The Undertow ch-30

by Peter Corris

  Hank knocked and there was no response. We waited, knocked again, same result. I tore off a section of newspaper and tried the handle. The door opened and I stepped inside, straight into the kitchen, with the. 38 out and ready.

  No need. Rex Wain, in his stained grey suit with the missing buttons, lay face up on the greasy lino floor. He was directly under a bright fluorescent light but the brightness didn't worry him even though his eyes were open. He had a dark hole directly between them and a centimetre or two above. The bench and cupboards behind where he'd been standing were spattered like something from Jackson Pollock, but with blood and pink and grey tissue instead ofpaint.

  20

  It was the second time I'd walked Hank Bachelor into a murder scene.

  'How do we play it?' he said.

  I backed up and ushered him with me. 'We walk away softly,' I said, 'unless you want to spend the next three days with cops in your face.'

  'No thanks.'

  The other flats were quiet and the street showed no activity. We went back to our cars and drove off with me leading. A few blocks away I stopped and Hank pulled in behind me. He got out and came up to the Falcon, looking casual but probably not feeling it. He got in behind me.

  'Wish I smoked,' he said.

  'No you don't. What happens is this: I'll call it in anonymously from a payphone. You were never here.'

  'What about you? What's the connection between the dead guy and you?'

  I considered. 'Almost none. No paper. One call to his answering machine. Good chance he wiped it.'

  'What if he didn't?'

  'Then they'll contact me, but you're still in the clear.'

  'What's going on, Cliff?'

  I was wound tight and hadn't realised it. My head was throbbing where Wain had hit me and the scab on my lip felt like a tumour. I let out a slow breath. 'I'm tempted to say the less you know the better, but I have a feeling you wouldn't like that.'

  'Damn right.'

  I filled him in as fully as I could. The talking did my nerves some good and helped to order my thoughts. Hank is a quick study.

  'You figure this guy Sawtell got wind of you and Mrs Heysen looking into the doc's history and thought he had to do something about it.'

  'Right. My guess is that Cassidy and Wain covered for him way back. He probably paid them pretty well. Wain was on the skids and when I told him what I was doing he saw a chance to get some more money out of Sawtell. But by all accounts Sawtell is as smart as they come. He played Wain along, sort of offered him a contract on Catherine Heysen and me. But Wain wasn't up to it.'

  'So Sawtell eliminated him.'

  'It's a lot of guesswork but it fits.'

  Hank took a packet of chewing gum from his pocket and offered it to me. I refused. He started chewing. 'Helps me to think,' he said.

  'About what?'

  'About how you and the woman are still targets. Maybe more than ever. What about the son, this William? He in it?'

  'I don't see how. He's a side issue.'

  'I figure I've still got the job of watching your back.'

  'Not immediately, mate. I'm going to lay low. See if the cops come after me. If they do I'll tell them what I've told you and they can make of it what they will. They won't like me walking away, but they can't tag me for it. I haven't fired a gun in months. Anyway, it wasn't a. 38 that made that splatter.'

  Hank chewed rhythmically and was silent for a few long minutes. 'I guess he was no great loss, Wain.'

  'Not much. He was in a bad slide. In a way, Sawtell, if that's who it was, did him a favour.'

  That's how we left it. I told Hank I'd contact him when I needed him. I phoned in the news of the dead body from somewhere in Chippendale and went home.

  Wain's death barely made the newspapers. Nothing on TV. I phoned Frank to put him in the picture. I gave him an outline.

  'Better thrash it out in person,' he said.

  He invited me to the get-together to welcome Peter and his wife, as she now was, home. I'm Peter's anti-godfather, but about all I've ever done for him, apart from birthday presents when he was younger, was teach him to surf. I reckon that was a gift for life.

  I kept a close lookout on the drive to Paddington and I was sure I wasn't followed. I went into the house where Hilde was waiting nervously, fiddling with a flower arrangement.

  'Frank's collecting them from the airport. What if she doesn't like us?' she said.

  'You've already met her. You said she did.'

