Hard Yards

by J. R. Carroll

  ‘I understand. But that’s hardly surprising. Seeing something like that would traumatise anyone.’

  ‘I know, but that isn’t what I mean. What I’m saying is … there were some features of that crime scene that weren’t right. To my mind …’

  ‘Your mind is pretty tortured, mate. You’ve been through a tough period.’ He looked at Barrett’s hand, holding his schooner. ‘You’re shaking like a dog shitting razor blades. You want to take things easy, mate. You don’t want to end up a basket case.’

  ‘I still say that crime scene was fucked.’

  Ray drank. Looking him in the eye, Barrett thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty. It seemed odd to him that Ray was expressing no curiosity about these worries Barrett quite clearly had. Maybe he thought Barrett was off his head, and didn’t want to encourage him.

  Ray seemed to understand that a degree of interest was expected, and said, ‘All right. Let’s hear it. What was wrong with the crime scene?’ The tone was I’m humouring you, buddy.

  Barrett lit a cigarette. ‘The first thing I noticed was that Geoff’s gun was in his holster. Now … I have to ask myself: Why? He was tailing a world-class assassin. Shit, he’d had his hair parted by Hickey. He knew better than any of us what he was up against. All right. He’s following Hickey in his car, from the restaurant – right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘At some point, for some reason he decides to park the car and tail him on foot. Maybe he felt he was so close he couldn’t resist it. But Hickey’s taking him down some dark streets and alleyways. He’s not stupid, he probably knows he’s being followed. He’s luring Geoff into a trap. At this stage, Geoff has definitely got his gun out. I know him; I know he is cautious. Only a fool would follow Hickey into somewhere like that without being armed and ready. But somehow Hickey turns the tables on him, forces him into the garage and shoots him …’

  ‘That would be my reading of events.’

  ‘So why is his gun holstered?’

  ‘I don’t know, mate. There could be a good reason for that. Maybe he thought he’d lost him, then Hickey turns up out of the shadows …’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘The fact that he was … gutted.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. We know he was a butcher. He cut up people in Nicaragua all the time. It was his trademark. Why would that surprise you?’

  ‘Yeah, it was his trademark, but … in Nicaragua he was at war. A dirty war, but a war all the same. And being in a war zone makes people do strange things. Mainly, it can make normal men barbaric. You remember the Mai Lai massacre in Vietnam?’

  ‘Course I do.’

  ‘Those soldiers … they were all normal, sane young men. But the stress of war had taken its toll, and in the end they crossed the line. They became monsters. They machine-gunned and blew up old women and children. They were out of their heads. Years later, they would not have believed they were capable of such savagery. But that’s what war does, mate. It fucks men completely. In Hickey’s case, he was training hit squads, he was dealing with violent killings all the time. And he knew that to intimidate the enemy, to gain a psychological advantage, you had to become a monster, capable of striking the fear of Christ into their hearts.’

  ‘Well … he never forgot that rule, did he?’

  But Barrett was shaking his head. ‘Nicaragua was a long time ago – twenty years. In the heat of war he did those things. Why now? He’s in a strange city, he probably doesn’t know anyone … How long does it take to … to do what he did? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? I don’t know – I’ve never filleted a man. But why would he waste all that valuable getaway time and expose himself to unnecessary risk? He doesn’t know if Geoff has back-up, or what the score is. The streets might be crawling with cops. What’s the point of doing that?’

  Ray shrugged. ‘You’re looking for a rational explanation? Come on, Barrett. We’re talking about a very twisted individual here.’

  ‘But not a stupid one. A survivor.’

  ‘Don’t forget he cut up that man in Calgary. That wasn’t in the heat of war.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. But … in that case – assuming it was Hickey – he cut off the victim’s head and hands. That prevents identification, so there’s a reason for it. It makes sense, from the killer’s point of view. But there was absolutely no sense in disembowelling Geoff.’

  Ray gave an ironic laugh. ‘That seems a bizarre thing to say, you have to admit.’

