Win, Lose or Draw

by Peter Corris

  ‘That’s an exaggeration,’ I said.

  ‘You went willingly?’

  ‘You could say I was encouraged to go.’

  ‘When I heard about it I sent the boat. It looked like an attempt to prevent you talking to me today.’

  ‘It wasn’t. D’Amico didn’t know anything about that.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘His brother’s murderer.’

  Horsfield snorted his mock amusement. ‘Did you suggest he look in a mirror?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, I did say something along those lines.’

  ‘And now you’re protecting him.’

  ‘There was no harm done.’

  ‘Why are you wincing every time you move your head?’

  ‘A touch of sciatica.’

  ‘You could lay an assault charge. I could arrest him.’

  ‘He’d be out within hours and you know it.’

  Horsfield gave one of his tired smiles. ‘It might interest you to know that some of the changes up here you don’t approve of give us a bit more leeway than you have down in Sydney.’

  ‘Maybe so, but what would be the point? If he killed his brother it’d be best to let him move about while you look for evidence. If he didn’t, given his motivation and resources, he might actually find out who did.’

  ‘Oh, right. And this ties in with your important case you were going to consult your client about and then talk to me. The way I see it you’ve got someone else in mind as the killer—your target, let’s say.’

  ‘You’re warm.’

  ‘You bet I’m warm, I’m fucking hot.’

  What Vaughan had told me about Horsfield was showing now. He was as honest as a Queensland cop could be and he desperately wanted a result. That knowledge gave me room to manoeuvre.

  ‘I haven’t talked to my client yet and I need to talk to Vaughan Turnbull before I can be more helpful to you.’

  ‘Well you’re out of luck there. Turnbull’s disappeared.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘What I say. Not sighted or contactable since last night. Why don’t you ask your friend D’Amico about it?’

  I had nothing to say, feeling well out-played at that point. Horsfield stood and, against my usual practice in these situations, I let him take the dominant position.

  ‘You can go,’ he said. ‘Your car’s parked down at the marina. I hope it’s got a ticket and you can fucking well get there under your own steam.’

  ‘Last thing,’ I said. ‘The call you responded to. Was it anonymous?’

  ‘Yes, but convincing. Pommy accent. He knew your name and described you in detail. “Big, dark, knockabout bastard”, I think he said. Do you know who it was?’

  ‘No idea,’ I said, but I was lying.

  There was no sign of D’Amico when I left the police station. I caught a taxi back to the marina and wandered around until I found the car. No ticket. The fact that D’Amico had taken charge of my car chilled me a little—it put weight behind his threat. If he’d decided to dump me at sea the next step would have been to disappear the car and there are many ways to do that.

  There was no shade. The car’s interior was like a sauna under the late afternoon sun, with all the surfaces hot to the touch. I felt wrung out and frustrated. It seemed as though things were slipping out of my hands; an uncomfortable feeling. I grabbed the phone from the glove box and retreated to a small nearby park where I could sit under a tree and hope for a breeze.

  There were a couple of texts and messages unrelated to the Fonteyn case that felt as if they belonged to another life and I ignored them. But one message was of the here and now: Hardy, Colin Cameron. I’ve saved your arse I believe and we have things to talk about. I’m sure you’ll have talked your way out of any trouble. I’m staying at the Surfside hotel and I’m planning for it to be on your bill, so you better get over here toot sweet.

  I rang his number but was told to leave a message. Cameron was on a roll.

  The Surfside was a five-star hotel and Cameron had installed himself in style in a room close to the rooftop pool, well away from the traffic noise. I marched past him when he opened the door with a drink in his hand. I had an overnight bag in my hand and a towel over my shoulder.

  ‘I’m going to have a shower and change my clothes,’ I said. ‘Be nice if you had a drink ready for me when I come out.’

  I barely gave him a glance, just enough to see his jaw drop. He spluttered over his drink but I was in the bathroom before he could say anything. I took my time. After the crappy cabin, the carotid pinch and sweating it out with D’Amico and the police, the cool, beautifully appointed bathroom was welcome. I hadn’t realised how much strain I’d been under until I saw my face in the mirror. There were dark smudges under my eyes and the grooves on my dial were almost as deep as Mick Jagger’s.