  'I thought she did.'

  'Don't worry. You're quite likeable.'

  'Here they are.'

  Then it was all handshakes, kisses and champagne. I'd got Peter and Ramona a five hundred dollar David Jones voucher as a wedding present. Not inspired, but useful.

  Peter was a carbon copy of his father, a bit taller and with a full head of dark hair that would probably turn grey like Frank's. He was bearded and very tanned from his time in South America. He had an easy, poised manner, a bit self-deprecating. Ramona was a relaxed, confident young woman, not exactly beautiful but all the more attractive for that. Peter clearly adored her and it wasn't hard to see why.

  Hilde had laid on a spread and we all hopped into it.

  'Where's this Lily I've heard about?' Peter asked me.

  'Working. You'll meet her sooner or later.'

  'Good. This is all a bit weird, Cliff. Coming back to the totally familiar surroundings with a wife and twins on the way and hearing of this brother. Dad told me about it. It's a lot for Mum to cope with.'

  'She'll manage. Life is immense, as Manning Clark said. I think it was Manning Clark.'

  'Sounds like him. Dad says you're not too keen on him, this William.'

  'I think he's a prick and he could be headed for big trouble. I just don't want it to rub off on Frank.'

  'You look pretty beat up. That's nothing new but you seem stressed as well. What else is going on?'

  'Not your problem, mate. You've got enough on your plate.'

  Hilde had downed a few glasses and was getting expansive. She shoved Peter aside and put her arm around me. 'You were right,' she said. 'I shouldn't have worried. She's great, isn't she?'

  'Yep. Lucky boy. Reckon they'll settle here?'

  Hilde laughed. 'Peter, settle? No chance. He'll probably be off to help the tsunami generation and she'll go too, with the babies on her back. They're two of a kind.'

  Frank grabbed a half-full bottle and gestured at me to come into his study. We sat down. He poured.

  'Tell me the rest of it,' he said.

  I did, leaving nothing out. It was a second run-through on the theories and connections and it made it all more solid. For me.

  'It's thin,' Frank said. 'Pity you didn't get to Wain first.'

  'I imagine he'd agree with you.'

  'He was a bit of a shit but you know how it is. You don't like to hear about a cop's past catching up with him. We've all got skeletons-look at me.'

  'You haven't connived at helping a murdering corrupt police officer get away with everything he did. Think of the harm Cassidy and Wain must've done over the years. The Sawtell cover-up wouldn't be the only thing.'

  'You're right there. If you're right about the rest of it I just can't understand why Sawtell would stick around. He'd be safer in Thailand or some place.'

  'Maybe he went away and came back.'

  As soon as I spoke the same thought struck us simultaneously. 'Jesus,' Frank said, 'didn't William tell you he was into an immigration racket-passports, documents, all that?'

  I nodded. 'That's a big jump, Frank.'

  Frank drained his glass. 'You started it. Sawtell's in Indonesia, say, sitting pretty. William Heysen comes in sniffing around looking to make money with an immigration scam. Sawtell's already screwed his father for some reason or other and now it amuses him to get the son into deep shit. I told you he was devious and vicious.'

  'With a sense of humour.'

  'Right. Twisted, though, and directed at other p
eople rather than himself. He's capable of just about anything you can think of. If that kid's in with him he's in trouble.'

  'He's not your responsibility. There've been so many lies and so much deception.'

  'I feel that he is, but it's more than that. Sawtell's a danger to Catherine, you, me, William, everybody.'

  'I think I can find William,' I said.

  'You didn't tell me that.'

  I was a bit drunk; I waved my glass. 'With all this fun we're having it must've slipped my mind.'

  21

  I went for a long walk around Paddington and Darlinghurst. I passed the block of flats where Roma Brown lived and couldn't help looking up at the window opposite where she saw things that stimulated her. Nothing to see from street level. The ground floor of the building that had housed the Heysen-Bellamy medical practice had become some kind of IT consultancy. Sign of the times.