  ‘I know. It’s extremely bizarre. But you see, look at it from a cold, practical viewpoint. To cut off someone’s head and hands, you need … an axe, or a saw, or a fucking big meat cleaver … It’s not easy, getting through all that bone. Then what are you going to do with the parts? On the other hand, if you’re going to disembowel someone, all you need is a sharp knife – and the will to do it.’

  ‘So what are you getting at, mate?’

  ‘I don’t see Hickey doing that. That’s what I’m getting at.’

  ‘Look. At the risk of repeating myself, can I just say one more time that you are searching for too much rhyme and reason in the deranged mind of this person? He was not a well sack of goods after all.’

  ‘He wasn’t. But I don’t believe he was Geoff’s killer, either.’

  Ray laughed out loud. ‘Oh, mate. You’re going right over the top. On the strength of what you’ve just told me, you honestly think Hickey didn’t do it? Come on.’

  ‘No. Not just on the strength of that. There’s another thing.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? And what would that be?’

  ‘You’re getting a bit niggly, mate. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m not niggly. I don’t see what the point of all this … speculation is, that’s all.’

  Barrett was looking Ray dead in the eye, and Ray could see that he was out of order, that it might perhaps be more normal for him to agree with Barrett that some of these things raised questions, instead of knocking them down as soon as they were put up.

  ‘The fax pages,’ Barrett said.

  ‘And what about the fax pages? Christ.’

  ‘They were plastered over Geoff’s body, remember?’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘You would think Hickey did that – to ram a point home, right?’

  ‘That’s how I read it.’

  ‘Funny thing about that. How did he know Geoff had fax pages relating to him on his person?’

  ‘Went through his pockets, I guess.’

  ‘If he’d gone through his pockets, he wouldn’t have found much. If he’d checked his wallet, however, he would’ve found three hundred bucks. But he didn’t do that. He didn’t search him at all. He couldn’t have. He wasn’t there.’

  ‘Oh, fucking bullshit. Of course he had the fax on him. Hickey found it and scattered the pages over the body. End of story.’

  ‘I looked very closely at those pages. I noticed they were only folded crosswise, the way you do to fit something in a business-size envelope – or a jacket pocket. At the Bayswater, when you gave Geoff a copy, he folded it into a square, and put it in his shirt pocket. I watched him do it. But the pages on his body had not been folded into a square. How do you explain that?’

  ‘I’m fucked if I know, mate.’

  ‘I’ll agree with you that the killer searched Geoff’s pockets, looking for the fax, but he didn’t find them. Why not? Because Geoff had changed his shirt. He was very particular about his shirts, and he spilled red wine on his sleeve at lunch, remember? Then he went home. He would have changed his shirt, but the fresh one would have been white too. All his shirts were white. So when the killer looked in his pocket, expecting to find the fax, it wasn’t there. Was it?’

  ‘Get fucked. Christ, if you –’

  ‘If I what? You’re looking a bit flushed in the face, Ray. Why is that? All right, let me spell it out for you: the killer looked in Geoff’s shirt pocket, failed to find his copy of the fax, so he produced his own copy – the spare he had in his
jacket pocket. He was determined to make it look like Hickey’s work, and that fax idea was a nice touch. But then the killer thought: what if Geoff’s copy turns up later? That could throw a spanner in the works, since it is inconceivable that Hickey himself would be in possession of a copy.’

  ‘Bullshit, bullshit …’

  ‘Remember that list of items from Geoff’s pockets I got from the homicide detective, Armitage?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘Anything strike you about it?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘Listen, mate, I have to fuck off. Nice listening to you, but …’

  ‘But nothing.’ Barrett had grasped his upper arm. ‘You’re going nowhere until this is over, Ray.’

  ‘Who the fucking hell do you think you are?’

  ‘Shut up. I’ll tell you what was missing from that list. His fucking keys, that’s what. Where were his keys?’

  ‘How the fuck would I know. Maybe he lost ’em. Let go of my fucking arm, will you?’

  ‘No. He didn’t lose ’em. The killer took them. Then he went to Geoff’s apartment. He remembered about the wine-stained shirt. He let himself in, and he found Geoff’s copy. Then he probably destroyed it. But he forgot that Geoff had folded the pages over again. There’s no getting away from that troublesome little detail, Ray. And you told me on the night of the murder that only the three of us knew that fax existed. Which kind of narrows it down, don’t you think?’

