The Dunbar Case - [Cliff Hardy 38]

by Peter Corris

‘No. That’s what they say and I believe it. Anyway, they thought the proposition’d have a better chance with you coming from me.’

  ‘Who thought that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  I’d been so astonished by this that I’d neglected my drink. The ice had melted. I took a long swig and Marisha did the same.

  ‘Ever feel manipulated?’ I said.

  ‘Manipulated and manipulating—I’m a journalist.’

  And maybe that’s all you are, I thought, but I didn’t say so. Marisha took her drink into her study. I paced around as the light dimmed outside and the air cooled in the room. In the few days since Wakefield and Kristie had left I’d stayed in the flat and had got used to its workings. But I’d left Marisha alone to write while I checked my emails, rang Megan, did things. We hadn’t been in each other’s pockets. Plenty of chances for her to contact people and be contacted. Hector Tanner and who else?

  I finished the drink and resisted the urge to have another. I needed a clear head for thinking. One thought was a repeat of what I’d had a couple of times before—Jack Twizell was a smart cookie and a game one. No comfort there—in my experience smart, brave men are usually at their smartest and bravest when they’re looking out for themselves.

  Then I had another thought. What if Templeton wasn’t a rogue cop after all? What if all this was an act to get hold of Hector Tanner and clear up a nagging rumour about a lot of missing money? And resolve what had happened to a British backpacker?

  ~ * ~

  Marisha came out of her study long enough to give me Templeton’s mobile number—different from the one I already had and which hadn’t answered the last few times I’d tried it.

  ‘Going to ring him?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Good.’ She went back to work.

  I knew what an upright citizen should do—go to Watson and have him set up the system they use to locate the source of mobile phone calls. Why didn’t I do it? Partly out of respect for Templeton’s intelligence and resources. For all I knew there were ways someone could know he was being tracked and Templeton might have sources still within the police force to keep him informed of what was being done to catch him. I couldn’t see a pair like Templeton and Tanner positioning themselves where a police raid would be effective.

  I punched in the numbers.

  ‘This is Hardy.’

  ‘Just you?’

  ‘Just me.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘No, we’re not going to play it that way. If you’ve got someone watching me, have him come in and I’ll give him a drink.’

  Templeton laughed. ‘Okay. Your girlfriend’s put you in the picture, has she?’

  ‘Just barely. Speaking of girlfriends, I suppose you were sorry to hear that Kristie burned to death.’

  There was a pause before he came back on the line. ‘You want to make this hard or easy?’

  ‘I don’t want it at all, but I feel partly responsible for Jack Twizell being in the shit and I’ve got scores to settle with you and Hector.’

  ‘This isn’t about settling scores. It’s about money.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do. All you have to do is exactly what you’re told and everything will go smoothly. Twizell walks away, Hector and I take the money and you get on with whatever. Oh, and your girlfriend writes her book.’

  It’s a funny thing, but as he spoke these words I knew it was never going to be anything like that. I didn’t know why, but I knew. The reference to Marisha was a sort of clue that the net was spread wider than he wanted me to believe.

  ‘This is the deal,’ Templeton said. ‘We meet up on the highway and go north up the coast. That’s all Twizell will say at this point.’

  ‘Terrific. How is Jack? Rough him up much?’

  ‘No, he has to stay fit. He’s got work to do. One other thing—you’re going into the cave with him.’

  ‘I’m claustrophobic.’

  ‘Too bad. That’s our condition. You bring him and the money out. I don’t want him disappearing into a cave system and coming out somewhere west of Woop Woop.’

  ‘What’s to stop you and Hector bumping us off there and then?’

  ‘We won’t. We’re not killers.’

  ‘Just thieves.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Are you finding Hector useful?’

  ‘He will be when we need to launder the money.’

  ‘What if I bring the police along?’

  ‘We’d know.’

  ‘What if I do nothing?’

  ‘If that happens, your girlfriend’ll never write her book. I wouldn’t hurt her but I guarantee you every note she’s taken, every tape she’s recorded, every photo, will go up in smoke and it’ll be all your fault. Happy to live with that? This is a clean operation, Hardy. Win, win all around.’

  ‘With a lot of trust involved.’

  ‘Some, yes.’

  ‘I want a safeguard. Is Hector listening to this?’

  ‘You bet he is. Like what?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when we get to where we’re going.’

  Again there was a pause before he replied. ‘You’re a tricky bastard, Hardy.’

  ‘Dealing with people like you I have to be.’

  His short laugh was harsh. ‘Okay, go north, cross the bridge over the channel and you’ll see us. One hour.’

  That made time tight. I collected a few things and told Marisha what was happening in bare outline. She took it in her stride.

  ‘Ring Hector,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do it. He’s good at all this. Hasn’t put a foot wrong so far.’

