The Undertow (16 page)

Somehow, someone had been keeping an eye on me. There were ways to find that someone, strategies. I could walk or drive to certain places; there were people I could contact to watch me being watched and take action. Unless the watcher was super-professional and very experienced these strategies would work and I was prepared to use them when the time came. For the moment I wanted whoever it was to know that I hadn't abandoned the Heysen enquiry. I rang the hospital and arranged to see Catherine Heysen. It was typical of her not to call me after William had been in touch. The employer doesn't run after the employee.

It was no great distance from the office to the hospital and I decided to walk it. Rain was threatening, but I had a hooded slicker and I've never minded walking in the rain in the right protective gear. Besides, the slicker gave me somewhere to put my .38 Smith & Wesson automatic. ‘Judas goat' wasn't quite the right expression. The Judas goat is tethered and helpless, and I wasn't going to be either.

I'm getting to like King Street. It's almost never empty and for a city man like me that's a plus. Too much space and too much emptiness give me the creeps unless it's the ocean, and that's never really quiet or empty. I once counted the eateries between the railway station and Bob Gould's mad secondhand book emporium. I forget the number but it was a lot. I was too early as usual and my back was hurting, so I stopped for an early afternoon drink and some painkillers at the pub on the corner of Missenden Road.

I wasn't overconfident about being tracked. I had the pistol after all. I felt exposed. That pub's one where you can turn in quickly and see what passes by and that's exactly what I did. No big guys with baseball bats, no dinged red Commodores. Apart from being cautious, who ever heard of a private eye turning up for an interview without alcohol on his breath?

Catherine Heysen was just back from physiotherapy. She wore a different nightgown and jacket but was her usual immaculate self. She was sitting in a chair by the bed with a number of magazines around her. The hand she extended was almost welcoming.

‘So you found him. Well done, Mr Hardy. Please sit down. Would you care for some fruit?'

‘No, thanks. He more or less found me, but he was responding to the enquiries I made so I'll take the credit.'

‘I'm sure you deserve it. Well, where is he living and what is he doing? Is it very bad?'

I filled her in on my interviews with the professor and with her son. I told her what he was doing, or attempting to do, and that I didn't know where he was living. I didn't tell her that I could probably find him when I needed to. It never hurts to keep something up your sleeve. I also told her that he'd seen her in hospital.

She shook her head. ‘No. I don't believe it, even of him.'

‘He said he was in some sort of disguise. He satisfied himself that you were recovering and getting good care, and left without letting you see him.'

The pain in her eyes was about the most expressive reaction I'd seen from her. She dropped her head to conceal it. ‘Ah,' she said, ‘so he told you all sorts of things about our . . . relationship.'

‘Mrs Heysen, I've had a version of that from you, one from him, and another from Professor Lowenstein. They don't match, but that's not my concern.'

All the noblesse oblige was suddenly back. ‘And what is?'

‘Whether you want me to find out why the murder of Bellamy and the conviction of your husband has led to the threat to you . . . and to me. To be fair, I have to tell you that your son said that finding out about Dr Heysen's conviction had nothing to do with his life choices. But he is interested.'

‘You told him about Frank?'

‘Not by name. We fenced, exchanging information, and I had to tell him about your belief that he isn't your husband's son. He said he couldn't care less about that.'

‘Did you believe him?'

I shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. He's very bright and . . . supple.'

‘The DNA test result should be through any day now. It'll go to both Frank and me. What's your guess, Mr Hardy?'

‘Wouldn't care to make one. I'd say in the important ways, he's like you.'

She smiled at that and, although it produced lines on her face, it emphasised that she would retain a kind of beauty all her life. ‘I'm not sure you mean that as a compliment. I don't want to look over my shoulder for the rest of my days. Yes, Mr Hardy, I want you to pursue it. Find out who shot me and attacked you and why. Will you need more money?'

‘Not yet. Maybe later.'

