She brought her hands around to the front slowly and massaged her wrists. ‘Yeah. He’s got investors. They’re not going to be happy.’
‘I hope they squeeze him hard. You’re going to need some leverage, Wendy. Matilda suggested you had something on Buckingham. I hope that’s true.’
‘You bet it is. Thinking about it, I’m more worried about the cops than Larry. Can I go?’
I closed the knife. ‘Yep. Just to keep you focused, I dunno about the Beemer though. I told the cops where Lonsdale and his mate were hiding. They’ve probably picked them up by now but you’d be taking a risk to go back there for the car. I suppose there’s some of your stuff there as well. Might have to settle for a quick flit on the Harley. Up to you.’
‘You bastard.’
I shrugged. ‘Hock your teeth.’
She gave me a look that would’ve stripped paint. She squared her shoulders, zipped her jacket and marched from the room. I nodded to Matilda and she released the door to the street. Minutes later I could hear the angry roar of the Harley engine as it fired up.
Matilda reached down to her bag, took out a compact and lipstick, repaired her makeup. Her hands moved over her hair as she groomed herself like a cat. When she was satisfied she got up and came around the desk. She sat down next to me, letting me latch on to her perfume and the warmth of her body.
‘So you’ve won.’
‘Looks that way. Pretty good for a dyke, eh-what Elizabeth did?’
She nodded. ‘But you don’t seem very happy about it all.’
‘A couple of good people are dead. That silly bikie bitch’ll cause more trouble before she’s through. Buckingham’s presumably got plenty of money. He’ll buy a QC who’ll work the system. He’ll sell out his investors. Let’s say they’re Asians. Call them terrorists. That’ll play with the powers that be. He’ll do some time, but it’ll be easy time.’
Her soft hand was touching one of the scabs on my cheek. ‘So why d’you bother?’
I removed the hand. ‘You should’ve seen the look on your stepdaughter’s face when it all got sorted.’
She stiffened and drew away. ‘And as for me?’
‘As for you, Tilly,’ I said, ‘you’d better hope Buckingham doesn’t decide to lower the boom on you. But I wouldn’t count on it.’
Her shoulders drooped and she seemed to shrink inside her smart suit and classy blouse. ‘I’ve got no one to turn to,’ she said.
I eased myself stiffly up off the desk and stretched. Despite all the knocks and hurts I felt invigorated. I bent, collected the cut restraints and put them in my pocket. ‘That’s the penalty for loving yourself more than anyone else,’ I said.
28
What I’d said to Matilda was sound enough, I thought as I drove towards Glebe. Trouble was, I couldn’t help thinking it might apply to me. It was too late and too much had happened too quickly to make such thoughts useful. On auto pilot, I got back home, parked and had the key in the door before I remembered Marisha. Had I promised to go back there? I couldn’t remember.
Sometimes, after a case has come together, I feel like a creature that should be in hibernation being forced to carry on beyond its allotted time. Not tonight. My brain wouldn’t stop working. I felt bad about exposing Elizabeth Farmer to that danger, relieved, but at the same time embarrassed by how well she’d coped. I sat down and wrote her a long report on all the aspects of the case. My suspicion that her father had been killed because he’d got an inkling of Buckingham’s plan had no foundation in fact and probably never would have, but it felt right. I said that I’d had to offer Matilda a certain amount of protection in return for her cooperation in isolating Wendy. That wouldn’t please her. It would please her even less that I’d let Wendy off the hook, since I was sure she’d been involved in the arson.
Again, necessity, but it didn’t sit well with me and I made no reference to it.
I read the report through when I’d finished and was dissatisfied. It was plausible, in the true meaning of the word. I emailed De Witt, telling him about Buckingham’s plan as I’d promised to do. It’d be up to him to decide how to use it. If he went into print on it the police wouldn’t be pleased and would probably heavy him. I’d have to hope he adhered to the journalists’ code of ethics and protected his source.
As I finished the email and before I sent it, the phone rang. Farrow.
‘How’s it looking?’ I said.
‘Okay. We picked up Lonsdale and another guy at the hotel. No sign of Wendy Jones. Where is she, Hardy?’
‘Don’t you want to know what Larry Buckingham’s grand plan was?’
‘Sure.’
I told him. From his silence I guessed that it was news to him, but still I asked, ‘Did you get a sniff of that from Barton?’
‘I can’t discuss operational police matters with you.’
‘Means you didn’t. Well, be my guest. You’ll find a lot of equipment for that project. A little bird tells me it’s in Thirroul.’
‘Let’s back up. Where’s Wendy?’
‘No idea. That’s the truth.’
‘You keep that information about the mine shafts to yourself, Hardy.’
He hung up and I sat looking at my message to De Witt on the screen. I certainly owed Farrow; but for him I was buried under a ton of earth and a layer of aggregate down Port Kembla way. But I remembered what he’d said about the way things could play out with the prosecution of Barton and the other corrupt cops, and I’d already had my thoughts about what Larry Buckingham could contrive if he had the money.
I hit send, and dispatched the email.
De Witt’s story made the Wollongong and Sydney papers in the morning. He had some of the names and some of the details-enough to give the story flavour and show how a major episode in criminal organisation and police corruption had been orchestrated and exposed. I wasn’t mentioned except as a ‘source’ and that was fine by me. Buckingham was in hospital but under arrest with a battery of charges pending. There were photographs of him in his athletic heyday and in his bloated present. Barton wasn’t mentioned by name, suggesting that a deal was being done. Par for the course.
Marisha rang me mid-morning.
‘That was your case, wasn’t it, Cliff?’
‘What case would that be?’
‘Please don’t think I’m stupid. I read the paper. I know my car was down there in Wollongong. The police told me.’
‘You’re right. Sorry, Marisha, I don’t like to talk about the work. You never know about loose ends, people wanting to get even in some way. It’s best to keep your friends right out of it.’
‘Is that what we are, friends?’
‘I don’t know, Marisha. I’m sorry. It takes a while to come down from these things. I’ve been dealing with shotguns and dead men and wild women and crooked cops and it-’
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, and wog drama queens and teenage whores. I understand.’
‘Marisha-’
She hung up. I had her number and I could’ve called back. Maybe she wanted me to, maybe she didn’t. I wavered, but I didn’t call. I sat, looking at the phone and remembering. What I’d said was true. I’d got into relationships with women in the middle of cases before and, mostly, they hadn’t gone anywhere. There’s something about the situation, the pressures, the need for comfort and release that can shape your feelings and distort your judgement. One of the penalties of the business, something Cyn had sensed early in our marriage, was that dealing in deceit and mistrust, violence and hurt, so much of the time erodes the ability to believe in anything human.