  The food had blotted up some of the alcohol, and after I drank coffee back at Frank and Hilde's place I was fit to drive home. Lily was there, picking up things she hadn't yet collected. I hadn't seen her for a few days but that was nothing unusual. I'd phoned but got her answering machine three times, which meant that she was hard at work. We fell back into comfortable dealings very easily.

  'You've been on the piss,' she said. She touched my lip where the split was knitting into a pale scar. 'Don't tell me you did that falling over.'

  'That's an honourable professional wound.'

  'One of many.'

  I told her about Peter and Ramona and that they were keen to meet her. I also told her about the confirmation that Frank was William Heysen's father.

  'Interesting. I feel a bit out of it with all these stray kids turning up.'

  'No you don't.'

  She laughed. 'You're right. I'd be the mother from hell. Came close a few times but always had the scrape. I have to run, Cliff. Deadline. Give me a ring. Always glad to see Frank and Hilde.'

  'Grandpa and Grandma to be.'

  She kissed me and left.

  My contact at the RTA had read too much le Carre and Len Deighton. He liked to think of himself as a mole, selling his organisation's secrets to an enemy power. In a way he's right, and he is taking risks, although the worst he'd get is dismissal rather than the Lubianka or the Isle of Wight. Still, that's the way he likes to play it. My payment goes into his TAB account which, since he charges steeply and I'm sure I'm not his only client, perhaps suggests why he keeps on working.

  I phoned him with William Heysen's car registration number.

  'I'm snowed under,' he said. 'Call you back.'

  'It's urgent.'

  'It'll cost you.'

  'What first-class service doesn't?'

  That got me a laugh and a pretty quick return call. William Franz Heysen drove a late model Toyota Land Cruiser-colour black. His address was 2/15 Shetland Street, Bowral.

  'You sure about that?'

  'Checks with the driver's licence. I threw that in for free. You want the previous addresses on the licence? Cost you extra.'

  'No, thanks.'

  'Roger.' He named the fee. 'Over and out.' Maybe he'd been a Biggles reader.

  I hadn't seen William as a country dweller but then, maybe Bowral isn't exactly country these days. All I knew about it was that Graham Kennedy had lived there somewhere before he died, and that Jimmy Barnes once had a place there too. Maybe still did.

  I was about to pick up the phone to tell Frank I had an address for William when it rang.

  'Mr Hardy, you've been neglecting me.'

  Catherine Heysen was one of those people who didn't feel the need to identify themselves over the phone, believing that they can project themselves sufficiently by voice alone. With her, it worked.

  'I'm sorry, Mrs Heysen. There's been quite a lot going on.'

  'Which I want to hear about. I suppose you've seen Frank and know his paternity has been confirmed.'

  'Yes.'

  'Have you found where William is?'

  'Sort of.'

  'We really must talk. I'd like you to come here, please. After all, I am paying you.'

  She couldn't resist slipping that in, but she had a point. There was a fair bit to tell her and, as Frank had said, she was still in danger if our theories were right. William could wait. But I wasn't going to let her have it all her own way.

  'How's the shoulder?'

  'Healing very well, thank you.'

  Almost flirtatious at first, she was now back to being the ice queen. William had said she was a liar and had dropped other hints about her, but there was no good reason to believe that he always told the truth. I'm amused whenever I hear someone say, 'I like working with people'. People are hell.

  'Mr Hardy?'

  'I could be there in an hour.'

  She'd got what she wanted. She hung up without another word.

  I always think Lane Cove has a look of mortgages having been paid off. I'm not sure why, it probably isn't true, but the suburb has a comfortable feel, as if the residents have put their troubles to rest. The house where Catherine Heysen was staying was more comfortable than most-an expansive Federation number that had been given another storey without too much disturbance of its original lines. Hard to do. It was set on a big sloping block so that the house was well above the street level and would have, from the upper floor, a good view over the houses opposite to the National Park. Might even catch a glimpse of the river.

