by Peter Corris
Between us, we put it together. The home invaders had worn balaclavas and tracksuits and one of them hadn’t spoken a word. Nathan would have known about the safe and suspected that it held a lot of money. He’d heard his stepfather rant about taxes enough times to doubt that the money could be traced. Somehow, through his association with a security firm, Jerry must have got a sniff of the involvement of Nathan or someone like him. Nathan or his associate got wind of Jerry’s interest and took care of Jerry and came after me. Jerry must have let slip my name somewhere along the line.
We sat and looked at each other. Sanderson’s colour was bad and I hoped he wasn’t going to have another cardiac episode there and then—didn’t look as if he could stand many more.
‘The one who tried to hit you with the baton—what did he look like?’
‘It was too quick and too dark to tell. Middling in every way’s my impression, but that’s all it is.’
‘And how did you say you dealt with him?’
‘I kicked him in the face and he went arse over tit down the stairs.’
Sanderson nodded.
‘What does that mean?’
‘He rang his mother the other day. She asked him why his voice was funny and he said he had a broken jaw that he’d got from an intruder with a baseball bat he’d run up against.’
‘I have to go after him,’ I said.
Sanderson’s smile was a grimace in a death’s-head face. ‘He flew out to South America yesterday. Holiday, he said, but with that amount of money …’
I met Zack Fowler again in the Novotel bar and told him what I’d found out.
‘Get Interpol onto it,’ he said.
‘No chance. The only evidence is the baton and you can bet Sanderson wouldn’t testify to it. It’s a dead end, Mr Fowler. I’m sorry.’
‘Poor Jerry. It was to be his big score but he struck out.’
‘It happens that way sometimes, but you’ve spent too much time in the States. Jerry would have said he made a duck.’
Crime writing
Theo Baldwin phoned me from Silverwater Correctional Centre and asked me to come and see him. Said he’d arrange for me to pay a visit even though I wasn’t a relative or a lawyer.
‘Sounds as if you’ve got some pull,’ I said.
‘You know me, Hardy. Always working the angles.’
‘You’ve got yourself a right angle now.’
‘One of your crummy jokes. Excuse me while I split my sides. Seriously, this is important.’
‘It’s a bit of a drive and my car’s heavy on petrol. Call it most of a morning. At my going rate you’re up for a few bucks.’
‘I can arrange to pay you as if I were a free man.’ Theo was always good with grammar.
‘You were supposed to have no assets.’
‘So was Alan Bond.’
‘Will they let you sign a contract with me?’
‘We can work it out. Make it eleven am tomorrow.’
It was too intriguing to pass up. Theo Baldwin had been sentenced to five years for fraud. He’d run insurance scams, a phoney investment consultancy, a dodgy mortgage brokerage and various online fiddles. A lot of people were out a lot of money and, when he was convicted, Theo’s assets were found to be nil and there was no compensation available. But Theo was a charmer and his contrition convinced a soft-hearted judge and resulted in a light sentence. He’d almost done his time and, with his undoubtedly good behaviour, would be out in a couple of months.
I’d met Theo via a client of mine who’d come through a bit of trouble as a professional tennis player—injuries, a drug suspicion, a doubt about his commitment to winning. A gambler had tried to pressure him to throw a game and he wasn’t interested. He was seriously on the comeback trail and didn’t need the aggravation. Theo was the go-between, the honest broker, and I persuaded him to get the gambler to lay off. He claimed not to know what was really going on and I gave him the benefit of the doubt. After that we ran into each other here and there and had a drink. I wasn’t really surprised when the law caught up with him, but it takes all kinds, and he wasn’t the worst. Most of the people he’d conned had been greedy.
