by Peter Corris
I sat on the bench beside him, fished out the makings and made a cigarette. ‘Your good opinion is all I crave.’
‘Don’t get smart. This was all your idea, remember.’
‘You approached me when I left the station, remember.’
‘What is this? Are you getting cold feet?’
I lit the cigarette and puffed smoke towards the memorial to the fallen. ‘No. Loggins rang me just before you did. He wants to see me tomorrow morning.’
‘Right.’
‘What’s on his mind?’
Gallagher rolled up his newspaper into the shape of a baton. He held it in his right hand and thumped it against his left palm. He gave it a solid whack, more the street copper’s thump than the demonstrative gesture of the LLB. ‘You don’t get a word out of me until you give me that name. Who killed Meadowbank, Hardy? According to your unnamed source?’
It was put-up time and I knew it. I took a deep drag on the cigarette and let the words out slowly with the smoke. ‘Lawrence “Chalky” Teacher,’ I said. ‘Ever heard of him?’
The noise Gallagher made was hard to interpret. It was something between a sigh and a grunt. ‘Chalky Teacher, yeah, I know him.’
‘My information is he’s the enforcer. The only other thing I know is that there might be another private investigator or two in on it. You see why I want to deal with the police?’
‘Yes. And what do you want to do about it?’
‘Get hold of Teacher and shake him. Maybe get some evidence—the gun, the stocking, something that ties him to Juliet Farquhar and this whole business. At worst, scare him, rattle him. See what happens.’
Gallagher looked pained. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have to go through channels. Get a warrant. That means see a magistrate; that means clear it with Pascoe.’
‘You can’t be serious. D’you mean you never picked up a known crim on suspicion of something or other and gave him a hard time? Come on.’
‘And what would you be doing?’
‘I’ll back you up.’
‘If anything went wrong, anything, it’d mean my job. It’s not worth the risk.’
‘I’m disappointed in you, Ian. I thought you wanted to cut the red tape and get something done for a change.’
‘I need to think about it.’
‘Bugger that. The meeting with Loggins is tomorrow. I want to head that off.’
‘You’re out of your mind. You want to do this tonight?’
‘Why not?’
‘We’d have to locate him. Check his movements, vehicles, his mates …’
‘I know where he lives. He works for Max Wilton, the bookie, and I know where he lives, too. How hard can it be to find them?’
The park was emptying as the light began to fade and the people and their dogs went home to their dinners. I was feeling let down by my failure to galvanise Ian Gallagher. I hadn’t expected this degree of caution and concern for correct procedure. I was beginning to think I’d misjudged my man. Was he thinking about reporting straight to his bosses and, instead of putting the pressure on Teacher, putting it on me first? I thought I had a strategy for stopping that but now I wasn’t so sure. Gallagher got up suddenly and began to walk around. He went over to the memorial stone and squinted at the faded names. Then he tossed his rolled-up newspaper at a rubbish bin and scored a direct hit.
Eventually he stopped and put one foot up on the bench. He rubbed his hand over his face and I could hear the bristles of his beard rasping. ‘It can’t work like that, Hardy. No chance. For one thing, I’m too buggered to go cowboying around tonight. For another, whatever you might think, a thing like this needs a bit of groundwork. Where does Teacher live?’
‘Randwick.’
‘Okay. I’ll have to have a word to someone out there. Not tell them anything, mind, just get us a bit of elbow room.’
That made sense. I’d been keyed up for action and was already feeling the let-down and maybe, just maybe, a little relief. I rolled a cigarette and fiddled with it, not wanting it.
‘Look,’ Gallagher said. ‘Your information sounds good. Teacher fits the bill perfectly. He’s a little guy and he used to be a gymnast or some fucking thing.’
‘Boxer,’ I said.
‘Okay. I agree we should brace him, but not tonight. Tomorrow, after the meeting with Loggins. Let’s find out exactly what he has in mind.’
‘Why?’
‘To protect ourselves. What he proposes could be of use to us. Who knows? We might get some sort of open warrant from him, I might. I’ll try for it. We’ll need all the fucking help we can get. I’m with you. I just don’t want to go bull-at-a-gate.’
‘Like Pascoe.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Shit!’
