That was all I could get out of him on the subject. If Carson Lucas knew or suspected which clients of Illawarra Insurance had an interest in the Farmer claim he wasn’t going to tell me and there was no way I could make him. Not that I could think of at the time. I’d certainly give it more thought. A developer of some sort seemed most likely given what Sue Holland had told me, but developers come in all shapes and sizes and their company names don’t always give a clue as to what they are or do.
‘Cunt of a job, this,’ Lucas said as he finished his food.
‘Investigating insurance? Better than selling it.’
‘I dunno.’
‘Work on commission, don’t they? No sale, no dough. That’s a point. Who sold Frederick Farmer his insurance?’
Lucas found a last chip or two among the lettuce he wasn’t intending to eat. ‘Bloke called Adam MacPherson. Used to drink here. Haven’t seen him for a while.’
‘Is he still with the company?’
‘How about my two-fifty?’
We went to an ATM near the bank of pokies and I drew out the money.
‘MacPherson?’
‘The answer is no.’ Lucas plucked the notes from my hand and strode away.
I went to the toilet and freshened up. Then I went back into the lounge and ordered a cup of coffee. The waitress in the black who’d served the food and drink worked the machine like an expert and I told her so.
‘Should be. I’ve been here long enough.’
‘Ah, Maggie, did that bloke I was with give you a tip?’ I asked.
‘Never does.’
I paid for the coffee with a twenty-dollar note. ‘You can keep the change as a tip and for a bit of information.’
She shot a look to right and left before taking the money. A lifted eyebrow indicated agreement.
‘Adam MacPherson. Drinks in here, I’m told. Do you know him?’
‘Yeah, he’s a regular. Not in the daytime, but.’
‘So he’s in, what? Most nights?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Last question-what’s he look like?’
She wasn’t dumb. ‘Who are you, then?’
I showed her my licence and gave her a card. ‘This is nothing heavy. I just want to ask him a few questions.’ I grinned. ‘I’m big on questions. Might be worth money to him.’
‘He could use it.’ She described MacPherson to me, slid the coffee across and slipped away. Not a bad morning’s work, I thought. Good coffee, too.'
I walked back to the car park where I’d left the Falcon and
called Elizabeth Farmer on my mobile.
‘Dr Farmer, this is Cliff Hardy. I’m in Wollongong.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Are you making any progress?’
‘Possibly. I met your neighbour, Sue Holland. She told me she saw someone mysterious around the house before your father died. I’m wondering why you didn’t tell me about that.’
‘Because I didn’t know.’
‘Ms Holland didn’t tell you? I had the impression you were friends.’
‘Were friends. Not for some time. Is this necessary? If that information is accurate I expect you’ll follow up on it.’
I thought I got the picture. ‘Okay. A few more things. Am I right in thinking the insurance claim was settled quickly?’
‘Do you mean on the property or Dad’s life?’
‘The property.’
‘Yes, quite quickly. I know because that involved me. I don’t know about the life insurance. You’d have to ask Matilda. She was the beneficiary.’
‘Okay. Last thing. Have you had any offers to buy the Wombarra block?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who from?’
‘From whom. Sorry, I’m being a shit. I just feel a bit besieged by all these questions. I could’ve filled you in on all this beforehand if I’d known.’
‘I understand, but the questions come up as things move along. And that’s the last one. From whom?’
She laughed. ‘Fair enough. From Matilda, who else?
And before you have to ask another question, I can tell you I told her to go fuck herself.’
‘Thank you, Dr Farmer. I’ll be in touch.’
It was one of those situations. Could Lucas be trusted to keep my interest in the Farmer matter to himself? Could Sergeant Barton be trusted? Lucas, maybe, because I’d given him money. Barton, only if he was honest. If either or both of them had agendas of their own I could be in for some trouble. Nothing new.
I pulled out of the car park and drove to where I do my best thinking-the beach. Wollongong City Beach had a long sweep south of Flagstaff Point. The shoreline had been modified by an extensive breakwater, a common feature on the Illawarra coast, where the sea resists human activity. I parked opposite some up-market apartment blocks and sat in a small park that boasted some old guns that predated the artificial harbour where classy yachts rode at anchor. At a guess, the guns had been placed in the 1890s to repel a Russian attack that never came. Along the street I found an undamaged telephone directory at the bus shelter. How many A. MacPhersons could there be in the area? As it turned out, none. Worth a try.
The day had warmed up considerably and I shed my jacket and walked along the beach. The sky was cloudy and the water was greyish-looking. Not a picture postcard vista, but still, for an industrial city, not a bad stretch of sand and water. I could see boats heading in and out of the harbour, yachts and fishing boats. The freight activity would be further south at Port Kembla and there were container ships on the horizon.
