I was in hospital a week, and if I had had to pay my own bills it would have meant that I would have just about broken even on the Singer case. It’s a muzzy professional and ethical area, medical bills run up in the course of duty. It’s not wise to mention them in the initial interview in case you look accident-prone, but failure to do so can lead to unpleasantness later.
Anyway, they stitched up my ear without any trouble and put a few other stitches in my face, which would add to my tally of fetching scars in time. I had two broken ribs; again, time heals. The knee was the problem: there was ligament damage and chipped bone to worry about. An operation looked likely for a while, and I didn’t fancy that. I never heard of anyone who’d had an operation on his knee ever being any good at what he did again. Eventually they decided to leave it alone and let physiotherapy and clean living repair the damage.
The cops came and took a detailed statement. Frank Parker visited and was almost non-official for ten minutes or so. Hilde visited, Ann Winter called in and one of their visits coincided. They got along very well.
‘She’s a beautiful girl, your lodger,’ Ann said. Hilde had left after delivering a clean nightshirt and Garp. It was two days before I left hospital; I was sitting up in a chair and I had a stick to walk with. With the bandaged ear and all I thought I looked pretty dashing, very World War II and Battle of Britain.
“D’you reckon?’
‘Yes. What a beautiful skin.’ The way she said it made me wonder about Ann Winter. She seemed much more interested in Hilde’s beautiful German skin than in dashing old me.
I’d made the hospital staffs lives miserable until they gave me a telephone. I rang Mrs Singer and her voice on the line was cool, or cooler.
‘I’ve had a spot of bother,’ I said.
‘I read about it.’
The story of the old people held in captivity and defrauded of their pensions had had a long run in the papers. The tabloids had eked it out for days and one of them had come up with ‘The Black Hole of Clovelly’. With some relatives who came to light and the investigations by the Social Security people, who were turning up a three-or four-year history, there was a major paper-selling item. A lot of bones and skulls had been found in the backyard and analysis was proceeding.
‘Mrs Singer, we need to break confidentiality, at least a little.’
‘Why?’
‘I want you to arrange to release your husband’s dental records to the police. I’ll try to keep it as quiet as I can, but a technician or two might find out what’s going on.’
She was silent.
‘I take it your husband did go to the dentist in the time you knew him?’
‘Twice, I think.’
‘That’ll do. Will you do what I say?’
‘Of course.’ I thought I detected some relief in her voice; certainly, she sounded less hostile. ‘You don’t really expect John to have been one of the victims, do you?’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s fantastic’
‘You’re right, it is. You saw the papers. One of the men in there had been a QC
‘You’re right, Mr Hardy. I’ll contact the dentist.’
‘Tell him to get the records to Detective Frank Parker with a covering note stressing confidentiality.’
I rang off; it wasn’t the moment to try her out on the medical expenses. I couldn’t gauge her reaction. She didn’t seem to take the dental check very seriously and I didn’t know how serious about it I was myself. It would be a neat ending but somehow I hated to think of anyone I’d been connected with, even indirectly, finishing up as one of Manny and Mahoud’s discards.
I needn’t have worried. Frank rang me the day I got home. I was installed on the couch downstairs with the phone to hand.
‘How’s the hero?’
‘Crippled. Doubt if I’ll ever hurdle again.’
‘Tough. Brace yourself, Hardy. We checked your chopper charts.’
‘And?’
‘First place, the skulls were mostly female; only two men. Second place, no Singer. Nothing like it.’
‘No mistakes? Good man on the job?’
‘The best. No mistakes. The soil of Clovelly is a great preserver.’
‘I’ve still got a case, then.’
‘Yeah. Who’s interested in Singer, if I may ask?’
‘Wife. D’you know anything about it?’
‘No, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll pull the file and take a look. Anything interesting I’ll pass on.’
‘Thanks, Frank. Any sign of Mahoud?’
‘No. You mentioned money in the house in your statement.’
‘Right. She tried to buy me off with it. I didn’t find any, but I didn’t do a complete search.’
‘We did. No money. Could she have been lying?’
I thought back to the waves of desperation coming from behind that locked door. ‘I don’t think so. Looks like she took off with it.’
‘Could have been a bundle. Kertez had a fair bit in the bank, but nothing like what they were making.’
‘Who?’
‘Kertez, Manfred Kertez. The late Manfred.’
