‘Our file says by marriage to one Dawn Leonie Simkin.’
‘Since divorced.’
‘That doesn’t revoke it. He’s been pretty quick on his feet in this country. If they passed some retrospective tax laws he’d be in trouble, but otherwise he’s okay here.’
Which left me not liking Mr Quinn any more but not liking his money any less. It was late in the day by the time I’d finished phoning. I spent the night at home writing cheques, reading and watching a tape of the day’s tennis on television. As an addicted sports fan will, I checked on the light heavyweight division in the 1956 Olympics. The gold was won by James M. Floyd which didn’t mean much. It was different the next time round- Cassius M. Clay won in Rome in 1960.
The next day was a Sydney summer special-there was a light breeze and a freshness in the air at 7am but you could feel the heat building. I was at the health club at Narrabeen soon after 9am. The big expanse of water which everyone calls a lake is really a lagoon; its shores feature most of the possible natural features from thick timber to sparse, rocky beaches. The Peninsula Health Club spread over several hectares of paddocks, tennis courts, swimming pools and aluminium and glass buildings that housed a gymnasium, squash courts, spas, saunas and a kitchen which seemed to be totally given over to the production of carrot juice.
I got a lot of this information from a pamphlet I was given to read while I waited for my credentials to be checked at the security gate. Things have changed in the affluent parts of Sydney in recent times. There’s more paranoia, less relaxation. To get to talk to anyone at this place I had to present my operator’s licence, give a police reference, details of my bonding and the name of my lawyer. I was getting used to this insecurity, slowly.
Mr James Lewis was the security manager and he eventually consented to talk to me. He was a big, fit- looking man in his fifties who met me on the gravel path inside the gate. The path led to the water which was blue and inviting. Mr Lewis said he didn’t have an office.
‘Offices are the enemy of fitness, Hardy,’ he said. ‘We’ve got everything we need to know here on a computer. I can use it but I don’t need to sit at a desk. I walk around. If you want to talk to me you have to walk.’
‘Fair enough. Looks like a great place.’ I was glad I was wearing only light shoes, jeans and a cotton shirt. The air was clear and warm; insects buzzed in the grass and some water birds took off from the surface of the lake and wheeled away over the trees.
‘It is. Now, what’s your business?’
‘I have a client who wants to spend some time here. She has certain… health problems. She wants first class treatment and total security.’
‘She’ll get it here.’ He picked up a stone and sent it skipping over the water.
I gave him one of my sceptical smiles. ‘That’s what you say. She wants to hear me say it. She likes to water ski.’
Lewis was a man of few words. He made a motion with his head in the direction of a jetty where five sleek speedboats were bobbing in the water. ‘Top facilities.’
I could cut down on syllables too. ‘Instructors?’
‘The best.’
‘Mind if I talk to one? Lady… my client has some queries.’
We strolled over to where two young women in bathing suits were checking the water ski equipment. They were like peas in a pod-blonde, deeply tanned and with long, whippy muscles.
‘Louise and ah…?’ Lewis said.
Blonde Two pushed up her sunglasses. ‘Jenny. Hi.’
‘Hello.’
‘Come to ski?’
I shook my head. Lewis had stood still for some seconds and he didn’t seem to like it. He bounced on his heels and walked off towards the boats.
‘I’m a private detective,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for Shelley Quinn.’
‘Shit,’ Blonde One said. ‘I thought you might be looking for fun. Shelley’s not here anymore. She quit right at the end of the season.’
‘Why, d’you know?’
‘Sure. She was pregnant.’
If I hadn’t been wearing sunglasses she’d have seen me blinking in surprise. She couldn’t miss the dropped jaw. ‘She was divorced.’
‘You really aren’t any fun!’ Blonde Two pulled down her sunglasses in agreement. They started checking a pile of life jackets.
‘Is she still at Whale Beach?’
Blonde One sighed. ‘Last I saw her was at Manly.’
Lewis was coming back from the boats. ‘Where at Manly?’ I hissed.
‘Tim’s Gym, aerobics. C’mon Jen, obstructions check.’
Lewis nodded as the women ran past him. ‘Satisfied?’
‘What’s an obstructions check?’
‘Oh, they make sure there’s no logs or debris in the water. Your client’ll be safe here, Mr Hardy.’
‘I’ll tell him… her.’
That earned me a suspicious look from Lewis and a polite version of the bum’s rush.
I drove up the Peninsula and checked the Whale Beach address just to be thorough. The house was on a cliff overlooking the sea. Great view, but it had been occupied for seven months by a body-surfing accountant who worked from home. The previous occupiers’ names were Quinn and Buck. A few letters for them had arrived and the accountant had no forwarding address. I drove to Manly wondering who Buck might be.
Tim’s Gym was a few streets back from the ocean beach on the south side of The Corso. It was on a hill and from where I parked I could see down across the buildings to the water. The sun was high now and the people were clustering in the shade of beach umbrellas and the trees. All except the joggers who moved in a thin, bobbing trickle along the path that led around to Shelly Beach. What with the joggers and the gym, with its big mural of dancers, weight-lifters and rope-skippers, I experienced an oppressive sense of good health all about me. I would’ve liked a swim; I’d have liked a drink even more.
Manly has retained more of the flavour of old Australia, where if you asked questions about people you were a sticky-beak but not necessarily an enemy and if you had anything to hide you were a crook. That still didn’t make it a pushover. I asked for Tim and was shown to an office where a woman with red hair, a white dress and perfect teeth was operating a desktop computer.
‘I’m Sally Teale,’ she said. ‘There’s no Tim. What can I do for you?’
I pulled out the photograph of Shelley Quinn and showed it to her. ‘D’you know this woman?’
‘I might. Who wants to know?’
‘My name’s Hardy. I’m a private investigator.’ I showed her my licence. ‘I know it sounds silly but I’ve been hired to locate her and invite her to a Christmas party.’
She laughed; the teeth appeared to be perfect all the way back. ‘That’s not very macho, is it?’
I laughed too. ‘No, not very.’
‘Hired by who?’
‘Her ex-husband.’
‘Well, well. Shelley said he was a touch on the sedentary side. I suppose it’s all right but I don’t know how Peter’ll take to it.’
‘Peter?’
‘Peter Buck. Her bloke.’
I shrugged. ‘No business of mine. If you’ll give me her address I’ll go around and give this to her.’ I produced the envelope. ‘Or I might just leave it in the letter box.’
I waited for the objection but none came. She hit some keys on the computer which whirred. She looked at the screen of the monitor, nodded and read: ‘Flat 3, 42A Darley Road. Not far for you to go-’
‘When did you last see her, Ms Teale?’
‘Yesterday. She’s getting back into shape after having the baby. Lovely little kid.’