‘It’s better. Believe me. I can make a few calls tonight. I don’t suppose you want to tell me who your mystery informant is? That could help.’
I shook my head.
‘You don’t trust me?’
‘I don’t trust myself. I haven’t told anyone else as much as I’ve told you. A few people know little disconnected bits. And I’m keeping away from them, right away.’
‘That’s smart. Let’s get what we can out of the meeting with Bob Loggins. Then we can move on Teacher better prepared. I want this to work.’
What choices did I have? I wasn’t going to go rampaging round the eastern suburbs on my own. My promise to Joan Dare aside, that made no sense. Gallagher evidently had a cool head, something I had always lacked. I argued, but Gallagher had done his thinking and he had the wood on me. It was reasonable to suppose that Teacher and whoever he was working for thought they had contained the matter by killing Meadowbank and Farquhar. They might be on the alert, but they had no reason to suspect any immediate and present danger.
‘I’ve done some work on this,’ Gallagher said. ‘Divorces for Redding and Molesworth are in the works.’
Maybe that was the clincher, the awareness that he’d been down more of the tracks than me, maybe it was the buzz I was getting from the lower molar, but I agreed to Gallagher’s proposal—meet with Loggins, confer, act. We shook hands. He walked under the arch and up Norton Street towards the town hall. I went through the now quiet park where the tree shadows were long across the grass and paths and out to my car. I drove to the restaurant where Cyn and I had had our fight and I ate pasta and drank red wine. The food was good and the wine soothed my anxious spirit and my troublesome tooth.
18
Loggins put on a pair of half-moon glasses and looked at me over the top of them. Far from making him look academic, mild and inoffensive, they increased his menace. Gallagher, wearing a very smart suit, was sitting on Loggins’ right. We were in a small room in the College Street police building, grouped around a table with ashtrays, glasses and a water carafe. I was smoking. Gallagher had a packet of Marlboros and a lighter in front of him but he hadn’t touched them. Loggins had pushed his ashtray away which was just as well. Three men smoking in that small space would set up a hell of a fug, and the windows appeared to be sealed. An air conditioner was humming. The room was cool and we all had our jackets on. I’d surrendered my gun at the front desk.
‘I’ve seconded Detective Gallagher onto this team, Hardy,’ Loggins said. ‘He’s picked up some information relevant to our problem. Ian, over to you.’
I tensed. Was Gallagher going to double-cross me? Tell all I knew, claim credit for it somehow and still dangle me as a bait for Chalky Teacher? Gallagher lit a cigarette and began talking. After a few sentences, I relaxed. He said he’d heard that a very valuable commodity was at stake in the Meadowbank divorce.
Loggins grinned. ‘Wait till you hear this.’
‘A knighthood,’ Gallagher said.
Loggins got his reaction—I was very surprised. ‘A what?’
‘Going rate’s fifty grand,’ Gallagher said. ‘Cash down. The whisper is that Mrs Beatrice Meadowbank is lining up to marry a bloke who’s paid his mon
ey. He won’t get the gong though, if he’s linked with a woman who’s cited in a divorce case. That’s why Meadowbank was providing the co-re so his wife looks pure and innocent.’
‘And why it was bad news when he looked like backing out,’ Loggins said. ‘That was a useful contribution from you, Hardy, courtesy of your client.’
I was getting confused. Had I passed that on to Gallagher? I wasn’t sure. I nodded modestly. ‘Who’s the knight-to-be?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gallagher said. ‘I’m working on it, now that Bob’s given me a freer hand.’
This was tending in the right direction. I rolled a cigarette and concentrated on getting the ends right. ‘Still a bit messy, isn’t it? For Mrs M, I mean. Hubby shot down in the street …’
‘I’m a Catholic,’ Loggins said. ‘Marrying a widow’s okay and the innocent party in a divorce case isn’t too bad these days. The guilty party’s out, but … I reckon Mrs Meadowbank’s intended is a Catholic.’
Gallagher nodded. ‘It’s a strong possibility, Bob. The thing is, Hardy, this is all very delicate—as you can imagine.’
‘Political,’ I said.
Loggins removed his half-glasses. ‘Right. I want to keep it all tight among the three of us until there’s something solid to go on.’