  The room was virtually a suite, with a second small room containing a single bed off to one side. I tossed my bag onto the bed.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ Cameron said.

  ‘If I’m paying, we’re sharing. Where’s that drink?’

  He’d had too much sun of late. His face and ears were pink. He had the kind of skin that requires a hat whenever the sun is out.

  ‘I saved your life,’ he said.

  I brushed past him on the way to the mini-bar. ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘You were being taken out to be deep-sixed.’

  ‘Possibly. The issue was still in doubt when the cops arrived.’

  Cameron was sitting in an armchair, one of two facing a long, low couch with a coffee table in between. I opened the mini-bar and nodded my approval of the contents.

  ‘What’re you having?’ I said.

  ‘Gin and tonic.’

  ‘Good choice. Any lemon?’

  ‘Lime juice.’

  ‘That’ll do.’

  I made myself a light drink and stretched out on the couch. ‘Okay, Col. Tell me all about your adventures.’

  I patronised him and was thoroughly unpleasant as I interrupted his narrative, throwing in sceptical asides. I was trying to keep him off-balance and get him under control but without much success. As he talked he gained in confidence and it became clear that he had an ace in the hole that he was protecting.

  Cameron had followed me to Ballina and Fitzroy Heads and picked up my trail to Coolangatta. I’d underestimated his investigative skills. He’d fallen in with some dope smokers who knew Harris, had bought from him, and knew he was targeting the Coolangatta kids. When he got there he looked for somewhere cheap to stay and by sheer luck saw me leaving the caravan park on my way to meet Vaughan and followed me in his rental car. I waited for him to chortle about that but he didn’t.

  ‘I saw them carry you out,’ he said. ‘They were trying to make it look as if they were supporting a drunk. I saw one of them take your car to the marina and I saw them put you on the yacht. Then I called the police and you haven’t thanked me.’

  ‘You didn’t need to butt in.’

  ‘Against that lot? Come on. But I got a fair bit of it on film in case they killed you.’

  The gin on top of my tiredness had mellowed me and I had to laugh. I waved my hand at the comfortable and expensive surroundings.

  ‘You’re all right, Col. Thanks. It was a very tight spot. But I have to say I’m surprised at your attitude and all this.’

  That was the first time I’d let up on him and he showed his appreciation by fixing new drinks for us both.

  ‘That’s okay, Cliff. I think we’re a team again and as such we need to renegotiate our arrangement.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes. I need to tap into some more of the Fonteyn funds.’

  ‘It’d take more than what you’ve done for me to swing that, grateful as I am. Are you telling me you know where Harris and the girl are? Maybe you’ve got footage.’

  ‘I wish. No, not that much, but I’ve got Vaughan Turnbull and I know what he wanted to tell you before George D�
��Amico shanghaied you.’

  17

  ‘What do you mean you’ve got him?’

  ‘I mean I know where he is and I’ve convinced him that it’s in his best interests to throw in with me and make a serious dollar out of this business rather than just accept handouts from you.’

  ‘I thought you were only concerned about rebuilding your career.’

  ‘I’ve revised my agenda, and don’t blame Turnbull too much. D’Amico really put the frighteners on him and he’s looking to relocate or take a long holiday. Either way, that takes money.’

  He was cocky and he had reason to be. What he’d said had reawakened a worry I’d had. How did D’Amico know to locate me through Vaughan? The obvious answer was that he had a police contact. If that was true, there was plenty of reason for Vaughan to think about relocating.

  ‘Things might work out your way,’ I said. ‘It’ll depend on how good this information of Vaughan’s is. You’ve been in this thing almost since the beginning. How would you evaluate it, putting your own interests aside?’

  ‘Fair question.’ Cameron finished his drink and crunched the ice cubes, looking thoughtful.

  ‘I’d say, judging from his attitude and expectations, that it’s very good. Not decisive but definitely something to follow up.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll talk to Fonteyn. You can clear out while I do it.’

