24
DS Roberts rang the next morning to say that Dickersen had agreed to go along with our plan with several nonnegotiable provisos: Roberts herself and another officer were to be given several hours’ notice of the venue and time of the meeting. They were empowered to inspect the meeting place and to cancel the event if they thought it unsatisfactory. They were empowered to intervene at any point they chose.
‘What if we don’t agree?’ Hank said.
‘Then you and Mr Hardy will be proceeded against on various charges relating to violation of the Private Enquiry Agents Act and withholding information from the police in respect of several serious crimes.’
‘Several?’ Hank said.
‘The shooting at Double Bay and the death of Henry McKinley.’ ‘We don’t have any hard evidence on the shooting.’ ‘Hard or soft, you haven’t told us everything you know.’ ‘The same might go for you.’ ‘We’re the authorities, you’re not.’ ‘You win,’ Hank said. ‘We should know where and when by early afternoon. Who do we contact?’
‘Who d’you think?’ she said.
We waited a few hours and then started phoning. I told DS Roberts the meeting was set for seven thirty and that I’d meet her and her colleague at my house at five. Hank phoned Ross Crimond and told him the time and place-giving him a few hours to contact the Lachlan people. I phoned Megan with the information and arranged for her and Fox-James to meet us in the office for a briefing.
That left me with the problem of Phil Fitzwilliam and nobody to consult with on the matter. Well, that wasn’t unusual. I went for a walk to Australia Park, sat under a tree and thought, but nothing inspirational came. Trees and grass and fresh air are overrated. No other course but the standard Hardy one-the direct approach. I phoned him.
‘About fuckin’ time,’ he said.
‘Don’t be like that, Phil. I’m trying to do you a favour.’
‘Trying to save your arse, more like.’
‘That, too. Sorry, but there’ve been developments.’
I told him about Roberts and Dickersen and the way things stood.
‘Jesus, Hardy, you’re a lying, sneaky cunt.’
‘Takes one to know one. You can still get something out of this. All you have to do is be there, behave like a policeman, and share in the glory.’
‘With Ian fuckin’ Dickersen and everyone’s pet boong?’
‘He’s going up. Play your part and you might get him onside for your upcoming trouble.’
‘I’ll tell you this. If it doesn’t work out in my fuckin’ favour you and everyone connected with you is going to wish they’d never been born. That’s a promise.’
So now I had threats from the police in two directions-not a record, but up there with some of my better efforts. I told him where to go and when.
I got back to the office just as Megan and Fox-James arrived. He was a slim, fair individual, something like the old movie actor Leslie Howard in appearance. When Megan had suggested him she’d told me in private why the affair hadn’t lasted long.
‘Too tortured,’ she said.
Whatever that meant. I reflected that it was good news for Hank. No way could anyone brand Hank Bachelor as tortured.
‘Gidday, Cliff,’ Fox-James said. ‘I hear you had heart trouble.’
‘Thing of the past, Paddy. Ready to go into your act? I see you’ve dressed for the part.’
He was wearing brown polyester slacks, black shoes and a fawn polo shirt buttoned up to the neck. He looked like a grown-up little boy dressed by his mother.
‘Great threads, eh? What does the good book say? “Let not thy raiment speak too loud”.’
‘Don’t overdo it,’ I said.
‘You made that up,’ Megan hissed. ‘This is serious.’
‘You were always telling me I was
‘There’s a time and a place, Patrick. We have to talk to Hank.’
Our meeting was anything but easy. Hank was jealous of Fox-James, Fox-James resented Hank, Megan hated being the meat in the sandwich, and I was still worrying about Phil Fitzwilliam. But then, they say Clay was almost hysterical with anxiety before the first Liston fight and look what happened there.
I got to my place at four thirty and found Roberts and her colleague parked in the street more or less as I expected, and Fitz parked a few cars back. All three police officers, Roberts’s colleague as dark as herself, followed me into the house. Roberts was fuming.
‘What’s he doing here?’ she said, barely acknowledging Fitz.
‘We have a history,’ I said. ‘As I explained to DS Fitzwilliam, this is a complicated matter. He has a piece of it, as the sports managers say.’
Fitz grinned at that; Roberts didn’t. ‘Don’t come the smartarse sporting chat with me, Hardy. This farce is over.’
I had nothing to lose. I got right in her face, elbowing the other cop aside. ‘No, it isn’t. Let me tell you what’s going to happen here, with a bit of luck. A couple of heavies from Lachlan Enterprises-courtesy of Ross Crimond, who’s a deluded, ambitious hypocrite along the lines of the late, unlamented Joh Bjelke-Petersen-are going to show up with a company executive. A person claiming to be a witness to the abduction of Henry McKinley will be present. He’ll represent himself as someone willing to overlook what he saw in return for a reward that will further the work of the Lord. The executive will haggle with the price. The witness will turn bolshie and the heavies will threaten and attempt to assault him. All this will be captured on videotape.’
Roberts rolled her eyes. ‘Then what?’
‘Then you and your mate and DS Fitzwilliam step in and arrest the heavies and the executive, take them away and work on them until someone cracks and drops the other, or others, in the shit.’
‘I like it,’ Fitz said.
‘You would,’ Roberts snarled. ‘It’s just your bullshit style.’
‘Fuck you,’ Fitz said.
‘You wish.’
‘Stop it,’ I said. ‘We haven’t got much time. I admit it’s as speculative and shaky as things get. But is there any other way to get at Henry McKinley’s killers? Fitz needs the brownie points and you and your boss Dickersen want to climb the greasy pole. It’s just a sting. You people have done them before.’
The other cop spoke for the first time. ‘Detective Constable John Mahoud, Mr Hardy,’ he said. ‘What if it all goes wrong?’
The police went upstairs while I set up the camcorder. Megan arrived with Hank and Fox-James and I installed them in the living room. The doorbell rang.
‘Crimond,’ Hank said. ‘If he’s on his own we’re fucked.’
I let him in. He wasn’t on his own. He had two men with him, both wearing suits and serious expressions. The older one was fleshy with a high colour; the other man was lean and hard looking. His glance swept the room and the people in it like a searchlight.
Crimond was all smarm. ‘This is Deacon Jones and Pastor Sorenson from my church,’ he said. ‘Deacon Jones is also. .’
‘An executive at Lachlan Enterprises,’ I said.
Crimond didn’t miss a beat. ‘Why, yes.’ He held out two hands to Fox-James. ‘Ross Crimond.’
Fox-James was up to it. He gripped both hands and beamed. ‘Piers Beaumont.’
Megan patted Fox-James on the head and moved away. I used a foot switch under the rug to activate the silent camcorder. Jones settled himself in a chair; Sorenson leaned against the cupboard under the stairs.
Hank got to his feet and loomed over Crimond. ‘What’s this, Ross? We just wanted you here to make Piers
