‘Pistol. A student was wounded. Only very slightly but he made a complaint. The police were involved.’
‘They would be. What happened?’
‘There were no charges laid. The student withdrew his complaint. I suspect Jason intimidated him. I haven’t seen Jason since then.’
‘It didn’t make the papers.’
‘We were lucky. A very big news story broke just at that time. I forget what it was, but it blotted out the. . incident.’
‘How long ago did all this happen?’
She’d finished her drink. She didn’t eat the olives. She reached into her bag and took out a small notebook with a reproduction of the Penguin edition of
‘A few months ago.’
Around the time Bobby Forrest took up with Jane Devereaux and things began to look rosy.
‘Where is he?’
She shrugged. ‘All I can tell you is where he was then.’
22
Kylie March told me that Clement had a farm at Picton.
‘A farm?’
‘Well, some land at least. I don’t know how much. He’s not poor, you know. He got a payout after his accident. I remember him saying that Mel Gibson and Russell Crowe had farms, so why shouldn’t he have one. He was being ironic, of course. He’s very bitter about what happened to him. He was only part-time with us, you understand. I don’t think he needed the money, which wasn’t much.’
‘What’s the address?’
She consulted the notebook. ‘Lot 12, Salisbury Road, Picton, but, as I say, that was when he first came to me for a position. That was some time ago.’
‘It’s a starting point. Thank you. What kind of car does he drive?’
‘The questions you ask. I don’t know about cars. Quite a big one. I remember that he had it modified to enable him to cope with his disability.’
‘What colour?’
‘Let me think. I only saw it once or twice. It was white, I believe, and dusty, I assume from driving from Picton. You will consider the school, won’t you? I have been cooperative, haven’t I?’
It was the middle of the afternoon but we were well into daylight saving and there’d be light for quite a few hours yet. I drove home, changed into my version of country clothes-jeans, T-shirt, boots, denim jacket-hunted out a map of the area to the west of Sydney and put the.38 in the pocket of the jacket. Picton was eighty kilometres away. It wasn’t going to be a comfortable drive-commuter traffic for most of the way and into the setting sun at the end.
There wasn’t any concrete evidence against Clement but he had the motive, the means (he was evidently familiar with guns) and the opportunity. I was putting it together in my head as I drove. Chloe Monkhurst could have told Clement that her father was dealing with Bobby Forrest. Monkhurst told his daughter things he shouldn’t have about Forrest’s state of mind. Chloe passes these things on to Clement-details of the car, movements, habits. Embittered anyway, Clement sees Forrest pulling his life together and kills him. From tracking him in his last days, Clement knows that Forrest has hired me and sends me a text message after he’s killed Forrest.
It hung together pretty well. Clement tells Chloe about me and she freaks when she sees that I’ve progressed to contacting her father. What’s her next move? Most likely to get this very bad news to Clement. What’s his likely reaction? Anybody’s guess.
I stopped for petrol and was slowed down by a rainstorm that swept in to the south-west and made the road slippery so that traffic speed dropped to a crawl. A few kilometres of that and the rain eased off and most of the traffic took the road to Campbelltown. I activated the GPS and found my way to Salisbury Road. The lot numbers were clearly marked.
I drove slowly with things to worry about. Chloe had had plenty of time to alert Clement. She’d have guessed that the old Falcon parked near her father’s place was mine. She’d have told Clement and he’d had time to do what? Run? Stand and fight? He was armed and he knew this territory the way I knew Glebe Point Road. Farmers have rifles and shotguns. I had a pistol with an effective range of not much more than fifteen metres.
It always amazes me how few animals there are in Australian paddocks. The drought was well and truly over and the land was green but there still weren’t many sheep or cows in sight. But what do I know? Maybe they were off being shorn or slaughtered.
The Salisbury Road blocks appeared to be large, ten hectares or so. Did that suggest they were hobby farms, genuine concerns or tax dodges? Again, I didn’t know. A few had no visible buildings, others had buildings at a distance from the road. Some of the buildings were screened off by trees.
I was moving slowly past Lot 10 when I heard the roar of a powerful engine. A big, dirty 4WD with a massive bull bar came hurtling at me from a track on the right. I accelerated and swerved but it hit the rear passenger door and spun me around. The seatbelt saved me, but I was jerked this way and that before the car came to a halt.
The 4WD was stopped where it had hit me. The driver’s door opened and a tallish, slim young man got out. Jason Clement limped badly and his body was oddly twisted. He stood staring at me before he approached cautiously. A pistol hung from a lanyard around his neck. I tried to release the seatbelt to reach the gun in the glove compartment but it had jammed and I was strapped in tight. He saw that and didn’t touch the pistol. He tried to open my door but it wouldn’t give.
He made a winding motion and I lowered the window. It only came down halfway.
His voice was pleasant. ‘You all right, Mr Hardy?’
I nodded.
He smiled. An actor’s smile-full of warmth and work with the eyes. ‘Good. I’ve got nothing against you.’
A strong whiff of alcohol came from him.
‘I’m glad of that,’ I said. ‘How about helping me release this seatbelt.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. It’s over now.’
‘What is?’
He sighed and I could smell the rum. ‘Everything.’
He was looking straight at me but I wasn’t sure he was seeing me. I’d seen that fixed look before on the faces of people who didn’t care what happened to them.
‘It doesn’t have to be like that.’
‘Yes it does. Do you go to the movies, Mr Hardy?’
‘I feel. . I feel as if I’ve been in a movie for a long time. Ever since Bobby. .’
‘It’s not a movie. It’s real. You need help, Jason.’
He was leaning against the car because he was drunk and because his body had betrayed him. ‘It’s not real,’ he said. ‘Nothing is real.’
He turned, stumbled. Almost fell and laughed as he regained his balance. He walked back to the 4WD. He turned and said something I couldn’t hear. I’m no lip reader but I think he said two words-‘the end’.
He climbed in awkwardly, one hand lifting his right leg, and made a series of movements to allow him to work the controls. He started the motor and drove off in the direction of his farm.
I was aching down my right side and my left arm and shoulder were numb. It took twenty minutes to restore the feeling, then it hurt and it was a centimetre by centimetre process to dig into my jeans pocket for my Swiss army knife. I sawed through the seatbelt and scrambled painfully across to the passenger door and out of the car. When I decided I could walk I got the gun from the glove box and limped in the direction Jason had taken.
Lot 12 provided an open view down a straight dirt and gravel road to a small farmhouse and a large shed. I
