by Peter Corris
I did a quick check on the motels, giving them my description of Claudia and the car. Three blanks. I extended the search to Chippendale and Camperdown but came up with the same result. I couldnt see Claudia staying in a backpacker hostel. The Blackwattle Bay end of Glebe is full of blocks of flats and flats become available for short-term leases and sub-lets. Claudias operation had obviously been well-planned, so securing a second base in advance wasnt out of the question. More in hope than expectation, I toured the streets and looked in on the car parks. I knew a few of the residents and could ask them later, but the more I carried out this exercise, the more I realised I was kidding myself. She was too smart to be found by the equivalent of turning over rocks.
I went home to find a message from Max on the answering machine. The house seemed emptier and more desolate in the day than at night. The empty rooms and the bachelor routines I mostly enjoyed felt like signs of failure and put me in a bad mood. I phoned and got ready to go into the usual routine with Penny.
Penny, this is Cliff. Max wants to talk to me.
And I want to talk to you. Did he say anything.
About what?
About me! Who dyou think?
I hadnt given it any thought since my attempt to read Maxs body language. That was too slim a foundation to make a comment on, and after my wasted effort I wasnt feeling obliging. No, nothing.
He will. Ill put him on.
I wished I could feel as optimistic as Penny and I was feeling more sour by the minute when Max came on the line.
Ive been onto that Redfern DFowler. He says…
A guy named Freddy Persil shot Barry. I got all that from Grogan.
A pause, then Pennys voice, choked with anger. Dont do that, Cliff! You know he cant hear you. Whyre you screwing him up like that?
Im sorry, Penny. I havent had a good morning. Look, Ive found out a few useful things. Ill put them in a fax.
Why wont you talk? she said angrily. Wait on, Max! Im trying to…
Everyone was getting shirty. To tell you the truth, I find this method of communication bloody difficult. Lets be up to date about this. Tell Max to fax me what he wants to tell me and Ill do the same.
She hung up in my ear.
I felt shitty about it, but then, I felt shitty generally. I made a drink and wrote out a fax giving Max the gist of what Id learned from Leo Grogan. I tried to be objective, listing the only two possible connections Claudia could have to the Becketts that she was a former confidential employee of Cavendish or associated with the kidnappers. I favoured the first option and said so. I stressed that, in my opinion, working through her was the best way to progress. I didnt say that Id spent hours wandering around Glebe looking for her.
I sent the fax and went up the street for some more wine and whisky and food which, for me, generally means fruit, bread, eggs and anything else my eye lights on. My mood improved on the walk and I exchanged greetings with a few of the shopkeepers and spent more money than Id intended. I was contemplating replying to Maxs communication with an apology when I approached the house and saw something fluttering on my windscreen. Another carpet cleaner, I thought. I put the carry bags down on the hood and plucked the paper from under the wipers. I unfolded the sheet of yellow legal foolscap. The message, in bold, flowing felt tip, read: Nice try, Cliff. Call you tonight at 9.
C
It could have gone either way. I could have been furious at her arrogance and my incompetence or been amused at the cheekiness of it, the gall. The second way won, but my reaction was perverse. I realised that I was glad to have had her watching me. As far as I recalled I hadnt picked my nose or spat on the pavement. I looked up and down the street, half expecting her to be there, laughing at me. She wasnt, of course, but she could have been in any of the cars that had been on the road. Dark hair, dark glasses, the Laser was probably hired, so a different car. Why not?
A taxi turned into the street, one of those taxis with a high roof. It pulled in behind my car and Max got out. He helped the driver run Pennys wheelchair down the ramp and onto the pavement. Max gave the cabbie a card and as he was running it through, the wheelchair came purring towards me.
Hello, Penny.
Cliff. We decided not to let this bullshit go any further.
Thats good. I was mentally composing an apology fax.
Penny gestured at the paper in my hand. Whats that youve got there?
Ill explain inside over a drink. The taxi drove away and Max came up to stand proprietorially behind the wheelchair. Gidday, Max. Ive just invited Penny in for a drink. You can come too if you like.
Where she goes, I go.
I looked at Penny. Ah, I said.
Max frowned. Whats the mean?
Private joke, I said. I thought you were only interested in widows.
Max? Penny said.
I opened the gate. Another private joke. I win. After youse.
Terrace houses are not wheelchair-friendly, but we had no trouble getting Penny inside and installed in the living room with a glass of wine in her hand. Something had clearly happened between them, but for the moment Max, who accepted a small Scotch, was all business.
Were got a lot of dope on Sean Beckett, he said. Apparently, hes a nutter.
Max, Penny said. Thats inaccurate.
All right. A neurotic; unstable, disturbed, whatever you want to call it.
I drank some Scotch and wondered when Claudia would call and how to handle it. I tried to concentrate on what Max was saying but it was hard. Ive been called unstable and disturbed myself. Dont know about neurotic. Whatre the signs in his case?
His marriage broke upguess when? Immediately after the Beckett thing.
