something indistinct.
“The money Tarelton. Have you got it?”
“I’ve got it. It’s here. Let me talk to Noni and if you harm my wife I’ll…”
“Shut up and listen. The girl’s alright. You’ll see her tonight. I don’t know nothing about your wife. Who’s helping you with this – a lawyer, a friend or what?”
“Nobody. You said…”
“Don’t give me that. You’d have someone. He there with you now?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he look like? Describe him.”
Tarelton looked unseeingly at me. His colour was bad and he was working at his shirt collar with one finger.
“Tell him,” I said.
“He’s tall and dark… thin,” Tarelton said desperately. “Thin…”
“Yeah, I caught that. How old?”
“Late thirties.”
“What’s he wearing?”
“Dark trousers, grey pullover, light blue…” he searched for the word. I gave it to him: “Parka.”
“Blue parka.”
“What the fuck’s that?”
“A sort of jacket. Look, can’t we settle this reasonably? Just let my wife go and…”
“I told you, I don’t know a bloody thing about your wife, now shut up! Send this character with the money to Elkington park in Balmain at six o’clock sharp. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Before he goes tell him to ring Saul James – here’s the number. ..” He gave it in a firm confident voice. “Just tell James he’s acting for Tarelton. He’ll know what to do. Oh, one last thing. Tell your man to go to the park by taxi. That’s it.”
“But…”
“But nothing. Do as you’re told and the girl’ll be alright. Slip up and I’ll cut her bloody throat.”
He broke the connection. Sweat was pouring down Tarelton’s face which had settled into creases and lines that aged him ten years. He reached for his drink and gulped it.
“Take it easy,” I said. “You don’t look well. You could have a long wait and you can’t keep sucking that stuff down the whole time – you’ll crack up.”
“You’re right,” he pushed the glass away as if he meant it. “What do I do next?”
“Call your wife.”
He did. The phone must have been snatched up the second it sounded. Their voices over-rode each other and a great gust of relief filled the room.
“He’s gone Ted. He just walked out a minute ago.”
“He didn’t hurt you?”
“No, he didn’t touch me, not really. I couldn’t have stood it, either.” There was a note of horror in her voice of a kind I’d heard before so I wasn’t surprised when she said: “He was black, Ted. An Aborigine.”
“Shit,” Tarelton said.
“Ask her if he was stocky, middle-aged or older, carrying weight.”
He did and she said it was an accurate description. I thought of “Percy White” holding his gun on a flower of white womanhood in the hundred-thousand-dollar house. It was a bizarre, cinematic image, unreal, but it had been real enough to terrify those comfortable people through to the marrow. It had been totally effective in securing Tarelton’s consent to the kidnapper’s terms, but the man on the line had affected to know nothing about it. He was either very tough, a good actor or telling the truth. Either way it was confusing. Tarelton found it so too. He promised his wife that he’d be home within the hour and she rang off. Apparently her thoughts of leaving home had been dispelled. Tarelton stroked his jaw as if to reassure himself that the old familiar truths were still intact.
“What’s with the Abos, Hardy? I don’t get it.”
I picked up the bag and started for the door, then I noticed that I had an inch of Scotch in my glass and I came back and drained it.
“I told you, Noni ran in rough company. This is part of it but I don’t know how it all ties together yet. I’ve got some ideas but this comes first.” I held up the bag. “Marked the money?”
“Yeah,” he looked ashamed. “That is, I’ve got a list of the numbers.”
“That’ll do,” I said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything.” He nodded and I went out. I was in the car park before I remembered that I hadn’t asked if I could use the Celica. Neither had I asked for more money but I was carrying more than I’d ever seen in one go in my life and it hadn’t seemed like the right time.
18
The Celica took me to Darlinghurst in five minutes. I parked outside James’ house and rang the bell. James opened the door and ushered me in. I could hear voices.
“Television,” James said apologetically. Maybe he thought I was one of those people who disapprove of tele-viewing in the daytime. Maybe I was. We went through to the kitchen. He was wearing the same sort of clothes I’d seen him in before; soft shades and fabrics to match his character. His hair had recently been combed when wet and I noticed that it was receding a little at the forehead. I slung the briefcase down on the table.
“What’s that?”
“Ted Tarelton’s hundred grand. Got your share?”
He blinked at the harshness of my voice. “Yes, here.” He pointed to a blue airline bag on the floor.
“Got a list of the numbers?”
He looked surprised. “No, why?”
“So the money can be traced after the pick-up.”
He arranged his face virtuously. “I don’t care about the money.”
I grunted. “Up to you. Got anything to drink?”
“Vodka. In the kitchen.”
“I’ll fix it,” I said. “Want one?”
“Yes, I suppose so, thanks.” He slumped in his chair and lit a cigarette. I went out to the kitchen and got the bottle. Smirnoff. Actors always drink vodka. Maybe it makes them feel like Raskolnikov or maybe they just don’t like people to smell booze on their breaths. I poured two hefty slugs, chopped bits off a lemon and dumped some ice into the glasses. To my mind the recipe should then read: “Pour down the sink and open a bottle of Scotch” but it was no time to be choosy. I went back into the living room and handed one of the drinks to James. The second he touched it the phone rang and he dropped the glass. The liquor splashed onto the rug and spread about in drops and rivulets like runaway quicksilver. He bent to recover the glass.
“Answer it!”
He stumbled across the room and snatched up the receiver. His face was drained of colour and his knuckles were tight and blanched where he clenched the phone. He opened his mouth to speak and was cut off by a quick, staccato flow of sound across the wire. He nodded once, looked up at me and said:
“Yes, yes, he’s here.”
More nodding, then: “The rotunda… towards the water. Yes, I’ll tell him. Taxi, yes… Look, is Noni…”
I heard the click from across the room. Decisive man with a telephone, this character. James put the instrument down slowly as if he was still obeying orders issuing from it.
“You’re to leave the money…” he began.
“In the rotunda and walk towards the water. Yeah, I gathered that.”
“Don’t bite my head off.”
“Sorry,” I said grudgingly. “It’s just that I don’t like this set-up. It stinks of double-cross for one thing and