  ‘I think you’re cracked, that’s what I think. I’ve heard all these stories about you – some sort of fucked-in-the-head war veteran. Vietnam was a long time ago, Pike. No-one gives a gnat’s pizzle anymore. You don’t impress me. You’re as mad as a fucking cut snake.’

  ‘If I am you’d better watch out, because I might bite like one too.’ Steady.

  ‘Okay. Warning duly noted. You finished this interesting little dissertation now? Can I go?’

  ‘No, you can’t. You’re never going.’

  You’re never going. They were strange, unexpected words, and they hit a tender spot. For the first time a shadow of uncertainty crossed Ray’s deep-set eyes.

  ‘Here’s something else,’ Barrett said. ‘Just before I shot Hickey, I told him I could let him live except for what he’d done to my partner. He was surprised, and I don’t think he was putting it on. His response was: ‘That guy was your partner? Don’t pull my dick.’ Something along those lines. I didn’t pay much attention at the time, because I was intent on killing him no matter what. But I’ve been thinking about it since. He was genuinely surprised that Geoff was my partner – why? I know he’d seen us separately, and I’ll bet there were times he saw us together when we didn’t see him. Then … I remembered poor old Mick Dawes going off tap. Someone bowling-balled him, and no arrests have been made as far as I know. Hickey bought guns from Mick Dawes. In my book, that’s a fatal connection. Hickey killed Dawes for some reason – to tie up a loose end, whatever. He executed him. So when I said he’d killed my partner, he was naturally surprised. He thought I was talking about Mick Dawes, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t even know Geoff was dead, because he didn’t do it.’

  ‘Go and see a shrink, mate. I can recommend a good one.’

  ‘It won’t fly, Ray. You’re gone. You’re history. Can you feel it? You can, can’t you?’ He took Ray’s sandpapery face in his hand, squeezing it softly, and to his surprise Ray did not resist. ‘Outside the Bayswater, after lunch,’ he went on, ‘I saw you approach Geoff as he was getting into his car. You said something to him. What was it, I wonder? Here’s my guess, for what it’s worth. Maybe you suggested he follow Hickey, because that wasn’t his original plan. He was just going to check out the restaurant, talk to the owner. Maybe you offered back-up. And maybe you also suggested he should leave me out of it, since I was so smashed. You definitely didn’t want me turning up and spoiling things, did you?’

  ‘Get fucked,’ Ray said, affecting a bored, are-you-still-here tone. But he didn’t try to extricate his face from Barrett’s grip.

  ‘Here’s my reconstruction of events that night,’ Barrett said. ‘Do you want to hear it? Of course you do. So: Geoff goes to the restaurant. He sits off it in his car, unaware that his killer is sitting off him. Hickey leaves the restaurant, and Geoff tails him. The killer tails Geoff. Hickey knows he’s being followed, so he takes all these backstreets and alleyways. Geoff parks the car and follows him on foot. He goes down some pretty dodgy, dangerous places, and he draws his gun. But Hickey manages to shake him off, because he’s good at that. Soon Hickey’s gone; he’s out of the picture. Geoff gives up, holsters his piece, turns around to retrace his steps … and comes face to face with someone … someone he didn’t expect to see. An old friend. But he’s puzzled, because this old friend is pointing a fucking gun at him. The friend orders him into the garage, shoots him, then puts on some rubber gloves and maybe a plastic raincoat, produces a razor-sharp knife and goes to work

  His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Ray’s. He waited, giving him the chance, but Ray made no answer.

  ‘I don’t know any of the autopsy details,’ Barrett said. ‘But I’ll bet a year’s pay the slug they dug out of Geoff’s head was a .38, not a .44. And we know Hickey had a .44 – Geoff’s.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing,’ Ray said thickly – the words of a guilty man.

  ‘No wonder you were so glad I killed him. After what he’d done in the house, it would be a straightforward matter to load him up with Geoff’s murder too. But it could have been a bit embarrassing if any evidence to the contrary turned up later – if it turned out he couldn’t possibly have done it. Dead men make pretty safe witnesses. Did you a huge favour, didn’t I?’

