It was after midnight and I was low on everything — energy, alertness, courage, the lot. I drove mechanically away from Paddington towards Glebe. The car felt as tired as me, unresponsive to the pedals, resistant to the wheel, dull as lead. I needed rest very badly and I couldn’t think of anywhere to get it except at home. I vaguely considered crashing at Evans’ house but rejected the idea. Motels were out for psychological reasons — I’d lie awake all night thinking of death.
I turned into my street and killed the engine and lights outside my house. I was fumbling about with the key in the front door lock when a beam of light hit me in the eyes and a hundredweight of hand fell on my shoulder. Another hand reached out, took the keys and dropped them into my jacket pocket. I tried to shield my eyes from the light to get a look at them but they weren’t co-operative. One twisted my arm up behind my back just short of breaking point and the other jammed his torch into the end of my nose. The torchcarrier’s voice was like rocks rumbling about in an empty oil drum.
“We hear you’re tough Hardy, care to prove it?”
“Not just now,” I said, “I’m short on sleep. I’ll be tough again tomorrow.”
The other one laughed. “You won’t be tough tomorrow mate,” he said. “You’ll be soft, soft as jelly.” He emphasised the prediction by putting another fraction of an inch strain on my arm.
“Whatever you say. How about easing down on the lighting and the strong arm stuff and telling me what this’s all about?”
I was getting used to the light and was able to make out the general shape and size of them. Even under these imperfect conditions they were obviously cops, the kind that start off as slim, eager youths on traffic duty and end up as big, beery corrupt bastards shoving the citizenry around for kicks. The bulk of one of them looked vaguely familiar, the one with the torch.
“Is it yourself, O’Brien?” I said, all mock bog and peat.
“Don’t be a smart arse, Hardy, just come along quietly and you won’t get hurt unnecessarily.”
“I haven’t said I wouldn’t. Who’s the half-nelson expert?”
“The name’s Collins, Hardy,” he said, “and I’d really like to break your arm, know that?”
“I can sense that you love your work, yes.”
O’Brien switched off the torch and turned me around by the shoulder. Collins wasn’t quite ready for it and it turned me partly out of his grip, I stumbled and my clumsy foot came up sharply into his shin.
“Oh, sorry Collins,” I said. He swore and reached for me like a bear in a bad mood. O’Brien pushed him back.
“Leave it, Colly,” he said, “this guy’s a fancy prick and he’ll have us doing something we’ll regret later if he gets to us.”
“He’s fuckin’ got to me already,” Collins ground out, “why’s he got to arrive spick and span?”
“If you can’t figure it out for yourself there’s no point in telling you,” O’Brien said with an air of tolerance for weaker intellects. “Let’s just take him in as we found him, he doesn’t look in such good shape anyway.”
He was right, I wasn’t. A little adrenalin had flowed over the past few minutes, but all the guns and king hits and karate kicks of the past twelve hours had worn me down and left me in good condition to be leaned on. I still felt cheeky though.
“Do as he says sport,” I said. “Grant Evans will explain it all to you just before they cut you down to Constable Colly.”
O’Brien gave out with his basso laugh again and Collins chuckled along in chorus.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Hardy,” O’Brien said, “Evans is on leave, sort of a reward for his good work handed down from above. Someone up there isn’t too happy so there’s a bit of shit coming down all round. Inspector Mills is copping it and he wants to unload some on you. Let’s go down town and talk about it.”
They eased me down the path and into the car. It’s a pity Soames wasn’t watching, it would have made his day. I slumped down in the car and tried to think but nothing came. I was in a very bad spot without Evans to protect me even if they hadn’t placed me at all the scenes I’d visited that day. If they had, and they didn’t want explanations, it was going to be some time before Hardy walked proud and free again.
Collins got behind the wheel and O’Brien sat in the back with me. I’d left my. 38 and the albino’s Colt in my car which was lucky, but I didn’t like the air of confidence hanging around the two of them.
I tried pumping O’Brien for some information so I’d know what to expect at Headquarters but he just told me to shut up and sweat it out. I did. Collins drove like a maniac, jumping lights and bullying everyone on the road. O’Brien shook his head at a couple of the more flagrant breaches of road decency but in general he seemed to regard his partner as beyond redemption. I was almost glad when we arrived at the Police Building. Collins slammed the tyres into the kerb and cut the ignition just as he gave the motor a last, lead-footed rev. The engine shuddered protestingly into silence. Collins yanked open his door as if he meant to take it with him and, after O’Brien had sat still long enough for him to get the idea, he pulled open the back door in the same style. It might have been a subtle intimidation ploy but somehow I thought it was just that Collins didn’t know any other way to behave.
We went up the steps and into the building. There was a different sergeant on the desk but he looked just as pissed-off with the job as his predecessor. I suppose the old lift was still running but I didn’t get a chance to find out. We went down a set of steps following a sign which said Interrogation Rooms 1 to 6. Room 1 was long and narrow, painted cream and the only furniture was a table and two straight-backed chairs. There was a small shade over the light but not enough to make it comfortable and there was something very disconcerting about the washstand and towel in the far corner. It made the room feel like a fourth-rate hotel hole-up which you take when you’re running low on money and aren’t expecting any glamorous company. I sat down in one of the chairs and began feeling in my pockets for tobacco. O’Brien took the chair opposite, put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it and blew the smoke into my face.
“No smoking,” he said.
I forced a laugh. “You aren’t really going to pull all this interrogation stuff are you? Doing it in relays with your handsome mate, no smoking, no sleep?”
“Depends on you, Hardy, makes no difference to me. I can go out for a drink or a nap any time. You’re on the spot.”
“Well, that’s a start. What have you got on me?”
O’Brien took a small notebook out and flipped over some pages.
“A whole stack of things, big or small according to how you want to play it. Failures to report felonies and such.”
I leaned back and smiled. “Littering, loitering.”
O’Brien still looked confident. He grinned and scratched his ear.
“Very droll,” he said. “How about murder?”
“I haven’t murdered anyone lately that I can recall.”
“That so? Try Terrence Cattermole.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He heard of you, he said you killed him.”
“Now how could that be?”
“I’m giving you a chance to do yourself a bit of good. Judges and juries go for voluntary admissions, they go easy on people.”
“Judges and juries can laugh cases out of court too. I’d like to help you, O’Brien, but you’ve got me shot to bits. I don’t even understand how a murdered man can name his murderer.”
“Have it your way. It seems a Land Rover went over a cliff up the coast a bit. Seems there were two guys in it when it went over. One of them was tied up with wire. You tied him up, Cattermole his name was. He got thrown clear, see? Just before he died he told us about it. He said that he and the other guy had roughed up a woman you’re interested in, you followed them, jumped them, knocked the other guy out and put the wire around Cattermole, You put the Land Rover over the cliff. All this happened about five hours ago, that means you’ve got an accomplice who did some of the driving. Like to tell us who it is?”
“Shit, have you got it screwed up!”
“Well, that’s the way Inspector Mills put it to me and my guess is that’s the way someone put it to him. Now that’s the way we can leave it unless you have something to say.”
“What about?”
“I hear the name Gutteridge is involved.”