  She tried.

  ‘Nothing.’

  I tried the number she’d given me for Templeton but there was no answer.

  ‘Throwaway phones,’ I said.

  ‘As you expected.’

  ‘Yeah. Templeton’d be able to organise cheap pay-as-you-go phones under false IDs. He’d have had the training.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘He will, I hope.’

  Her hard shell seemed to crack. She put her arms around me and pressed close against me. ‘You’re not doing this for me, are you?’

  I’d come this far and I wanted to see it through. I told her the truth—that I was doing it for me.

  ~ * ~

  24

  In the car I reached into my pocket for my keys and to check that I had my phone and found that Marisha had slipped a miniature tape recorder in there. Always working, Marisha. The phone rang.

  ‘On the way, Hardy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t fuck up.’

  I did as I was instructed, crossed the North Channel and saw a white SUV stopped at the side of the road. It was pulling a trailer carrying a Bobcat earth mover. I pulled up fifty metres behind it. Templeton stepped out just long enough for me to identify him and then the SUV, a Mitsubishi Triton, I now saw, moved off. Traffic was light and we edged at just a notch below the speed limit. I drew up close enough a couple of times to be sure there were three men in the car. The last thing I wanted to see was Clem with his bolt-cutters. But somehow I thought the delicacy of this operation would rule Clem out.

  Following the Bobcat that swayed a bit on the trailer wasn’t a comfortable feeling. I’m not particularly claustrophobic, but I didn’t much like the idea of going down into a cave that had proved unstable and had to be dug out. It’s not unusual when I faced unpleasant situations that something I’ve read pops into my mind. Driving along I recalled Henry Lawson’s story ‘His Father’s Mate’, in which a boy falls into a shaft when a windlass breaks. The story touched me when I read it as a schoolkid and the memory wasn’t welcome now.

  We passed Nelson Bay and other bijou Central Coast playgrounds and pushed north to a stretch where the road moved away from the coast. Templeton signalled and we turned off
the highway down a secondary and through some heavy bush that was almost like rainforest. It couldn’t have been far from the coast but it felt more like the Blue Mountains, with tall trees and outcrops of weathered rock. Well, Australia’s like that, with patches of mini-climate and accompanying vegetation.

  The paved road ended abruptly and poorly graded gravel took over. A sharp turn, which the Mitsubishi and trailer negotiated carefully, and we were on a bush track that only ran for a hundred metres before there was a gate.

  Again, I pulled up short of the others. I thought of taking the .38 out of its compartment but changed my mind. I had another idea. I watched while Hector Tanner, looking not quite like himself out of his suit and in casual clothes, climbed down, glanced briefly back at me and opened the gate. A battered sign said private property keep out, but from the length of the grass on the track it didn’t look as though anyone had been there in quite a while.

  Through a break in the trees I saw what looked like an iron roof with afternoon sun glinting on it, but we swung off on a still rougher track and climbed a steep slope. We stopped where a clearing, which the bush was rapidly reclaiming, had been hacked out. I sat in the car and waited for them to come to me. I wanted to see exactly how they moved. You can tell a lot from that.

  If he lacked his usual cocky strut, Twizell appeared undamaged. He busied himself with the chains holding down the Bobcat. Hector stood by ready to help. He watched as Templeton approached me and he seemed nervous, off-balance. Templeton came on with his long, easy stride, brimful of confidence. I got out of the car.

  ‘Nice spot,’ I said.

  ‘It’ll be nicer when two million bucks come into view.’

  ‘You really think that’ll happen?’

  ‘It’ll happen. Go and help with the Bobcat.’

  I shrugged and went to the trailer. Twizell and I unclipped the chains while Tanner lowered the ramp. Twizell got up into the cabin, started the motor and inched the machine down the ramp onto the ground. I looked around but couldn’t see anything that resembled a cave.

  Twizell took notice of me for the first time. ‘Thanks for this, Cliff. I knew I could count on you.’

  ‘Let’s get on with it,’ Templeton said.

  Twizell pointed to what appeared to be a high grassy mound at the edge of the clearing twenty metres away.

  ‘Over there. It’s been a few years and the place is overgrown. What happened was, the last five or so metres of the cave collapsed just as I got out. Dunno why. Just happened. We have to clear that, then we can get in.’

  ‘How far in?’ I said.

  ‘Fair way.’

  ‘Scared, Hardy?’ Hector said.

  I didn’t answer. Templeton waved Twizell on and he moved the Bobcat into position and lowered the digging arm. The toothed bucket at the end of it tore into the grass-matted earth. We backed off as Twizell reversed, turned, swung the arm and dumped the load away to the side. He repeated the procedure again and again with the motor roaring, diesel fumes filling the air, and the loads varying from soft soggy stuff to sizeable chunks of rock.