I reached an outcrop of rocks and squatted. I was having trouble concentrating on the Farmer business. Something about this beach and seascape was getting to me, drawing me. Wollongong was a city with a history-union struggles, political battles, environmental issues and plenty of crime. I dimly recalled cases involving a predatory rapist, a headless corpse and, more recently, revenge killings of alleged paedophiles. It wasn’t everybody’s set of positives, but for a man in my line of work. .
My mobile broke into this reverie.
‘Hardy.’
‘This is Phil at Silken Touch. Kristina’s phoned. Says she’s coming in tonight.’
‘Shit.’
‘What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to see her.’
‘Yeah. Right. What time’ll she be there?’
‘With these bitches who can say? Eleven, midnight?’
‘I’ll be there.’
He rang off. Suddenly, working two cases at once didn’t seem like such a good idea. I could get back to Sydney in an hour and a half, more or less, depending on the traffic. That meant I’d have to leave the ’Gong at nine-thirty at the latest. Would MacPherson show up at the pub by that time? Would he show up at all? I had hours to kill before following up on something that was by no means a certainty. One of those times when an assistant would have come in handy. I had one of a sort in Hank Bachelor, who was on a small retainer to provide backup from time to time. But this wasn’t the sort of thing I could hand over to him.
I got up and stretched, feeling less flexible than I liked to feel. A legacy of neglect of the gym and accumulated birthdays. I mooched along the sand, kicking at plastic bottles and bits of driftwood brought in by the tide. A rogue wave rose abruptly and washed over my feet and I swore. Suddenly, I was much less enamoured of the Illawarra. Sydney was my go, along with the pollution and the traffic, aggro from the likes of Harry and the phoney glamour of places like The Silken Touch. I realised I was veering towards self-pity and shook the feeling off. I left the beach, found a park bench, took off my shoes and wrung out my socks. A passer-by smiled at me and I smiled back.
At 7 pm, back wearing my jeans, sneakers, T-shirt and a denim jacket that lives mustily in the car, I was in the bar of the pub nursing a schooner of light. Maggie had described MacPherson in detail-stocky, fortyish, red hair and beard, a smoker and Guinness drinker. Loner. I stayed in the bar where smoking was permitted, at least for now, ate some crisps, played the pokies without concentration or luck, tried to show some interest in the soccer on TV. Hard to do. I went through the saloon bar to the toilet and saw that Maggie was on duty.
‘You work a long day,’ I said.
‘I’ve got ends to make meet,’ she said. ‘No sign of your bloke so far, eh?’
‘No.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I can’t give him much longer. Have to get back to Sydney.’
‘Wish I could come with you. But my husband and two kids might object.’
I laughed. ‘Well, I’ll be back.’
She mimed shock. ‘You keep away from me. If he doesn’t show before you leave and comes in later, d’you want me to give him a message?’
I thought about it. ‘Why not?’ I gave her my card and ten dollars. ‘Tell him to give me a ring.’
‘Ooh, a private eye. Maybe I will come to Sydney with you.’
‘It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘Your glass is empty. You’ve paid for another one. What’ll it be?’
‘Middy of light.’
‘That’s right. You’re driving.’
She gave me the drink and went about her work. Back in the smoky bar, where the noise level from the pokies, the drunks and the pool players was rising, I looked around for the stocky redhead with no luck. I left the pub and reached my car with only ninety minutes to get to Alexandria. I was only a couple of blocks away when I saw the flashing blue light in the rear vision. The police car drew alongside and I pulled over.
Two uniforms. Both youngish. One stayed in the car, the other fronted, gestured for me to lower the window.
‘I believe you just left the hotel, sir.’
‘That’s right.’
He produced the bag with the mouthpiece. ‘Blow into the tube, please.’
I knew what was happening. Barton had put the word out. I’d had twenty-five ounces of light beer over a three hour period. Safe enough, but maybe not with nothing to eat except a packet of crisps. How light is light? How much soak-up is there in crisps? I accepted the device and blew.
He examined the crystals. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Just. Drive carefully, Mr Hardy.’
Things were very different at the brothel when I got there a little after eleven. Quite a few cars were parked nearby and, instead of letting me in, the gate remained closed and the receptionist said Phil would be out to see me. As he came out a taxi pulled up and a woman got out. Not Kristina. She was at least 185 centimetres tall in her heels and her hair added a bit to that. The elegantly tailored coat opened to reveal a generous figure in a tight red dress. A silk scarf did the job of concealing the Adam’s apple but the breadth of shoulder was a giveaway. She gave me a winning lip gloss and mascara smile.
