For the second time, I said.
Leo swigged his drink. He was feeling pleased with himself now. For the fucking third time. We get together again and this time shes got Barry White along. I go through it again. Then she sets up the meeting with you and Barry and I have to act it out the way Barry told you it happened.
I never knew coppers were such good actors.
Are you kidding? You have to be, the fucking bullshit you have to say in court and write down and tell the brass, not to mention the crims, gets you that way. Anyway, thats it. I asked for a monkey and I got it. She and Barry set you up to do whatever you fucking did. And you still havent told me what that was.
You say she knew everything about the case. What do you mean?
I mean every fucking thing. All about the girl who went missing, the family, the lot. It seemed to me she wasnt even surprised when I told her about the note and that. It was as if she already knew about it.
So, do you think she was a secretary to the old man, or the mother, or worked for the lawyer, or something like that?
Be buggered, Leo said. I reckon she was one of the kidnappers, or knew them, and shed come up with a way to have a go at the reward money.
Took her a long time.
Leo shrugged. Playing safe. Maybe something changed in the set-up. Maybe shed finally decided it was time to dob someone in.
Yeah, maybe.
Theyre late with the fucking lunch.
I thought you said it was slop.
It is, but it breaks up the day. He raised his almost empty glass. Itll go down a bit better with this inside me.
Watch out they dont smell your breath. I took a deep breath myself and asked the question Id been holding back. What did she look like, Leo, this woman.
Fucking good-looker, Hardy. Too good for you.
Be specific
Leo shrugged and his flabby jowls bounced.
Tallish, great figure, good tits and arse, everything. She wore big dark glasses and that sort of makes it hard to describe her face.
Hair?
Dark. Funny thing was, I kept feeling that Id met her before.
21
Marrickville Park is my kind of placea big, open space, roughly mown with a football oval, plenty of trees, not too many flowers and some grass tennis courts tucked away in one corner. The croquet lawn in the opposite corner is a bit of an anomaly, but live and let live. You dont see grass tennis courts much any more. They remind me of the great days of Australian tennisHoad and Rosewall, Laver and Emerson, Newcombe and Roche. They werent such great days in other waysBob Menzies, six oclock closing, Vietnambut I yearn for them sometimes when I hear about crack and child pornography and the hole in the ozone layer.
I parked in Frazer Street and wandered through the park to the courts, kicking at pine cones. I was having trouble being objective about this twisting, turning mess of a case I had on my hands. Id started out greedy for a hundred thousand dollars, had entertained thoughts of a whole lot more money and now was mostly hoping that Claudia Vardon, or whatever her name was, wasnt too deep in the criminal soup. Who was I to be judgmental? Id recently killed a man, falsified evidence and served a gaol term. As a private investigator I was more or less on probation. My personal needs were greater than my professional standards and I knew it. Had always known it.
Two good players were on the courtsa baseliner and net-rusher. The baseliner had a double-fisted backhand like Agassi and the serve-volleyer had obviously modelled his game on Edbergs. It had always seemed to me that a serve-volley player should beat a baseliner because that game requires a high passage over the neteasy meat for the volleyer. It hadnt proved true over the years, but here on a suburban court, with a couple of fit A-graders at work, it was. The surface made the difference. The grass took the Edberg-style underspin and flat shots and kept the ball low. The Agassi clone couldnt get topspin on either side and had to hit up. Stefan was there at the net and Andre was dead. I felt like applauding. But it would be like applauding the dinosaurs. Id read that less than 5 per cent of professional tennis is played on grass these days.
I wasnt convinced that Claudia was one of the kidnappers, or an associate of one. It didnt seem to fit. Against that, Peggy Hawkins was certainly just such a player in the game. Why not someone similar from the opposing side that turned out to be unopposed? It was all confused by my feelings for her which were mixed to say the very least. The strong sexual attraction had to be balanced against the ruthless way shed used and manipulated me. My ribs were still sore and I still had sutures in my torn ear and I felt humiliated about being delivered home like a gift-wrapped package. I had a strong wish to meet up with those three blokes again with the odds better balanced.
As I watched the balls go over the net and hit the fences with the force good players can generate, I realised that the best way to resolve all my dilemmas was to act like the volleyertake the high ground and the initiative. I had to try to find Claudia Vardon before she phoned me and started calling the shots all over again. It had to be Claudia whod met with Leo Grogan and set the ball rolling. The dark hair was no problem.
It seemed reasonable to begin in Glebe. She appeared to be able to keep track of my movements there. Shed certainly known when Id got back the other night. Most likely shed just driven past, but if her intention was to keep really close tabs on me there was a chance she was staying somewhere nearby. There are no flash hotels in Glebe, just good, serviceable motels like the Rooftop and the Haven Inn on Glebe Point Road and the University Motor Inn across the way from what it gets its name from. Im quite well known in all three of them, especially the Rooftop where Ive occasionally put witnesses and other parties who needed putting. It has a swimming pool where youd imaginea big plus in summer and, besides, anxious people like to be able to go up on a roof and look down on the world thats giving them a hard time.
I did a quick check on the motels, giving them my description of Claudia and the car. Three blanks. I extended the search to Chippendale and Camperdown but came up with the same result. I couldnt see Claudia staying in a backpacker hostel. The Blackwattle Bay end of Glebe is full of blocks of flats and flats become available for short- term leases and sub-lets. Claudias operation had obviously been well-planned, so securing a second base in advance wasnt out of the question. More in hope than expectation, I toured the streets and looked in on the car parks. I knew a few of the residents and could ask them later, but the more I carried out this exercise, the more I realised I was kidding myself. She was too smart to be found by the equivalent of turning over rocks.
I went home to find a message from Max on the answering machine. The house seemed emptier and more desolate in the day than at night. The empty rooms and the bachelor routines I mostly enjoyed felt like signs of failure and put me in a bad mood. I phoned and got ready to go into the usual routine with Penny.
Penny, this is Cliff. Max wants to talk to me.
And I want to talk to you. Did he say anything.
About what?
About me! Who dyou think?
I hadnt given it any thought since my attempt to read Maxs body language. That was too slim a foundation to make a comment on, and after my wasted effort I wasnt feeling obliging. No, nothing.
He will. Ill put him on.
I wished I could feel as optimistic as Penny and I was feeling more sour by the minute when Max came on the line.
Ive been onto that Redfern DFowler. He says…
A guy named Freddy Persil shot Barry. I got all that from Grogan.
A pause, then Pennys voice, choked with anger. Dont do that, Cliff! You know he cant hear you. Whyre you
