The Undertow ch-30

by Peter Corris

  'How did you get the son to help you?' Frank said.

  'Told him that if I revealed what I knew about his father that'd be the end of the mother's pension. Probably not true, but then he's not very bright.'

  Buying time and following suit, I said, 'What about Wain?'

  'Rex always came cheap.'

  'Why'd you kill him?'

  'Lost my temper. Simple as that.'

  'Why here?' I said.

  'I wanted to see where the bastard had lived-her too.'

  'What's this all about, Sawtell?' Frank said. 'What d'you hope to gain?'

  Sawtell shrugged and smiled. His face was truly horrible and the smile made it look worse. 'I guess you could say to make Catherine Beddoes suffer.'

  'Why, because she dumped you?'

  'No, no. Is that what she says? Bullshit. I gave her the flick in the end. Fish in the sea. You got to be deputy commissioner. Must be pretty smart or was it just arse-licking got you there? Can't you work it out?'

  It was a bizarre situation, talking about old love affairs with a killer who held a couple of lives here and now in the palm of his hand. But talking was all there was to do.

  'I'll have a guess,' I said. 'She knew her husband did plastic surgery. She steered you to him after your escape, but she told him you were her lover out of revenge for you dumping her. Heysen was insanely jealous and he botched the job on your face deliberately.'

  'Pretty close. I got even with him through Padrone. Not with her though.'

  William was in a bad way, pale, unshaven with his hair in a mess. His eyes were darting around and he was trembling. Sawtell held the pistol very steadily and there was no way for us to get closer. I wondered how far away the police were and how they'd react to what the professor told them. Would they come with sirens screaming?

  'But you got clean away,' Frank said. 'You must have got your hands on the money you'd scammed when you were riding high.'

  'Easy in those days. Yeah, and you can do all right in Singapore if you grease the right wheels. Squeaky clean on the outside, but you know how it is. Same the world over.'

  'Why now, after all this time?'

  Sawtell sighed and at that moment he looked old and ill. 'I'd put it behind me. Got even with Heysen, like I said. Had good things going in Singapore. Then a couple of things happened. One, I got cancer, terminal. Two, I got sick of the place-wall to wall fucking slappies. I didn't want to die there. Pity that fucking tidal wave didn't come south and wash the place away. Shit, I represented this country in the Olympics. I had a right… Well, fuck that. Three, this little snotnose turned up-living image of her, making noises about getting into the immigration racket. Would you believe he carried a picture of her in a bikini in his wallet? Sick little bastard. I sucked him in and now I'm going to spit him out, unless you get fucking Catherine here so she can see what she did to me.'

  'That's not going to happen,' Frank said.

  'Then she's a childless widow, the poxy bitch. And I'll get a couple of you as well.'

  Frank and I both had guns in our hands and Hank had unhooked his tazer.

  'Not all,' Hank said. Brave, but his voice was shaky.

  Sawtell's mutilated face lost expression and his pale eyes seemed to go blank. 'You think I care?'

  A siren sounded briefly in the distance and Sawtell, the ex-policeman, couldn't stifle a small reaction. He swayed just slightly. William, the athlete, now fighting for his life, felt the minute change in the pressure. He threw his weight sideways and rocked the chair to a forty-five degree angle away from Sawtell.

  Sawtell swore and fired. The bullet hit William and the impact threw him and the chair to the floor.

  Frank shot Sawtell in the chest. Twice.

  26

  After that it was one big stink. Sawtell was dead and William had a serious leg wound. Hank went out to meet the cops that the professor had summoned, and to get them to call an ambulance. They gave him a bad time-stun guns are illegal for civilians. The kitchen was awash with blood from Sawtell and William. Frank untied William, used the rope to put a tourniquet on his leg, and slowed the bleeding down until the paramedics took over.

  At that range, two. 45 bullets, one dead centre in the chest and one lower left to the heart area, leave no doubt. Sawtell must have died within seconds of being hit.

  The place filled with ambulance guys, uniformed police, detectives and scene-of-crime people, male and female. Frank and I identified ourselves and were held and cautioned. One of the detectives recognised Frank's name and treated him with a little more respect than he might have otherwise. Certainly more than Hank and I got. Frank told them who the dead man was and it didn't mean a thing to them. The police took possession of stuff Sawtell had in the house, including the sawn-off shotgun.

  As we were being escorted to the police cars to be taken to Surry Hills, Hank remembered Cassidy Junior in the boot of the Commodore. The police opened the boot and it was almost comical to see the relief on the small man's face. He put his hands in the air as though he was in a Western movie. But this wasn't the movies. None of us was handcuffed or manhandled. Our heads weren't thumped down as we were put in the cars. Frank was quiet as we watched the ambulance taking his son to hospital pull away and heard the wail of its siren.

  Then it was interviews, solicitors, statements, the whole deal. I was in trouble for having an unlicensed pistol and allowing it to be used in a killing. Hank was in trouble over the stun gun. We were all culpable for failing to report a kidnapping and sundry other offences. Near the end of it all I was wrung out and short-tempered and my solicitor, Viv Garner, had to advise me to calm down. We had the chance for a quiet talk during one of the breaks in the interrogation and recording process.

