‘Kill me?’ I said.
‘No! Just put you in hospital for a long time.’
‘Weren’t up to the job, were you?’
‘Call an ambulance.’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ I took the tape recorder from my pocket, turned it off, rewound it a bit and hit play.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Mountjoy said.
I poured him another drink. ‘Got your mobile on you, Alex? You’re going to give Tennyson a call.’
‘No.’
I pointed to his knee. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some bone splinters drifting around in there. Every minute counts.’
16
He made the call and I took the phone.
‘This is Cliff Hardy. I think you know who I am.’
‘Yes.’
A nicely modulated private school voice.
‘I’ve got Alex Mountjoy here and he’s not feeling very well.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes. I’m going to play a tape of our conversation. I suggest you listen carefully.’
I played the tape. Mountjoy sweated. He used the wet cloth to wipe his face.
‘What do you want?’ Tennyson said.
‘It’s not a question of what I
‘Go on.’
‘You are not to make any kind of contact with Jane Devereaux. You are not to phone, email or write to her, nor to approach her.’
‘You hit her.’
‘That was a charade. Mountjoy fell for it and so did you. Have you understood so far?’
‘Yes.’
‘Think about the restraining order she could get if she used that tape.’
‘You’ve made your point.’
‘I’m not finished. You are not to cause her any professional difficulties. I know you have influence in the publishing world. If she runs into any trouble that threatens her position the tape gets distributed. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Same goes for me. Any smell I get of your interference in my affairs and the world learns what a pathetic, bullying prick you are.’
That got to him. His voice took on an edge: ‘Is that all?’
‘No, you’d better send some people for Alex. We’re at my place in Glebe. A couple of paramedics and a tame doctor if you have one. Better bring a gurney and some way he can travel comfortably.’
‘I gather you thought I was responsible for Forrest’s death.’
‘I was wrong there. Do you know who was responsible?’
‘No, but whoever it was has my congratulations.’
He hung up. I handed the phone back to Mountjoy.
‘He’s not happy, Alex.’
They arrived forty-five minutes later-two men in tracksuits with a trolley and another in a business suit with a doctor’s bag. I met them at the door and waved them in with my.38 in my hand. The doctor looked startled when he saw the gun; the other two didn’t.
‘Has he had any medication?’ the doctor asked.
‘Scotch,’ I said.
One of the tracksuited guys sniggered.
I stayed by the door while they made their arrangements. The man who’d sniggered approached me, showing that his hands were empty.
‘What did you do to him?’
‘Not much. He mostly did it to himself.’
‘Good on you, he’s a ripe shit.’
Mountjoy yelped and swore a couple of times and gave me a filthy look as he was wheeled past. I watched as they loaded him into the back of a station wagon. Then one of the helpers walked back to Mountjoy’s Commodore. I waited by the open door with the pistol behind my back until both cars had gone.
I put the gun away, finished my drink and poured another. I got rid of the bloodstained cloth and sat with the tape recorder in my hand. I ejected the cassette-a tiny object to have such a decisive impact. Sort of decisive. I called Jane.
‘It’s over,’ I said.
‘What do you mean, Cliff?’
‘Tennyson and Mountjoy weren’t behind Bobby’s death but I’ve fixed it so that Tennyson won’t bother you again. He won’t ever contact you or cause you any professional trouble.’
There was a pause. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘I applied the right kind of pressure to the right person.’
‘That’s the answer you gave me once before. It means you won’t say.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Jane. It just means that you can get on with your life without worrying about Tennyson.’
‘And without Robert. So you still don’t know who killed him?’
‘No, but I’ll keep looking.’
‘However can I thank you, Cliff?’
‘Just send me a copy of the book about the top copper.’
PART THREE
17
I had a bad time at the inquest. The coroner made derogatory remarks about my profession and, by implication, about me. He came close to suggesting I’d failed in my duty of care.
Rockwell gave a detailed account of his investigation at that point but ended by admitting that he had no promising leads to follow. The finding was inevitable: Robert Raymond Forrest was killed by a person or persons unknown.
Rockwell approached me after the hearing.
‘Still sniffing around, Hardy?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Still bankrolled by Ray Frost?’
‘I wouldn’t call it bankrolled, but he’s still keen to find out what happened and you blokes obviously haven’t