  ‘Of course. I hope your Amex is in the black. I’ve been running up some serious expenses here. I tried my card but it’s tapped out.’

  He got up, collected sunglasses, wallet and the door card.

  ‘Leave the card. Get another one for yourself at the desk.’

  It was petty sparring but sometimes you need that before you get down to the serious business. I dug in my bag for the heart-monitoring medications I’d neglected to take. I swallowed a couple of the pills down and dialled Gerard Fonteyn’s private number. He recognised the caller.

  ‘Mr Hardy, I’ve been hoping to hear from you. What progress?’

  It’s always an awkward situation approaching a client for more money without having anything solid to report. It was a bit different this time in that I already had access to the money, the substantial residue of the twenty grand I’d been authorised to draw on at the beginning, but I felt a responsibility to clear further solid expenditure with Fonteyn. I gave him an outline of what had happened without the dramatics and said there was a way forward but that it’d be costly and I wasn’t sure how costly.

  ‘Don’t tell me you need to buy a yacht.’

  I laughed, breaking the tension I was feeling. My respect for him went up.

  ‘No, but the man who approached you initially says he has important information and he’s driving a hard bargain and …’

  ‘Do you believe she’s still alive?’

  I knew something was going on that I didn’t understand. Harris hadn’t sold Juliana to George D’Amico. Why not? Was she the girl of his dreams?

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘Then spend whatever you need. I’ll have someone contact your bank and arrange a line of credit for you. Would a hundred thousand be enough?’

  I assured him it would. He asked if he could be of help in any other way. Was there anyone he could call? It was a sensible suggestion and I told him I’d let him know. I realised I hadn’t touched the drink while I’d been speaking and that I was sweating.

  I called Cameron’s mobile.

  ‘Get the green light?’ he said.

  ‘For you, it’s a yellow light. Where are you?’

  ‘In the bar. Where d’you think?’

  ‘I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  ‘Good. You’ll be meeting an old friend—you’re paying for him as well.’

  The bar was cool and quiet with muted lighting and music. Cameron and Vaughan Turnbull were at a table with their drinks and bowls of nuts. Both had mobile phones in their hands and Cameron appeared to be demonstrating the functions of his. A new toy, I assumed. He was going the whole hog.

  Turnbull looked sheepish as I approached and almost got to his feet deferentially, just restraining himself.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cliff,’ he said.

  I sat. ‘Are you? For what?’

  He pointed to his neck where two pale overlapping bandaids stood out against his tanned skin. ‘D’Amico’s offsider had a gun. He jammed it into my neck.’

  I nodded. ‘Serge. A Glock. It’s at the bottom of the sea now, thanks to Colin here.’

  Turnbull picked up his drink, rum and Coke at a guess. ‘It got too heavy for me. I’m glad you …’

  ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘I’m more interested in what arrangements you’ve come to with your pal Col.’

  Turnbull was on his feet now in a very different frame of mind. ‘Fuck you, Hardy! I’m out of business here. D’Amico swings a lot of weight and …’

  I made a placatory gesture with both hands. ‘Easy, easy. And he has police connections. I don’t blame you, Vaughan.’ Turnbull sat down. ‘Yes you do, but fuck you anyway.’ ‘With all that resolved,’ Cameron said, ‘are we ready to talk terms?’

  ‘What do you want?’ I said. Before either could answer, I went on. ‘I’ll hear what Vaughan has to say. If I like it I’ll arrange for ten thousand to be paid into his bank account. He can have one more night here at my expense. Drink all the booze he wants and watch as much porn as he cares to. Then he strolls away.’

  ‘You’re a bastard, Hardy,’ Turnbull said.

  ‘I know, but your story stinks.’ I reached across the table quickly and peeled the bandaids away. There was no wound. ‘You told D’Amico I was coming to you. I don’t know how, maybe through Cantini. Doesn’t matter. The offer still holds as long as I’m a hundred per cent sure you haven’t told D’Amico what it is you have to sell.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘I think I believe you. You’re smart enough to know that I’d pay for it at the going rate, even before Col came on the scene and upped the ante. D’Amico’d just take it and tell you to keep quiet or do something rather worse.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Cameron said. ‘Now, what about me?’