I drove out to the gaol and went through the routine of surrendering almost everything I had about my person. I walked past the sealed-off exercise yards where they kept the Asians, the blacks and the whites away from each other. The interview room was Spartan, with plastic tables and chairs and a guard keeping watch. Theo was in prison greens—jumper, tracksuit pants, sneakers. Despite the sloppy dress he still managed to look like the con man he was—closely shaven, sleek hair, bright teeth. He was about forty and stood about 180 centimetres—looked younger and taller.
He was conducted to a chair by a guard and made it look as if the officer was his aide-de-camp.
‘Hello, Hardy,’ he said. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Why do I take everything you say with a grain of salt?’
He shook his head. ‘Eliminate cliches and well-worn phrases from your pitch. They don’t build confidence.’
‘You’d know all about that. Why am I here, Theo?’
He leaned back in the cheap chair as if he was the CEO of something big. ‘I’ve written my memoirs. Sensational stuff.’
‘I bet.’
‘I mean it. You don’t think I could’ve got away with some of the stuff I did if I hadn’t had help, do you?’
‘I never thought about it. Help?’
‘Insiders, in the insurance firms, car dealers, importers. I name the guilty men. Plus a few of New South Wales’s finest who took a cut. And a pollie.’
‘Sounds like waffle to me.’
‘I wish you’d keep the lousy jokes for the right audience. This book lifts a lot of lids that people thought were jammed down tight.’
‘Okay, suppose I accept that. What d’you want me to do?’
Theo glanced around to make sure the guard was well out of earshot. ‘They wouldn’t let me use a computer so I bashed it out on a typewriter. One copy. I had no carbon paper—does it still exist? I pretended I was writing a dirty joke book—I’ve got a million of ’em. The screws were amused. Anyway, I gave the typescript, which was pretty rough, to one of the guards to smuggle out and get to an agent. I mean, this book needs careful treatment—legal vetting, fact checking, a lot of editing. The guard I gave it to hasn’t been seen here for a couple of weeks. I can’t find out what happened to him. And I haven’t heard anything from the agent I had in mind. I want you to talk to them both. I know how forceful you can be.’
‘Names and addresses?’
‘I’ve got both for the agent, of course. Just a name for the guard. They won’t let you write anything here, you’ll have to memorise them.’
He gave me the information and I locked it in.
‘I’m not going to do this on a promise for something out of your royalties.’
‘Of course not. I’ve got another name for you. You submit your accounts to her and you’ll get paid.’
He gave me the name and I put it in the memory bank with the other two. I pushed my chair back and stood while he sat there, composed and assured. ‘Theo,’ I said, ‘if this is another one of your scams, you’re safer off in here than on the outside.’
First things first. I certainly wasn’t going to give Theo a freebie and I was sceptical about the job anyway. The name of his supposed provider was Rosemary Kingston. I had the number and I phoned her on my mobile when I was outside the prison. She agreed to see me as soon as I could get to her in Alexandria. I made the drive in good time and stopped by the office to pick up a contract form. If Rosemary was paying, no reason why she shouldn’t sign the papers.
Her place was a flat in a neat block in a street off Botany Road. Time was when this whole area was given over to light industry, but now a lot of the factories have gone and there are more residents going to work in suits than blokes in overalls. She buzzed the door open and I went up two flights of stairs, ignoring the lift for the aerobic b
enefit.
She had the door open when I arrived and I realised that she was vaguely familiar. I had a faint memory of her joining Theo in a pub one night and him leaving the small group of drinkers of which I was one. She was tall and well built, athletic looking, and wore a white blouse, dark red velvet skirt and boots with medium heels. Her hair was short and styled in a way that suited her long face— horsey if you wanted to be unkind, otherwise just strong featured.
‘I’ve got a feeling I’ve seen you before,’ she said as she ushered me into the flat.
We went down a short passage past a kitchen and bedroom to a good-sized living room with decent windows and a balcony.
‘It’s mutual,’ I said, ‘and it’s coming back to me. I think it was in the Forest Lodge pub. I was having a drink with a few people including Theo. You came in and he sloped off.’
