by Peter Corris
‘It’s where I start my thinking,’ I said. ‘And I have some real thinking to do.’
He slapped me the way he does to indicate that he’d finished.
‘Having a party soon to celebrate twenty years. Do you good to come.’
‘If everything I’ve got on hand works out I’ll come and I’ll do the bloody limbo.’
He laughed. ‘Not while I’m your trainer you won’t.’
I drove to Coogee the next day to check Barden Park over. It occupied a half-acre corner block and was mostly scruffy grass that looked as if it was a dog exercise area. There was an avenue of trees along one side, gums and Moreton Bay figs, and a path between them running to gateposts at the Green Street exit. The gateposts were a handsome sandstone set about shoulder high.
A few blocks back from the beach, the area featured houses that mostly had driveways. At a guess the street lights would be shrouded by trees at the Green Street end. Ideal for a quick hello-and-goodbye clandestine exchange. I had something a little more than that in mind.
I drove down to the landscaped, sculptured foreshore and parked. It was a much rougher vista in my Maroubra youth when we’d come here after late-afternoon surfing a bit to the south to drink beer and make a nuisance of ourselves. Innocent nuisance it seems now after the politically and racially charged events of recent years. Now the area was quiet, ideal for roller-bladers, and family friendly.
Back in Glebe I drew out the money. Eighty one-hundred-dollar notes make a fair chunk and would take some time to count. I prepared the things I wanted to take to the meeting—a torch, my .38 Smith & Wesson revolver, cleaned and loaded. I filled in the time finishing Macklin’s book on Norfolk, watching Richard E. Grant’s movie Wah-Wah and eating whatever I could scratch up from the fridge until it was time to collect Foster and Hank.
Foster was nervy but there was no smell of booze or marijuana or even of tobacco.
‘Off the fags?’ I said as he scrambled into the back seat of the Falcon.
‘They say if you can kick the smokes you can kick anything.’ ‘The thing about quitting is that it’s interesting enough in itself to see you through for a while. When that wears off it gets harder. I didn’t have much trouble with the smokes, but the times I’ve had to give up drinking it seemed to apply.’
‘Thank you, Counsellor Hardy. I’ll add that to the other helpful hints I’ve been given.’
I let the sarcasm pass; he was young and under a lot of pressure and I had been more than a bit supercilious.
Hank was waiting outside the Newtown flat where he lived with Megan. He got in beside me, sliding in smoothly without apparent effort. Hank was a big man with four or five centimetres on me. He’d played top-level basketball in his US high school and could move like a cat. I introduced them.
‘This is Hank, Foster. Hank, this is Foster Fonteyn who’s got himself into some shit we’re going to get him out of.’
The two exchanged nods and grunts.
‘Buy me out of,’ Foster said.
‘Right.’
The money was a bulge in the deep pocket of the jacket I was wearing.
‘Everybody gets paid. Here’s what we’re going to do.’
I filled them in on precisely how I wanted the thing to go down as we negotiated the late-night traffic to Coogee. We arrived half an hour before the appointed time. Foster and I took up a position near the gateposts where there was just enough light from the street for us to be seen. Hank was only a metre away behind a huge Moreton Bay fig.
The residents in the surrounding houses had settled down for the night. At twenty-five past eleven an SUV appeared. Moving slowly, it cruised along the streets bordering two sides of the park before stopping near a fence across from where we were waiting. Two men got out: one big, one a lot smaller.
Both paused to light cigarettes, then the big one stepped easily over the fence and the smaller one had to scramble a bit. They walked towards us across the grass to the path we were on. They had to pass the big tree and Hank stepped out and took the big man down in a bone-crunching tackle. I grabbed the other man and put the .38 hard into the soft flesh beside his jawbone. He yelped and dropped his cigarette, flicking up sparks.
‘Stomp on that,’ I said to Foster. ‘We don’t want a fire, now do we?’
Foster did as he was told. I backed my man hard up against the stone gatepost, keeping the pistol biting into him. Hank had his man down on his belly with a knee on his back and had both his arms pinned.
I handed the torch to Foster. ‘Show him the money.’
He took it out of my pocket. His hands were trembling and he almost dropped it but he managed to switch on the torch and light up the package. I eased the pistol away.
‘Are you Jake?’
He nodded.
‘Well, Jake, you see how things are. You take the money and you and this man are quits for good. Do you understand?’
He gulped and nodded.
‘You don’t contact him. You don’t sic anyone onto him. Not now, not ever. Got it?’
Another nod.
I stepped back. ‘Give him the money.’
Foster handed the bundle of notes over and I took a photo of the moment with my phone while still keeping the .38 in play. In the flash Jake looked like a frightened rabbit, red-eyed with his mouth slack and open.
‘I don’t care who you are, Jake, or who you might be working for. If this man has any trouble I come looking for you and you won’t like what I do to you. Now take your money, tell your mate to behave himself and piss off.’
He scrambled away clutching the money. Hank let his man up slowly and he limped away with Jake muttering to him. Hank joined us and dusted off the knee of his pants.
‘No worries,’ he said.
I put the pistol back in its holster under my arm. ‘We’ll make an Aussie of you yet.’
