Not Dead Yet

by Peter Menadue

CHAPTER 21

  Back in Sydney, Gary dumped the Commodore in a back street in Potts Point and checked into the backpacker's hostel he stayed in before he left.

  He wanted to know how the Homicide investigation into Robyn's death was going, just in case it had fingered Brian Pringle as the culprit. So the next morning he telephoned Detective Constable Karen Phillips.

  She erupted. "Where the hell have you been?"

  "I took a holiday to recover from the blast. Caught the bomber yet?"

  "No. But I want you to come in here right away, for an interview."

  "What about?"

  "I'll tell you when you get here."

  Gary didn't like being pushed around. "OK. But not Police Headquarters. Let me buy you lunch at that café around the corner. Then you can ask me anything you like."

  "I would prefer …"

  "Lunch or nothing."

  "Mr Maddox, I …"

  "I'm about to hang up."

  A long pause. "Alright," she moaned.

  "Good. Be there at twelve-thirty."

  When Gary walked into the cafe, Phillips sat at a table in the corner drinking an espresso. Her dour expression and nervous tapping of the table presaged an unfriendly lunch.

  He sat and smiled. "Hi. You ordered yet?"

  "No."

  Gary beckoned a waitress and they ordered sandwiches.

  As the waitress left, Gary turned back to the detective. "How's your investigation going?"

  "Not well."

  "Why not?"

  She said they'd talked to all the criminals Gary though crazy enough to plant the bomb. Only three lacked solid alibis. She told Gary their names. He remembered them. They were all too Neolithic to build and plant a bomb.

  He said: "You've interviewed them?"

  "Yes, but they've only admitted to despising you."

  "I love them too. Did you search their homes?"

  "No. I've got no grounds to get search warrants."

  "Do you think one of them might be responsible?"

  She shrugged. "My hunch is they're clean. But I can't be sure."

  Gary tried to look supportive. "If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

  She leaned forward. "Actually, there is something you can do."

  "What?"

  "Start telling the truth."

  He looked offended. "What do you mean?"

  "For a start, tell me who planted the bomb."

  Gary shook his head and lied smoothly. "Sorry. I wish I knew, but I don't."

  She looked dubious. "Really?"

  "Yes."

  Their sandwiches arrived. Gary wolfed his down while she nibbled. Again, the vein popped out on her forearm.

  "Where'd you go for your holiday?" she asked casually.

  Her new tack surprised him. "North, to Byron Bay."

  "What did you do up there?"

  "Oh, fished, surfed, lay around in the sun."

  "Sounds like you had fun."

  "Oh, I had a great time."

  She raised her eyebrows. "I'm surprised you say that."

  "Why?"

  "When you disappeared, I logged your name into the police computer and asked to be notified if you turned up. Imagine my surprise when I got a call from the desk sergeant at Byron Bay Police Station a few days ago. He said two men kidnapped you from a motel room. And on the way out, they fired a shot at the motel manager. Care to tell me what that was all about?"

  Gary inwardly cursed himself for being over-confident. This woman was obviously no dummy and he shouldn't treat her like one. "Ah, yes. That was a rather strange event - a very strange event, actually. But it was … ah … just a case of mistaken identity. When they realised they had the wrong man they let me go, unharmed." He spread his arms. "Look, no bullet holes."

  Her expression screamed "bullshit". "Is that so? Who did they intend to kidnap?"

  "Don't know. They didn't say. And to be quite frank, I wasn't interested in finding out. I was just happy to be free."

  "Do you know who they were?"

  "No, they didn't hand out business cards."

  "OK, what do they look like?"

  "Don't know. But I'm sure they're both very ugly."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "They wore masks."

  He'd hoped for a laugh and got a vinegary expression instead. "You're just feeding me a load of crap, aren't you?"

  "No, it's all true."

  A steely glare. "You know who planted the bomb in your apartment, don't you?"

  Gary widened his baby-blues. "Of course not. You're jumping to conclusions."

  "Really? Then why do you look so pleased with yourself?"

  "I always look pleased with myself - it's a medical condition."

  "Rubbish."

  "Look, if I knew who planted the bomb I'd tell you, believe me, but I don't."

  She shook her head vehemently. "Don't play games. You want to keep me in the dark so you can punish the bomber yourself, don't you? You want to make him pay for killing Robyn Parsons."

  Gary shook his head. "Look, I don't know who bombed my apartment. But even if I did, I wouldn't seek revenge. I was a cop, remember. I know how to ignore my personal feelings and obey the law."

  Gary was rather proud of that little speech. But she curled her lips. "You must think I'm a moron. First, you give me a cock-and-bull story about why you were kidnapped. Then you try to string me along with platitudes. Sorry pal, I don't believe you."

  Gary enjoyed her unforced and authentic anger. He leaned forward and stared at her broken nose, dying to ask her out to dinner and find out how it got busted. But this obviously wasn't the right moment.

  He said: "I'm sorry about that because I'm telling the truth."

  "Bullshit. You think you're so much smarter than everyone else, don't you? That, I promise you, will be your downfall."

  He smiled. "Unless …"

  "Unless what?"

  "I really am smarter than everyone else."

  Anger definitely improved her complexion. She stood up. "We'll see, won't we?"

  "You haven't finished eating."

  "Yes I have," she scowled and tossed ten bucks on the table.

  She strode off with a nice sway to her hips.