I couldn’t help letting a sceptical look come over my face. ‘Inspector, this is the sort of thing that gets tucked away. You know that as well as I do.’
‘No!’ Loggins said fiercely. ‘I don’t know that. This is a criminal matter. Two fucking homicides that I want off the books.’
Gallagher stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Fifty thousand dollars is quite a lot of money. It doesn’t just go into one pocket. This can lead in a lot of different directions.’
I was putting off asking Loggins the big question. I looked at Gallagher. ‘Can you tell me where you picked this stuff up?’
‘From a man named Vernon Morris. He’s a clerk in Alistair Menzies’ office. I believe you know him.’
‘I’ve met him, yes.’
‘He got wind of it and he owed me a favour.’
‘Okay,’ Loggins said. ‘The question is, what happens next? That’s where you come in, Hardy.’
Loggins had arranged to give an interview to a reporter in which my name would be mentioned ‘off the record’. The reporter was notorious for not respecting this convention and the implication would be that I knew what lay behind the Meadowbank and Farquhar murders. He intended to talk to Andrew Perkins and allow the same impression to be conveyed. Loggins was convinced that Perkins was more deeply involved than it presently appeared.
‘Mrs Meadowbank went to the country straight after the funeral,’ Gallagher said. ‘She gets back today. You’re going to see her and make a bloody nuisance of yourself. If she knows what’s going on, word will travel.’
I didn’t like the sound of that, and said so.
‘Tough luck, Hardy,’ Loggins snapped. ‘We’ve got enough on you to put your pissy little business down the dunny.’
‘I thought you liked me, Inspector.’
‘I like the idea of clearing this mess up and sticking it to a few people who deserve it, like Perkins and these idiots who want to be sirs. I like the thought of promotion for Detective Gallagher and myself.’
‘Good motivation,’ I said. ‘Assistant Commissioner Robert Loggins. Sound ring to that.’
‘Fuckin’ oath,’ Loggins said.
They were doing the rough old cop, smooth young cop, and not with any great finesse. Gallagher cut in with, ‘I can possibly do a bit through the professional channels with Morris. He’s decidedly dodgy.’
I hated every word of it—the attitudes, the contempt and condescension—and I couldn’t help being bolshie. ‘Detective Gallagher’s got a law degree,’ I said to Loggins. ‘Did you know that?’
‘I don’t give a shit,’ Loggins said. ‘Are you going to do what you’re told, or not?’
‘How about my protection?’
Loggins relaxed. This was more his territory—people in fear. ‘I understand you’ve got a wife. Any kids?’
‘No. And my wife’s in Queensland for a bit.’
‘Good. That makes things easier. This is an eastern suburbs matter—Perkins, Meadowbank, Farquhar—all on that side. You and Gallagher are inner-west types. That’s good, too. Gallagher’ll look after you round the clock. He’s Darlinghurst-based, so he’s got some idea of the area. I’m a Coogee man myself. You’ll be all right, Hardy.’
‘I grew up in Maroubra,’ I said. ‘Maybe we can all go surfing when this is over.’
Loggins consulted his watch. ‘We can’t hang onto this room much longer. Have you got any serious problems, Hardy?’
I considered the question seriously. Loggins had come up with a more or less credible plan along the lines he’d outlined previously. Gallagher had supplied a new wrinkle that suggested he knew a useful thing or two and was in touch with the right people. I didn’t like the idea of being a worm on a hook, but Gallagher had apparently kept the faith about my information, hadn’t he? We had another, more positive, agenda. I thought I caught a slight nod from Gallagher. I gave the moment a bit of air, poured some water and drank it slowly, collected up my smoking materials and stowed them away in my pockets. I pushed my chair back.
‘I’ll go along with it all, Inspector. As you say, I haven’t got much choice. I assume I can get my bloody gun back at the front desk? And that I can claim expenses from the police department if I run the mileage up.’
‘Well, that was bright,’ Gallagher said as we left the building. ‘What did you want to go and antagonise him for?’
‘I didn’t like his attitude. I notice he didn’t issue you with a permit to break down any door you liked.’