‘As I said, I have enough. When I sell the house, more than enough. Did you tell him about that? Of course you did, he would have drawn it out. What did he say?'

‘He was indifferent.'

‘Yes, he would be. He spent as little time there as he could. How dangerous is this business he's in?'

‘Very, I'd say, but he was confident he could deal with it in every way. I'd say he's too confident to be fully in touch with reality.'

‘Quite the psychologist, aren't you?' she said, sounding just like her son—and with her head tilted and her hair drawn back, she almost looked like him despite the gender and physiological differences. ‘You don't like him and you don't like me, but you can't afford to choose who you work for, can you?'

‘I can, up to a point. In any case—' ‘In any case you're involved in this more in Frank's interest than mine.'

I shifted uneasily in the hard chair and decided to stand. I'd had enough of the hospital smell and of her.

‘No, Mrs Heysen, Prof Lowenstein said I was drawn to intrigue and violence like a moth to a flame. Your case has got the lot.'

The beautifying smile spread around her face again. ‘You're quite supple yourself, Mr Hardy. I wonder how many lies William told you about me.'

‘I wonder, too.'

That actually drew a laugh. She took a moment to collect her thoughts and tidying the magazines seemed to help her. I noticed her wince as she stretched her right arm further than she'd intended. I've had shoulder injuries; they're a bastard to endure, and slow to come right.

When the magazines were lined up to her satisfaction, she leaned back in the chair and let out a long sigh. ‘I'll be out of here in a few days. As I told you, I'll be safe in the bosom of my family.'

I nodded. Said nothing, not wanting to push it. Catherine Heysen was not to be pushed.

‘Yes,' she said, ‘I have every confidence in you. Find out, if you can, what the hell is going on.'

That was uncharacteristic and revived my doubts about her. It often seemed that she was like an actor, working from her own script, but it was the go-ahead I needed.

They picked me up on the hospital steps. They had the bulk. The suits, the shoes. They showed me their warrant cards—Detective Sergeant Wilson Carr and Detective Constable Joseph Lombardi.

‘We need to talk to you, Mr Hardy,' Carr said.

‘At your disposal. What say we go to the pub across the way and you can shout.'

Neither smiled. Carr said, ‘You're coming with us to Surry Hills to answer a few questions.'

You don't argue with them but you don't show fear if you can help it. ‘My lucky day,' I said. ‘I walked here so I won't get a parking ticket.'

They escorted me to a car driven by a uniform. Lombardi got in the back with me and Carr got in the front.

‘What would this be about?' I said.

Carr half turned and spoke over his shoulder: ‘It'd be about you shutting up until we get there.'

We all preserved silence on the drive. I hadn't had much to do with cops in recent times but they never really change. They've got a tough job and there's a lot about police culture that makes it still tougher. There are rotten apples in many barrels and no one quite knows how many and in what barrels. Frank Parker once said the job was like playing football with the members of the two teams changing every few minutes along with the rules. Confusing.

At the Police Centre I was taken to an interview room and set down to wait. At least it wasn't like the old days when the decor was early fifties and you could imagine the slaps from the telephone books and the smell of Craven A cork tips. The room was carpeted, the chairs were upholstered and the table was round. Chummy, almost. The worst that could be said about it was that the air conditioning was a touch low and I was a little overdressed for the temperature.

Carr and Lombardi came in and the junior man got the recording equipment up and running but didn't activate it. They'd obviously been in discussion with someone higher up and didn't seem quite so confident.

‘This is just an informal talk,' Carr said.

‘Okay. Mind if I invite my solicitor along?'

‘That won't be necessary. A few questions, the right answers, a little cooperation, and you're on your way.'

‘With a Cabcharge voucher back to Newtown?'

Carr drew in a deep breath. He removed his suit coat and hung it over the back of his chair, giving himself time to get composed. When Lombardi went to do the same Carr stopped him. If this was good guy, bad guy it was hard to interpret. They were uneasy with each other as well as with me.

‘Why did you visit Mrs Heysen in hospital?' Carr said.