Foster jerked nervously at the sound of the SUV revving unnecessarily before driving away.
‘You all right?’ I asked.
He nodded.
The whole thing had taken barely five minutes.
22
I dropped Hank in Newtown. I thanked him and Foster had the grace to thank him as well. He was improving. We went up to his apartment and he made coffee. He didn’t have any alcohol there and, he insisted, no drugs.
‘Think you can stay off the drugs?’
‘I’ll need help.’
‘That shouldn’t be hard to find. How long since you spoke to your father?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Weeks. I try to avoid speaking to him if I can.’
‘I like your father. He’s trusted me further than any client I remember. Of course, he has the financial resources but it was more than that. We saw eye to eye along the way.’
‘I bet you haven’t told him the latest.’
‘No, not yet. I’m tossing up when to do it. I take your point that he made demands on his children that were unreasonable and damaging. He’ll have to face that.’
‘You think he can? Think you can make him?’
‘We’ll see. To answer your question, I don’t want to watch another family disintegrate in front of me partly because of my actions. I’ve seen it too often. I want this to go smoothly and for everyone to be a survivor. Understand?’
He nodded but looked very uncertain.
‘What?’ I said.
He’d showered and trimmed his beard neat and kept his hair clean. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find tooth-whitening gunk in the bathroom along with underarm deodorant and nail-cleaning equipment. He was trying to hold a line but something was troubling him. It’d be a matter of his strength of character whether he admitted what it was or tried a cover-up. He took a deep breath.
‘Hardy,’ he said. ‘I …’
‘Spit it out, son. You’ve got my attention.’
‘I was still high when I met her in the pub and pretty freaked when I first spoke to you. Now I’m clean or getting there … I don’t know … the world l
ooks different.’
‘What’re you saying?’
‘Now, I’m not a hundred and ten per cent sure it was Juliana.’
He collapsed then; the strain of what he’d been going through had stretched him too far. I lifted him onto the couch, surprised at how light he was, and made him comfortable. His breathing was shallow but regular and his eyes were open. I got him some water and pulled a chair close to sit near him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry. Feel up to talking?’
‘Yeah.’
I had Cameron’s photograph of the girl on the jetty in Norfolk Island folded in my wallet with the image untouched by the folds. I took it out and showed it to him.
‘That’s Juliana!’
‘I think so. But is she the girl you met?’
‘Oh, shit, yes … I’m not sure.’
‘Let’s see if I can help. She was drinking, right?’
‘Bloody Marys.’
‘I could do with one right now. Was she sitting opposite you?’
He nodded.
‘Right, now think back. Which hand did she drink with?’
He closed his eyes, running the mental video. ‘The left.’
‘Did she have any tatts?’
‘Shit, yes. But they looked pretty recent—she kept rubbing one of them the way you do.’
‘You mentioned a piercing?’
He was right back in the scene now. ‘God, you’re good. She worked at a lower lip ring with her tongue all the time.’
‘I can tell you that girl in the photograph, the one I’ve been tracking, calls herself Trudi. I think we’ve got some pretty good confirmation here. Enough to proceed anyway.’
‘Proceed how?’
I got up. ‘I’m going to have to think about it. Three nights till you’re meeting with her, right?’
He nodded.
‘No communication beforehand?’
He shook his head. ‘I asked for her mobile number but she said she didn’t have one. I asked her to call me but she said she couldn’t.’
I nodded. ‘Harris wouldn’t give her that independence.’
‘She’s in danger then?’
I judged it was time to jolt him again.
‘What do you care?’
He was wrung out. He pressed his fingers into his eyes and let them slide down his cheeks. ‘I do care.’
‘Good. It’s another waiting game, Foster. What you have to do is keep yourself straight. Can you swim?’
‘Of course I can swim.’
‘Go to Victoria Park pool and lap till you drop. The City Gym’s just down the way …’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, the university’s there as well. Walk around, look at the buildings, have coffee, find someone to chat to, read stuff in the library. Fill your day.’
‘What’ll you be doing?’
‘Thinking, thinking hard.’
‘I still haven’t told you where and when I’m supposed to meet her. And you haven’t asked.’
‘I’m trusting you to tell me when I need to know.’
I went home, slept poorly and woke up unrefreshed and grouchy. The way ahead seemed straightforward—be present when Foster met his sister and let them play out whatever way it went. Then follow the girl to somewhere she could be talked to, possibly with her father present. I still hadn’t decided on that. With Hank as backup I felt I could handle Harris. If I was past my best, probably so was he with booze and drugs and years of ducking for cover. But I had a strong feeling I was missing something that could stuff all this up. Another gym session didn’t help. A good evening with Megan, Hank and the boys did a bit. I handed over the Bounty items which, even though they were fakes, were well-made and worked. But the nagging feeling stayed with me.
I spoke to Foster a few times and felt confident he was playing his part according to my script. The day before he was due to meet ‘Trudi’ all my misgivings took solid shape. I was considering whether to contact Fonteyn when the doorbell rang and I opened the door to a familiar face.
‘Hello, Hardy,’ George D’Amico said.
