Cliff Hardy: Deep Water Part 7

I felt the weight of that. McKinley was alive when our investigation began. Another thing that'd be hard to convey to Margaret, but that wasn't my only problem.

'I have to ask,' I said, 'why are you giving us all this protected information? And, with respect, why is DS Roberts here?'

d.i.c.kersen tapped the file in front of him. 'Mr Bachelor and you have the inside track on this matter. As an apparent case of murder this is particularly serious in its ... execution. We've decided that we have an advantage in keeping it under wraps. We a.s.sume the perpetrators expect us to find the body and for the media to go to town on it. When that doesn't happen they may become anxious.'

Hank said, 'You're going to keep an eye on the spot in case someone comes to check?'

'That, too, but we want your cooperation in giving us every sc.r.a.p of information you have and maintaining the security blanket.'

Hank glanced at me. 'I'd say we could guarantee that, Chief Super, but, again with respect, as you say, how good is your security?'

'Very good,' d.i.c.kersen said.

Hank nodded. 'But not absolute.'

d.i.c.kersen shrugged. 'What is?'

This was new territory for Hank and me-total cooperation with the police. The same question occurred to us both-was this sharing of information mutual? Hank asked for a few minutes for us to confer and we went into a huddle at the far end of the table while the police did the same at their end. We mapped out a strategy.

When we rea.s.sembled, I said, 'You spoke of us informing our client of her father's death. That'd be a breach of this security, wouldn't it?'

'We'd ask you to withhold the information for a time while the investigation proceeds.'

'That'd be deception on our part and would cost her money,' Hank said.

'Some measure of compensation might be possible.'

'That's very vague,' I said. 'Tell you what, we do have some additional information that could be relevant, and we'll share it with you.'

'Good,' d.i.c.kersen said.

'On the condition that a question we have is answered. That is, that DS Roberts tells us where she fits in and we decide we're happy with her explanation.'

At a nod from d.i.c.kersen, she took a notebook from her pocket and cleared her throat. I gave her an encouraging smile, which she ignored. 'At Inspector Gunnarson's direction, I interviewed the a.s.sistant to the CEO at Tarelton Explorations-a Ms Barbara Guy. The CEO, Edward Tarelton, AO, is out of the country on business, allegedly. Ms Guy gave me copies of a whole bunch of doc.u.ments relating to Henry McKinley's employment, but refused to tell me anything about his area of research or what field investigations he might have done.

'I asked if Dr McKinley had had a secretary or an a.s.sistant I could interview and she said he hadn't. I asked who was closest to him in the firm and she said he was a very private person who had no close in-house relations.h.i.+ps, as far as she knew. I asked to see his office and was told it had been rea.s.signed and that all his files were covered by commercial confidentiality.'

'A fun interview,' Hank said.

She relaxed a little-Hank can have that effect. 'At first, it was like hitting a ball against a brick wall. Then she tried to pump me about what we knew about Dr McKinley's ...' she consulted her notes, '... absence, she called it. My turn to play a dead bat.'

Hank said, 'A dead bat?'

'Cricket term,' I said. 'I'll explain later.'

'My report to the inspector suggests that Tarelton Explorations is sensitive and evasive about Henry McKinley. Outwardly cooperative, but actually very obstructionist. I believe they have something to hide and should be regarded as of interest in the investigation of Dr McKinley's murder.'

Paul Keating said something like, 'We'll never get this place set up properly until we find a way to get everything settled with the Aborigines.' He was right on the grand scale and on the personal level as well. DS Roberts's statement was a model of clarity and judgement and I wanted to say so and would have normally, but how patronising would that look? We haven't found that way yet. Everyone around the table nodded.

Gunnarson said, 'Thank you, Angela. I hope that satisfies you, Hardy.'

'It does,' I said. I risked the patronisation trap by adding, 'And for my money, I hope DS Roberts can stay on the investigation team.'

'So?' d.i.c.kersen said.

After getting the nod from Hank I told them about Terry Dart's death and the theft of his briefcase. I had the copy of Henry McKinley's drawing in my pocket. I unfolded it and filled them in on the attempt to suppress the set.

'Three thousand dollars isn't a lot of money,' I said, 'but it isn't chicken feed either. I got the impression from the gallery owner that the buyer would have paid, whatever the asking price.'