  'It'll sort out, Cliff,' he said. 'Another suspension most likely, at worst.'

  My throat was dry from lousy coffee and talking. I shook my head. 'Not this time. I've had too many of them. The police'll recommend to the board to lift it permanently.'

  'We'll see. Just play along. Don't give them any more to work with. Is there any more? What am I saying? With you, there's always more.'

  'I called Rex Wain's killing in anonymously.'

  'Just keep quiet about that.'

  'I'm worried about Hank. He could be deported. I wonder what Frank's saying?'

  'Worry about yourself, mate.'

  *

  The wash-up could have been worse. The coroner found that Sawtell's death was the result of a justifiable homicide. The police had pushed hard for this, not only because of Frank's exemplary record, but because they were happy to have Wain's murder cleared up-ballistics showed that Sawtell's pistol had done the job-and to have Sawtell himself off their books. It didn't take too much cynicism to understand that the police were happy to have him silenced forever, unable to name names.

  With this background they came down lighter on Hank, who incurred a year's suspension of his PEA licence and a period of community service.

  'He's an American,' Viv Garner said. 'We don't deport Americans or give them a hard time. Softly, softly.'

  I was charged with a firearms offence, conspiracy to conceal a crime and violation of an earlier adverse order governing my conduct as a private enquiry agent. I was given a suspended gaol sentence. My licence was cancelled with a rider that I was ineligible to apply for it to be restored.

  'That's unconstitutional,' Viv Garner said. 'We'll appeal.'

  I shrugged. 'Let's talk about it.'

  William Heysen recovered from his wound, probably thanks to Frank's intervention, because Sawtell's bullet had nicked an artery. Frank visited him in hospital a few times but they didn't hit it off.

  'He was humiliated by being taken in by Sawtell,' Frank said. 'Thought he was smarter than that.'

  'He should be grateful to you for saving his life.'

  'He doesn't think of it like that. I don't know how he thinks. Then there's all this stuff about Heysen and his mother and Sawtell and me and others. He's carrying a
lot of baggage. He's hard to reach.'

  'He might improve.'

  'He might get worse. Would you believe? He knows all about this DNA testing. He says it can only prove that a man can't be the father of a particular person, not that someone else definitely is. There's only a ninety-five point five per cent likelihood. He reckons he'll go with the four point five per cent.'

  I could tell that this hurt him deeply but on balance I thought he'd be better off with things arranged that way.

  'Forget him,' I said. 'You've got Peter.'

  Peter Parker and Ramona had two healthy daughters and took off for Africa with them when the children were six weeks old. Frank and Hilde made plans to visit them. Frank was out of the undertow.

  An earthquake hit Indonesia and created havoc where the tsunami had already killed hundreds of people and flattened everything in sight. An Australian relief helicopter crashed and nine service people were killed. It was a boom time for tabloid newspapers and television. The pope died and Charles and Camilla got married, two events I tried to ignore.

  Lily and I went on as before, coming and going. We took Ruby Gentle for dinner at the Bourbon and Beefsteak and she demolished her two-person chateaubriand with ease. We had a great night, but Lily passed on the biography.

  The appeal mounted by Viv Garner and supported by Frank Parker and others' testimonials to my sterling character failed. As Detective Sergeant Carr had said, I was carrying too much maverick baggage and the licensing board was happy to make an example of me. The profession in future was to be conducted differently.

  I couldn't work and the bills kept coming. I ran short of money and made an unannounced visit to Catherine Heysen, who had set the whole thing in motion, to present my unpaid account. She was living in a luxury unit in Potts Point, the Earlwood house having sold for a bundle.

  When I identified myself I could hear hesitation before she admitted me. She'd completely recovered from her injury and was her old, cold, composed, regal self in a blue dress, perfect makeup and surroundings to match.

  'I'm sorry, Mr Hardy,' she said after I'd given her the itemised account, 'I've neglected you.'

  'A cheque will repair my damaged feelings.'

  'You don't like me.'

  'I never did. It doesn't matter.'

  She chewed that over, decided not to work against it, and wrote me a cheque for the amount outstanding.

  'William and I are reconciled,' she said.

  'That's nice. Pity he didn't thank Frank for saving his life.'

  'He says it was a slight wound, scarcely worse than mine.'

  I laughed. I could imagine William saying just that. He'd tell her whatever he thought she'd want to hear for just as long as it suited him. And no longer.

  'You don't like him either.'

  'Neither does his probable father.'

  'That's a pity. As I say, we're close again. William didn't commit any crimes in his association with Matthew Sawtell.'

  'Not that anyone could prove. He came close, probably did.'

  'He lost money, of course, but I have plenty as you can see.' She waved her hand at the furniture and fittings. 'We're going into the fashion business together. With my contacts and William's charm and language skills, I'm sure we will be successful.'

  'Good luck,' I said, but I didn't mean it, though it would be interesting to see which one of them came out on top.

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