Marriages break up, I said. Mine for one.
Sorry, I didnt know that. How long ago?
I forget. Long time. OK. What else?
Hes been in therapy ever since. Hes a raving hypochondriac, spends a fortune on doctors and health cures. Hes obese, really huge. Ive got a picture of him, look.
Max took an envelope from his pocket and showed me a grainy photo of a very fat man. Two chins rested on his tie knot.
Could be genetic, I said. We dont know anything about his mum.
Yes, we do. She was an accountant, helped old man Beckett get his start. She died not long after the divorce. Here she is, and the daughter.
Penny was looking around the room, maybe noting the cobwebs and frayed carpet, maybe wondering if the bookshelves could take much more of a load before collapsing. Id wondered that myself.
Youve been busy, I said.
Max sipped his Scotch. Penny has.
More photos. A pleasant-faced woman, kept from being attractive by close-set eyes that gave her an owlish look. Estelle Beckett favoured her father, who was a handsome man. The picture was a studio portrait and probably flattering. She had good bone structure and even features and knew how to use cosmetics and how to pose to make the best of them. She was good-looking but not a patch on Ramona which, as she projected vanity and self-absorption, must have been a problem for her. No suggestion of a weight problem, though.
OK, I said. Seans a very troubled individual.
Penny glanced across at me. Thats almost civilised.
Max took the photos back and tucked them away. Hes on the board of this and that, as the mother told you, but hes worse than useless. He was managing director of a couple of things for a while but people had to step in to prevent them from going bottom up. He rakes in more money than you and I can imagine, but for all that hes a… what was it, Pen?
A cipher, Penny said.
22
I made scrambled eggs on toast and we ate, drank wine and waited for Claudias call. I set the recording device to start taping the second she spoke and I brought the upstairs phone down and plugged it in at the kitchen so Penny and I could both listen. The phone rang at nine oclock precisely.
Cliff, whore those people youve got with you? And dont lie to me.
Thats a bad start, Claudia.
Where are you?
Not far away but youd never find me. Oh, maybe you would if you had a week or so, but this is all going to be over well before that.
What is?
Come on, I answered your question and gave you some information. Give a little. If theyre technicians to trace the call Im disappointed in you. Thats unimaginative.
I was standing in the doorway to the living room with the kitchen phone at full stretch. I could see Penny on the other phone mouthing the dialogue to Max. He was nodding. They were doing more than communicating, they were communing. Both disabled, but I envied them.
You know how to appeal to my vanity, I said. Theyre not technicians. The man is Max Savage, hes a consultant to the police, investigating old cases. The woman is his assistant. Theyre friends of mine.
Thats interesting. I look forward to meeting them. Having a few drinks are you, something to nibble?
Claudia, what the hell…?
Humour me. Ive been dieting for weeks. Oh, forget it. Look, Cliff, I want you to set up a meeting between Mrs Beckett, Wallace Cavendish and you and me. You can bring your friends along if you like.
That might not be easy. Cavendish
Will be waiting for your call. Hell agree, believe me.
How many people can you manipulate all at once, Claudia?
Plenty, if I have to. Arrange with Cavendish to meet tomorrow night out at that godawful place in Wollstonecraft. Nine oclock, say.
Are you sure you dont want Sean Beckett there, and Estelle. How about I fly Peggy Hawkins down from the Gold Coast?
Very funny.
I was tired of being the wall against which the ball was being bounced. The working theory at this end, Claudia, is that youre associated in some way with the people who kidnapped and killed Ramona Beckett. Anything to contribute?
No, please just do as I say.
Its please, now, is it? Why dont you come along to my place and meet Max and Penny? We dont really like getting run around the block like this. Tell you what, you come here and well tell you what you want to knowwho suppressed the kidnapping note.
Im sorry, Cliff. It has to be this way. You can tell me that tomorrow night.
Terrific. By the way, will I get the reward, too? The fucking pot of gold.
She hung up on me, the second woman to do it in one day. Great going, Cliff.
Penny replaced the receiver and turned off the tape-recorder. I came back into the room with the whisky and wine and refreshed my drink and Maxs. Penny accepted some more wine.
Your telephone manner stinks, she said, addressing me but facing Max.
She got under my skin. Im sick of being manipulated and all this mystery woman shit.
Male ego challenged.
If you like.
Max said, I think I got most of it from Pen, but was there anything said that gives us a better idea of whats going on?
Penny and I shook our heads. Not even worth playing the tape, I said.
Penny sipped her wine. Id say shes an Australian whos lived in the States for a while. What was that about dieting? Is she fat, Cliff?
No.
Thin?
No.
What?
In between.
Jesus, men!
Look, shes a beautiful woman, but shes forty or thereabouts. Shes not a girl or one of those anorexic models. Shes got a womans figure. I cant see any reason why shed want to diet. Anyway, shes lying. She ate her share the night we had a meal together.
I cant see any reason why shed want to do anything shes done, Max said. Im completely in the dark. Did you do any digging on Cavendish? Turn up former employees and so on?
