He scratched his jaw, remembering. ‘Well, it was like this. I was surprised to see a tramp up there. But that’s not all. He got out of a cab and I saw him flash some money. He told the cabbie to wait.’
‘Did the cab wait?’
‘You bet it did. He had a roll like this.’ He made a circle of his thumbs and forefingers. ‘Well, I’m stretching it a bit but he had some dough, I can tell you.’
‘What sort of cab was it?’
‘City.’
‘You’re very sure.’
‘Look, it was very unusual, I can see it like yesterday.’
‘Did you see the driver?’
‘I did, yeah.’
‘Remember him like yesterday?’
‘When do we start talking money? I think I can help if you’re trying to find that guy. That’s it isn’t it?’
‘That’s it. What’ve you got?’
‘Five’ll get you a whiff of it.’
I pulled out my wallet, peeled off five dollars and gave it to him.
‘Thanks.’ He put it under the pillow. ‘You asked the wrong question Slim.’
‘What question?’
‘Him. You shoulda said her.’
‘Who?’
‘The cabbie was a her — blonde, that’s all I saw.’
‘Good, go on!’
‘Well, like I said, he had money, new tens, I got one…’
‘So I heard, and…?’
He’d shot his bolt. He groped around for something to say. ‘Ah, let’s see, he talked pretty good — educated, you know? But the grog had got to his voice.’ He did a fair imitation of a meths drinker’s croak on the last words.
I was depressed by what I was doing and hearing. The room depressed me. I wanted to be eating and drinking somewhere light and airy with someone young and optimistic. It made me impatient that I didn’t know anyone like that.
‘You’ll be tap-dancing in a minute,’ I snarled. ‘Cut out the shit. Did he say anything important? Give you any idea where he lived?’
‘No. He lived out mate. Face was buggered, you know the way they get. There was something though…’
‘His hands?’
‘His hands! Right! Most derros, shit you wouldn’t let them put their hands down your dunny, but his hands were white and smooth like.’
I handed over the floating ten. ‘Do you remember Miss Reid, the companion?’
‘Do I what. Hatchet-faced old bitch.’
I wouldn’t have called her old or particularly hatchet-faced, but he was talking character, not physiognomy.
‘You didn’t get on with her?’
‘Who could?’ He lit a cigarette, needing something to counter the angry memories. ‘The judge couldn’t stand her and I was with him all the way.’
‘What was wrong with her?’
‘High and mighty. Humble as shit when the old lady was around and Queen shit when she wasn’t.’
He was scrambling his images and running low on vocabulary but the sentiment sounded genuine. ‘All servants hate servants’, who said that? I couldn’t remember. Maybe that was all there was to it but it was worth another question.
‘Did Miss Reid have a boyfriend when you were there?’
His answer was a derisive snort and a shake of his head. Then he looked down at his belly and the room and recognised that he wasn’t doing so well in the sexual stakes himself. The realisation sobered him.
‘She’s got one now,’ I said.
‘That right? Must be a mug.’
Our exchanges were getting aimless but I had a feeling that he was holding something back. The talking and drinking and driving had unravelled me and I couldn’t think how to probe for it. I got out a card and put it on the bed.
‘That’s me,’ I said, getting up. ‘If you think of anything useful get in touch. There could be some money in it.’
He put the card and the ten where he’d put the five.
‘You mean about shit face Reid, Slim?’
‘Don’t call me that. About her or anything. You’ve got something more to say about her?’
‘I might. Give us another five.’
I moved over to the bed, grabbed the neck of his shirt, twisted and pulled. The cloth cut into his fat neck.
‘You know Albie, I don’t really like pushers, not really. I don’t think I’ve had good value from you. What will your protection do about a jelly nose?’
He squirmed and tried to pull free. I twisted harder.
‘Okay, okay,’ he rasped. ‘I’ll tell you. Let go.’
I dropped him onto the bed, the saucer jumped and spilled ashes and butts across the blanket.
‘Shit! I drove Miss Reid to the Botanical Gardens once.’
‘Albie, you didn’t. What tree did you do it under?’
‘Don’t joke about it, I’d rather go without. She met a bloke there. I got pissed off waiting and went to take a look. I saw her sitting on a bench talking to a bloke.’
‘Describe him.’
‘That’s hard, I wasn’t close.’
‘Young or old?’
‘Middling. All I remember is he had sideburns,’ he sketched in facial hair, ‘like Elvis Presley.’
‘Maybe that’s who it was. How long did they talk?’
‘Maybe half an hour.’
‘How was she afterwards?’
‘Same as always, fuckin’ frozen.’
‘Funny you don’t like her Albie. I got the feeling she thought you were a bit of all right.’
He looked up at me and dug the card out.
‘Private detective,’ he said.
I nodded.
‘Smartarse.’
‘Don’t push your luck. I could fix it so’s you’d be cleaning out the carriages.’
I went out leaving the door open. It slammed when I was halfway down the stairs.
6
It was nearly five o’clock, Friday. I drove to my bank in Glebe, paid in the Chatterton cheque and drew out half of it — my grandfather was a Scot. Then I thought that it could be a busy weekend coming up and a shortage of cash would be inconvenient. I drew another hundred and to hell with my grandfather, what did he ever do for me? I might even have some fun, he’d have hated that.
I bought groceries and wine and went home. The house was quiet as usual, lonely as usual. My ex-wife Cyn had never been there and my ex-woman Ailsa very seldom. It was just a place for sleeping, eating, drinking and
