‘Fitzroy House, near Mittagong,’ Verity said. ‘No, it was sold off some time back in one of the divorce settlements. I’m not sure, but I don’t think he’s got anything left now except that ghastly place in Randwick. Randwick!’
I drank some more of the wine and felt a terminal tiredness creeping over me. Running into dead ends didn’t help. I asked them if they could give me the names of any of Paula’s friends. Verity cracked the first smile I’d seen from her that night.
‘None,’ she said. ‘Zero.’
‘Come on. Her father told me she’d lived with a man for a time.’
Verity shook her head. ‘Not in that way. I’d bet anything she’s a virgin.’
Robert blushed and plucked at the skin on a bit of salami. ‘I’m getting a bit sick of all this about Paula. We’ve spent more time thinking about her tonight than she’d have spent thinking about anyone else in her whole bloody life. What’s so important about Paula? What about Verity’s problem?’
I could see his point. I told them about the gun and how Paula had used it to shoot Phillip Wilberforce. I told them that the pistol might still be loaded. They were both stunned.
‘She couldn’t have meant to kill him,’ Verity said. ‘Not unless she’s gone completely crazy. If you kill someone you can’t inherit their estate, right?’
‘As far as I know,’ I said. ‘I thought there wasn’t much of an estate. Just the house.’
For some reason, all the talk and drama had restored some vitality to Verity. She pushed back her hair; the wine had done something for her colour and her eyes were brighter. ‘D’you realise what that dreadful pile is worth? I remember Patrick put a valuation on it once-a couple of million.’
‘Not in this market,’ I said.
‘Still, a million five, at least.’
Robert seemed to find all this distasteful, or perhaps he just had good powers of concentration. ‘Verity, Hardy-what’s she going to do?’
I rubbed my long dark stubble and felt my injured back stiffening, the skin on the burnt patches growing tight. The itch in my fingers where the split skin had only just healed made me want to scratch. ‘Paula’s psychotic, it looks like. She’s got things against you both. She had something against Patrick Lamberte.’
Verity snorted derisively. ‘She didn’t! Patrick? She scarcely ever met him.’
I took the defaced photograph from my pocket and spread it out on the table. ‘This is Paula’s work. I’ve reason to believe that she treated a painting of Patrick in the same way.’
Verity gaped at the creased, well-worn picture.
‘He’s naked. I can’t believe it. Patrick and Paula? No.’
‘What’re those shapes in the background?’ Robert said.
‘Who cares about fucking shapes in the background?’ Verity screamed. ‘This is my husband, posing naked for that crazy bitch.’
‘Not necessarily,’ I said. ‘She could have air-brushed the photo, doctored it in some way. I haven’t had a chance yet to find out.’
Verity slumped back in her chair. ‘That bastard! That slut! I want a cigarette.’
‘You don’t smoke,’ Robert said.
‘I stopped, now I want to start again.’
Robert stopped staring at the photograph and flapped his hands uselessly. ‘Hardy?’
I shook my head. ‘Tomorrow we’ll go and see your solicitor, Mrs Lamberte. Then we’ll trot along and you’ll make a statement to the police. I’ll support everything you say. You’ll be off the hook, I’m sure. You can get to see your kids again.’
Verity let go a long sigh. ‘Thank God.’ Robert was the only one who didn’t seem to think it was a brilliant strategy.
15
Brian Garfield, Verity’s solicitor, was a man I’d done business with before. When I showed up with Verity at his office in Neutral Bay he controlled his surprise by expressing his agitation.
‘Verity, my God, where have you been? I’ve had the police and the bank and every Tom, Dick and Harry after you.’
‘I’m sorry, Brian. I believe you know Cliff Hardy.’
I’d told Verity about my former dealings with Garfield on the drive to Neutral Bay. I’d spent the night in Robert’s spare room, used his shower, shampoo and a disposable razor and accepted a croissant and coffee for breakfast. I was feeling better than I had for many days. Well enough to pretend that I was happy to see Garfield again. We shook hands warily.
His offices were all blue walls, grey carpets and white furniture. It felt like stepping into a modern art exhibition. I like the old-time legal offices where thick files tied up with pink ribbon are stuffed into book cases and there are rows and rows of legal reports with cracked bindings. The reports were there all right, but the bindings looked as though they’d never been bent. I knew where all the files were- on computer disks. Garfield ordered coffee for us from a secretary in a tight skirt and we settled down, him behind his big, empty desk and Verity and I in sweetly padded chairs.
‘Tragic business, my dear,’ Garfield said. ‘I hope…’
Verity had cleaned herself up. She shone again, if not quite with the same lustre as before then with enough to suggest she’d get it all back in time. ‘I didn’t do it, Brian,’ she said brightly.
Garfield undid the buttons on his double-breasted suit jacket. There were quite a lot of buttons. He was a small man with a big ego. I am a biggish man with an ego smaller than his. His size had something to do with his ego. I had worked for him on a white-collar crime case which he’d lost. We had not got on well.
‘Of course you didn’t. Ah, coffee.’
He made a fuss over the coffee and drew the whole business out for twice the necessary length. I recalled that he charged by the hour.
‘I want to make a statement to the police. Mr Hardy has already made a statement. He wishes to add a few things in support of mine.’
‘I see. No problem.’
‘Detective Sergeant Willis is the man to get hold of,’ I said.
Garfield stabbed a button on his console and asked someone to get him Willis on the phone. Maybe it was the same woman who’d made the coffee. If so, she was scoring well that morning. Garfield was talking to Willis within thirty seconds. The lawyer didn’t say much. Verity drank her coffee and looked serene. I drank mine and felt uneasy. I was uneasy about her serenity, but what do I know about widowhood and parenthood? I began to wonder whether Verity would inherit anything from Patrick besides bad memories. Would Brian know? It didn’t matter because he wouldn’t tell me. Still, it was something to think about instead of grey carpet and blue walls.
Garfield replaced the phone. ‘He can see us in an hour.’
‘Good,’ Verity said. ‘How does Patrick’s death affect the Family Court proceedings?’
Garfield looked at his watch. ‘Renders them null and void. Of course, many loose ends to tie up. But your worries about getting sole custody are… as things have turned out, at an end.’
If you leave matters to people like Garfield they’ll smooth everything over at a hundred dollars an hour no matter how long it takes. I put my coffee cup and saucer down on his white desk awkwardly, so that some of the coffee slopped out onto the snowy surface. ‘How does Verity stand in relation to Patrick’s estate?’ I said.
Garfield was shocked, or pretended to be. ‘Really, Hardy. I don’t..’
‘Sure you do, Brian. The wife is suspect numero uno until someone else is nailed. Verity hired me to sniff around Patrick. She didn’t ask your permission. We’re both slightly in the shit, as you’ll see when we meet Willis. Patrick was screwing Verity’s sister.’
‘Some sister,’ Verity snarled.
‘You see how it is, Brian. The Family Court may be happy with a few well-worded depositions, but the police
