her hard, small breasts and the look on her face was predatory. Her style was to use people rather than befriend them. It was sad, but I could believe that she had no friends. What about a doctor?
Max put the top back on his coffee cup and balanced the stirrer on top of it. Hawkins talked to the family GP. He hadnt seen her for years. Same with the dentist. As far as anyone knew she was in terrific health.
Yeah, thats right. Are you sure Hawkins didnt just get discouraged by running into all these negatives?
Im sure.
Well, the next question is, on the basis of his investigation such as it was, can you make a guess at who might have nobbled Johnno?
No. Not really. He goes easy on them all. Youd expect that hed be careful about that, wouldnt you?
This is not very helpful, Max.
Oh, Ive been giving you the bad news. Get out your notebook. Ive got a couple of names.
I did as he said and stagily poised a pen over the page. Shoot!
Max looked at me strangely. Theres something different about you today. Are you given to big mood swings, hmm?
Its the thought that youre about to steer me towards that reward.
All right. Keep bullshitting. Now, you remember I was to look for anyone who might have been in it with Hawkins? Well, theres two candidates. Colin Sligo and
Sligo! Shit, I remember him. He was a hard bastard. What happened to him?
He was a super at the time were interested in. Hes a deputy commissioner of police in Queensland these days. Due for retirement any day.
I wrote the name down. Thats interesting. And tricky.
All of that. The other starter is one Andrea Neville.
I wrote this in block capitals as well and looked at the words. Doesnt ring a bell
She was the policewoman who went with Hawkins on his first visit to the Beckett house in Wollstonecraft. It isnt clear from Hawkins notes who they saw first, but if it was the person with an interest in suppressing the ransom note, they were in the box seat to help out.
Come on, Max. Thats stretching it.
Im reliably informed that Neville was Hawkins girlfriend. About six months after the Beckett ca
se went quiet she resigned from the force. Ive asked around about herthe word at the time was that shed inherited a lot of money.
I see. Where is she now?
Max shrugged. Im working on it. Ex-coppers can be tricky to find.
Right. Sorry for the scepticism, Max. This is solid stuff. You must have been a hell of a good detective.
Max tapped his nose. I had a sort of an instinct. I could smell things almost. Lucky that, because its still there and its helped me to cope with the hearing loss. Like, for instance, this new manner of yours
I laughed. OK, OK, youre right. Ive met a woman and Im keen on her, very keen. Im hoping that something comes of it.
Max smiled. Do you know, Id have guessed it was something of the sort. Good luck to you. Now, about this matter on hand. Id say your priority is locating Nevillethats worth a day or two. Failing that, or maybe leading on from that, we should talk to Peggy Hawkins a.s.a.p… Whats wrong?
I shook my head. Im used to working on my own. Im not used to having a schedule laid out for me by someone else. Back off a bit, Max.
He bit his lip and stared out of the window. He was a proud and stubborn man, struggling to overcome a disability, and backing down wouldnt be easy for him. But I meant what I said. My methods might be rough, even chaotic, but theyve worked for me and I wasnt going to throw them overboard to suit Max Savage. Eventually he turned his head to look at me. Sorry. Still behaving like the boss. Consider me backed off. How dyou see things?
Supposing Barry Whites death is connected to the Beckett case, Im asking how do the lines of connection run?
I was doing one of my diagrams as I spoke, writing names, circling and putting blocks around them and drawing arrows and dotted lines. Max half-rose from his chair to look at what I was doing. I see. Well, theres a few possibilities. Leo Grogan for one, though not very likely.
Ive got him at the end of a broken line. I agree.
A leak at my end. Through Frank Parker or someone twigging to what I was doing with the files.
I hadnt even entered Franks name. Forget Frank. What about the other?
Max shook his head. Not likely, but possible. The other connection is Barry Whites backer. Lets say White reported back to him and the backer decided hed roped you in and that was all he needed. That made White expendable. Against that, how would the backer get in for his cut without White?
Deal directly with me?
Hed have to convince you he hadnt offed Barry, wouldnt he? Mind you, that sort of money is pretty convincing.
I looked at Max and he looked at me. Ive had enough trouble lately without becoming an accessory to murder, I said.
11
We agreed on an agenda. I would try to find out who White had visited at the Connaught and get on to Cavendish about seeing the members of the Beckett family. I scrabbled among Harry Tickeners faxes for a newspaper article hed thrown in that contained a picture of Barry White. He was slimmer then, but the grainy reproduction wasnt flattering, and yesterdays Barry didnt look so very different. It would do as a way of prompting people. Max would check on the whereabouts of Andrea Neville and find out all he could about the present dispositions of Deputy Commissioner Colin Sligo. As Max was leaving the phone rang and I told him to stop, forgetting that with his back turned he couldnt hear me. Of course, he hadnt heard the phone ring. Simultaneously with picking up the phone I tossed my styrofoam cup in Maxs direction. It hit him on the back of the neck and he spun around.
Hardy speaking. I made a hang on gesture to Max who nodded, picked up the cup and dropped it into the waste-paper bin.
This is Wallace Cavendish, Mr Hardy. Ive spoken to Mrs Beckett and she has agreed to see you. Would six-thirty today be acceptable?
I hesitated for a fraction of a second. It had the sound of a time when Claudia might ring, but there was no way to know and Id resolved not to let anything about her faze me. Certainly, Mr Cavendish. Thank you for your cooperation. I take it youll be there?