Gallagher laughed. He’d been tense in the meeting but he was visibly relaxing now. We turned the comer into Liverpool Street. I’d left my Falcon in the Goulburn Street car park. I had my gun on my hip and the meeting had made me edgy and anxious for some action. Gallagher strode along beside me. He was about two inches shorter than me but he was athletic and fit and had no trouble keeping up. He said he’d walked from the Darlinghurst station—a fair trot on a warm morning.
‘We should have mentioned the ballistics results,’ Gallagher said. ‘No match. Meadowbank and Farquhar were killed with different guns.’
I shrugged. We entered the car park and climbed the stairs to the level where I was parked. Gallagher’s heels rang on the concrete and echoed in the enclosed space. He was moving and acting very confidently so I assumed he had things to tell me. I unlocked the car.
‘We’ve got a few calls to make,’ he said. ‘Be better to use your car than one of ours. Unless you meant that crack about the mileage.’
I drove down the ramps, paid the fee and came out in Castlereagh Street. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind,’ I said, ‘or do I have to guess?’
‘You’re in a shitty mood, Hardy. It’s no way to be. Relax.’
I didn’t want to play by Loggins’ rules and I didn’t know what Gallagher’s rules were. Either way I was taking orders, not controlling things, and I didn’t like the feeling. Gallagher’s suave, calm manner was beginning to annoy me. I drove into Ultimo and pulled up outside the Sydney News building. That shook him.
‘Jesus Christ! What’re we doing here?’
‘I’m thinking of a whole new approach,’ I said. ‘I know a few people in there. I’m thinking about walking in and giving one of them the whole story, lock, stock and barrel. It might be a way out for me.’
‘What d’you mean, the whole story?’
‘Everything. Including what went on in that meeting just now and including the way you’re having such fun playing it so close to your bloody chest. You can come in if you like, supply a few good quotes.’
He loosened his tie, the first sign of uncertainty. I was well ahead of him there—I wasn’t wearing one. He took out a Marlboro and tapped it on the box. ‘I’m sorry,’ he
said.
‘That’s a start. Is all this knighthood business on the up-and-up?’
He lit the cigarette. ‘It is and there might be more than one knighthood involved.’
‘Good stuff for the story.’
‘Get serious, Hardy. What do you want?’
‘I want to know if we’re going after Chalky Teacher or not.’
‘Of course we are.’
‘When? Now?’
Gallagher looked at his watch. ‘It’s up to you. The bloke I want to see knows where Teacher is going to eat lunch today. Would you rather go up against him before or after he’s eaten?’
‘He doesn’t drink, so it doesn’t matter. Before. Where do we find this bloke?’
‘Coogee. Let’s get going or Chalky’ll be well into his steak and chips.’
I started the engine and moved off. Gallagher felt around his seat and I asked him what he was doing.
‘No seat belts in this crate?’
‘No. There’s so much rust in the chassis I doubt they’d hold.’
‘Shit. Why’d you drive a car like this? The suspension’s shot, too.’
‘Going to issue me an unroadworthy notice?’
‘Someone should. Seat belts’re compulsory now. Haven’t you heard—“Belt Up and Live”? Interesting game, advertising. I nearly went into it myself.’
I turned out of Cleveland Street into Anzac Parade and moved to the centre lane, ready to go left at Alison Road. Gallagher squashed his butt out in the flimsy ashtray and brushed carefully at his neat suit. I couldn’t judge his mood—it varied somewhere between relaxed and excited. He lit another cigarette, the first time I’d seen him smoke two that close together. He offered me the packet and I refused.
‘You like those rollies?’
‘Helps me keep it down. I can’t smoke when I’m driving in the city. And it gives me something to do with my hands. You can take five minutes to roll a smoke if you want to. Why did you join the force, Ian? More money in law … or advertising.’
‘There’s more to life than money.’
‘True.’ I swung left into Alison Road. We went past the Thoroughbred Motel where Cyn and I had spent a memorable night in our courtship after I had got back from an interstate trip. Cyn was still a student then. Suddenly, I missed her and wanted to tap into the well of experience and feeling and talk we’d built up over the years. We rolled on eastwards. Just past the racecourse Gallagher stabbed a finger at the footpath.