‘That’s right. He pointed you out to me and told me you were a private eye.’
‘Still am and that’s why we’re here. Theo phoned you from the slammer?’
She nodded. ‘Yesterday. He said you’d be in touch today.’
‘Confidence should be his middle name.’
She smiled. ‘Right. Have a seat. Coffee or a drink?’
Her living room was nicely furnished with leather or pseudo-leather armchairs, a coffee table, a dresser holding books and CDs and a unit with a wide-screen TV and everything that goes with it. There was a drinks tray on the sideboard—gin, several whiskies, brandy. I pointed to tray. ‘How about an Irish coffee?’
‘Done.’
She went back to the kitchen and I wandered around the room looking at the books and CDs and the magazines in a rack. The music ranged from classical through to hard rock, stopping short of punk and rap. The book collection was eclectic—some classics, reference stuff, popular fiction, biographies. One section took my interest—a clutch of criminal biographies and autobiographies—Reggie Kray, Ronnie Biggs and Buster Edwards, the Great Train robbers, Neddy Smith, Roger Rogerson, ‘Chopper’ Read. Teamed up with them were Richo’s Whatever It Takes and books on Bond, Skase and Packer.
She came back with two mugs of coffee and a jug of cream. Set them on the table and brought over the bottle of Jameson’s. I turned away from the bookshelf.
‘Theo did his research,’ I said.
‘Before he went away and since. Put your own spike in, Cliff, and let’s get down to business.’
She told me that she was a partner in an importation business and that she’d been in a relationship with Theo for about a year before he had what she called ‘his mishap’. She had a strong belief in his book, which she thought would expose corruption in high places, and she was happy to finance my efforts to get it in the right hands.
‘You haven’t read it,’ I said. ‘How can you tell what it’s like?’
‘Theo’s told me about it in some detail.’
Theo had made a career out of telling people things in detail, most of which turned out not to be true. I asked a few questions designed to find out just how much he’d drawn her into his web. Subtly. The Irish coffee was going down well.
‘Mr Hardy, Cliff, in my business I hear all sorts of stories from all sorts of people. Many of them are trying to take advantage of me. That’s all right, sometimes I’m trying to take advantage of them. Do you follow me?’
‘Yes.’
‘More coffee?’
‘Thank you.’
She signed a contract. I stressed the retainer clause and she wrote me a cheque. She told me to invoice her for my expenses and daily rates by email.
‘You’re not set up for BPAY?’ she said.
‘No. Just post the cheques to my business address.’
‘Very old-fashioned. Clearance times and all that. What’s wrong with electronic deposit?’
She’d snookered me before and I felt I had to stay in the game. ‘I don’t have your level of trust.’
I finished off the second coffee which I’d spiked pretty heavily. I’d need a long walk around Alexandria and Zetland before I could drive. Always wondered about Zetland and how it came to be called that.
In my game you need connections and I had one in the Correctional Services Division. She sold information to journalists and people like me, charging according to the importance of the data. The address of a serving officer was sensitive and pricey, and the seller was taking a big risk. Rosemary Kingston’s account was up and running.
The guard, Colin McCafferty, lived in Homebush, not far from the gaol. Nice to be close to your place of work. I drove past the house, a semi with an overgrown front garden and a brick fence that looked as if a truck had ploughed into it at some time and minimum repairs had been made. The front porch held a sagging couch and a stack of broken Kmart plastic chairs. But there was no mail sprouting from the letterbox and no collection of free newspapers and advertising bumpf. Somebody was at home or had been very recently.
I went up the path and knocked at the door. No security here—a tattered flywire door, a window open ten centimetres at the bottom. I knocked again, louder, but got no response. A head poked around the brick divide between the two houses.
‘Are you looking for Col?’
The speaker was a shrunken, elderly type in a cardigan. He had bright, inquisitive eyes and his hands, supporting him on the brickwork, were trembling. Maybe, I thought, with excitement at something actually happening in his life. But not so.