‘She's a family friend.'

‘You're determined to piss me off, aren't you, Hardy?'

I shrugged, looked at Lombardi, and very deliberately slipped out of my jacket. ‘You've got your job to do and I've got mine.'

‘Mrs Heysen's late husband was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder. Now she's been shot. A private detective known to us as a troublemaking arsehole visits her. We want to know why.'

‘Did you ask her?'

‘She wasn't cooperative. Seems to have a prejudice against the police service.'

I shook my head. ‘I can't think why anyone would feel like that.'

‘Let me put it this way. A serious crime has been committed and you're withholding information.'

‘Let me put it another way,' I said. ‘You're suddenly interested enough in this to bring me down here. Why? You show me yours and I might show you mine, if I have anything to show.'

The two exchanged nods. Carr stood and picked up his jacket.

‘Okay, Hardy,' he said, ‘have it your way. But we've just about had enough of you and your cowboy games. You've done time for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice and destroying evidence. You ought to see the file we have on you.'

‘I'd like to.'

‘That's exactly what I mean. You love to take the piss, don't you? I'll tell you this—your old mate, former Deputy Commissioner Frank Parker, can't protect you now. We'll be keeping a close eye on you and the reality is that your fucking licence to operate in your crummy profession is hanging by a thread. One false step and you're gone and good riddance.'

I stood and lifted my jacket from the chair. Lombardi stood and we three big men faced off with the tension crackling between us. Again, in the old days it would have been dangerous and I would've expected to get hurt. Not now.

Lombardi went to the door and swung it open so that it crashed back against the wall. A uniformed officer standing there jumped at the noise.

‘He'll see you out,' Lombardi said. ‘Piss off!'

19

O
ver the next week and a bit I tried to show that I was still on the case. I went to the hospital without actually seeing Catherine Heysen, but giving that impression. I took a good look at the rear end of every medium-sized red sedan I came across. Anyone watching me would have known what that meant. I went to a Target store and bought a baseball bat, which I left on the front passenger seat of the Falcon. I carried the .38 and I watched my back. Nothing happened.

Frank, back from his flit to Brazil, phoned me at the office. He told me that he and Hilde had taken to Peter's intended, Ramona, straight off. He said the feelings seemed to be mutual and that arrangements to get the pair of them home were proceeding smoothly. I made the right approving noises.

‘But that's not what I want to talk to you about,' Frank said. ‘The DNA test result's come through. It's positive in that it says there's only one chance in a couple of hundred thousand that the boy's not my son.'

‘How's Hilde taking it?'

‘She's okay with it. Not enraptured, but . . . interested and a bit more than that. Any luck locating him?'

I told him more or less what I'd told Catherine Heysen, but in starker terms. He listened without interrupting, the way he does.

‘We'd better meet,' he said when I'd finished.

‘Yeah. She's also hired me to continue the investigation into the Heysen case and the attacks on us.'

There was a pause before he spoke. ‘You said us. Has she got to you the way she got to me?'

‘No.'

‘Good. I told you I'd back you on that—looking for the kid and all the rest of it.'

‘I'd rather take her money than yours. You're right, we should meet. Let's make it as public a place as possible.'

‘Why?'

‘I'll tell you when I see you.'

Centennial Park seemed as good a bet as any other, and we met there mid-morning on a grey day. All the better for there being fewer people about and making it easier to spot anyone suspicious. But there are always walkers, joggers, rollerbladers and cyclists, so the park is never empty.

We met at the Oxford Street gates and strolled in. Straightaway Frank's trained eye spotted that I was carrying my pistol in a shoulder holster under my jacket.

‘Why the gun?' he said.

I explained about my Judas goat strategy.

‘Thanks a lot,' he said. ‘I just love wandering about to be sniped at.'

‘I'm going to take steps.'

‘Like?'

‘The .38 for one, and hiring Hank Bachelor to watch my back. You remember him, the big Yank with the stun gun?'