‘Was,’ I said. ‘He’s stopped.’
‘I know.’
‘How d’you know? I found out from his sister in Melbourne a couple of days ago. The news couldn’t be all over Sydney yet.’
He looked at me, and suddenly jerked his head half around. I realised that he’d done it before; it was a nervous mannerism, but it made it look as if he was afraid someone was going to grab him and send him back to New Zealand. He didn’t look particularly smart, but he was good at keeping his mouth shut. Another swallow of coffee and the penny dropped.
‘I get it. He talks about drying-out in the synopsis. The book’s autobiographical.’
He nodded.
‘Jesus, does a man get killed up in the mountains? Does the hero buy smack in Marseilles’?’
More nods.
‘This is important, Mr Lambert. If you have any way of contacting him you must tell me. His life’s in danger.’ Nothing changed in Lambert’s expression and I realised that it was like telling someone about a film they’d already seen. ‘You know that.’
He put some more fingerprints on the lenses of his glasses. ‘The protagonist speculates about the retribution that awaits him-compelling stuff.’
‘How does it end?’
He lay back in his chair. His head tilted and I could see the dark bags of sleep debt under his eyes. He pulled at the silly bow tie and it came undone untidily down the front of his shirt.
‘Wouldn’t have a cigarette, would you?’ he said.
‘I gave it up.’
‘So did I, years ago when I first came here. I was so glad to be here. I felt 1 could do without, them and I did, until now. I don’t know how it ends-the synopsis doesn’t end. He runs the story on to about… I’m guessing here, five chapters from the end? It’s a masterly piece of work… I’ve read thousands… I could get, a quarter of a million advance from a top publisher, maybe more.’
Apparently I was expected to be impressed by the sum of money. I was. I gave the sort of nod you give to a quarter of a million bucks.
‘All right, Mr Hardy, I’ve put you in the picture. What’s your interest?’
‘I was hired by the owner of the used car firm.’
It was as if we were speaking in a code, mutually mastered. ‘I see.’
‘I’ve met some people connected with the organisation behind the car thefts.’
‘Rough?’
‘Pretty rough. The honours are all their way at the moment.’ I realised that I couldn’t tell Lambert too much, couldn’t tell him, for example, that I’d sell his writer in a flash to get Erica back.
‘Mountain describes them as killers; is he exaggerating?’
I thought about it. ‘Does he describe himself as a killer?’
‘The protagonist kills a man in self-defence.’
‘Uh huh, well, I don’t know of anyone they’ve killed. There’re two men in a bad way in hospital who offended them, and they’d have done the same or worse to me if it had turned out that way. They certainly intend to kill Mountain.’ I threw that in to keep Lambert on his toes-I assumed that a synopsis is worthless. I knew that dead men don’t write novels.
‘If you think you can prevent that I’ll be happy to co-operate in any way. Funds are not a problem.’
‘I’m trying. Why haven’t you gone to the police?’
‘The outline came in the post with a note in which Mountain said he would cease to be my client if I called the police into the matter at any point. Literary agents have no contracts with their clients, you know. It’s a gentleman’s arrangement, cancellable by either party, at any time.’
‘That right? Sounds a bit like my work. You’re on ten per cent, are you?’
‘Dearly earned, believe me.’
‘Okay. Well, I’ll have to see the note and the outline, of course, and I’ll take some more coffee if you’ve got it.’
He jerked his head over his shoulder and fiddled with his glasses.
‘No more coffee?’
‘Of course there’s more coffee. It’s letting you see the synopsis…’
‘Anything to help-your very words.’
‘I don’t want it shown about. A lot of the impact would depend on the novelty, the element of surprise…’
‘You’re beginning to worry me, Mr Lambert. I wouldn’t send the thing to Random House. All I want is to find Mountain; I have to see what he’s written. That’s flat!’
‘I don’t know.’
He looked so perturbed that I had to soften the blow a little. ‘Would you like me to say that we’ve got a gentleman’s agreement that I’ll keep the thing totally confidential?”
‘That would help.’
He nodded. I stacked the cups on the tray, picked it up and went to the door. Maud had put a chair within earshot of the door and was doing some filing with the antennae fully extended. She started when I opened the door.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Everybody’s interested. Could you let us have some more coffee, please?’
She took the tray and headed towards wherever they kept the Andronicus. Lambert had got up from his desk and was turning a key in a filing cabinet lock. He pulled out a drawer, extracted a manila folder and slid it across the desk towards me. I’d expected him to make more of a ritual of it. I opened the folder and found a stack of A4 size photocopy sheets. I closed the cover.
‘This is a photocopy, I want to see the original.’
‘Why?’
I leaned forward and whispered. ‘Because there might be something written on the backs of the sheets.’
‘I didn’t think of that.’ Back to the filing cabinet, out with the key, twiddle, twiddle, scrape and another folder appeared. The typeface was the same as on Erica’s card and there were probably signs of the same ‘fist’ and the identical displacement of the ‘e’ if you cared for those sorts of things. I looked at the backs of the sheets, but there was nothing on them. I hadn’t expected anything, but you never know. Lambert had stood, hovering, with his hands out, and I gave the folder back.
‘Thanks. I’d like to see the note, too.’
Maud came in with the coffee and I smiled at her. She looked at me in awe and I realised that it was because I was holding a copy of it in my hands. I smiled at her and she smiled back. All I needed was something worth a quarter of a million and she was a pushover.
Lambert watched her walk out and passed me the note. It was brief and simple; I asked Lambert for a copy of it and he dug one out. We both swilled down a cup of coffee. I tapped the edges of the paper straight in the folder and got up.
Lambert looked alarmed. ‘Ah,’ he said. The head flicked left.
‘Yes?’
‘Aren’t you going to read it now? It’s not long. Tell me what you think…?’
‘Haven’t you read any books? I need a blonde, a bottle and a dark room.’
He shook his head and sighed.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Lambert, look on the bright side.’ I moved to the door.
‘And what’s that?’
‘You’ve got other clients.’
I heard his groan through the closed door.
