‘Drew.’
We shook hands. I sensed an immediate dislike of me in him which I was prepared to reciprocate. He had a hard face just beginning to go flabby; the way he sat on the stool and stuck out his hand just far enough, suggested that he expected a lot of things to be done for him and would do bugger all in return.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ he said.
‘It’s my time.’
‘Well, you’d be getting paid for it, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yeah, I hope so. I’m not a public servant though, I can’t count on a pay cheque every month.’
He digested that with difficulty but evidently decided it wasn’t worth a response. He put his hand in his jacket pocket and produced a key. For a minute I thought he was going to throw it to me but he didn’t.
‘Take a look. Fifteen minutes, as I said.’
‘That’s about what your boys gave the flat.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing.’ I took the key and looked for the number along the rows of lockers. It was hard with one eye and in the dim light. Eventually I located it high on the fourth level. I had to stand on tiptoe to get the key in the door. I opened the locker and brought a stool across, climbed on it and took out everything inside. Drew sat on his stool ten feet away as I laid the stuff out on a bench.
‘What happened to your eye. You get it poked while you were peeping in a window?’
I glanced at him; he was one of those balding men who look as if they’ve never had a hair to spare and have suffered with every one lost. Maybe it wasn’t his fault, but I wasn’t in the mood for his cracks. ‘No,’ I said. I opened the plastic bag. ‘Your wife’s naked beauty dazzled me, know what I mean, pal?’
‘Don’t touch that!’ he snarled.
‘Stop trying so hard to be the nastiest cop in town, Drew. You’ve got the title. Why don’t you go and have a smoke or something and leave me in peace.’
He’d got off the stool and taken two steps towards me but perhaps even Drew balked at belting a man with one eye. ‘I’m staying here and your time’s running out.’
‘You’re a prince.’ There wasn’t a lot to see. A supermarket shopping bag with eight video cassettes in it. Four more cassettes were tied in a bundle with string, with a tag reading ‘Car’ attached. There were a few other items which had evidently come from the car-a scarf, a comb and a book-Pauline Kael’s 500 Nights at the Movies.
‘What about the things she was carrying? Purse, cigarettes, money?’
‘What’re you trying to say?’
‘Jesus, Drew. What’s your middle name, Aggression? I’m only asking.’
He sniffed and wiped his nose. Are bald men more liable to colds? I wondered.
‘No purse, no cigarettes. Some money in her jeans. A small amount of marijuana, some papers. That’s there, in an envelope. The clothes were pretty messed up with blood. The… ah, reasonable stuff was turned over to her parents.’
I found the envelope and opened it-enough for two or three joints, Tally Ho papers. The sort of thing anyone under 50 might have around. The cassettes were not quite so standard. Some titles had an Oriental flavour- Bam boo Babies, Viet Virgins-and others a military tone- GI Johns, Marine Studs. There was no difference in quality and subject between the two lots of cassettes, those in the bag and those from the car, except that the former had some bloodstains on them.
‘Tell me about the car.’
‘What d’you mean? Hey, keep those things separate!’
‘You’re going to learn something, Drew, my friend. What condition was the car in?’
‘All right, except that one of the doors was sprung. You know these sleazos, they’ll drive around with no lights, busted doors
‘Yeah, I’ll bet yours is immaculate. Well, you can forget about the porn angle.’
‘What the hell’re you talking about?’
I held up the cassettes. ‘You see these? They’re Beta, right? All the other cassettes in the flats are VHS. Did you know the girl made a film? I’ve seen it on a VHS cassette. VHS in the flat, VHS where she lived. This crap was planted, Drew. It was dropped by the body and put in the car. You need a new angle.’
It rocked him. ‘Jesus, I told Mercer we had it…’
‘Unforgiving type, Mercer.’
The effort to treat me as a human being almost gave him a hernia. ‘Look, Hardy, have you got anything? I mean…’
I grinned at him. Grinning hurt the sore eye but it was worth it. ‘Why don’t you put all this stuff away, Drew? Many thanks for the help. If you can be of any further assistance I’ll let you know.’
18
My eye ached. I went to a pub and treated it in the toilet-peeled off the patch, used the eyedrops and replaced the pad-then I had a glass of wine and a sandwich. Chewing hurt; I took a couple of pain-killers and felt better, almost cheerful. Using a phone in the bar, I rang Leo Wise and confirmed his opinion that Carmel had no connection with the pornographic videos.
‘Thanks, Hardy. Are those cops dumb, or could they be in on it somehow?’
‘The one I spoke to seemed genuinely surprised. Doesn’t rule out others of course, but my guess is they’re not involved. Did Carmel ever talk to you about Marjorie Legge?’
‘No.’
Maybe it was the noise in the bar, maybe just discretion, but I dropped my voice and moved the mouthpiece closer. ‘Phil Broadhead?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Or just as anyone might. As a character, you know. What do they have to do with it?’
‘Maybe nothing. I’m looking into it. What about Jan de Vries?’
‘I’ve heard the name. Who’s she?’
‘He. He’s a lecturer at the film school, seems he and Carmel were close.’
‘I knew there was someone around she spent time with. But I thought it was to do with work. Are you saying it was something else?’
‘Yes. Would her mother know anything?’
‘She might. Yes, she might.’
‘Would it be all right for me to talk to her? I don’t want to upset her.’
‘That’d be okay, I think. When?’
‘Well, maybe tonight. It might not be necessary if other things pan out. But it could be tonight.’
‘Okay. You know where we are.’
‘Thanks.’
‘How’s the eye?’
‘Not bad.’
I left the pub and walked out into bright afternoon sunlight. I put on dark glasses, which sat awkwardly over the patched eye, and tried to flag down a cab. I couldn’t see the signs properly and I waved at full ones and let empty ones go by. Eventually one pulled in. I lowered myself carefully into the front seat and gave him the Lane Cove address. He shoved the Gregory’s at me and lit a cigarette.
‘Look it up for me, will you? I don’t know that area too well.’
‘Mate,’ I said, ‘with this eye I can hardly read the meter. Why don’t you get on the road and pull over somewhere in the vicinity and check the address? And put the cigarette out, please. The smoke hurts my eye.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ He was young and only practising at being tough.
