feelings than he’d intended and he reined back. ‘All this stuff about him not getting killed in the earthquake is crap. Dad got concussed and he can’t think straight. Drop it.’
I shook my head. ‘I can’t do that. I’ve taken his money’
‘And you plan to take a hell of a lot more of it.’
‘I think you’d better go, Mr Jacobs, before this gets nasty. You don’t look like much of a wrecker to me now. You should turn out with the team now and then, get a bit of the flab off.’
He half rose from his chair and his clothes suddenly weren’t fitting him so well. He had the hunched shoulders and corded neck of the front-row brawler. But he was a smart man who’d learned what a bad play physical violence was. He sat back and drew in a deep breath. ‘One of my police mates said you had something called ethics.’
‘He must’ve looked it up in his pocket Macquarie.’
Jacobs cleared his throat. ‘I can see that you plan to go through with this. Go up to Newcastle, see Dad, sniff around.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Okay. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe when you tell him there’s nothing in it he’ll let it lie.’
I shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
He got up and loomed over the desk, buttoning up the double-breaster. ‘I’ll just say this. I’ve got a lot of friends in Newcastle. Good blokes-cops, miners, football players.’
‘I’m glad,’ I said. ‘Must be nice to have some mates to drink with after you’ve dropped in on the old dad and mum. How long’s it been, Wrecker?’
That went home. He wanted to hit me. He wanted to break something, but he didn’t. He showed his even, capped teeth in a smile that had all the warmth of a packet of frozen peas. ‘Just watch yourself up in Newcastle, smartarse,’ he said.
I’d driven through and around Newcastle often enough over the past few years in my assaults on, and retreats from, Helen Broadway, but it had been ten years or more since I’d actually set a course for the city intending to do work there. The drive up the freeway is untesting and the rivers and ranges and glimpses of Lake Macquarie are easy on the eye. As drives in Australia go, the one from Sydney to Newcastle is calculated to allow you to arrive in a reasonably good mood. North of Belmont I noted the turn-off to Redhead and Dudley. I had an overnight bag on the front seat sitting on top of a manilla folder with the Jacobs case materials as assembled so far. I also had a camera, a pocket-sized tape recorder and a Smith amp; Wesson. 38. I didn’t need Ralph Jacobs to tell me that Newcastle was a tough town where Sydneysiders can be thought of as invaders from another planet.
Signs of the earthquake began in Broadmeadow-vacant blocks, braces holding up brick walls, scaffolding and tarpaulin-shrouded buildings-and increased closer to Hamilton. Beaumont Street had been considerably cleaned up, but there were still some shells of buildings, scars where awnings had fallen and braces, scaffolds and tarps. The Kent Hotel had been a victory for the conservationists. The building, which had lost almost its entire front wall, was in the process of renovation. Several empty blocks, scoured down to the sandy earth, indicated where the developers had won.
I parked opposite a collection of bricks and metal that had once been a chemist shop, to judge from the remnants of the paintwork. It was five minutes to midday. That’s Hardy, compulsively early yet again. The day was mild, with a clear sky and a light wind keeping the temperature down. It might have been my imagination, but I fancied that some of the shoppers glanced up apprehensively at the awnings over the pavement and that more than a few of them kept to the roadway as much as they could. Dust from the reconstruction work going on hung in the air. The earthquake was still very much a presence in Beaumont Street.
At noon precisely Horrie Jacobs appeared from around the corner to stand outside the Kent Hotel. I was parked about sixty metres away on the other side of the road, giving him a test. He passed it. He took off his sunglasses, shaded his eyes, looked up and down the street and spotted me. Pretty good for nearly seventy in a busy street. I got out of the car, crossed the road and we met outside a boarded-up shopfront. We shook hands. Horrie was wearing a polo shirt with an insignia on the pocket, cotton slacks and canvas shoes. He smelled slightly of aftershave and his face was scraped very close. Professional job.
‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘The insurance companies couldn’t have been too happy’
‘They’ve been pretty good, most of ‘em. My place down the road got a bit of a hammering and the insurance came good. I haven’t heard too many complaints.’
‘Could you show me where everything happened?’
We walked south along the street, away from the concentration of shops. Horrie stopped at a corner and pointed down a curving, tree-lined street. ‘Gollan Street. See the little joint there, the white one?’
I looked at a narrow-fronted cottage with a minute front garden and an iron roof, the back part of which was weathered and the front, brand, spanking new. The other houses in the street bore similar signs of recent work. I nodded, thinking that Horrie and his son the Wrecker had come a long way from their humble beginnings.
‘My place. Can’t bear to sell it, so I rent it to a bloke like I told you. Well, I’d just come away after having a cuppa and a yarn and I came up to here and went along a bit.’
We moved along the street until we were opposite an imposing brick church occupying a corner block on the other side of the road. A huge tarpaulin draped one side of it and there were piles of bricks and timber stacked on the nature strip of the side street.
Horrie pointed. ‘Foundations on that side at the back fell in. Took the whole of the… dunno what you call it, the sticking out bit, down with ‘em. They found Oscar there, about where you see that cement mixer, but in among the bricks.’
The machine was inside the low wall that ran around the church. A section of tarpaulin flapped near it. I could see a yellow hard hat sitting on top of the drum.
‘But… ‘ I said.
‘But I saw him out on the street looking at the damage a couple of minutes later. Bricks had fallen right out on the road, bounced around and that. But Oscar was there, in his blue overall, still carrying something in his hand.’
‘What was he carrying?’
‘I couldn’t see. This was all over in a matter of seconds, you understand. The window of that shop there,’ he pointed to a large tinted window, ‘had fallen right out and I could see what had happened further up the street. Sounded like a bomb had gone off. People were screaming and there was a dust cloud starting to go up above the building level.’
‘No dust here?’
‘Fair bit, but not enough to stop me seeing what I saw. The whole of that part of the church was down and Oscar was standing clear of it. I might’ve waved at him, I don’t know. I know he saw me, but.’
‘How did you come to be at this spot?’
‘Didn’t I say? I was looking out for Oscar. I wanted him to take a look at the house. Thought it might need a treatment. I knew he was doing the church that morning and thought I might be able to grab him.’
‘Uh huh.’ I didn’t know whether that was good news or bad. A psychologist might say that the expectation had been realised in the mind rather than in reality.
‘Anyway,’ Horrie continued, ‘I scooted along to my car. It was parked back there.’
He pointed back towards Gollan Street.
‘And I took off hell for leather for home. Do you want to go and take a closer look at the church?’
‘Later,’ I said. ‘How far did you get, Mr Jacobs?’
A bit of the bounce went out of him. ‘Adamstown. I hit another car as I told you. My fault, I suppose. They took my licence away. May has to drive me around now. It’s a bloody nuisance. There’s nothing wrong with me. I can still drive.’
There was a querulous note in his voice, the first time he had sounded anything but firm and confident. I took another look at the place, peaceful and quiet now but a scene of flying bricks and shattered glass back then. There were six houses placed so as to give a view of the side of the church. I asked Horrie Jacobs whether he had
