His moustache seemed to droop even more and his eyes and mouth pursed up tightly. ‘You going to work with Ann?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Should,’ he said. ‘Drug scene here is real bad.’
‘Not my line,’ I said and, saying it, remembered what my line was. I pulled out my photographs of Singer and handed them to him. ‘Ever see this bloke?’
He looked at the pictures carefully, first at one and then the other. He seemed to be analysing the images, judging them, but by what criteria I had no idea.
‘Sorry, Mr Hardy, never seen him. What’d he do?’
Before I could answer, Ann Winter came dodging between the tables. She was wearing the same clothes as she had the day before but her hair was shining with Point Piper shampoo.
“Lo Cliff, ‘lo Manny.’ She sat down near us and began to roll a smoke. Manny slid away towards his coffee machine and I moved across to sit opposite her. She looked up from the makings to smile at me as if she liked crows’ feet and broken noses. Maybe she did.
‘How were the cops?’ I asked.
‘Cop,’ she said. ‘Interesting.’ She ran her tongue along the edge of the paper and completed the cigarette. Manny put a coffee down in front of her and lit the cigarette in a series of nice fluid movements. There was something threatening about his combination of good manners, bulk and deft movement. Ann bobbed her head at him and went on talking through her smoke.
‘She’s young and she studied sociology. We had a good talk. It was a bit like a seminar, really.’
I finished the wine in a swallow. ‘Sociology?’ I said.
‘Yes. Majored in it, same department as me. She was very understanding.’
I was used to cops who majored in football with sub-majors in Holdens and snooker. It looked as if Frank Parker had some classy help in the field.
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Nothing much. What do I know? I didn’t mention you.’
‘Take your tapes?’
‘No, I explained that they were my research material and she said that was okay.’
Understanding is right, I thought. It seemed a rational way to deal with an intelligent person like Ann Winter. Frank Parker was acting pretty shrewdly with me; perhaps we were entering a time when the cops suited their approach to the subject. I wondered what the appropriate approach would be for the person who had disembowelled Bruce Henneberry. I looked down and realised that I’d automatically taken Ann’s tobacco and had started to roll a cigarette. I finished it and tucked it away in the pouch.
‘How long did you smoke for?’
‘Twenty-five years.’ That was true, and it meant that I’d started about the time she was born. She nodded and puffed.
‘And it still bothers you?’
‘Not much. Just when I need to think.’
She laughed. ‘It must bother you all the time, then.’
‘Not really. I do a lot of sitting in cars looking around, walking down streets with people carrying money- babysitting, really.’
‘This isn’t babysitting.’ She drained the coffee and pulled hard on her cigarette. ‘What about Leon?’ The way she said the name was an accusation. ‘You know he’s dead?’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Maybe I should give that cassette to the police.’ She stubbed the butt out, hard. ‘Only I can’t because you’ve got it.’
‘Take it easy,’ I said. ‘I’ll give it to them myself in a day or so if I don’t come up with something. I promised Parker.’
‘Constable Reynolds had a word or two to say about him.’
I invited her to tell all, but she wouldn’t. I asked her what she’d heard about Leon.
‘Just that he died. Oh, yes. I’m invited to his wake tonight.’
‘His what?’
‘Wake. He left some money and a note that said he wanted to have a wake. The woman who manages the house found the note and word got around. I got asked through a girl who fixes up the old men.’
‘Fixes them how?’
‘Fucks them, of course, or gets them as close as she can. D’you want the details? She…’
‘No, I don’t want the details, but I do want to go to the wake.’
‘Why?’
I shrugged. ‘Something might happen, someone might say something interesting. Will you take me? Where is it?’
She looked at me and didn’t reply. I reminded myself that she was trained to observe, judge and report on people, to classify and quantify them. I tried to look responsible and intelligent, disinterested and analytical.
‘Why are you looking like that?’ she asked.
‘Like what?’
‘Your face has gone stiff. You look like a moron.’
‘I was trying to look serious. I want to go to the wake.’
‘You’re supposed to bring a bottle.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll bring two. Yes?’
‘Okay. Let’s go and eat first; we’ll need a foundation for the grog.’
We ate Lebanese food at a place on the Parade. It wasn’t as good as it is in Darlinghurst, but it was better than in Glebe. I bought a bottle of brandy and a flagon of wine at a pub and we had a little of the wine just to help the food down. During the meal I noticed her pent-up nervousness for the first time. Her hands were never still; she did things with her hair, shredded the flat bread, smoked. It was as if she was afraid to be still, afraid that it would make her some sort of target. When she started tracing patterns in the hoummos with a match I reached over and moved her hand away.
‘Your people must be loaded with that house and all,’ I said. ‘Why aren’t you off skiing somewhere or learning to make stained-glass windows?’
She took it the right way and grinned. ‘Somehow I just can’t seem to get the idea of filling up my life that way.’
‘Who’s got the millions?’
‘Both of ‘em. His dough is from land development and that, bit grubby. Hers is old money from the land-New England. I’ve got an older brother just like him and a twin sister just like her, so they’re happy. They leave me alone.’
‘Do you enjoy this, the field work?’
She frowned. ‘Sometimes I hate it, sometimes it’s okay. They’re an awful mess, the girls, but they’re alive, at least. They’re tough and brave. It’s bloody confusing.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you know, I’ve got all the middle-class, educated views on things like peace and that. But what these kids would be really good at would be a war. In a way they need a war.’
‘Or a revolution?’
‘Yeah, but…’
‘But they’d get screwed in a war or a revolution just the same.’
‘That’s right.’
‘What’ll you do when you’re Dr Winter?’
She shrugged. ‘Don’t know. It’s two years away at least. That’s too far ahead to worry about. I’ve learned that much around here.’
She was right there. Only the comfortable and secure look and plan two years ahead.
‘I suppose you think I’m a phoney,’ she said. ‘Slumming it up here in Bondi with Point Piper to go back to?’
