Her voice softened, lost its arrogant edge. 'He's a fine man.'
Watch out, Frank, I thought, but I didn't say anything.
'If you need money, Mr Hardy…'
'Not at the moment and perhaps not at all. I'll be in touch, Mrs Heysen. Goodbye.'
As I put the phone down Lily came in carrying a pile of photocopies. 'Saw the car. That was quick.'
I kissed her. 'You know me-immediate results.'
She dumped the copies on a chair and gave me a hug. 'I've nearly finished this bastard. Hey, Hilde rang and wants us to come over for a bite. She knew you were in Brisbane, but now you're back, d'you want to go over there tonight? I could do with a break.'
'Sure. And I've got things to talk over with Frank. Did she tell you the news?'
'Did she what. Couldn't stop talking about it. I'll give her a ring. I must meet that kid of yours sometime.'
'Yeah. I'd like to see her again myself when she's ever in the one place long enough.'
'Who's she like, you or her mother?'
I thought of Megan's close physical resemblance to my sister and her restlessness, and my former wife's precise, planned approach to things. 'Me,' I said.
'God help her.'
After getting drunk out of relief and happiness the day before, Frank and Hilde had gone on a marathon bike ride and sweated out the toxins. From the way they were looking at each other I guessed they'd also had a good sexual workout or two. They were in fine form.
Hilde knocked up a barramundi dinner with all the trimmings and we got solidly into the dry white. Peter had sent a photo of his girlfriend electronically and they'd printed it out. It showed a vibrant, dark-skinned, raven-haired young woman smiling happily with pearly white teeth.
'Her name's Ramona,' Hilde said. 'She's Brazilian with Portuguese, African and Indian ancestry.'
'With Frank's English and your German background that should make for hybrid vigour. Are they going to live here?'
'Who knows with Peter?' Frank said. 'But they're getting married in Rio and coming here to have the babies.'
'I'll have to learn to cook Brazilian,' Hilde said.
'What does she do?' Lily asked.
Hilde laughed. 'Would you believe? She's a journalist.'
Hilde and Lily settled down to watch something on the History channel and Frank and I went to his study. I handed him Lubitsch's list.
'Let's see,' Frank said. 'Jesus Christ!'
The name that had struck me hit him just as hard: Matthew Henry Sawtell, known as 'Mad Matt'. He'd risen to the rank of detective inspector in the New South Wales police force and was tipped to go even higher when his world collapsed. An undercover sting operation showed him to be guilty of giving the green light to criminals, to sanctioning at least two murders and conspiring with a corrupt politician to fake a kidnapping with an outcome that would advantage them both.
'Mad Matt,' Frank said, almost whispering. 'Now he's a definite possibility. He escaped from Goulburn. Severely wounded a guard and killed an inmate. He was very high profile and nailing him was a big feather in the anti-corruption cap. Highly embarrassing for all concerned when he escaped. His file's still very much open although a lot of people would like it to be closed.'
'Meaning?'
'What d'you think? He had protection at a pretty high level until they just couldn't shield him anymore.'
'Did he put them in? I remember him going down but I forget the details.'
'No, he kept mum, but it doesn't take much to work out that he used those tickets when he needed to get out of gaol and away.'
'Nice town, Sawtell, up near Coffs. I surfed there when I was young. You knew him?'
Frank nodded. 'I knew him. He was called 'Mad' because he was the reverse. Unemotional-cold, calculating, ruthless bastard.'
'With those friends in high places.'
'Right. He had money, too. The gaol break must have cost him a bit. Yeah, he could've gone for plastic surgery.' Frank touched the side of his face. 'He had a knife scar here. Very distinctive. And he could've set Heysen up for a fall to get him out of circulation and warn him to keep his mouth shut.'
I thought that over and didn't like it. 'I can't see it, Frank. Why wouldn't Heysen use what he knew about Sawtell as a bargaining chip to get out of the charge against him?'
Frank shrugged. 'I don't know, but the thing just has a whiff of Sawtell about it. Devious was his middle name, if it wasn't vicious. Trouble was, he had charm and a sense of humour and people liked him. Especially women.'
'What about the scar?'
'Distinctive, but didn't disfigure him. Badge of honour. Didn't put the women off. Let's have a look at these others. James Ashley Whitmont, that'd be Jimmy White if my memory serves. Rapist, skipped bail and vanished. Had money but no brains. Not his sort of thing. Alexander Cart-wright. I remember him vaguely. Whistleblower, I think. He went into the witness protection program. Hard work to find him. Anyway, he was old, probably dead now.'
'How old was Sawtell?'
'Forties.'
'So very likely still alive.'
'Yeah, he was a fitness freak. Didn't smoke, exercised. He'd been a good athlete-in the pentathlon at the Rome Olympics, just missed a bronze. But he could be anywhere, not likely to be hanging around Sydney.'
'What would he be doing then?'
'Anybody's guess. Something perfectly legitimate somewhere or highly illegal and profitable somewhere else. Or both.'
'That resourceful?'
'Easily, but it hardly matters, Cliff. He's long gone. Probably not in Australia. One of the reasons to change your appearance in a case like his would be to get a passport.'
'I don't agree. Rex Wain was shit scared, as if what he knew could still hurt him. If all this speculation about him's on the money, it could mean Sawtell's still around.'
Frank shrugged, surprising me.
'What does that mean, mate?'
'You could give that to Catherine as a strong suspicion. Might satisfy her.' Frank leaned back in his chair and stretched. 'I have to admit my thinking was all screwed up when Catherine contacted me. Hilde was worried sick about Peter and I didn't know what her mood was going to be from one day to the next. I'm not proud of it, but when Catherine approached me it seemed like… something to do, some kind of escape.'
'But not now?'
'No, not now.'
'I hate loose ends, Frank.'
'So do I, but now they don't seem to matter too much-some of them.'
'Meaning?'
'Let me get you another drink. Who's driving?'
'We tossed. Lily lost. She's on a limit of three.'
He went away and came back with a solid scotch with a fair bit of ice. Same for him. Frank had turned his chair around from his desk and I was sitting in the rocker where their cat Bluey, which always hid when guests arrived, usually sat while Frank was working. Frank had small photos of Hilde and Peter on his desk. Space for more.
I sipped the drink. 'Frank? It'd still be a feather in your cap, finding Sawtell.'
'I don't wear the cap anymore and don't need feathers. Come to that, it'd do you more good. I imagine the reward that was up for him's still available. But I want to turn our attention to William Heysen. Let's forget about
