‘Where are you?’
‘Strathfield.’
‘How many in the car?’
‘One, two-I’m not sure.’
‘On the highway?’
‘No, I was heading for the golf course. I wanted to take a look at it. I’m going to play there next. . Jesus Christ!’
‘What?’
‘He’s crowding me off the road. I have to stop. Shit, oh shit. .’
I heard two sharp reports and then nothing except the buzz of an open connection.
‘Bobby! Bobby!’
The buzz stopped.
I had no idea where the Strathfield golf course was, or how many ways there were to get to it. He said he’d been out to Parramatta, which gave me some indication, but apart from that I’d have to rely on the
I cut Springsteen off and headed for Strathfield. When I reached the outskirts I stopped and checked for the golf course, then plotted a way to it as if I’d been coming from Parramatta. That took me through a grid of suburban streets until I saw a cyclone fence at the end of a road that looked like the sort of thing golf clubs use to keep people out. The area looked pretty affluent and the houses had the appearance of places occupied by families with both parents working to make the mortgage. I drove down the road towards a wide stretch of parkland bordering the fence. I made the turn to follow the fence and saw a red car a couple of hundred metres away. It had pulled a short way off the road and was slewed slightly to the left. As I approached I could see a skid mark on the road. I pulled up behind the Alfa.
An arm was hanging loosely outside the driver’s window. I sucked in a deep breath, got out and approached the car. A long scrape indicated where the Alfa had been swiped by another car. Bobby Forrest was slumped forward, anchored by his seatbelt. There were two dark holes a few centimtres from his right ear. Blood had clotted around them and seeped out and matted his fair hair.
I stood and looked at him for a minute or two before I called the police. One meeting and a phone call didn’t amount to much of a contact. But he’d told me things he’d only told one other person-his father. Somehow that mattered. The older I get the younger the young seem, and Bobby Forrest had seemed very young. I felt a mixture of emotions-pity, anger, guilt-as I keyed in the numbers.
4
Over the next few hours I told the story four times-to the uniformed cops at the scene, to the detectives there, again at Strathfield police station and again at the central police complex at Surry Hills. That took us well into the afternoon. I was tired, hungry and strung out. I’d had too much dispenser coffee; the taste in my mouth was foul and my mood was worse. My hands were dirty. I’d been tested for gunfire residue and the tissues I’d been given to wipe the testing solution away hadn’t done the job. They’d taken the SIM card from my phone.
Detective Inspector Sean Rockwell’s mood wasn’t much better than mine.
‘How long have you been back in business, Hardy? A month?’
‘Bit more.’
‘And this happens.’
He consulted a sheaf of computer printout. As well as telling the police what had happened I’d given them the memory stick and they’d printed out the Forrest file. Nothing else I could’ve done. They’d have seized the computer in any case and I already had a conviction for withholding evidence. A private inquiry agent has no privilege of confidentiality, especially when no lawyer has been involved in the case contract. Rockwell’s look of disgust snapped my fragile control.
‘Do you know why this bloke came to me? I’ll tell you. Because he was worried about a serious relationship he was in and, quite reasonably, he knew that if he went to you lot the story would leak out to the media within the hour and he’d be fucked. That’s why. He wanted me to handle it. . discreetly. It all went wrong and I’m sorry about it, but don’t come all high and mighty with me. I’ve said all I’m going to say and stayed long enough. Charge me with something or let me go.’
‘I’d love to,’ Rockwell said, ‘charge you, that is.’
‘I bet you would, but you’ve got nothing on me. You know everything about it I know. His mobile’ll confirm he rang me just before he was shot.’
‘No sign of his mobile.’
I shrugged. ‘The killer must have taken it.’
‘Or you did.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Who knows what a loser like you would do? Anyway, we don’t quite know everything. We don’t know what you found out when you checked on this. .’ he looked down at some notes he’d made, ‘Miranda’s address.’
‘Dead end, I told you. Short-term rental. She was on the game. Your blokes there must know about it, probably got freebies.’
He slammed his fist on the desk and some of the sheets of paper slipped to the floor. ‘Piss off, Hardy. And stay right away from this fucking mess you’ve created.’
‘Where’s my car?’
‘Impounded for further investigation.’
That meant they’d take it apart carefully and just stick it back together any old how or not touch it and just hang on to it to punish me.
‘My house keys?’
‘Collect them on your way out.’
I was escorted from the interview room to the front desk where I picked up my keys. They kept my sim card and I was issued with a receipt for it and my car. As soon as I got outside I was bailed up by a clutch of reporters- cameras, microphones, tape recorders, the works.
‘Mr Hardy, was Bobby Forrest on drugs?’
‘Why did Bobby hire you?’
‘Was it suicide?’
‘No comment.’
I pushed through them and hailed a taxi. They persisted while I got in, still filming and firing questions. They’d be at my house for sure. I gave the driver Megan’s address in Newtown and he had the sense not to say a word for the whole trip. Perhaps he was a central police station specialist.
Megan took one look at me and stood aside. She was holding Ben and he reached out to grab my hair. It was better than being asked questions.
‘I need a drink,’ I said. ‘A big one.’
Megan had seen me stressed quite a few times before. She just nodded. ‘You know where it is.’
I made a large scotch and ice and took a big pull on it before sitting down. Megan put Ben on the floor and he surprised me by tottering across to a shelf of toys and pulling some out.
‘He’s only ten months old.’
‘Nearly eleven. He’s early at everything. Be careful what you say. He understands a lot. What’s happened, Cliff? You look a wreck.’
It was close to six o’ clock and I asked her to turn on the television news. The death of Bobby Forrest and my encounter with the media was the lead item.