'Find that buyer and you've got a fair way into this thing,' Hank said.

All three had been making notes. Gunnarson looked up. 'Is there a good description of the buyer?'

I shook my head. 'Worse than useless.'

'We're not in good shape,' d.i.c.kersen said. 'We can keep the surveillance on the car for a few days but we can't keep the whole thing under wraps for much longer. McKinley's daughter has to be told and we'll have to appeal for witnesses who might have seen activity in the park. The media'll take a pretty keen interest, at least for a while. As I see it, we don't have leads, just a suspicion about the Tarelton company. DS Roberts is going to interview the CEO when he gets back and see how he reacts to this news about one of his employees. Something might come of that.'

'Like what?' Hank said.

d.i.c.kersen shrugged. 'Maybe McKinley was caught up in something that went wrong. Who knows? Could be industrial espionage. Maybe Tarelton has a rival, an enemy of some kind. Might give us another line of enquiry. But that's about it at this stage. Wouldn't you agree?'

Hank and I exchanged looks and we both nodded.

d.i.c.kersen said, 'I propose that we liaise through DS Roberts. Share whatever information comes our way.'

'That was weird,' Hank said on our way back to Newtown. 'Never said a word about you being on board, unlicensed and all.'

'It was odd all right,' I said. 'They're playing a very cagey game. I don't imagine for one minute that they told us everything, do you?'

Hank shook his head.

'Which was why we didn't tell them Margaret's guess about the drawing.'

'Yeah, but d.i.c.kersen's right-no real leads to follow.'

'We've got the quarries and they're bound to have something. It's interesting.'

We were in the train we'd caught at Museum-the best way to get around the city and our part of the inner west. There were only three other people in the compartment, all Asian and, as it turned out, all bound for Central and then Newtown. Two looked like students and the other, middle-aged, groomed, in a thousand-dollar suit, looked as if he might own a sizeable chunk of King Street. He spoke in a low voice on his mobile the whole time, switching easily from an Asian language to English and French.

We were walking south along King Street when my mobile rang. I listened and broke into a run.

'What?' Hank said as he loped along beside me.

I stumbled, fought for balance. 'Megan. She's been attacked.'

9.

It was the first time I'd broken into a full run since the heart business. Hank, with youth and a longer stride on his side, pa.s.sed me easily but I more or less kept up with him except on the stairs, which he took three at a time. We found Megan sitting on a chair in her office with her feet on a stool being fussed over by Grant, the gay podiatrist who occupies rooms on the same level. Simultaneously, I saw the blood on the towel she was holding to her head and smelt the powerful fumes of petrol.

Hank rushed up to her, almost pus.h.i.+ng Grant aside. She let him take the towel away to reveal a long cut on her forehead that had obviously gushed blood and was now still flowing. Hank put the towel back. Megan's expression was alert. She showed no signs of shock, plenty of anger. She didn't exactly shoo Hank away but she clearly didn't want to be comforted. I stood where I was.

'What happened?' I said.

'Megan ...' Grant began, but she waved at him to be quiet.

'I got back from buying coffee to find this f.u.c.ker backing out of our s.p.a.ce, slos.h.i.+ng petrol around. I threw the coffees at him and tried to kick him in the b.a.l.l.s. He hit me with the petrol can. I got in one kick before I dropped. He fell down the stairs. I hope he broke his b.l.o.o.d.y neck.'

'He didn't, love,' I said, 'but you did pretty good.'

Grant said, 'You macho types. Time to call the police.'

Hank had picked up on Megan's att.i.tude and abandoned the solicitude. He eased Grant towards the pa.s.sage.

'We'll take it from here,' he said. 'Might need a statement. Did you see this guy?'

Grant shook his head. 'What're you going to do about the petrol?'

'Be careful with matches,' Hank said.

'Petrol and blood,' Megan said, 'an exciting combination.'

'Oh, G.o.d,' Grant said, 'quotations.'

I took a closer look at Megan's wound. 'It needs st.i.tches. Better get you up to RPA. I'll do it, Hank, and then take her home.'

Hank hesitated, but Megan reached for his hand, gave it a squeeze, and nodded.

I heard Grant say, 'Someone has to get on to cleaners, carpet people and the insurance company.'