Most definitely. Let me give you the address.
He rattled off an address in Wollstonecraft, not a part of Sydney where I spend much time. A Gregorys job. I scribbled it down. Thanks. At six-thirty then.
Please be prompt. Mrs Beckett doesnt like to be kept waiting.
Im the same, I said. Ill be there. I rang off and looked at Max, who was shifting his weight from side to side impatiently.
Cavendish, I said. Im seeing the old girl this evening. Sorry about chucking that at you. I just didnt know how else to get your attention and I thought it might be important.
Thats OK, Max said. The whole bloody deafness thing just pisses me off sometimes. Whatre you going to say to her?
I shrugged and took a chance. Ill play it by ear.
Max threw back his head and roared. Good one, Cliff. Good one. Ill be in touch.
The day was clear and bright with a bit of autumn in the breeze. It can be the best time of the year in Sydney, when warm days give way to cool nights. In the past people could sunbake, if they could get out of the wind, until May. Now they dont do that much and, anyway, the wind would blow their hats off as they were heading for the sheltered spots on the beach. I bought three pieces of fruit in a shop in William Street, averted my eyes from the pubs, and headed for the Connaught.
For some reason Whitlam Square, a five-ways, is one of the windiest places in the city. It was blowing hard and the dust was flying when I arrived and I had my head down and my eyes almost closed as I went up the ramp towards the entrance to the Connaught. I was aware of someone in front of me but I was floundering, blinking against the dust, when we collided.
You bastard!
I stumbled back and was three metres below her when I finally got my eyes open. Claudia Vardon stood there looking as if shed shoot me if she had a gun. She was wearing a white dress that emphasised the smooth brown of her skin. Her hair was blowing wildly in the wind and her right fist was clenched.
You followed me here! You goddamn snoop!
Claudia, no, I swear I didnt. This is a coincidence. Im here tracking someone. A man. Jesus
Coincidence, come on.
People were looking at us as we stood, three steps apart, voices raised, arguing. I went up the steps and tried to take her arm. Lets get away from here so we can talk. I can prove to you that I didnt follow you. I wouldnt. I respect your privacy.
She shied away from my touch but she let out a deep breath and seemed to soften a little. Youre right. We cant talk here.
Is there a coffee shop or something?
She nodded and led the way down to a coffee shop cum deli on what was called the Connaught Concourse. When we were seated I reached into my pocket for the photo of White. This guy hired me a couple of days ago.
She barely glanced at the photo. To do what?
To investigate something.
Of course. And…
I didnt quite trust him, or rather I wanted to know more about him, so I followed him after another meeting and he came in here. I was going to show this picture around and ask if anyone had seen him.
He lives here?
No, no. Hes got some kind of benefactor who might live here. I want to find out who that is.
The waitress came over and we ordered coffee.
Why cant you ask him who this benefactor is?
He wouldnt tell me. Anyway, hes dead now.
Her huge, dark eyes opened wide and I could feel the anger going out of her as a more important matter was on the table. But you said yesterday
He was killed yesterday, just a few hours before I met you.
The coffee came and I found myself telling her almost everything about the case, leaving out most of the names. I wasnt trying to impress her, more trying to convince her that I hadnt snooped. She listened and asked the odd question and I was aware again of how sharp her mind was and I could sense that there was a lawyer in her, just below the surface. She stopped the flow by putting her hand on my arm.
Its OK, Cliff. I believe you.
<
br /> Good. Thank you. This is all a bit weird, Claudia. Ive been thinking about you non-stop. The bloke Im working with, this Max I mentioned, says Im a different man today.
She spooned up froth from her cup. Oh, yeah. And just what have you been thinking about me?
I covered her hand with mine and then I interlaced our fingers. She didnt object. I respect your…
Right to privacy. You said that. Anyway, its blown. I live here, temporarily.
I was going to say your caution.
She laughed. Do you call last night cautious.
No, I call it bloody wonderful.
So do I. Come up to my place.
Her apartment was on the eighth floor with a great view across the park towards the water. I didnt get much more than a glimpse of it over her shoulder because we were clawing at each other within seconds of getting inside. She had white, lacy things under the white dress and some of them stayed on as we thrashed around on her bed. We kissed so hard it was like two boxers locking heads, and her tongue in my mouth and her hands down below quickly had me up and ready to go. She knelt on the tight pink satin sheet and shoved me onto my back. She hovered over me like a great white-crested, brown-plumaged bird. Then she swooped down and took me in her mouth.
I fought for control as I ran my hands over her firm body, kneading the flesh of her buttocks and breasts and thrusting my fingers into her. I was close to exploding when she left off and, still gripping me with one hand, fumbled in a drawer. She rolled the condom on and mounted me in what seemed like one smooth motion. She guided my hand around behind her and put my finger up into her anus as she bore down on me.
Now you hold on, she said. For as long as you can.
She rode me, knocking the breath from me with her weight. I reared up and it felt as if Id never been so deeply inside a woman before. She was moaning and twisting on top of me and it was painful and blissful at the same time. She increased the tempo, found the rhythm she wanted and went on and on until she came in a long, heaving rush that brought me helplessly to my climax and had me shouting something up into her dark, beautiful face. She collapsed, slipped sideways and I slid out of her but grabbed her with both hands and pulled her close, wanting to feel the whole length of her against me.