‘Don’t struggle,’ I said in her ear. ‘I’m not security and I’m not a cop. I want to help. Let’s get out of here.’
She was at the end of her tether, went limp and let me lead her out of the hotel onto the pavement, where a cold wind swept down on us. She wore only a light blouse and I took off my blazer and draped it over her shoulders as I propelled her along the street.
‘Help?’ she said. ‘How can you help? He’s dead. They bloody murdered him, the bastards.’
She wore a wedding ring. ‘Mrs Williams?’ I said, still with a grip on her arm.
‘Yes. Who’re you? I don’t know you.’
‘I met your husband,’ I said. ‘I thought he was a good man. I need to talk to you.’
I found a coffee bar not far away and got Mrs Williams seated. She was still agitated, but calmer, resigned to being moved about. I decided she wasn’t drunk. I ordered two flat whites. We sat quietly. She handed me my jacket with what was almost a smile.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I really freaked them, didn’t I?’
‘You did a good job of that all right.’
The coffees came and I encouraged her to put sugar in hers. She did and drank it scalding hot without seeming to notice. She had a strong, pale face, dark hair and the look of someone usually well in control. Not now. She played with the spoon, moved her free hand up to her face and looked for a moment as if she was about to bite her fingernails, which were short and well-shaped. She saw what she was doing and pulled her hand away.
‘Haven’t bitten my nails since I was a kid,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t have a cigarette on you?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Good. I’ll be right back on them if I’m not careful. Gave them up when I got pregnant with Lucy. Col tried but he couldn’t. I made him smoke outside.’
Tears came to her eyes and she wiped them away with a napkin before drinking more coffee.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I suppose I should thank you. Those bastards could’ve given me a rough time. They’re mates with everyone in that place. You seem to know who I am. Who’re you?’
I told her as much as I thought she needed to know to understand why I’d butted in. She listened quietly, told me her name was Pam when I told her mine. She stopped fidgeting and nodded when I finished.
‘Col told me about the journalist being killed.’
‘Did he tell you he’d been taken off the case?’
‘Yes, but not why. He never talked about his work in detail. Bottled it all up. But when he got shot I knew who’d done it.’
I sensed she didn’t mean it literally and I waited for her to elaborate.
‘That was Gary Perkins back there, a Chief Superintendent and a bloody crook. I don’t know the other one- some sleaze or other. They’re hand-in-glove with the money men.’
‘They? You mean Perkins, and who else?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. I shouldn’t even have known that much, but I heard Col on the phone a few times when he didn’t know I was around. He was getting more and more upset as time went on. I tried to persuade him to transfer, even resign, but he wouldn’t. Once he said, without meaning to, that he couldn’t.’
‘How did you interpret that, Pam?’
‘I didn’t like to think about it, but I reckon he must have been caught up in some of the corruption. Turned a blind eye, took some money, I don’t know. The other day I talked to a friend of mine who was the wife of another man in the unit. He died of cancer. She said he told her before he died that Perkins and some of the others were thieves and murderers. She said her bloke was scared for his life because Perkins didn’t trust him and took him off a case that was a murder Perkins was covering up. When I heard that I put two and two together with Col being taken off the case involving your… partner. And I just snapped. I’m on this lousy medication for depression. It screws me up. But I took some and had a big vodka to give myself courage, and you saw what I did.’
‘You’ve put yourself at risk.’
‘I don’t care. My sister’s staying with me for a bit. She lives in Queensland and I’m going to move up there with Lucy. Get away from all this shit.’
‘I hope that’s going to happen soon.’
She smiled and some of the tension went out of her face, leaving it alert and appealing. ‘Tomorrow. I’m not really brave. I just had to do something.’
‘I understand. That’s why I’m trying to get evidence on why Lily was killed. I’m picking up bits and pieces and you’ve helped me.’
She shrugged. ‘Can’t see how. I haven’t got any evidence.’
‘Do you think your friend might have?’
‘Hannah? I don’t know. She might. She’s still furious about Danny’s death. She reckons the strain of working in the unit brought on the cancer. Probably not true, but…’
‘I’d like to talk to her.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Very.’
She looked hard at me and seemed to be making a judgement. ‘I’d say you’re every bit as tough as them. I’d love to see them screwed. I’ll phone Hannah tomorrow before I go. If she’s willing to talk to you, I’ll phone you and tell you where to find her and that.’
I gave her my card. She said she’d driven from Lane Cove and was all right to drive home. I said I’d follow her to make sure she was safe. Her car was parked around the corner from mine and I gave her my jacket again for the short walk.
The wind was cold and she drew the jacket around her. She put a hand into one of the pockets and took out my keys.
‘What d’you drive?’
‘An old Falcon.’
‘An honest man’s car.’
She put the keys away and took out my Swiss army knife. ‘Col always carried one of these.’
‘Do you know anyone in the unit you can trust?’ I asked.
‘No. I’ve had condolence calls from some of them and I expect I’ll get cards, but it’ll be bullshit.’
‘A woman called me to tell me about Lily. A detective named Farrow. Is she-?’
‘Jane Farrow? She threw herself at Col at a party. That slut. She’d fuck anything that moved. She’s the last person I’d trust.’
16
What had started out as a fishing expedition had possibly landed a fair-sized catch. Pam Williams struck me as a sensible, level-headed woman who’d allowed herself one uncontrolled outburst. Fair enough. If Hannah whoever-she-was, widow of Danny whoever-he-was, had any hard evidence to use against Perkins and the others, perhaps Jane Farrow’s dangerous plan wouldn’t be needed.
After following Pam to a modest block of flats in Lane Cove-a fair distance and a few grades down from Townsend’s bijou cottage-I drove home in a better frame of mind. It was late and I hadn’t eaten. I felt like a solid drink and thought I’d better act on the Graham Greene principle-I’d read that Greene’s only real interest in food was to act as a blotter for alcohol. Scrambled eggs and toast go down as well at midnight as at any other time, I reckon, and particularly with a solid scotch and soda.
I got the notebook I was using to replace the stolen one and started to make my diagrams and doodles. I’ve done this for years-writing names, connecting them with arrows and dotted lines according to the firmness of the information, and scattering exclamation points and question marks through the scribble. Tim Arthur had told me not to trust Townsend, but Harry Tickener had provided a satisfactory explanation for that. But here was a whole
