although as a strategy it was as full of holes as his story.
I picked up the mobile. ‘Want to hear me talk to people?’
‘Fuck no. I’m going off to get some sleep. Haven’t had any since
… I dunno.’
‘You’re too wired to sleep.’
‘I’ve got some downers.’
He heaved himself up, suddenly looking older and heavier and slower in the body, although his head was still buzzing.
‘Are you going to drive like that?’ I said.
‘Why not? Been doing it for years. Get on the dog and bone, Hardy, if you want to find out what’s really been going on.’ He gave an uncharacteristically high-pitched laugh. ‘That’s as one thoroughly fucked-up detective to another.’
I let him out-watched him gather himself for the step, the path, the gate, the crossing of the street, the location of the keys, the remote, the car door, the ignition. He drove off, apparently in control, but I hoped for his sake, and other road-users, that his bolthole wasn’t too far away.
I made coffee and turned to my notebook diagram, but there was no point in adding anything, or revising it. It hadn’t been of any particular use anyway, and now the whole game had changed. I could believe that Gregory was in the grip of a fear that he was to be made the patsy by Kristos, with the cooperation of me and others. Why not? It had happened before. His offer to dump on everyone and skip away also seemed feasible. If he’d been in on drug dealing for some time, the chances were that he’d feathered his nest. His own drug use was a factor, too. Bound to have an effect on his paranoia.
But what had kicked him off? What had brought him to the point of suspecting Kristos and feeling that their whole operation was sliding out of control?
It could have been the murder of Williams. Killing journalists is one thing, risky enough in its way, but killing a police officer ups the ante. I thought of the Neddy Smith, Chris Flannery, Michael Drury quagmire that had cops and crims turning against each other like ravening wolves. But what if the trigger was something else? I didn’t know enough about Gregory, but there was that little bit of his recent past I did know about. What if this break-out had something to do with Jane Farrow?
20
I rang Townsend and told him what had happened. Only thing to do.
‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘This is getting sticky. Jane’s changed her mind, wants to move now on her plan. Says she can’t take the strain any longer.’
‘And you told her how much?’
‘Nothing, as agreed.’
‘Well, let’s make it all one big show-Jane, Gregory, Kristos, Perkins, the whole cast, all singing their heads off.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘No. You have to stall Jane. Do Gregory first. If he’s got what he says he has, the whole Jane/Morello thing might not be needed.’
‘You believe that, Cliff?’
‘No, not really. Gregorys a close-to-the-edge cokehead, but we can’t afford to pass up on what he has to say. Surely you can hold Jane off for forty-eight hours? You with your charm.’
‘Fuck you again. I can. But you know what you have to do, don’t you? Good luck.’
He meant I had to convince Frank Parker to play along with the scenario Gregory had devised in his disturbed mind. Not easy, with Frank still clinging to correct police procedure, despite some of his recent experiences and all the shit that he knew was going down with the Northern Crimes Unit. It wasn’t something to negotiate over the phone. A face-to-face job.
I’d charged the mobile as soon as I’d got home from the lunch meeting with Townsend, so it had plenty of juice to be available for Gregory’s call. I went on trusting Hank’s assurance that my landline was clear and rang Frank. I told him that I needed to see him urgently and that I needed a big favour.
There was a pause at the end of the line and I could imagine Frank’s mixed reactions. He hated being retired and out of the swim. He loved his wife and his son and his grandchildren, twin girls, now somewhere in the Third World. We were close friends who’d helped each other in the past and caused each other problems. It had to be lineball when it came to the important moves.
As always, Frank tried for a light touch. ‘Cliff, how close are you sailing now to what might be called the waters of significant criminality?’
‘Not that close, and not into the deepest waters.’
‘The shallow waters are the most dangerous. Didn’t you know that?’
‘Frank…’
I must have struck the right note. He agreed to meet me at six thirty after he’d played squash in Edgecliff.
‘Squash?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong with tennis at White City?’
‘Looks like rain.’
I got to the squash courts in time to watch Frank polish off the opposition in the last few points of the final game. Frank was a good tennis player. He always beat me when his mind was on the job and sometimes when it wasn’t. He had a killer backhand, the stroke that was my greatest weakness, and Frank could hit to it off either wing till it broke down. I hadn’t seen him play squash before-a game I hated-but he was just as good.
He farewelled his friend, mopped his face on a towel, and came over to where I sat.
‘Hasn’t rained,’ I said. ‘You’d have been better off playing a real game outside under lights.’
‘I like sweating. There’s a juice bar and a wet bar here. Which would you prefer?’
‘Take a wild guess.’
‘One of your quotes. So happens I know that one- Midnight Run. Good film.’
‘It’s films I want to talk to you about, sort of.’
We went down some steps to a tiny space fitted up like a trophy room with fake cups and plaques in glass cases, and photos of squash and tennis players, golfers and yachtsmen on the walls.
‘Kitsch, I know,’ Frank said. ‘Beer? It’s all foreign.’
‘Stella, then.’
He came back with the bottles and glasses and we poured and lowered the levels. It took me a bottle before I got through everything I had to tell him about Gregory’s proposal and Townsend’s willingness to play along. I felt a bit guilty, but I didn’t tell him about all the rest of it- Morello, Farrow-then I asked him for the favour.
‘Jesus Christ, Cliff,’ he said. ‘This is cowboy stuff.’
‘The Northern Crimes Unit’s a cowboy outfit. To me, this is about Lily.’
He nodded, said nothing.
‘I know it sounds weird, but all you have to do is act a bit. Must’ve done that in your time, Frank. Have to admit it’s interesting.’
‘I wish I could be confident you’ve told me everything.’
I drained my glass. ‘Everything you need to know, mate. Another?’
‘Why not? Okay, I’m in.’
The mobile phones got a workout over the next twenty-four as we arranged to meet Gregory in Blakehurst. The deal was that he’d take up a position some distance from the actual meeting place and observe the arrival of Townsend, Parker and me in a single vehicle-mine. When he was satisfied we weren’t being followed or had an entourage, he’d advise us of the next step.
I collected the other two in Leichhardt. Townsend had his recorder, I had the. 45; Frank’s contribution was