‘Shy, darling?’ A hand with scarlet fingernails touched my sleeve.
‘I’m waiting for Phil.’
She came closer, still smiling, and the hand moved to my crotch. ‘Wasting your time, sweetheart. He’s straight. I, on the other hand…’
‘Evening, Roberta,’ Phil said from behind the gate. ‘Don’t bother the man. He’s here on business.’
Roberta pursed her lips and pecked me on the cheek. She shrugged; her breasts bounced and the gate swung open. She went in and Phil came out. He was in his nighttime work clothes-Italian suit, blue shirt, dark tie. He drew in a deep breath as if he needed fresh air and then fished out cigarettes and lit one. He offered me the packet and I shook my head.
‘Would you believe? It’s a no-smoking knocking-shop.’
‘Is she here?’
‘Not yet. I wanted to get a few things straight.’
Roberta’s scent hung heavily in the air. ‘Like what?’
He blew a plume of smoke. ‘I asked around about you, Hardy. You come up okay. A man of your word, sort of.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Just thought I’d tell you I’ve got some insurance. Tape of you giving me money, you with Roberta…See what I mean?’
‘Clever,’ I said.
‘Careful. When this cunt arrives you take her away and do whatever you like, but she was never here. Understand?’
What I understood was how good he was at what he did. From the way he stood, balanced and steady, I could tell that the cigarette could be flicked in my face in an instant if required, and the blow would be a nanosecond behind.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘What you have to understand is that I’m likely to be back when my business with Kristina is all over.’
‘Look forward to it. She should be here any minute.’ He’d only taken one drag on the cigarette. It hadn’t been for smoking. He dropped it, pressed the buzzer and went through the gate.
I went back to my car and waited. Fifteen minutes later a taxi drew up and a young woman got out. She wore white trousers, white high heels and a white leather coat. There was a white band in her hair. She paid the driver and tripped across to the gate. She buzzed and leaned close to hear the intercom. She straightened up, hitched up her white shoulder bag and looked ready to break something, anything.
‘Kristina,’ I spoke quietly and approached in as nonthreatening a manner as I could.
Anger had brought a flush to her face. Phil had been right. She looked much older than her years, but the white outfit lent her a kind of vulnerability, no doubt deliberately contrived. ‘Who the fuck are you? What do you want?’
‘I’m a private detective. Your mother hired me to find you. She’s worried about you. With good reason I’d say.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘If I do, what d’you do next? I’ve had a word here. You’re out.’
‘There’s plenty of places.’
I shook my head. ‘Not for you. Not with me along telling them how old you are.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘You should’ve stayed at school. You need a wider vocabulary. So what d’ you reckon? I can’t see you in William Street, doing it in the backs of cars.’
‘You say she hired you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Can’t be paying much.’ She opened her coat. She wore a tight, low-dipping white lacy top. No bra. Her nipples poked through the lace. ‘Maybe we could come to a different arrangement.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Man of steel. Well…’
A car drew up. ‘Let’s continue this a bit further away. I don’t think Phil’d like us blocking up the access.’
She said, ‘You scared of Phil?’ but she moved with me away towards my car.
‘Under the right conditions, no. Under the wrong ones, yes.’
It’s a technique-keep ’em talking, keep ’em moving.
‘What would the right conditions be, then?’
‘Probably him drunk and me with a shotgun.’
Kristina laughed, still moving. A nice, musical laugh. Very commercial.
‘We’re out of the same box, Phil and me, ex-army, but he’s got youth on his side.’
‘You’re not so old.’
We were almost to my car. ‘Knock it off, Krissy,’ I said. ‘I-’
She burst into tears. ‘Don’t call me that. I’m not Krissy.’
‘I was just trying…’
She sagged against the car and suddenly looked her age, or close to it. Her heavy eye makeup had run and in brushing at her mouth she’d spread her lipstick up her cheek. The arriving client took a quick look at us, checked his stride but then continued on. Not a good Samaritan tonight.
She sniffed, rummaged in her bag for a tissue and cleaned up. ‘I might as well go and see her,’ she said. ‘See what’s on her mind.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll drive you.’
She gave me a fierce stare. ‘I’m not saying I’m going to stay!’
I shrugged. ‘Between you and her.’ I unlocked the passenger door. ‘Get in.’
I got in and started up. ‘Put your belt on.’
‘Yes, Daddy.’
‘Knock it off. And do up your coat.’
She pushed out her chest. ‘Don’t you like them?’
I didn’t answer and got moving. She closed her coat, buckled on her belt and sulked.