decides.’
I grinned at him. ‘C’mon, Michael. As one battler to another. Let’s see the copy.’
He opened a drawer in his desk, took out a folder and extracted a photocopied sheet. He passed it to me. I squinted at it in the gloom and he got up to turn on the overhead light. The date was 24 January; the letterhead was Barnes Enterprises with an address in Botany. The handwritten message was simple:
Dear Michael,
If I disappear or get shot or have what’s called an accident, I want you to allot ten thousand dollars from my estate to a private investigator by the name of Cliff Hardy to look into the circumstances. Give Hardy any and all help you can. This could be a false alarm. Hope to see you soon but if not, good luck.
The note was signed, ‘B.T.’
‘You can keep it,’ Hickie said. ‘I’ve got the original and other copies.’
I folded the paper and put it in my pocket. A tap came at the door and the secretary poked her head through.
‘I’m about to go, Mr Hickie. Is there anything…?’
Hickie shook his head. ‘No thanks, Jenny. See you tomorrow. Good night.’
‘Things are slack,’ I said after Jenny had gone.
Hickie sighed. ‘Yeah. I hope I can pay Jenny’s wages next week. It’d help if Felicia could make up her mind about a few things.’
‘Do you think Barnes Todd was murdered?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Was he doing anything that could’ve got him killed?’
‘He was making money.’
‘And enemies?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t they go together?’
‘I’ll need your co-operation,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to know everything about his business dealings, new and old.’
‘Happy to help. But you’ll have to get past Felicia first. She could hold up settling the estate for a hell of a long time if she wanted to.’
‘I’ve got an appointment to see her tonight.’
‘Good.’ He looked out the window and noticed the rain. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘My car’s in dock.’
‘Where d’you live?’
‘Randwick.’
‘I’m going to Coogee, I’ll drop you.’
We got moderately wet running through the rain to the car. On the drive to Randwick, Hickie seemed tense. We passed a pub and he said: ‘I used to drink in there with Barnes.’
‘He was a good drinker, as I recall.’
‘He used to be before he met Felicia. She put him on a diet. He lost weight. Slept well. Looked years younger.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘I looked it up. It was five weeks before his death. I used to see him more often than that, but we met less and less after he got married.’
There was an edge to his voice but whether it applied to the marriage or the wife I couldn’t tell. ‘What’s she like? What should I take- flowers, Perrier?’
‘Just take your wits with you. She does Mensa puzzles for fun.’
‘She sounded pretty emotional on the phone.’
Hickie nodded. ‘That too,’ he said.
4
The rain had eased to a drizzle and the light had improved by the time I dropped Hickie at a neat semi in a quiet Randwick street. When he opened the front door an Old English sheepdog broke free and bounded to the gate. It bounced there, barking and looking back at Hickie. It’s hard to have any negative feelings about a man who takes his dog for walks. Hickie was looking more solid and reliable by the minute. I mimed the action of telephoning and he nodded. I waved and drove off in the direction of Coogee.
It was a little after six o’clock, which is a difficult time to go calling on people. Some are settling down to the news or the soaps on TV, others are having a quiet drink or several. It’s not a companionable time, and I wasn’t feeling very companionable myself. As I made the turn into Coogee Bay Road I remembered that Helen Broadway had looked at a few places in Coogee before settling on her flat in Tamarama. I’d had good times with Helen, perhaps better than with any other woman, and then bad times. It was still hard to accept, but I hadn’t seen her in more than a year, and for all I knew she might be pregnant again or running Radio Kempsey.
Felicia Todd’s house was at the end of a street that led directly to the beach. It was on a corner, a long, low structure that faced north, but the eastern side had been opened out with french windows and a courtyard to give it an effective face to the water. You can almost feel the sand under the tar and grass in parts of Coogee. I’d heard of houses in this area which were sliding to the sea as the ancient dunes moved under them, but this place looked rock-solid: light-coloured bricks, sandstone foundations, slate roof, deep garden front and back-big money. It and the one next door were among the few houses in the street, which was dominated by middling-sized blocks of flats.
I parked opposite and looked the place over. It was set high up on the block with no space for a driveway or garage. So one of the few cars parked in the street was probably hers. So what? I was wasting time. I wished I’d stopped for a drink on the way. Hickie had said a keen mind was a necessity for dealing with Mrs Todd, and mine was often keener for a little oiling. Sitting there with the light grey sea spread out in front of me and the day dying in the west, I realised that I was out of practice. I’d talked to two lawyers today, and that was fine. That wasn’t so far from the work I’d been doing lately- bodyguarding nervous businessmen, minding money and even, God help me, serving summonses. But this was different. This was a call on a private citizen who had experienced grief. Maybe I’d be just one more little bit of grief to her. No help at all. A tough row to hoe. I like to think of myself as helpful.
I scuttled through the drizzle across the street, through the gate and up the flagstoned path and a steep set of wooden steps to the front of the house. Some tall shrubs in the garden dripped water on me. Before I could knock on the door, it opened.
‘Mr Hardy?’
She was just a shape in the half light. A narrow shape with a voice that was low and breathy, like a deep note on a flute. I wasn’t ready for the voice. The telephone had flattened out its extraordinary quality.
‘Yes, Mrs Todd?’ I had my licence ready for display in my hand, complete with water droplets, but she ignored it.
‘I saw you sitting in your car. What were you thinking?’
I gulped and felt stupid. ‘About the sand dunes of Coogee, or something like that. Among other things.’
‘A disordered mind,’ she said. ‘I should have expected it. You’d better come in.’
She pushed out the screen door and stepped back. I followed her down a hallway, with several rooms off to either side, to a galley kitchen and eating area that ran across the whole width of the back of the house. The floorboards were dark and polished; the furniture was old, well cared-for and functional. There was a sort of butcher’s block and bench dividing the kitchen from the eating and sitting space. A large dining table had six chairs drawn up to it, and room for a few more. A pale light that would only last a few minutes more leaked in from the french windows.
She pointed to a cane chair near the window and strode to a sideboard. ‘Do you drink?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Thank God. What?’
‘Almost anything that isn’t sweet.’