  No need to worry about security. A high cyclone fence overgrown with creeper ran along the side, and both gates in the imposing brick fence had all the alarm systems they needed. I pressed a buzzer by the entrance, aware that I was under video surveillance. After a short pause the heavy iron gate swung open and I went up a tiled path to the house. Wide verandahs all around. Well-tended garden on both sides, well-worn bluestone steps.

  The door opened before I reached it and a largish man in a suit stood waiting for me. He stuck out his hand. Heavy rings on two fingers. Had to be the brother who took after the mum.

  'Bruno Beddoes,' he said. 'Catherine's brother.'

  It struck me that this was how William Heysen might look in twenty years time-confident, well-groomed, a bit soft. That's if he managed to stay out of gaol in one country or another. We shook hands and he told me that Catherine was waiting for me at the back. We went down a wide hallway with rooms off either side to a short passage leading out through French doors to the verandah. More tiles, more creeper, hanging baskets, wind chimes.

  Catherine Heysen was posed on a cane lounge with a cashmere blanket over her knees. She wore a loose black sweater which emphasised her pallor. Wearing less makeup but with her hair carefully arranged, she had an air of fragility quite unlike how she had appeared at our first meeting. She extended her hand to me and I took it briefly. Cool and dry. What else?

  'Please sit down, Mr Hardy. Would you like some tea or coffee? Perhaps a drink?'

  'Nothing, thank you. I can't stay long. I've found that your son is living in Bowral. I'm driving down there this evening to talk to him. He's apparently involved in something that could land him in trouble. Frank's very concerned about him.'

  'As I'd expect. What sort of trouble?'

  'To do with immigration as I told you. The details are unclear.'

  'Surely there's legitimate work in that area?'

  'I suppose so, but the indications are…'

  'And what are they, the indications?'

  'Can I tell you the suspicions I have about who may have framed your husband and arranged for you to be shot?'

  'You already have-a disgruntled client of Gregory's to do with his

  … unpleasant sideline. I found it plausible.'

  She couldn't help patronising me, just couldn't hold it in. I remembered Lily saying she would have been the mother from hell. This woman looked more like it. I tossed up whether to tell her almost nothing or to hit her right between the eyes. Pique won out.

  'There's a man named Matthew Henry Sawtell. He-'
<
br />   The almond eyes flashed and her clasped hands flew up to her face. 'Oh, my God!'

  Better than I thought, but too much better. She stared at me through her fingers.

  'I… I knew him,' she said. 'I thought he was dead.'

  'He might be, or he might not. I told you this was just a suspicion.'

  She was genuinely alarmed and, although I doubted the genuineness of her invalid pose, she had been shot and could still be emotionally shaky. I half rose from my seat.

  'Are you all right? Can I get you something?'

  'Yes, yes please. Can you find someone in the house and ask them to get me a cognac.'

  Make it two, I thought.

  When I arrived the house had seemed empty, apart from Bruno, but now people appeared from everywhere. Another man and two women. The women fussed over Catherine and Bruno produced a bottle of cognac and a couple of glasses. He handed me the tray.

  'I hope you're not upsetting her.'

  'Trying not to, but I think some chickens are coming home to roost.'

  'What the hell does that mean?'

  'You can ask her when I go.'

  'Make that soon.'

  I went back to the verandah and poured two solid drinks. She tossed off half of hers and then took a small sip as she looked at a point somewhere above my head.

  'Matthew Sawtell and I were lovers. I… left him for Frank.'

  I was tempted to tell her that William had said she had a thing for uniforms, but I kept quiet.

  Speaking slowly, she went on. 'He was very upset about it. Frank was junior to him and it hurt his pride. Of course he was married. He was in no position to-'

  'Did Frank know of your relationship with Sawtell?'

  'No, because Matthew was married we kept it very secret.'

  It was a whole new element but it didn't disturb the theory, rather it strengthened it. If Sawtell had a grudge against Heysen, presumably for making a mess of the plastic job, he'd be pleased to get back at the woman who'd dumped him as well. I didn't need to spell it out for her. She finished her drink and held out the glass for more. I obliged. This was the closest to loss of control that I'd seen in her and she couldn't hold back.