She got out another bottle and we talked about it for a while as we lowered the level. Eventually I agreed to go to Gallagher with whatever I got before confronting Teacher. It had been in my mind to do something like this anyway.
‘Promise?’ Joan said.
‘I promise.’
‘Who is this Gallagher?’
‘He’s a D at Darlinghurst. Bit younger than some, bright, ambitious. There seems to be a bit of subtlety about him.’
‘All right. I’ll ring a few people tonight. Might have something for you later or in the morning.’
I thanked her and stood up to leave. She got up as well and we were standing there, only a foot apart, both with a fair bit of wine inside us and conspiratorially involved. I put my hands on her shoulders.
She stiffened. ‘Where is she, Cliff? Cyn.’
‘She’s in Queensland on a job.’
‘How’re things between you?’
‘So-so.’
‘Work on it.’ She lifted my hands off, leaned forward and pecked me on the cheek. I wanted more and reached for her but she stepped away quickly. The better part of a bottle of wine hadn’t slowed her down.
‘Not a good idea,’ she said. ‘In fact a very bad idea. Let’s keep this on a business footing. If something publishable comes out of it, I’ve got the inside track, right?’
I picked up my tobacco and lighter. ‘Sure. Of course.’
‘Don’t sulk, Cliff. You’ll be glad when you get home. Let me tell you something. You know when this garden really started to grow properly?’
I shook my head. She took my arm and guided me towards the path down the side of the house. ‘When I finally got over the bloke after you.’
16
Joan didn’t call until around 8.30 the following morning. I’d slept badly and was edgy, wondering if she’d drawn a blank or changed her mind. I snatched up the phone.
‘Hardy.’
‘Don’t say it like a battle cry. This is Joan. I’ve got a line on your man. Do I have your promise you’ll contact that cop as soon as I’ve told you?’
‘Sorry, Joan. Yes, I’ll do that.’
‘Right. Well, Teacher’s around, that’s the first thing. Wouldn’t help you much if he’d been in New Zealand for the last six months, would it? He’s a hard man to pin down though-lives mostly in hotels and “with friends”, if you get the idea. The last address I could get was 103 Botany Street, Randwick, but I’m told that he’s not often there.’
I wrote the address in my notebook. ‘Where is he often?’
‘Your grammar’s lousy. He works for a bookie named Max Wilton. The word is Max is into a few other things as well and needs someone like Chalky by his side. Wilton lives in Randwick, too. Tonier address, Flat 8, 1 Glen Avenue. Said to be quite a pad.’
‘Is he often there?’
‘Better. Yes, and he’s often at the track riding horses and picking up information for Wilton and also in Centennial Park, jogging, and at the Bondi baths, swimming.’
‘Where does he lift weights and practise his fencing? When does he get time to read?’
‘It’s no joke, Cliff. A couple of the people I spoke to sounded very scared of him, and they aren’t wimps themselves.’
‘OK. That’s great, Joanie. Just one thing-was there mention of an association between Teacher and any private detectives?’
‘I don’t think so. No, I’m sure there wasn’t, but something rings a bell in that connection.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t place it. I’ll let you know if it comes to me. Give me your office number.’
I did and she rang off after urging caution again. She didn’t make a point of it, but I knew I was greatly in her debt. The sort of information she’d given me wasn’t easily teased out. Some head-kickers, collectors, standover men strut around the town like they own it and can be found by anyone, any time, especially by journalists and cops. Characters like Teacher played it differently preferring to keep their heads down and operate on the quiet. Joan must have called in some favours and given some undertakings to get the dope. I hoped I’d be able to keep my promises to her.
I showered and shaved. My nose had returned almost to its normal crooked shape and my other aches and pains had eased. I made a pot of coffee, rolled my first Drum of the day and called Detective Ian Gallagher.
‘Gallagher here.’
‘It’s Hardy. Can you talk?’
‘Christ, Hardy. Yeah, for a minute, but Pascoe could be back any tick. What the fuck have you been doing?’
‘Has Bob Loggins been on to you?’
‘Yeah. Supposed to be some big meeting with you tomorrow.’
‘I have to see you before that. Today. Where and when?’
‘Can’t you give me some idea of what’s going on?’
‘What has Loggins told you?’
‘Bugger all. I’m seeing him later today. Pascoe’s shitting himself and I don’t blame him. Loggins carries a lot of weight.’
‘Is he straight?’
‘Jesus, what a question. Yes, as far as I know. Where are you now?’
‘I’m in Glebe but I’m on my way to my office in St Peters Lane. Can you meet me there in an hour? You’ve got the address from the other night.’
‘An hour. Might be a bit more but I’ll be there. I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘Me too.’
I parked out the back behind the building that houses the tattoo parlour and went in to strike a deal with Primo Tomasetti. He put down his buzzing needle when I entered and told the client, a blonde American marine corporal in a freshly laundered uniform, to take a breather.
‘What’s that mean?’ the Yank said.
‘A spell, a break, take five.’
‘Sure. OK.’ The marine took out a packet of Chesterfields and lit up. He wasn’t much over twenty, but he had the wary, old look jungle fighting gives a man. He was having ‘Mary, Mom and Idaho’ tattooed on his upper left arm inside a heart. Primo had the drawing on the table beside the needle and ink capsules. He’d got as far as Mary and Mom.
‘So, Cliff,’ Primo said. ‘You gonna drip oil all over my cement slab?’
‘Five bucks a week,’ I said.
‘Fifteen.’
‘Eight.’
‘Twelve.’
‘Ten.’
‘OK, you’ve got a deal.’
‘And a key to this building.’
‘No worries.’
I put a ten-dollar note on the table and went past the client to a door giving on to a passage that led to a
