me as an accomplice in the blackmailing of James. He said he had so much on Mark that he could play with him, just as he pleased and that he could ruin him and put me on the streets. He didn’t want to. Mark was making him rich and he was happy with things as they were. If I left him alone, he’d leave me alone. He said he’d ease up on Mark, but I guess he couldn’t. He’s a greedy bastard.”
“How’s that?”
“He pushed Mark past the limit, he must have done. Mark was dead about ten days after I had this talk with Brave.”
“Are you sure he killed himself?”
“No, I’m not. But he was in a tortured state in the last few days and a gun was found near his body. The coroner’s verdict was suicide but I’m sure such things can be arranged.”
She stopped when the waiter arrived to take the order. I called for half a dozen oysters naturelle and some grilled whiting. She said she’d have the same and took about half a glass of hock when that arrived. Waiters were hovering about and she smoked and made some small talk until we had privacy again. The golden brown fish fillets and potato chips hid among the salad like Dyaks in the jungle. We pushed them about and sipped the wine. I tried to fill her glass but she glared at me. I munched a few decent mouthfuls of fish and got on with it.
“You think the police didn’t pursue the matter satisfactorily?”
She mashed up some fish and salad and pushed the mess aside. She hadn’t eaten a single potato chip and I had to keep myself from reaching over and spearing them. I drained my glass instead and filled it from the bottle which was still healthy. She lit a cigarette and more smoke drifted into my face than seemed necessary.
“What are you so cautious about, Hardy?” she asked. “Your licence?”
I shrugged and took in a bit more wine. “You were talking about your husband’s death,” I said. She nodded and did her cigarette flicking act again. The ash sprayed into the plates and I pushed mine aside.
“Look, this gets back to your question about Mark’s records, if you’re still interested. Mark died at his desk, in his study. The police found a secret safe in the study, one I didn’t know about. It had been opened. It was empty. Maybe Mark kept the records there.”
I nodded. “That sounds like a lead for the police, didn’t they take it up?”
“No, they didn’t take anything up. They rushed on to the inquest and let it go at that. I don’t have to spell out what I think?”
“No, you think Brave has the records, maybe killed your husband to get them. Maybe not. In any case he was on the scene pretty quick I assume?”
She nodded, “Very quickly.”
“You think he used the records to bring the shutters down on the case?”
She spread her hands quizzically and drew a deep breath. The coffee arrived and she dropped as many grains of sugar into it as you could balance on the head of a nail. I took a gulp of wine and popped the question.
“Your husband’s been dead for four years and you’ve suspected Brave’s hand in it all along. Why are you frightened enough to want to do something? To hire me? Brave hasn’t threatened you directly has he?”
“Not yet,” she said, “But it’s only a matter of time. I’ve done something with the money Mark left me — invested it, got a couple of companies going. I told you this?”
I couldn’t remember, I looked non-committal. She went on: “I’m a worthy target for Brave now. He’s a leech. But it’s more than that.” She leaned forward. She had fine broad shoulders and her movements were athletic without being masculine. Her lips were a sculptured counterpoint to the vertical lines of her face. “I think Brave killed Giles. I think he’s insane and obsessed with the Gutteridges. I think he’s behind the threats to Susan and after Bryn now.”
“Bryn’s certainly afraid of something, or somebody. I think it connects back to his father’s death but I don’t know how.”
“He’s afraid of Brave I tell you. And if Bryn’s afraid of him I’m bloody terrified.” She slapped down the coffee spoon she’d been playing with and jerked off her sunglasses. There seemed to me to be as much resolution as fear in her face. Her voice was unemotional, businesslike. “You drink too much, but you’re intelligent and capable in your own field. I want you to do two things — investigate Brave’s affairs and put him out of business, for good. And protect me!”
“It’s tough doing two things at once.”
“They’re two sides of the same thing. I’m sure of it.” She smiled for the first or second time since I’d met her. It was a nice smile but under careful control. “I don’t know why you wanted to come out here. The food isn’t that good and the view is rather corny. I’ve been here before.”
“Why did you agree to come then?”
“To show anyone who might be interested that I’ve got protection.”
“I guess you hired me a couple of hours ago then.”
“Well, yes, I did in a sense. But are you interested in the complete job now you know what’s involved?”
I gave it about half a second’s thought. Handled right it would keep me clean of guard duty and the cheap rooms and caravan parks for weeks. I had too much good wine inside me to think of much else. I believed at least half of Ailsa’s story and that was enough. I told her my rates and conditions of work. She pulled a chequebook from her bag and wrote words and digits on it with a gold pen. I put it in my wallet, not too far from Bryn’s cheque so that the two of them could debate the ethics of it.
I had just enough cash to cover the bill and I was feeling clever and successful when we walked out into the parking lot. The sun was beating down hard and the shade had retreated from the Porsche leaving its rear bumper shimmering and reflecting like a white hot steel mirror. Ailsa stepped up to the driver’s door, pressed the button in and pulled the door free. She had it three inches open before my half-stewed brain got the message. I took two rabbity leaps across the melting asphalt and swept her off in a diving football tackle. Her bag came adrift from her shoulder and flicked the car door full open as we hit the ground. The Porsche burst into flame like a Molotov cocktail on impact, the bonnet lifted and the windows cracked in quick succession like rifle shots. Hellish heat surged towards us as I rolled Ailsa over three more times in the gravel and tar.
“You should always lock your car,” I ground into her ear as we came to rest twenty feet away from the inferno.
6
We were both shaking as we brushed the grit of the parking bay off our clothes. Ailsa’s white pants were a ruin and her smock was smeared and torn. My trousers had a great three-cornered tear in the knee and blood from a bad graze was seeping into the ragged edges of the tear. The car was burning fiercely, the tyres were bubbling like lava and the vehicle was sinking slowly, lopsidedly onto the rims. There was a stench of burning rubber and vinyl and a cloud of dark smoke had settled in the still hot air over the parking area. I put my arm around Ailsa’s shoulders and helped her across to the steps in front of the hotel. Staff from the place were thronging about and Ailsa accepted a woman’s offer of help to a toilet where she could clean up.
The manager came out and mumbled about calling the police. I told him I’d do it myself if he could show me to the phone and produce some brandy. He seemed relieved to escape the job and took me into an office which contained a desk, chair, a telephone, a pot plant and a bar. I’d always wondered what hotel managers did in their offices. This one must have twiddled his thumbs and drank. He left me in the room telling me to help myself. I mixed a strong Hennessy and soda, sat down with it behind the desk and dialled a number. The voice at the other end was tired and unsympathetic. It had answered ten thousand telephone rings and never once heard good news.
“Police, Evans speaking.”
“Grant, this is Cliff Hardy.”
“Oh good, you’re going to pay me the money you owe me and take me on a holiday to Coolangatta.”
“This is serious, I need your help. And I might be able to help you with something you’ve got on your plate.”
“Yeah? What would that be?”
“I can’t tell you just now.”
