‘I said I’m listening.’
‘I need to know exactly where they are in their search for Damien Talbot. What leads they’re following, if any. The thrust of their investigation, as it were.’
‘I imagine I could get something like that. What do I get in return?’
‘As I said, the end of the protest.’
‘That’s very vague.’
‘Have you got a better offer on the table? Look, Smith, ask around in the game. See if I’m thought of as a bullshit artist.’
He laughed. ‘Oh, I already did that. You’re seen as someone who plays by his own rules. I have to admit that the word is your rules are generally pretty fair, if slanted your way. But I’d say that was smart.’
‘Okay. I’m telling you that I’ve got what you need and you’ll get it in a straight exchange.’
‘There might be other ways of getting the information from you.’
‘I don’t think so and you wouldn’t say that if you’d really asked around.’
‘Just a feint, Hardy. Just a feint. You’re really prepared to destroy the protest? I thought you were pro- greenie.’
‘I don’t give a shit about the protest. All I care about is getting Megan French away from Talbot. And don’t mention her when you talk to the cops unless you have to. Don’t mention me either, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Testy now. ‘Any other instructions?’
‘Yeah. I want the computer returned. Intact. Plus the disks and printouts. You can keep the stuff from the wastepaper basket.’
‘I’ll get back to you.’
I was running the risk that he’d go to the cops for his own purposes. Convince them that I was sitting on evidence and information and bring pressure to bear on me in that way. Somehow, I thought not. My run-ins with the law in recent years – resulting in a short prison term, a suspension and a near-suspension – hadn’t done me any harm in the circles that matter. If I was seen as a maverick, it was as a maverick who tried to deliver in his client’s interest and my guess was that in this instance Smith would class himself as a client.
I was right. He was back on the phone in just under an hour but sounding hesitant. The rain was drumming on the iron roof and I had to ask him to speak up.
‘I want you to know that I pushed it pretty far, Hardy. To the limit.’
‘Save the advertising. What did you get?’
‘In a word, nothing. They’re fucked. Talbot’s vanished and they don’t know where to look. He’s been an inner-city type all his life and they’ve checked those crummy parts street by street. Nothing. Sorry.’
I could’ve taken exception to his description of my part of Sydney, but it wasn’t worth the effort. The result was more or less what I’d expected and, if I admitted it to myself, what I’d hoped. I wanted to go after Talbot without police interference. It seemed the best chance of getting Megan French away without the shit sticking.
‘Hardy?’
‘I’m here. That’s okay. No mention of me or the girl?’
‘None.’
‘So, what about the computer?’
‘Fuck you! What’ve you got?’
I told him about Macleod and Talbot and about my visit to Miss Cartwright and the disappearing oldies and Macleod’s legal wrangle over the patch of ground. I hinted at the connection between Talbot and Macleod, which was true, and that one of the protesters had doubts about the financial backing they’d had and Talbot’s role in the scheme of things. This was sort of true. Smith was underwhelmed.
‘Shit, that’s all speculation.’
‘Look into it. If you work through those printouts your boys stole you’ll get confirmation about Macleod. Look, Smith, he’s killed those old people and planted them at Tadpole Creek. He doesn’t want the fucking sods turned.’
There was a long pause while he thought about it. When he spoke again his tone was conspiratorial. ‘Just say this all checks out and you’re right and we have this Macleod by the balls. What’s your attitude, given that?’
I knew what he was talking. Deal. Cover up. I thought of Macleod’s contemptuous arrogance and of old Miss Cartwright and her violated life. Then I thought of Cyn and Megan French and Geoff and Anne Samuels and the here and now. The living, if only just in Cyn’s case.
‘I told you,’ I said. ‘I don’t care what you do. I’m out of it. You can orchestrate it anyway you like. You can take all the credit.’
‘The computer’ll be delivered within twenty hours.’
So I had that much good news for Geoff when he got back with a stack of printouts he’d only just managed to keep dry in the heavy rain. He was pleased, but he’d got caught up in the work he’d done.
‘You know this place, do you, Cliff?’
‘Well, I’ve been there.’
‘It sounds as if it’s sliding into the sea. Wasn’t a good idea to build a town there. Not to mention to put in a road and railway. Both got severely damaged in that downpour about this time last year. It’s a wonder they didn’t lose a couple of houses.’
I spread the printouts on the kitchen table and did a quick run-through. There were a good number of maps, not all of a useful standard. Also, diagrams, environmental impact studies and piles of material to do with a protest about the plan to construct a tunnel to catch stormwater and put it out on the beach. Geoff rolled a joint and flicked through this material.
‘This is one of the craziest ideas I’ve ever heard,’ he said. ‘Of course the old mine was the source of all the trouble. I mean that’s the reason for the town and the road and railway in the first place. They diverted the creeks and tried to control the water flow by artificial means. Hopeless. Then they reckon they can run it all out on the beach. Quite apart from the fact that it won’t work, it’ll fuck up the marine environment for sure.’
‘Why won’t it work?’
‘The headland they plan to drill through’s too fragile. If they blast, Christ knows what’ll happen. Plus they’ve only got a vague idea of where some of the old mine shafts are and what’s in them. Remember when some miners drilled through into an old shaft that’d filled up with water? Not long back? Case in point.’
I was interested, but not as interested as in the material about land use, past and present.
‘Slip areas?’
Geoff said, ‘I highlighted that stuff.’
He’d gone through the survey, classification and rates maps and papers. ‘What’s this?’ I put my finger on one of the maps where he’d made a circle.
‘It’s an area of slip close to one of the old orchards. A couple of houses more or less fell over and the council resumed the land. Some silly buggers had built over the old watercourses.’ He sorted through some newspaper cuttings. ‘Apparently, they had some trouble with squatters there a few years ago. The cops cleared them out, but maybe they came back?’
‘You’re not bad at this,’ I said.
23
Geoff called the hospital, spoke to his sister, and shook his head at my enquiry.
‘You don’t have to come on this,’ I said. ‘Maybe you should be with Cyn and Anne.’
‘No, I’m coming. I want to be able to tell Mum, well, something, anyway.’
Not a ringing endorsement of the course of action, but I respected his judgement. Geoff, in jeans, boots, sweater and bomber jacket was dressed for the job. I put on similar gear and put a few things like a torch, matches, a sheath knife, a camera into a backpack. I looked out the window at the leaking grey sky and picked up a raincoat and a parka. A one-pint hip flask of Scotch into the backpack and the. 38 under my arm and we were ready.
