10
Frost ran his operation from a huge yard, dotted with sheds and several sizeable demountables, in Alexandria. Like the Sterling set-up it was surrounded by a high cyclone fence but some effort at beautification-a few shrubs, a strip of grass, a bench seat under a shade tree-had been made. Unlike the Sterling compound there was no security at the gate. I drove in and parked among a number of utes, trucks and pieces of earth-moving equipment.
The area was surrounded by light-poles connected by loops of heavy cable. At night the place could be lit up like a football field. A hand-painted sign stuck to one of the poles pointed me to the office in the biggest of the demountables. A few men in overalls bustled around the yard and I could hear the hum of generators. The office building was set on stumps a metre high. I went up a set of steps and in through the open door. The walls of the office were mostly covered with noticeboards holding pinned sheets of paper that fluttered in the draft from a fan.
There were two desks. Frost got up from behind one and came towards me with his hand out. We shook. His hand was hard and callused. Ray Frost might tread a fine line from a legal perspective as Inspector Rockwell had said, but at some time he’d done his share of the hard yakka.
I sat in the chair he indicated and he gave me a searching look.
‘What’s wrong with the back?’
‘Kidney punch from one of the people at Sterling.’
‘You get even?’
‘Not yet.’
He grinned as he sat. His jacket was hung on his chair. His arms in the black T-shirt were tanned and meaty. ‘You’ve been on the job, then?’
I told him how I’d come to focus on Sterling as the only likely candidate for what worried him and about the Sterling associates driving white Commodores. I outlined my encounter with them at their HQ. Then I told him about Anton Beaumont coming to see me, and what he’d said about the trouble at the senior level of the firm.
‘Sounds as if Phil could have a fight on his hands. Good. I’m relieved that you don’t think I brought it about. That helps a bit. But who killed him? I just don’t understand it.’
‘I haven’t come anywhere near earning the money you’ve paid me.’
He waved it away. ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s only fuckin’ money. I’d give every cent to. .’
‘I want to keep working on it. I’ve spoken to Jane Devereaux. She’s got a theory about what happened.
He opened a drawer in the desk and took out an envelope. He handled it as if it was something precious. ‘She wrote to me. Explained why she wasn’t at the funeral. I could see exactly what she meant. It’s like they say-I could feel her pain. She can put things into words. Made me cry. It seems to me she would’ve been a terrific woman for Bobby. It’s fuckin’ unfair. They deserved better.’
I nodded. ‘And there’s something else I want to follow up.’
‘You keep going, Hardy. Keep at it, and if you need more money just ask.’
‘I don’t want you to feel manipulated.’
‘Nobody manipulates me, mate. Nobody.’
We shook hands again.
‘And not just money,’ he said. ‘Any other kind of help you might need.’
I drove back to Pyrmont, still undecided about how to proceed. Jane Devereaux had been convincing, but tackling Michael Tennyson was a tall order. I’d have to do a lot of preliminary skirmishing to get a feel for the texture of his life and he obviously spent a lot of time in places I couldn’t go. How to uncover his dark side, if he had one as Jane alleged?
I was in the office and about to phone Harry Tickener to see if he could help and also to get his take on Jane, when the phone rang.
‘This is Cliff Hardy?’ A light voice, accented, female.
‘Yes.’
‘I saw you on television. I have information about the death of Bobby Forrest.’
That’s the trouble with television, you’re exposed-it allows people to think they know you or can approach you. Just opening the conversation that way made me sceptical.
‘What sort of information?’
‘I am very frightened.’
‘You should go to the police if you have information about a serious crime like that, and if you’ve been threatened.’
‘I cannot go to the police.’
‘Why not?’
‘I am illegally in this country. Also I am a prostitute.’
That made me sit up. ‘Things can be worked out for an illegal person who can help the authorities. And prostitution isn’t a crime, I’m happy to say.’
She made a sound that could have been a laugh; hard to tell. ‘Have you ever heard of honour killing, Mr Hardy?’
‘I have.’
‘If my family knew what I do I would be killed. I need money to get a very long way away from here and from them.’
I thought of Ray Frost’s offer and wondered how much he’d really be willing to cough up. ‘I’d have to be sure that your information was valuable before I could offer you any money.’
‘I know who killed him. I know the name.’
‘You know the killer?’
‘Not exactly. I know someone who does know him, that is how I know.’
It was getting woolly but there was something authentic-sounding in the voice. ‘Perhaps we could meet and discuss it.’
‘Yes, if you can bring some money.’
‘I guess I could bring five thousand dollars.’
A sigh.
‘That is not much.’
‘There could be more if I’m convinced by what you say, and I could possibly help you with your problem.’
‘Are you an honourable man, Mr Hardy?’
‘Very well. I will meet you.’
‘Where? And what’s your name?’
She made that ambiguous sound again. ‘Names. You could call me Miranda.’
‘Are you Mary Oberon?’
‘No, but I know her. Enough. Come to my place, 12A Little Seldon Street in Paddington. When can you come?’
‘Give me three hours-say, four o’clock?’
‘Yes.’
She hung up. I checked my bank balance. With Frost’s deposit there was enough to draw out five grand and still continue to eat for a few days and meet the next mortgage payment. I wouldn’t need three hours to draw the money and get to Paddington, but I’d need plenty of time to look the place over thoroughly and watch for comings and goings. The police had checked the.38 after I’d reported Bobby’s death and returned it to me reluctantly. I took it with me but left it in the car-you don’t walk into a bank carrying a gun.
No problem with the bank. You can draw out, deposit or transfer any amount up to ten thousand without questions being asked. But it left me with an uncomfortable feeling. Peanuts to some people, not to me. In hundreds, five grand is a fair-sized wad. Carrying it justified the pistol, even if going to meet an unnamed prostitute with multiple and complex problems didn’t.