I nodded and ushered him in. He wore one of his impeccable suits with a dark shirt and slightly lighter tie, very modish.
We went down the passage to the living room, where he gave the fittings an indifferent glance before sitting down.
‘You’ve been busy,’ he said.
‘So’ve you, apparently.’
‘Not so much. I have contacts in the drug scene, as you can imagine, and money buys information. I’m told you pulled young Foxy Foster Fonteyn out of a sticky situation the other night. Well done.’
‘Cut the bullshit, George. Why’re you here?’
He looked around the room. ‘Is this the best you can afford? No security, basic amenities? You’re not doing much better than Vaughan Turnbull was, but I hear that you financed him for a holiday, so I concluded that you have resources.’
‘You like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?’
He laughed. ‘I guess you’re right. The thing is, knowing you had money to spend and picking up the name Fonteyn from the druggies, it didn’t take long to figure out the case you were on and what progress you’ve made.’
‘Keep enjoying yourself.’
‘You’re beginning to irritate me but that’s what you’re trying to do so I’ll resist it. You’re protecting the brother of a girl missing from a wealthy family. I’m told he’s a useless bit of shit so I’m guessing you’re hoping to use him to help you find her and cash in.’
‘Let’s say for argument’s sake that you’re right. What’s your interest?’
‘Just one—Harris. You give me Harris and you can do what you like with the girl. Cash her in big time.’
I shook my head. ‘That’s you all over, George. You see people as commodities; it’s sleazy and sort of boring. No deal.’
He flushed. ‘I should’ve put you overboard when I had the chance.’
‘Then you wouldn’t be as close on Harris’s trail as you seem to think you are.’
I didn’t have air-conditioning; the room was warm and he was sweating. I was in shirtsleeves and D’Amico was in a jacket and tie. He took a handkerchief from his inside breast pocket and wiped his brow.
‘Okay, I understand. Look, you’re right and Paul was right. All that about the young girls was a mistake, especially …’
I laughed. ‘You’re a bit late. Have the enquiries into child molestation spooked you? Wouldn’t be good to go inside as a rock spider.’
He struggled not to lose his composure again. ‘For what it’s worth I never employed underage girls. They were all sixteen plus, I had them checked out, for Christ’s sake, and they were never my personal taste.’
I shrugged. ‘Checks can be unreliable. Suppose a couple slipped through the net and want to talk, looking for compensation?’
‘I can bugger your plans completely, Hardy. All I have to do is contact the father and tell him what’s happening. I’m guessing you haven’t done that. You’re too much of a fucking show-pony. But I’d rather do a deal with you.’
He was right that him talking to Fonteyn, with whatever spin he chose to put on his information, would create a problem, but there was more to say. The trade-offs were getting tricky.
I took him upstairs to my office. I’d had Cameron transfer the photo of Desiree to my phone and I’d incorporated it into the Fonteyn file on my computer. I called up the file and turned the screen towards him with the image loading.
‘What’s this?’
‘Take a look. I don’t do deals with people who murder women.’
He squinted across the desk and then reached into his jacket for a glasses case. He hooked on a pair of elegant wire-rimmed spectacles he was usually too vain to wear and peered at the screen. His expression was hard to read. It certainly wasn’t shock—more like reluctant acceptance.
He took off the glasses and fiddled with them. ‘I didn’t do this
.’
‘Who did? Serge?
‘No. If I tell you will you consider my proposition?’
Vaughan Turnbull must have been one of the last people to see Desiree alive and he was working with my money. He’d admit that if questioned; I didn’t want any involvement with the woman’s murder and even having the photograph was dangerous.
‘Convince me and I might just think about it.’
He sighed and suddenly looked a bit older and bit less svelte. ‘Rafa,’ he said. ‘Fucking Senior Sergeant Raffaello Cantini.’
23
D’Amico loosened his tie and took off his jacket. When he was comfortable he told me that his brother Paul had been Desiree’s lover, in defiance of every bit of advice he’d offered.
‘She was still attached to Harris, even though they were divorced. Paul was convinced that the kid she’d had was his and not Harris’s. The kid was parked with Desiree’s mother in Brisbane. Desiree wouldn’t confirm or deny it and it drove Paul crazy.
‘Cantini’s a relative and as you might have gathered, he looks after certain of our interests. He was ashamed of Paul’s … obsession with that hooker. When Paul was killed Cantini went to her to try and locate Harris to square the ledger and things … went wrong. Rafa’s pretty crazy.’
‘Cantini told you this?’
‘No, his wife did. She’s my sister. She’s worried about his mental health.’
‘Not to mention his criminal activities.’
‘That’ll be worked out. The point is I didn’t kill the woman. And that takes care of your objection about helping me give Harris what he fucking deserves.’
‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘Think fast. I can screw you up real good by tying you to Desiree’s killing through Vaughan. I’d have no trouble finding a witness to say he saw you at the houseboat.’
He turned in his seat and took a pen and a card from his jacket that was getting creased on the back of the chair. He wrote down some figures in a big looping hand on the card that named him as the representative of some sort of sporting goods business and flipped it towards me.
‘My number. You work out what you’re going to do about grabbing the girl and you tell me. Then we fucking cooperate.’