‘I can’t tell you. It’s under control, but the lid has to be clamped tight on it until they get more evidence.’
He felt in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes and came up with an empty packet.
‘Day one,’ I said. ‘No, tomorrow’s day one.’
‘I don’t think I’ll make it. What happens now?’
‘Up to you. I’ve got some leads on Justin. Nothing solid but worth pursuing-if you want to go on with it.’
‘Of course I do. If you can find him it’d be something good at least to come out of this mess. But…’
‘What?’
‘What about Stafford?’
‘Any chance you could recompense him to some extent? You spoke of investments. Any way to make him less unhappy?’
‘Just possibly.’
‘I could probably arrange a meeting for you to talk it over. At best you might be able to calm him down a bit, at worst you’d know exactly where you stand.’
‘Please do it,’ he said.
Without enthusiasm on either side, we shook hands and he wandered off, almost certainly to buy more cigarettes. I watched until he was out of sight. I was still on the payroll, which was good, but I was on ethically shaky ground. A meeting between Stafford and Hampshire just might cool things down and that would be good, but neither party was trustworthy. And, if I was being honest with myself, I’d have to admit that I’d welcome a chance to even the score with Stafford and Sharkey Finn. Well, there’s nothing wrong with having two beneficial objectives.
I walked back through the park under the trees that showed signs of suffering from the city pollution-blotchy leaves and discoloured trunks. The water in the fountain had a tired look, but that might just have been my mood. I skirted the war memorial, a dreary, ugly structure that someone told me was only half-finished from the original design. Probably just as well.
Kathy Petersen rang me at home late that afternoon. She’d visited her grandmother and put the question to her.
‘It took quite a while and a few cups of tea laced with brandy to get her talking,’ Kathy said, ‘but she finally told me that the scandal had to do with a Hampshire deserting in World War I. Apparently he jumped ship somewhere on the way to Gallipoli. The army contacted the family and wanted to know if he’d got back to Australia. As far as Grandma knew, he never did. The family disowned him and changed their name. There was something about it in the local paper and the family nearly died of shame.’
‘It fits. Thank you, Grandma, and you, too,’ I said. ‘Justin found no Hampshire on the memorial. Looks like he must have gone to the Mitchell Library where he could’ve looked up the paper.’
‘The poor kid, after all that build-up from his father. So are you getting anywhere, Cliff?’
‘Hard to say. I’ve got someone to see who might be useful.’
‘Is the Easter offer still open?’
‘You bet.’
‘What if you’re still working on this?’
You can never tell but I had a feeling things were coming together pretty quickly. I said I’d be in the clear by Easter.
‘I’ll believe that when it happens. What’ve we got, a few weeks? I hope you find the kid and earn your fee and your time’s your own. Know what? I’ve never seen the Blue Mountains.’
‘I’ll show them to you. You won’t be disappointed. They’re sort of blue, on a good day, when they’re not grey or green.’
You can’t get to see a psychiatrist without a referral from another doctor and then you’re likely to have to wait days, if not weeks, for an appointment. I didn’t have the time. A lot of people in that profession have consulting space in their houses-cuts down the overheads, especially if the wife doubles as a secretary/receptionist, and makes for a comforting atmosphere. Dr Hans Van Der Harr was in the phone book with an address in Mona Vale. It had been a long day, but I fuelled up on coffee, a couple of caffeine pills and two sausage rolls and headed north yet again.
The house was an ordinary-looking bungalow with an obviously built-on structure to one side. A pleasant garden, a car under a carport and another parked behind it. The house overlooked a golf course, which was a pleasant enough aspect, I supposed. Long way to the water though. The light was dimming when I arrived and I stayed in the car for a while, considering my strategy. A door to the added-on section opened and a man came out, hurrying, looking perhaps a little furtive. A patient most likely. He went to a newish Celica parked in the street and sat in it for a minute or more before starting up and driving off.
I got out, went to the door he’d come from and rang the bell, hoping the doctor hadn’t retreated inside the house. The door opened and a tall, blonde, heavily built man stood there with a look of surprise on his face. National and professional stereotyping can lead you astray, but this man looked like a Dutchman and had a beard like Sigmund Freud’s.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘my consulting hours-’
There was no other strategy. I pushed my way in and thrust my card at him. ‘I’m not here for a consultation, doctor. I’m acting for Paul Hampshire, whose wife has been murdered, whose son is missing and whose daughter is now under police protection. We need to talk.’
For a second it looked as though he would resist, but he was older than me and softer, and he decided against it. I went down a short passage past an office to a room that looked likely to be where he plied his trade-soft lighting, a recliner, two easy chairs, books, soothing prints on the walls, a vase of flowers. I sat in one of the chairs and took out my notebook. Van Der Harr hesitated, then did a good job of controlling himself. He sat in the chair furthest from me.
‘I heard about Mrs Hampshire, of course, but-’
‘Pettigrew. Ms Pettigrew.’
‘Why are you so aggressive?’
‘It’s my nature. Tell me everything you can about your sessions with Justin Hampshire.’
‘I’ll do nothing of the sort. That’s totally privileged.’
‘Under the circumstances, your privilege has lapsed. How would you feel about a charge of sexually molesting an underage female?’
His calm demeanour deserted him. He blinked furiously and tugged at his beard. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’m sure you do, Doctor. You didn’t go to the police when he went missing because you don’t want to have anything to do with them, do you? Well, you don’t have to if you talk to me about Justin. I warn you that I’ve found out a lot about him and I’ll know if you lie to me.’
He made one last effort. ‘This is blackmail.’
‘Right, in a good cause.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Free-associate for me.’
By now he was a frightened man. He cleared his throat. ‘I saw the young man three times.’
‘I’ll need the dates, but go on for now.’
He told me that Justin had come under protest, at his mother’s insistence. That he was taciturn, resentful, uncooperative.
‘He poured scorn on psychiatry, called me a charlatan. When he finally began to talk he was aggressive, threatening.’
‘Physically?’
‘Yes. He was big and very fit, as you are no doubt aware. He used to clench a rubber ball in his hands, presumably to strengthen them. One time when he became angry he threw it at me. It hit me on the head and it hurt.’
‘What did you say to make him angry?’
‘I suggested that he contact his father and try to talk to him. I believed that his problems all stemmed from