I helped Megan down the stairs and we got a taxi to the hospital. An open, bleeding wound gets quick treatment and she was cleaned up and st.i.tched and given a teta.n.u.s shot and some painkillers all inside an hour. She insisted she could walk back to her flat.

'You helped me buy it,' she said. 'Time you took a look at it.'

The flat was in a narrow street two blocks south and one or two west from King Street, part of an old warehouse that had been gutted and done over. It was on the second level, had two bedrooms and a balcony looking out onto Camperdown Memorial Rest Park. The decor, furniture and everything else displayed Megan's taste-plain, functional, unfussy.

'Hank keeps his own flat by mutual agreement,' Megan said. 'Bit like you and Lily did. We divide our time between the two places.'

'It can work. How're you feeling?'

'Okay. I'm going to have a drink and take a couple of these pills and then I'll feel better until I bomb out. What'll you have?'

'Same as you.'

We sat on the balcony-minimal traffic, nice breeze over the park, gins and tonic.

Megan touched her forehead. 'Honourable wound, professional hazard. Bet you took a few.'

'I still might, the way things are going. Any regrets about ... getting involved?'

Megan washed pills down with a solid slug of her drink. 'Thinking about it.'

'Good. Tell me, love, does Hank have anything on his plate that'd bring this on-an attempt to wipe out his whole operation?'

She was fading fast but she made an effort to concentrate. 'There is another arson matter involved-torching Dr McKinley's car-but this isn't the same style. I can't think of anything else. It looks like the McKinley case.'

'Hank's not exactly going to thank me for bringing it to him.'

She smiled. 'He thanks you for me. That'll cover it.'

Hank phoned and said he'd be with her in an hour. He was going to lock the office up and pay a couple of local kids he'd used in the past to run messages, to keep an eye on the building overnight.

'Reckon we should tell the cops?' he asked.

'Let's not,' I said. 'Let's think about it. See if there's some way we can make it work for us. I'm tired of stumbling around in the dark on this thing.'

I left Megan lying on her bed with her eyes closed. The G & T had been solid and the a.n.a.lgesics had kicked in. Hank wasn't likely to get any conversation from her until breakfast time.

I was halfway down Australia Street heading back to Glebe, a bit tired but walking briskly, when a car pulled up beside me. Two men got out. I recognised one of them-Detective Senior Sergeant Phil Fitzwilliam of the City Command Unit. An old enemy, Fitz had avoided corruption charges by the skin of his teeth several times. As a young copper he'd been decorated for bravery and in his early years as a detective he'd made some significant arrests and secured some notable convictions. That reputation had sustained him in later years when he sailed close to the wind. We'd run up against each other several times, never pleasantly.

'h.e.l.lo, Fitz. How's tricks?'

Fitzwilliam had been a lean six-footer in his prime, but beer and big dinners had inflated him and he'd lost centimetres as if he'd had to stoop to carry the weight. His pale blue eyes were sunk in creased, sagging fat.

'You were always a smarta.r.s.e, Hardy. That's what they'll say at your funeral. I heard you nearly booked in for one. Pity it didn't happen.'

'From the look of you, I'd bet on me going to yours rather than the other way around. Not that I would.'

Fitz turned to the other man. 'See what I mean, Detective Constable? Always with a comeback. Never at a loss for words, but an a.r.s.ehole just the same.'

His colleague nodded sycophantically. At a guess he was thirty, twenty years younger than Fitz, and with a lot to learn.

Fitz turned his bulk slowly and pointed to their car. 'Come on, Hardy. We've got things to talk about.'

I wasn't really worried. The old days, when cops like the famous 'b.u.mper' Farrell, and imitators like Phil Fitzwilliam, would take you somewhere quiet and beat you so the marks didn't show, were gone. Physical intimidation was out of fas.h.i.+on, but there were plenty of other methods. Also, Fitzwilliam had a very uncertain temper-provoke him too much and he just might react violently. I felt fit and strong, but a broken sternum is a broken sternum and I didn't want to be on the end of one of Fitzwilliam's wild swings.

I sat in the back of the car with Fitzwilliam while the young policeman drove. For some time Fitz said nothing, which was unlike him. He enjoyed the sound of his own voice, boasting, exercising his authority. I tried to look unconcerned and to keep quiet while the driver did a skilful U-turn and headed back towards Newtown.

'Do you remember being scrubbed as a private detective by the Board? For life?'

'I do.'