‘Now and again. No, not that often.’
‘What about you?’ Harrigan asked. ‘Do you do things for him?’
Eddie shrugged. ‘It was work. Years ago. Not since before I was in the slammer.’
‘He’s managed to stay off everyone’s radar.’
‘He comes and goes. Spends a lot of time out of the country. Keeps himself quiet. Just real careful, you know. No one hardly ever sees him.’
‘What did you do for him way back when?’
‘A bit of snatching now and again. That’s all really.’
‘Where did these people end up?’
‘In the boot of his car. Still alive. What he did after that I don’t know. Don’t know any names either. Never asked.’
Eight years ago Eddie was in gaol. Ten years ago he wasn’t.
‘This doesn’t go past me,’ Harrigan said. ‘Do you remember an older woman, maybe seventy? Just before you went away.’
Eddie worked his mouth a bit, swallowing the beer. ‘Just between you and me?’ Harrigan nodded. ‘Picked her up at Wahroonga station. She was expecting a lift. Thought she was going to hospital.’
Finally, Harrigan had testimony to tie Griffin to at least one of the missing persons. Where was Jennifer Shillingworth now? If he found her, would he find Ian Blackmore?
‘Where’d you take her?’ he asked.
‘Ku-ring-gai National Park. We met Griffin there. I don’t know where he went after that. There’s something else about him.’ Eddie spoke like he was making his run. ‘He sells information.’
‘What information?’
‘He’s a fucking barrister, isn’t he. He talks to the people he’s defending. Like he talked to Chris Newell.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yeah, mate. And everything Newell told him, he sold to the family.’
‘What did he tell them?’
Eddie was thinking. There was something else besides fear at work. Cunning was sliding into his face. Searching for an advantage, whatever that might be.
‘Harrigan, you fucking told me to be here, even though if I’m seen with you, I’m dead. I don’t want to have to drop everything every time you want something. I know you’ve quit. But you still know everyone. You can pull strings.’
‘What do you want?’
‘It’s what you said, isn’t it? I reckon when Tony senior carks it-and that’s not going to be too long-I’m out on the street. Tony junior won’t give a shit. What am I going to do then?’
‘You tell me, mate,’ Harrigan said. ‘What are you going to do?’
Eddie took a long drink. His beer was almost finished.
‘I want protection,’ he said. ‘Twenty-four fucking hours a day so I can sleep at night.’
‘It’s not me that makes those decisions any more.’
‘Come on. You can still fucking ring people. I know you can.’
‘It depends on what else you’ve got. It had better be good.’
‘I reckon what I’ve given you is pretty good, but I’ve got even better than that. Something you’d know a bit about. Bianca. You’d remember her.’ Eddie grinned dirtily.
Harrigan, expecting to be told that Griffin had sold Newell’s information about Grace, was surprised to hear her name.
‘What about her?’
‘Newell killed her.’ Eddie finished his beer and pushed the empty glass away. ‘That’s what he told Griffin anyway. His brains were fried, I know that. Fucking didn’t know what planet he was on half the time. But he knew enough. From what he said, he did it all right.’
‘Are you telling me Tony senior was responsible for that shoot-out on Oxford Street?’
‘You bet he was. He wanted Newell. Griffin was supposed to get him off and out of gaol and then Tony could get him. He wanted to do it himself, you see. But Newell just kept digging the hole he was in. In the end, Tony says, fuck it, I’m not waiting any longer. I’m going to go in and get him. And he did. Is that worth protection?’
‘I don’t know yet, mate,’ Harrigan said. ‘You know a lot about what went on. If my old work mates go in, what’s the family going to tell them about you?’
‘I work for ’em, mate. What was I supposed to do?’
‘What did you do?’
‘I rang Newell. Told him the day it was going down. I said, you act up in court about eleven in the morning. Get yourself hauled out of there. He thought he was being sprung.’
The Judas kiss. It didn’t look as if it had kept Eddie awake at night. But Newell was dead, and that meant Grace was free of him.
‘I’ve got it all,’ Eddie went on. ‘Names, who did the shooting, everything. Tell you who was driving the van. Joe Ponticelli. He’s his granddad’s man. Mad like him. Okay? Let’s do a deal.’
‘You’ve got more information in there besides that, haven’t you?’
Eddie shook his head. ‘What else is there?’
‘Tony senior talking about Bianca. Anyone else’s name come up? Like mine? You want your protection. You fucking tell me now.’
‘You want to know? He hates your guts.’
‘I know that. And?’
‘That’s enough, isn’t it? Look…’ Eddie glanced around. ‘Tony junior, he just wants to move on. He didn’t want this mess. He’s going to tell you he had nothing to do with it. He said if Newell goes back to gaol, so what? Do it there. What does it matter who does it? Tony senior, he set that whole fucking thing up. What’s he got to lose? He’s mad and he’s dying.’ There was a twist of contempt in Eddie’s face. ‘The family’s not what it used to be. He doesn’t like that. He still wants to prove he’s king shit.’
‘It’s not enough, mate. There’s more, right?’
Eddie picked up his glass. ‘I need another beer.’
Harrigan grabbed his arm. ‘No, mate. You’re not going anywhere. What else is there?’
‘Fucking let go of me, Harrigan. Don’t you touch me!’
Eddie yanked his arm away, looking towards the door with a sick expression on his face.
‘Who are you expecting? Have you set me up? You have, haven’t you?’
Harrigan was on his feet, his gun out, getting out of the line of the doorway to where he could fire.
‘No, I wouldn’t-’
The door was kicked open but the two gunmen who stood there didn’t come inside. One shot from the doorway directly at Eddie. Eddie, on his feet, took the bullets with a gasp, no scream. ‘You fucking-’ he said, then staggered forwards to the floor. The other gunman, apparently expecting to find Harrigan also at the table, jerked his head in shock toward where Harrigan stood with his own gun out. ‘Drop your fucking gun,’ he shouted but it was too late. Harrigan had already fired twice from close range immediately the first gunman had shot at Eddie. His bullets cracked into the second gunman’s shoulder almost as he spoke, breaking the bone. The gunman staggered back, then tried to turn and leg it, crashing out the back door into the beer garden. In those brief moments, Harrigan recognised Mick Brasi. There were shouts from outside in the beer garden. The first gunman didn’t wait. He turned and ran out through the front of the hotel. Seconds later, two men were running after him shouting, ‘Police. Stop.’
Harrigan went to Eddie’s aid, kneeling down to feel his pulse. He was still alive but bleeding heavily, his breathing painful. His eyes opened. He stared at Harrigan but didn’t speak.
‘I’m getting you an ambulance, mate,’ Harrigan said. ‘You were spinning me a line, weren’t you? Keeping me talking.’
‘Fuck you, Harrigan,’ Eddie said. ‘It was all true. I still want my protection.’
He passed out.
The barman appeared in the doorway, ashen-faced. ‘
‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ Harrigan said. ‘He’s still alive.’
