in Forbes Street. His terrace house had a side recess that I could just fit the Falcon into and he let me park there for a modest fee. After the confrontation with Stafford and his henchman, I’d taken to keeping my licensed. 38 Smith amp; Wesson to hand. I took it from the car and went up to the office. These old buildings have many pitfalls-poor lighting, dodgy stairs, places to hide. I observed all the precautions, feeling, when I reached the office safely, a mixture of relief and guilt at being paranoid.
For all the civility and humanity of the nun and the courage of Pierre Fontaine, the hospice experience had shaken me and I poured a solid slug of cask wine before I sat down to look at the mail and the faxes. There was nothing that couldn't wait or simply be ignored. I dug Watson's card out of my wallet and rang him. I identified myself and the indifference in his voice was packed into one word.
'Yes?'
'I wondered whether you were making any progress on the Pettigrew case?'
‘What makes you think I’d talk to you about that?’
‘Did you get to talk to Hampshire? I’d be interested to hear what he had to say.’
‘I’m hanging up, Hardy.’
‘Before you do, does the name Wilson Stafford mean anything to you?’
He didn’t hang up and I enjoyed the moment and the change in his tone.
‘Why should it?’
‘Well, I had a meeting with him yesterday. Not a pleasant one, but one way or another things came up that might interest you.’
‘Okay, Hardy, you’re living up to your reputation as a pain in the arse. What do you want?’
‘Just a quiet talk. I tell you some things and you do the same. Remember, I’m still looking for the missing son of a murdered woman and a man you’d no doubt describe as a person of interest.’
‘I don’t want you interfering.’
‘I don’t want to. I’m looking for mutual cooperation. Where’re you based, Sergeant?’
‘Chatswood.’
‘That’s not so far. Why don’t we have a get-together over a drink later today?’
‘You’re pushing it.’
‘I listened to the news and read the paper. You’ve put a tight wrap on the thing, but as I look at it you haven’t got a fucking clue who killed the woman or why.’
He let go an exasperated sigh. ‘Six thirty, Tosca’s wine bar. See if you’re a good enough detective to find it.’
He hung up. Temper, temper, I thought. I wrote up some notes on the meeting with Fontaine and did some more of my diagrams with the boxes and the connecting arrows and the dotted lines that meant maybe this related to that.
Chatswood was changing fast, with high rises springing up; the holes in the ground and cranes in the air indicated that more were on the way. I located the wine bar on the ground level of an apartment block. Not far to go for a drink, a coffee, a paper, the dry-cleaning, a bunch of flowers or a loaf of bread. Everything to hand. Thursday night. I was deliberately a bit late and the evening shoppers were having a quick one before heading home or out to eat.
Tosca’s was the usual sort of place, trying to make up its mind whether it was Australian, European or American and getting everything wrong. The bottles in the wicker baskets clashed with the chrome tables that didn’t harmonise with the sports prints on the walls. But there were free nuts and olives on the bar, which was a welcome sign anywhere. Watson, still in his black jacket but without the tie, sat at a corner table with an inch of red wine in his glass and a cigarette in his hand. He gave me the briefest of nods. I scoffed some nuts, bought two glasses of red and joined him.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘We’re off to a good start.’
‘I wouldn’t say that necessarily.’ He stubbed out the cigarette, finished the wine in his glass and moved the other one closer. He looked tired, long hours and no result showing on his face. He glanced around, an automatic action, checking for anything he didn’t like, or anyone he didn’t want to see. He had all that sitting right in front of him and his attention switched back to me.
‘So. What’s this about Wilson Stafford?’
I drank some of the wine. Not bad, not great. A bit overpriced but I could always go back for some nuts and olives. ‘Sorry, Sarge. It’s a two-way street. How are you going with the investigation? Did you talk to Hampshire?’
‘He’s your client. Hasn’t he been in touch?’
I had another pull on the drink. Didn’t answer.
‘Okay, you want something. We’re not making progress-no witnesses, no sightings. Forensics are a zero. Hampshire showed us a copy of the record of telephone calls he made from where he was staying over the relevant time. He had two pizza deliveries and sent out for booze and an escort. He couldn’t have made it to Church Point. Somehow I don’t think he was in the country long enough to have had the time to organise a hit.’
‘Any sign of Ronny?’
‘Your turn, Hardy.’
‘Right. Was there any sign that Angela Pettigrew had a lover?’
‘No, not from interviews with neighbours and friends. Come on, what’ve you got?’
I told him that when the confrontation with Sarah and Ronny had happened, Sarah had called her mother a hypocritical bitch and Ronny had asked if I was the new bloke-implication obvious. I had a little more up my sleeve-Hampshire’s hint that Sarah wasn’t his daughter- but in these situations you don’t show your hand until you have to. I kept that in reserve.
Watson nodded. ‘That’s something. Okay, no, we haven’t found Ronny. What about Stafford?’
‘What’ve you got from Sarah?’
‘Bugger-all. The policewoman who’s met her says she’s a tough little nut under the posh school manners. Turns them on and off as it suits her. She’s got a tame shrink. Won’t say who he is but she reckons he says she’s too traumatised to be interviewed. We have to look at her, of course. I assume she inherits and the house must be worth a bit. It’s been known to happen.’
I remembered Ronny’s comment that Sarah was an actress. I’d have to keep in mind that she was likely to put on a performance.
‘Right,’ I said, ‘I need to talk to her about her brother and maybe I can get her to open up on what she meant about Angela’s hypocrisy. Nearest and dearest kill each other, don’t they? You have to be interested in that. You should be able to set it up for me to at least try to talk to her.’
‘Jesus. All right, I’ll think about it. Now what’s the fucking connection with Stafford?’
I didn’t give him the full rundown Templeton had given me, Hampshire was still my client after all, but I told him enough to indicate that Hampshire had played fast and loose with a dangerous man and possibly with others. Money was missing and people went looking and sometimes other people got in the way.
He lit a cigarette and considered what I’d said as he smoked and drank his wine. He didn’t look very impressed but then, that wouldn’t be his game. He stubbed out the cigarette.
‘You’re saying Hampshire’s dirty?’
‘I’m told he’s never had so much as a parking ticket, and that’s his style. My informant said he operated well under the radar.’
‘Your informant being?’
I shook my head.
‘Bears looking into. I’d still like to get on to this Ronny. You reckon you could get the daughter to talk about him? Or anything else useful?’
‘There’s a chance. She spoke to me once. But I won’t kid you, I’m mainly interested in learning a bit more about her brother.’
He finished his wine. ‘You realise that if what you say about Hampshire having enemies who might’ve killed the missus isn’t just hot air, it could have implications for the disappearance of the kid.’
‘I’ve thought of that.’