  ‘More bullshit guesswork.’

  ‘That was a shrewd move, ringing him after you’d killed him. It tends to put you away from the scene, even though your office is only about a fifteen-minute drive from there.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Ray said in his thickened, guilty man’s voice. Now he wouldn’t make eye contact at all.

  ‘What did you do with his keys? Drop ’em down a stormwater drain?’

  No answer, but Ray’s bloated throat was now crimson and pulsing like a frog’s.

  ‘I know you did it, Ray. That isn’t the question. Those fax pages put it beyond doubt. I just don’t know why. You guys were old mates. You went way back.’

  Ray stared at him. Barrett continued to hold his face. It was a soft, almost velvet grip, but there was always the potential for it to rapidly turn into a pulverising one.

  Barrett decided to play it cool – for the moment. If that didn’t work, he’d try to provoke him. ‘You’re right, Ray. I don’t have anything bar suspicions. It’s mostly uncorroborated speculation. None of it would stand up, and no-one would listen to me anyhow. But I just want to know. I need to know. Come on – talk to me. Spill it. Please.’

  ‘Get your fucking claw off my face,’ Ray said.

  Barrett released him – but the open hand hovered within striking distance.

  ‘Pike … I don’t have to tell you diddley-shit,’ Ray said, massaging his jaw. Heat was rising rapidly in his cheeks. ‘But I will – just to shut you up and rub your fucking nose in it. You’re such a fucking hard case, aren’t you?’ That’s right, that’s right – blow your stack. ‘Yeah, we did go way back, but we were never mates. Not really. Not ever. I didn’t like him at all, right from the off. He was a jack man, Pike. You were in the army, you know what that means. Geoff O’Mara always looked out for Geoff O’Mara. Back in the days of the Fitzgerald inquiry, you would have thought he was fucking Serpico. Fucking Clean Hands, testifying and naming names in secret for the public good. My grandmother’s lily-white arse.’ His voice rose sharply, attracting the attention of some patrons. ‘He was dirty all right, don’t worry about that. Everyone was. It was normal; it was part of the fucking job then. It didn’t mean you were a bad cop – it was just the way things were. You had to be there to understand that. I knew he�
�d cut secret side deals with Hec Hapeta, but they weren’t the sort of deals Hec would mention in court, not if he wanted to live. Hec was a heavy hitter, but he wouldn’t want to cross swords with O’Mara. Geoff O’Mara flushed a lot of good men down the toilet then, with state protection. I personally know of three that knocked themselves off rather than face the music.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Ray. That was years ago. How can you carry a grudge for that long – over something that happened in Queensland?’

  Big pause. ‘It had nothing to do with Queensland,’ Ray said, and cleared his throat. ‘Not directly, anyway. Go and get us a fucking drink and I’ll tell you a real fucking story, shamus.’

  32

  Ray took a deep swallow from his schooner, then placed the glass on the cigarette machine with a slowness that indicated he was carefully arranging his thoughts and deciding how much to reveal. Then he plunged in. ‘Last February I was driving home late from work. It was a warm night, and I had the window down. I could smell smoke, then I heard on the radio that there was a fire at the Klingborg warehouse in Botany Bay. Remember that?’

  ‘I remember it.’

  ‘It wasn’t far out of my way, so I decided to call in and see if I could help. But by the time I got there they had the fire under control. I asked the fireman in charge if he thought it had been deliberately lit, and he said he didn’t think so, because it had started in a morning tea room – an urn had been left on and boiled dry. But he also said it could have been deliberately lit, because security at the place was almost non-existent. The parent company in the States was apparently trying to work out whether to relocate or upgrade or whatever. When I was on the road again, I started getting this idea. It all came together so well and so easily I reckoned it was meant to be. I was meant to be where I was at the time, hear that report and drop in.’ He had another big swallow, leaving a coating of foam on his lips. ‘I didn’t know anything about chemicals, but I knew the fucking place was full of product – pharmaceuticals that could be processed into whatever the fuck the dozy punters like popping these days. And the fireman was right – security was shit. I checked it out later. It was waiting to be knocked off. So … I set up a meet with Jack Tucci.’