It was one of the things Id been supposed to do and I hadnt even thought about it. I shook my head.
Max looked peeved. We need to get some leverage on this woman. As it is, shes making all the running.
But she wants to know what we know, Penny said. About the suppression of the note. That seems to be the one thing she doesnt have. You dont seem to be her favourite person, Cliff.
I knew what Penny was up to with that statement. She was going to get a read from my expression and body language. I tried to keep both as neutral as I could. Im nobodys favourite person right now, including my own.
On that bright note I think we might take our leave, Pen, Max said. Thanks for the drinks and tucker, Cliff.
I called for a wheelchair-equipped taxi and we had a bit of a wait. The conversation was desultory but friendly. Wed healed the breach right enough and Max and Penny had done a whole lot more in that direction. We loaded the wheelchair into the taxi and Max and I shook hands.
Ill ring you tomorrow afternoon, I said. I might have something on Cavendish by then. And we can talk about what to do tomorrow night. Thats if shes rightif Cavendish agrees to a meeting and can arrange it with Mrs Beckett.
Max nodded. She seemed very sure itd play like that. I wonder why shes so confident?
I shrugged. Ive never seen her any other way, except maybe angry. Shes not a person with doubts.
Max glanced in to where Penny was sitting patiently. A person without doubts has no imagination. Goodnight, Cliff.
The taxi drove off and I stood in the street for a while speculating about where Claudia might be. There were no high-rises overlooking my spot, nowhere for her to take up a position with binoculars. Then it hit methe house for sale on the other side of the street, the one shed ostensibly been interested in buying. I went inside, got a torch and my lock-picks and walked down towards the house. It was a double-fronted timber job that had been on the market for quite some time. Unusually for the area, it had a deep front garden and a driveway of sorts. To judge by the state of the weeds, the double gates to the drive, which was fringed by overgrown shrubs, had been opened recently and a car had been parked inside.
The lock on the front door was an old Yale, easy to pick. I had it open inside a minute and stepped into the hallway. The house had a cloying, moist, musty smell indicating rising damp. If the vendors had put a high price on it, buyers would have been deterred by the smell. I went into the first room on the left. The street rose sharply beyond my place. From the front window of this house, which was set up on high foundations, the view back to my gate and the side of my house was clear. The room was devoid of furniture, but an old bentwood chair had been placed by the window. Two of the panes had been cleaned. Two styrofoam coffee cups sat on the dusty boards beside the chair. My respect for Claudia Vardon went up a few more notches.
I went back, half hoping that shed be there, standing in the doorway or sitting in a chair in the living room. She wasnt, of course. I washed the glasses, plates and frying pan and made some coffee. I sat and played the tape through but learned nothing new from it. Great voice, I found myself thinking uselessly.
It wasnt late and I wasnt tired. I went for a walk about the block and strolled down to the water below the big apartment complex at the end of the street. The grass had recently been cut and the fresh-mown smell was strong and pleasant as I sucked in deep breaths and did a mental review of the whole Ramona Beckett matter. The lights of the city skyline shone in the still water like a distorted duplicate of the real thing. The more I thought about the case the more it seemed that we hadnt been grappling with reality but with some kind of shadow or mirage. Suddenly, I was tired, mentally and physically, and I tossed a couple of stones into the water to break up the image and went home.
The light on the answering machine was blinking. I hit the play button, knowing for certain whose voice it would be.
Smart work, Cliff, she said. I knew you were the right man for the job. See you tomorrow.
23
Mrs Horsfields voice was still the same soothing instrument when she answered the phone at ten oclock the following day. Good morning, Mr Hardy, she intoned. I was told to expect a call from you.
That was encouraging so I thought Id take a punt. Would you mind telling me how long youve worked for Mr Cavendish, Mrs Horsfield?
Not at all. More than twenty years.
In that time I suppose there would have been a good many associates, paralegals, secretaries and so on in the office.
Certainly.
Do you recall a woman named Claudia? A qualified solicitor?
No.
Youre sure?
Im quite sure. Mr Cavendish has never employed females in responsible positions other than myself.
Couldnt make it any more plain than that. I thanked her and waited to be put through to Wally the sexist. When he came on the line he sounded tired and worn, half the man he used to be.
Hardy, he said, as if even that was an effort.
You dont sound well, Mr Cavendish. But then I expect youre in better condition than Colin Sligo.
No response.
You do know Sligo, dont you?
You know perfectly well I do.
Hes dying of cancer. He saw no reason not to tell me everything I wanted to know.
Ah, I see. Yes, that makes some kind of sense.
Have you been in touch with Sean Beckett recently?
I have no intention of submitting to any interrogation by you. Certainly not at this time.
That appeared to leave the door wide open so I took the step. I want to arrange a meeting
His sigh came down the line like a gust of dry wind. For tonight at nine oclock at Wollstonecraft with Mrs Beckett and other parties whose identities I havent been given. Ive had my instructions. Its all arranged.