‘Oh.’ I shifted on the couch as the knee gave me a twinge. ‘The late’ tag was comforting; I’d had one nightmare about being alone in a forest with Manny and his shotgun. There had been snow and I had had no shoes; it must have all been terribly Freudian, but that didn’t help.
‘With a lot of money she’ll be hard to catch,’ I said.
‘True. Well, we shut the place down and we can close the file on Henneberry. Did you see the knife?’
‘I saw it.’
‘It checks out. The senator’s happy… well, you know what I mean.’
‘When can you get back to me on the Singer file?’
‘This arvo.’
I rang Mrs Singer with the good news, if that’s what it was.
‘I’m not in the least surprised,’ she said. ‘Will you keep looking?’
‘I’m just out of hospital. I’ve got a bad knee and a very big hospital bill.’
‘I’ll pay the bill. Will you keep on?’
‘Yes.’
I used the stick and the furniture to get out to the kitchen for a drop of wine and a bit of cheese to aid thought. I was back on square one unless something in the police file on Singer put me on square two.
I propped myself against the window frame in the front room and looked out. Good blue sky, bit of wind in the trees, ideal day for almost anything. I opened the door and hobbled down to the letter box. There was nothing there, but I liked the feeling of independence. I looked carefully up and down the street. My neighbour Harry Soames had a visitor who drove a jeep; a liquor store was delivering to a house across the road; the dog from the house on the corner was curled up asleep on the bonnet of a Holden. I could see his muddy paw marks on the roof. There were no suspicious-looking technicians working in the street, none up poles or down holes. I doubted that Freddy Ward would have the pull to get my phone tapped, but anything is possible. As I limped back to the house I reflected that if Ward was still interested in me I was probably on square three, more exposed and vulnerable than two.
Frank rang in the early afternoon and was properly cautious.
‘You’d better ask me questions, Hardy. I’ll give you what I can.’
‘Did anything point to Singer being murdered?’
‘No, but nothing pointed to anything. Shit, he could be in Brazil. There’s one thing you mightn’t know, though. Singer took a trip to the US a few weeks before he disappeared. Bit of a mystery about what he did there.’
‘Interesting. Any chance of looking into it?’
‘Why don’t you? Wouldn’t she kick in for a trip to Los Angeles?’
I let myself think about it for maybe thirty seconds. There was the international connection, of course-the ashram, Bruce Henneberry. But I knew it wasn’t on. The answer lay here in Sydney, or there wasn’t one. ‘No, I don’t think I can promote myself a trip to LA out of it.’
‘Pity. Well, I can try.’
‘Thanks. Whose movements were checked when it happened?’
‘The wife’s. All clear. Freddy Ward at his place in the country. Tom McLeary; movements accounted for by employees- not too firm, that. A few others-guy who worked on Singer’s yacht, an old girlfriend-all okay.’
‘Can I have the names and addresses?’
‘Sure.’ He read them off
‘Listen, Frank, how many people know that those dental records were Singer’s?’
‘Just me. I photocopied the dentist’s stuff and blanked out the name. Standard procedure. Why?’
‘I’d like to keep it that way. Not knowing who I was working for gave me an edge on Ward and I’d like to keep it.’
‘You think Freddy Ward killed Singer?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What’re you going to do now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re lucky you don’t have to write reports.’
‘I know that. I think of it every month when I can’t meet the mortgage.’
‘I can’t meet the mortgage, either.’
‘You smoke’, I said. ‘I don’t.’
‘I’m stopping. Today.’
‘Bet you don’t.’
‘You’re on. What’ll it be?’
‘A bottle of Glenlivet.’
‘How long do I have to go?’
‘I’ll pay in a fortnight for a clean slate.’
‘How do I prove it?’
‘I’ll ask Policewoman Reynolds.’
He snorted at that and rang off, but I thought I had a bet. Also I did know what I was going to do next-investigate privately, and that meant without telling Frank Parker.
I rang Ann Winter at Bondi and the whisky voice gave me the number for Point Piper.
‘How’s your knee?’ she said.
‘Fair. I can just get around with a stick.’
‘Your stocks are high out Bondi way just now. Do you fancy older women?’
I thought about it. ‘Depends on who they’re older than.’
‘I know a few who’d give you a good time. That Clovelly place really gave them the horrors.’
‘Me, too. Listen, Ann, I want to talk to that woman who was at the wake. The one in the pink who said she knew the Singers. Where can I find her?’
She answered immediately. ‘Back bar of the Royal Oak in Randwick.’
I was working again.