‘So why?’ I said.
‘I’d be speculating.’
‘Speculate.’
‘What’s in it for me?’
‘A clear conscience.’
He laughed. ‘You watch
‘Sure.’
‘Sir Humphrey says a clear conscience is a luxury.’
‘Two hundred, two fifty-depending on the quality of the speculation.’
He took a mouthful and chewed deliberately, swallowed. ‘That as high as you can go?’
‘I’m being generous. I can speculate myself.’
‘Usually,’ he said slowly, ‘this kind of… understanding results when a party that puts a large amount of business an insurance company’s way has an interest in the outcome of the claim in question.’
‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ I said.
7
That was all I could get out of him on the subject. If Carson Lucas knew or suspected which clients of Illawarra Insurance had an interest in the Farmer claim he wasn’t going to tell me and there was no way I could make him. Not that I could think of at the time. I’d certainly give it more thought. A developer of some sort seemed most likely given what Sue Holland had told me, but developers come in all shapes and sizes and their company names don’t always give a clue as to what they are or do.
‘Cunt of a job, this,’ Lucas said as he finished his food.
‘Investigating insurance? Better than selling it.’
‘I dunno.’
‘Work on commission, don’t they? No sale, no dough. That’s a point. Who sold Frederick Farmer his insurance?’
Lucas found a last chip or two among the lettuce he wasn’t intending to eat. ‘Bloke called Adam MacPherson. Used to drink here. Haven’t seen him for a while.’
‘Is he still with the company?’
‘How about my two-fifty?’
We went to an ATM near the bank of pokies and I drew out the money.
‘MacPherson?’
‘The answer is no.’ Lucas plucked the notes from my hand and strode away.
I went to the toilet and freshened up. Then I went back into the lounge and ordered a cup of coffee. The waitress in the black who’d served the food and drink worked the machine like an expert and I told her so.
‘Should be. I’ve been here long enough.’
‘Ah, Maggie, did that bloke I was with give you a tip?’ I asked.
‘Never does.’
I paid for the coffee with a twenty-dollar note. ‘You can keep the change as a tip and for a bit of information.’
She shot a look to right and left before taking the money. A lifted eyebrow indicated agreement.
‘Adam MacPherson. Drinks in here, I’m told. Do you know him?’
‘Yeah, he’s a regular. Not in the daytime, but.’
‘So he’s in, what? Most nights?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Last question-what’s he look like?’
She wasn’t dumb. ‘Who are you, then?’
I showed her my licence and gave her a card. ‘This is nothing heavy. I just want to ask him a few questions.’ I grinned. ‘I’m big on questions. Might be worth money to him.’
‘He could use it.’ She described MacPherson to me, slid the coffee across and slipped away. Not a bad morning’s work, I thought. Good coffee, too.'
I walked back to the car park where I’d left the Falcon and
called Elizabeth Farmer on my mobile.
‘Dr Farmer, this is Cliff Hardy. I’m in Wollongong.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Are you making any progress?’
‘Possibly. I met your neighbour, Sue Holland. She told me she saw someone mysterious around the house before your father died. I’m wondering why you didn’t tell me about that.’
‘Because I didn’t know.’
‘Ms Holland didn’t tell you? I had the impression you were friends.’
‘
I thought I got the picture. ‘Okay. A few more things. Am I right in thinking the insurance claim was settled quickly?’
‘Do you mean on the property or Dad’s life?’
‘The property.’
‘Yes, quite quickly. I know because that involved me. I don’t know about the life insurance. You’d have to ask Matilda. She was the beneficiary.’
‘Okay. Last thing. Have you had any offers to buy the Wombarra block?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who from?’
‘From whom. Sorry, I’m being a shit. I just feel a bit besieged by all these questions. I could’ve filled you in on all this beforehand if I’d known.’
‘I understand, but the questions come up as things move along. And that’s the last one. From whom?’
She laughed. ‘Fair enough. From Matilda, who else?
And before you have to ask another question, I can tell you I told her to go fuck herself.’
‘Thank you, Dr Farmer. I’ll be in touch.’
It was one of those situations. Could Lucas be trusted to keep my interest in the Farmer matter to himself? Could Sergeant Barton be trusted? Lucas, maybe, because I’d given him money. Barton, only if he was honest. If either or both of them had agendas of their own I could be in for some trouble. Nothing new.
I pulled out of the car park and drove to where I do my best thinking-the beach. Wollongong City Beach had a long sweep south of Flagstaff Point. The shoreline had been modified by an extensive breakwater, a common feature on the Illawarra coast, where the sea resists human activity. I parked opposite some up-market apartment blocks and sat in a small park that boasted some old guns that predated the artificial harbour where classy yachts rode at anchor. At a guess, the guns had been placed in the 1890s to repel a Russian attack that never came. Along the street I found an undamaged telephone directory at the bus shelter. How many A. MacPhersons could there be in the area? As it turned out, none. Worth a try.
The day had warmed up considerably and I shed my jacket and walked along the beach. The sky was cloudy and the water was greyish-looking. Not a picture postcard vista, but still, for an industrial city, not a bad stretch of sand and water. I could see boats heading in and out of the harbour, yachts and fishing boats. The freight activity would be further south at Port Kembla and there were container ships on the horizon.
I reached an outcrop of rocks and squatted. I was having trouble concentrating on the Farmer business. Something about this beach and seascape was getting to me, drawing me. Wollongong was a city with a history- union struggles, political battles, environmental issues and plenty of crime. I dimly recalled cases involving a predatory rapist, a headless corpse and, more recently, revenge killings of alleged paedophiles. It wasn’t everybody’s set of positives, but for a man in my line of work. .
My mobile broke into this reverie.