I told him I was looking for Mr McCafferty—an administrative matter, I said.
‘You’ll find him at the Parramatta District Hospital, poor bugger. He got broken into and attacked right here— what’s the expression the telly uses?’
‘Home invasion,’ I said.
‘That’s it. I didn’t hear anything—pretty deaf, you see. But when Col came staggering out shouting, I woke up and when he collapsed I called the ambulance and they took him off.’
‘You were mates?’
‘No, no, hardly ever saw him. Worked funny hours, he did. But when a bloke’s been bashed like that you do what you can, don’t you?’
‘Right, Mr …?’
‘Davis, Ted Davis.’
‘So you rang the hospital, Mr Davis, and what did they tell you?’
The lively eyes squinted. ‘How did you know I rang up?’
‘I marked you down as a concerned neighbour, whether you knew him well or not.’
‘You’re right. He was renting, but I never had any trouble from him. Didn’t keep the place up very well but the owner’s a … Well, the hospital people only talked to me because I was the one who phoned the ambos. Apparently he’s got no family. They told me he’s in a coma and it’s touch and go.’
‘When was this? Where’s the police crime scene tape?’
‘Some kids nicked it. Two days ago. Hey, who’re you with all these questions?’
But I’d got what I needed from Ted. I gave him a salute and I was on my way. I rang the hospital, but with no right to ask all they would tell me was that Mr McCafferty was in intensive care. That could mean a lot of things, none of them good for me. Would anyone bash a man into a coma to steal a manuscript? It didn’t seem likely and perhaps the attack on McCafferty had nothing to do with Theo and his opus. Impossible to say.
Being unable to talk to McCafferty, my only other point of contact was the agent. Phillip Weiss had an office in Paddington. I phoned and was told he was out of town for the day. The woman asked me my business and I gave her a very general account. I made an appointment for the following morning. Then I rang Rosemary Kingston and let her know how things stood.
‘That’s distressing,’ she said.
‘Yeah, especially for McCafferty. Did Theo have a lawyer representing him at the trial?’
‘Not really. You’ll recall that he had no assets. He had a lawyer friend who just went through the motions. There was no serious defence and Theo didn’t really want to mount one. He was counting on contrition getting him a reasonable sentence and it worked. Why d’yo
u ask?’
‘I don’t know really. I just thought Theo might have discussed things with him and mentioned a name or two. Could be useful in trying to find out who might be interested enough to assault someone in order to get hold of the manuscript, if there is one.’
‘You’re carrying your scepticism a bit too far, surely?’
‘I’ll start believing in it when I meet someone who’s seen it. Do you have the name of the lawyer?’
She did and she gave it to me along with the phone number. Efficient person, Rosemary. Too efficient? I lined up an appointment with Courteney Talbot for a few hours after the agent. A busy day coming up and I’d done all I could for now. Time to go home, ring my live-in, live-out partner Lily Truscott, and see if she was free for the night. The case wasn’t an earner yet but it might be, and I thought I could shout us a decent meal on the strength of it.
I had my hand on the car door when the mobile rang.
‘Mr Hardy?’
‘Right.’
‘This is Detective Sergeant Rule, Parramatta police. We understand you telephoned the Parramatta hospital today enquiring about the condition of Colin McCafferty.’
These days they’ve got you in the crosshairs as soon as you draw some money or make a phone call.
‘That’s true,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘He’s a friend of a friend.’
‘Why didn’t the friend make the call?’
‘He had reasons.’
‘That’s not a satisfactory answer.’
‘It’s all I’m prepared to give you at this stage, Sergeant.’
‘We have your occupation down as private enquiry agent. That entitles you to no privileges whatsoever in regard to withholding information.’
‘I know. All I can say is that it’d cause you a lot of trouble to haul me in and it wouldn’t be worth your while. I might have something useful to contribute later.’