‘One of your crummy jokes. Excuse me while I split my sides. Seriously, this is important.’
‘It’s a bit of a drive and my car’s heavy on petrol. Call it most of a morning. At my going rate you’re up for a few bucks.’
‘I can arrange to pay you as if I were a free man.’ Theo was always good with grammar.
‘You were supposed to have no assets.’
‘So was Alan Bond.’
‘Will they let you sign a contract with me?’
‘We can work it out. Make it eleven am tomorrow.’
It was too intriguing to pass up. Theo Baldwin had been sentenced to five years for fraud. He’d run insurance scams, a phoney investment consultancy, a dodgy mortgage brokerage and various online fiddles. A lot of people were out a lot of money and, when he was convicted, Theo’s assets were found to be nil and there was no compensation available. But Theo was a charmer and his contrition convinced a soft-hearted judge and resulted in a light sentence. He’d almost done his time and, with his undoubtedly good behaviour, would be out in a couple of months.
I’d met Theo via a client of mine who’d come through a bit of trouble as a professional tennis player-injuries, a drug suspicion, a doubt about his commitment to winning. A gambler had tried to pressure him to throw a game and he wasn’t interested. He was seriously on the comeback trail and didn’t need the aggravation. Theo was the go-between, the honest broker, and I persuaded him to get the gambler to lay off. He claimed not to know what was really going on and I gave him the benefit of the doubt. After that we ran into each other here and there and had a drink. I wasn’t really surprised when the law caught up with him, but it takes all kinds, and he wasn’t the worst. Most of the people he’d conned had been greedy.
I drove out to the gaol and went through the routine of surrendering almost everything I had about my person. I walked past the sealed-off exercise yards where they kept the Asians, the blacks and the whites away from each other. The interview room was Spartan, with plastic tables and chairs and a guard keeping watch. Theo was in prison greens-jumper, tracksuit pants, sneakers. Despite the sloppy dress he still managed to look like the con man he was-closely shaven, sleek hair, bright teeth. He was about forty and stood about 180 centimetres-looked younger and taller.
He was conducted to a chair by a guard and made it look as if the officer was his aide-de-camp.
‘Hello, Hardy,’ he said. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Why do I take everything you say with a grain of salt?’
He shook his head. ‘Eliminate cliches and well-worn phrases from your pitch. They don’t build confidence.’
‘You’d know all about that. Why am I here, Theo?’
He leaned back in the cheap chair as if he was the CEO of something big. ‘I’ve written my memoirs. Sensational stuff.’
‘I bet.’
‘I mean it. You don’t think I could’ve got away with some of the stuff I did if I hadn’t had help, do you?’
‘I never thought about it. Help?’
‘Insiders, in the insurance firms, car dealers, importers. I name the guilty men. Plus a few of New South Wales’s finest who took a cut. And a pollie.’
‘Sounds like waffle to me.’
‘I wish you’d keep the lousy jokes for the right audience. This book lifts a lot of lids that people thought were jammed down tight.’
‘Okay, suppose I accept that. What d’you want me to do?’
Theo glanced around to make sure the guard was well out of earshot. ‘They wouldn’t let me use a computer so I bashed it out on a typewriter. One copy. I had no carbon paper-does it still exist? I pretended I was writing a dirty joke book-I’ve got a million of ‘em. The screws were amused. Anyway, I gave the typescript, which was pretty rough, to one of the guards to smuggle out and get to an agent. I mean, this book needs careful treatment- legal vetting, fact checking, a lot of editing. The guard I gave it to hasn’t been seen here for a couple of weeks. I can’t find out what happened to him. And I haven’t heard anything from the agent I had in mind. I want you to talk to them both. I know how forceful you can be.’
‘Names and addresses?’
‘I’ve got both for the agent, of course. Just a name for the guard. They won’t let you write anything here, you’ll have to memorise them.’
He gave me the information and I locked it in.
‘I’m not going to do this on a promise for something out of your royalties.’
‘Of course not. I’ve got another name for you. You submit your accounts to her and you’ll get paid.’
He gave me the name and I put it in the memory bank with the other two. I pushed my chair back and stood while he sat there, composed and assured. ‘Theo,’ I said, ‘if this is another one of your scams, you’re safer off in here than on the outside.’
First things first. I certainly wasn’t going to give Theo a freebie and I was sceptical about the job anyway. The name of his supposed provider was Rosemary Kingston. I had the number and I phoned her on my mobile when I was outside the prison. She agreed to see me as soon as I could get to her in Alexandria. I made the drive in good time and stopped by the office to pick up a contract form. If Rosemary was paying, no reason why she shouldn’t sign the papers.
Her place was a flat in a neat block in a street off Botany Road. Time was when this whole area was given over to light industry, but now a lot of the factories have gone and there are more residents going to work in suits than blokes in overalls. She buzzed the door open and I went up two flights of stairs, ignoring the lift for the aerobic benefit.
She had the door open when I arrived and I realised that she was vaguely familiar. I had a faint memory of her joining Theo in a pub one night and him leaving the small group of drinkers of which I was one. She was tall and well built, athletic looking, and wore a white blouse, dark red velvet skirt and boots with medium heels. Her hair was short and styled in a way that suited her long face- horsey if you wanted to be unkind, otherwise just strong featured.
'I've got a feeling I've seen you before,' she said as she ushered me into the flat.
We went down a short passage past a kitchen and bedroom to a good-sized living room with decent windows and a balcony.
‘It’s mutual,’ I said, ‘and it’s coming back to me. I think it was in the Forest Lodge pub. I was having a drink with a few people including Theo. You came in and he sloped off.’
‘That’s right. He pointed you out to me and told me you were a private eye.’
‘Still am and that’s why we’re here. Theo phoned you from the slammer?’
She nodded. ‘Yesterday. He said you’d be in touch today.’
‘Confidence should be his middle name.’
She smiled. ‘Right. Have a seat. Coffee or a drink?’
Her living room was nicely furnished with leather or pseudo-leather armchairs, a coffee table, a dresser holding books and CDs and a unit with a wide-screen TV and everything that goes with it. There was a drinks tray on the sideboard-gin, several whiskies, brandy. I pointed to tray. ‘How about an Irish coffee?’
‘Done.’
She went back to the kitchen and I wandered around the room looking at the books and CDs and the magazines in a rack. The music ranged from classical through to hard rock, stopping short of punk and rap. The book collection was eclectic-some classics, reference stuff, popular fiction, biographies. One section took my interest-a clutch of criminal biographies and autobiographies-Reggie Kray, Ronnie Biggs and Buster Edwards, the Great Train robbers, Neddy Smith, Roger Rogerson, ‘Chopper’ Read. Teamed up with them were Richo’s Whatever It Takes and books on Bond, Skase and Packer.
She came back with two mugs of coffee and a jug of cream. Set them on the table and brought over the bottle of Jameson’s. I turned away from the bookshelf.
‘Theo did his research,’ I said.
‘Before he went away and since. Put your own spike in, Cliff, and let’s get down to business.’