  ‘You’re a separate case,’ I said. I took out my voice recorder and put it on the table. ‘Let’s hear what Vaughan has to say and while we’re at it, let’s have a drink. Mine’s a Fourex Light. C’mon, Col, do the honours and see if you can rustle me up a sandwich. I haven’t had anything to eat today at all and I need something to blot up the grog.’

  ‘A Fourex Light isn’t grog,’ Turnbull said.

  ‘It is on top of two Crownies on D’Amico’s boat courtesy of you and a G ’n’ T with Col.’

  Cameron gave me a sour look as he left the table. He made to pick up his mobile but I put my hand over it, determined to keep him on a tight leash.

  Turnbull cleared his throat. ‘I found Harris’s wife. Her professional name’s Desiree. Everyone just pronounces it Desire. She’s semi-retired, if you take my meaning.’

  ‘I think so. What’s her real name?’

  ‘Who knows? Anyway, Harris and the girl paid her a visit. She lives on a boat moored in one of the canals.’

  ‘Boats, boats, I’m sick of fucking boats.’

  ‘Well you’re going to hear a bit more about them.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘According to Desiree, they used her place for a night or two to sell some drugs. They needed money to get to Sydney.’

  ‘Why Sydney?’

  ‘That’s the screwiest part of it. Harris wants to marry the girl. He’s obsessed with her. But she won’t tell him anything about herself, not her name, her age, nothing. Harris says he knows people in Sydney who can get her papers—birth certificate, a passport, Medicare fucking card. Then they’ll take off for Hong Kong or somewhere.’

  ‘You got this for how much?’

  ‘Five hundred, half of what you gave me, and a lot of pricey booze. She’s a far-gone alky and …’

  ‘Hold on, I need to think.’ I switched off the reco
rder and Turnbull sat back looking apprehensive. Cameron returned with the drinks and a bulging salad sandwich. While I was wolfing it down Cameron and Turnbull exchanged looks. Turnbull shook his head and shrugged when Cameron asked what was going on.

  ‘He’s thinking,’ Turnbull said.

  ‘What about?’

  I washed down the last of the sandwich with a swig of the beer. I switched the recorder on.

  ‘Okay, Vaughan,’ I said. ‘That’s all very interesting but it doesn’t lead anywhere and it’s not worth ten grand. Sydney’s a big place and Harris can’t finance false papers and a trip to Hong Kong on the sale of some grass and a few pills. There has to be more that you’ve told Cameron. Now tell me and earn your money.’

  Cameron relaxed in his chair. ‘So that’s where we’re at. Tell him, Turnbull.’

  ‘Harris told Desiree he’d killed Paul D’Amico. Said it was an accident, in a fight over the girl. Sort of.’

  ‘Hard to believe. What’s the girl doing while this is going on?’

  ‘Stoned but amused. Desiree says she seemed to find it funny that Harris wanted to marry her. Desiree knows men and women inside and out, back to front, if you know what I mean. She reckons the girl can get Harris to do whatever she wants.’

  ‘I still can’t see where this gets me.’

  Turnbull nodded. ‘Harris’s putting his yacht up for sale.’

  I shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘This is the clincher, Cliff,’ Cameron said. ‘This is what Turnbull wouldn’t tell me—the name of the broker here in Coolangatta who must have the papers with Harris’s signature and must know how to contact him in Sydney. Vaughan here says he’ll only tell you when he’s sure of the money.’

  Turnbull said, ‘I would’ve told you this, Cliff, when we got together in the wine bar and you were going to put me … on wages, shall we say. Before I knew how big this really was and how fucking heavy it could get. Cantini’s interruption has cost your client a lot of money.’

  ‘Don’t fret about it, Vaughan,’ Cameron said. Slightly pissed, he did a fair Paul McCartney impression: ‘The long and winding road …’

  18

  Vaughan Turnbull had a sense of the dramatic. He took a notebook from his pocket, tore out a page and wrote on it. Pushed it towards me.