  ‘Hold it!’ Templeton said as a load spilled out. He and I approached the pile that looked different from the others. Mixed in with the earth and rock were shreds of cloth and bones.

  Twizell cut the motor and climbed down. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Bits of him,’ Hector said. ‘Sure you didn’t kill him?’

  ‘That’d be your style. No. I didn’t. Poor bastard.’

  Templeton snapped his fingers and Twizell went back to work. If other loads had bits of the skeleton, we didn’t bother to look. I didn’t see a skull. After a long, noisy, smelly time, Twizell had cleared the debris to reveal a gaping hole big enough for a large man to squeeze through. He cut the motor and wiggled his fingers in his ears.

  ‘Should’ve had muffs. Hey, Hec, you’ve just been standing around. How about you get the torches and ropes?’

  ‘Ropes?’ I said.

  ‘Have to go down a bit. Not too much. Don’t worry. I’m an expert.’

  I pointed to where a long bone stuck up. ‘Yeah—an expert.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ Hector said. ‘Get ‘em yourself.’

  ‘Do it,’ Templeton said.

  Hector swore, stumped back to the SUV and returned with two coiled ropes and two heavy torches. Twizell checked them. Even in the sunlight the beams were strong.

  ‘Okay,’ Templeton said, ‘how long do you reckon?’

  ‘Depends if there’s water. This area must’ve copped some of the flood like everywhere else.’

  ‘Shit,’ I said.

  ‘Shouldn’t be too long; say three-quarters of an hour; but I’m not as fit as I was back when I first went in and it was dry. Could be a bit longer.’

  Twizell wiped sweat from his face and smiled at Hector. ‘What about the bags? No handles, Hec.’

  Tanner swore again and moved off.

  ‘You’re enjoying this, Jack,’ I said.

  ‘In a funny way I am. Thought about it for long enough but I didn’t see it quite like this. Still... I was sorry to hear about Kristie, Cliff.’

  ‘Cut the crap,’ Templeton said.

  Tanner returned with two canvas backpacks which he dropped on the ground. He pulled a metal flask from his hip pocket and took a swig.

  Twizell reached out. ‘I could do with some of that.’

  ‘Later,’ Templeton snapped. ‘Go!’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  All three turned to look at me. Templeton pulled a pistol out from his jacket pocket. I pointed to it.

  ‘That’s what I mean. If you think Jack and I are going down into that hole and coming out with the money while you stand here with loaded guns you’ve got another think coming. No guns.’

  ‘You took my fucking gun,’ Hector said.

  ‘Right, and I’m going to check there’s none in your car and then Rod’s going to lock his away in a compartment in my car with my gun. You’d need to tear the car apart to get at it.’

  Templeton shrugged. ‘Okay.’

  ‘What d’you mean, okay?’ Hector yelped. ‘I thought you were running this show.’

  ‘Hardy’s got a point. No guns. Not needed.’

  Hector muttered and took another swig from his flask. I looked through the Mitsubishi thoroughly and then Templeton and I went to the Falcon and locked his Glock in the compartment. I put its key and the car key in my pocket. If Templeton was still working as a cop this was the moment to tell me but he said nothing. We walked back to where Hector and Twizell stood not talking.

  ‘Put your backpack on under your jacket and do the jacket up,’ Twizell said. ‘You don’t want anything sticking out or loose.’

  He looped the coil of rope over his shoulder and I did the same. Hector turned away and pretended to be interested in the bone sticking out of the debris. Templeton nodded at us.

  ‘Do it.’

  Twizell scratched at his newly sprouted beard, stretched and worked his shoulders. He moved forward and turned sideways to get through the opening. He was much shorter than me but solidly built and it was a tight squeeze. I had to duck down but I got through easily enough. The smell inside the space was a mixture of foul, trapped air, damp rock and rotting vegetation.

  I switched on my torch. ‘We should have gas masks.’

  ‘Been blocked a good while. There’s air vents further down.’

  ‘It’s that “down” that worries me most,’ I said, ‘and air vents suggest water could get in.’

  ‘I’ll look after you. Hey, Cliff, that was a great move about that fucker’s gun. You’ve got one tucked away somewhere, right?’

  Wrong.’

  ‘Shit, I was counting on you.’

  ‘Count again. Let’s get on with it.’

  ~ * ~

  25

  My first problem, apart from the stink, was that I had to keep slightly hunched over, not a comfortable way to proceed. My favourite sport had been surfing, where the whole world is open to you. E
ven boxing, although you’re in a confined space for the contest, takes place in a bigger space. The idea of enjoying creeping along in an underground alley in a half-light was alien to me. But the secret of getting things done is to do them and not waste energy complaining.