I drove the short hop to Darlinghurst, parked in my usual spot, and headed for my office. The way Harry Tickener worked, the faxed cuttings could be spewing out of the machine right now. The area around St Peters Lane has changed a hell of a lot since I first lobbed there, but the change seems to have stalled, which suits me. I used to like the accretion of posters on the wallsrock gigs, religious meetings, political ralliesdating back years. The bill posters tended not to overlay them exactly, or they peeled off and you could trace history on the walls the way archaeologists read stratified deposits. Nowadays, the council employs someone to strip them off. Sad.
I went up the stairs humming some Sinatra song or other and was embarrassed when I saw a man waiting outside my door. Im not a tuneful hummer, as several women have told me. At least I have the sense not to sing. The man looked unthreateninglate middle-aged or more, stocky with thinning grey hair, a slightly rumpled lightweight suit to match, briefcase. Still, nothing to say there wasnt a pair of brass knucks in the briefcase at his feet. I slowed down to give him time to make the first move. Someone pretending to be passive, but intending to be active, sometimes betrays the intention by body language. Sometimes. This guy was harmless stillness itself.
Mr Hardy? he said loudly, taking a step away from the wall and leaving the briefcase where it was.
I stopped humming. Thats right.
He stuck out a surprisingly big, meaty paw. Glad to meet you. Im Max Savage.
The name registeredFrank Parkers consultantbut this was all very disconcertingly premature. I shook the hand and dug for my keys. Youve jumped the gun, I muttered.
What was that?
The volume of his voice forced me to look at him. I said youve jumped the gun.
He nodded. Jumped the gun, thats right. Im afraid I have. Ill explain when we get inside.
The light wasnt good in the corridor, a matter of dirty windows and low wattage in the bulbs, which was why I hadnt noticed the small hearing aids in both ears. I unlocked the door and ushered him in. He bent easily to pick up the briefcase and stepped smartly past me. For a mature-age citizen he moved pretty smoothly. The office has a tiny vestibule, about big enough to hold a bicycle, and then the room itself. Max Savage went in, put his briefcase down and stood by the client chair. I had the odd feeling that he was directing the traffic, willing me to get behind the desk to my allotted place. Instead I went over to the fax machine and examined the long roll of paper that had come through. Good old Harry.
I looked straight at him. Sit down, Mr Savage, I said.
Thank you. He sat, and the contrast with the last man whod sat there couldnt have been more extreme. Whereas Barry White had been a mass of tics and fidgets and habitual gestures, Savage was a model of harmony and control. He waited for me to sit down and looked as if it wouldnt worry him if he had to wait an hour or so. I tore off the fax paper and let the roll settle. Then I sat down.
I dont want to be rude, but Frank Parker was going to give me some time to get back to him, I said. This is all a bit premature, isnt it?
It is and Im sorry. But as you can imagine, the telephone is a difficult instrument for me. I have to use a relay service or get someone to interpret, as it were, for me. Thats cumbersome and people tend not to want to go through the rigmarole. I find face-to-face meetings much more productive. As to the rush, Ill be frank with you, Mr Hardy. The police service takes a dim view of me on the whole. Frank is one of my few supporters. Ive had bugger-all to do since I was approached and this is the first chance for me to get my teeth into something. Im excited by it. So, as you say, I jumped the gun.
I realised that I liked him. He was direct and honest, not common characteristics in the people I meet, and he seemed to treat his disability matter-of-factly, so that I felt comfortable with it. Still, you have to know exactly who youre dealing with.
How deaf are you? I asked.
Very, but not totally. I get a fair bit in on some frequencies and next to nothing on others. In a quiet setting like this I can hear your voice more or less. You speak very clearly. Of course, I dont really need to hear it.
Hows that?
Im a very good lip-reader. You open your mouth when you speak and you havent got any facial hair so I can pick up what youre saying pretty exactly. Then theres the body language.
I was interested. Body language?
Yep. People express themselves in the way they move as much as in what they say. A lot of whats said is superfluous anywayrepetitive, retracted, ambiguous. I can tell if someones speaking positively, negatively or speculatively from the way they move their bodies and their facial expressions. Then, with the bit of hearing and the lip-reading I dont miss much.
Must be fun in a bus.
It can be. Ive picked up things thatd make your hair curl
OK. But this is all a bit previous. Im still scratching around with this thing and
Lets scratch together. Ive learned a thing or two that could be useful
I glanced across at the faxes and he raised an eyebrow. It was then I noticed a mark on the side of his face, like a birthmark but somehow different. It was slightly shiny and I suspected that he had applied some kind of make-up to it. His face was lean and firm, his dark eyes were deep-set and steady. No spectacles, faint frown lines suggesting contacts had replaced them.
Newspaper cuttings on the Beckett matter, I said. From a friend.
Savage nodded. Harry Tickener. Parker speaks well of him. Id like to see them.
It amused me to think about what my client would say if he could see me now, chatting away and perhaps about to share confidences with this grey-hair. One thing I knew, I put more trust in Max Savage than in Barry White. But I was at a disadvantage; Frank Parker had evidently told Savage something about me, whereas I knew nothing about him. I leaned back in the chair. Tell me a bit about yourself, Mr Savage. How did you lose your hearing?
Savage smiled, showing strong, even teeth that helped to give his face structure. I was a cop, what else? I was on the South Australian force for more than twenty years. Made acting Inspector. Didnt like it much, all bloody paperwork. I went out with the detectives one night to pull in one of these ram-raid bastards. To make a long story short, I wound up at close quarters with him and a sawn-off shottie up against a wall. Gun went off and killed him. He raised a hand to his face. I got burns and a bit of blast, but the worst thing was it buggered up my hearing.
Bad luck, I said. So you got invalided out?
He smiled again. Not right away. The hearing loss was sort of gradual but I could tell it was going. I got a doctor to pass me for a year or two and I took the promotion. I learned to lip-read and I got these miniature hearing aids, but they spotted me in the end and saw me off.
So how did you get this job?
Partly contacts. I worked with New South boys on quite a few occasions, but mostly because no-one else wanted it. What did Frank tell you?
Next to nothing.
Its all bullshit on the face of it. The titles just window-dressing. The empire-builders dont actually want me to do anything, but they can point to me if they get asked whats being done about these open cases. A few people, like Frank, think I can really be useful. I think so, too. I intend to be useful and I expect Ill have to be a nuisance to do it.
I liked that. Nuisance value is a good expression in my book, and I had a feeling that Mr Savage was going to display plenty of it. The opposition would be formidable, though. Youre going to be unpopular, I said. Have you got a family or…
It was apparent that he was picking up every word I said, and I was deliberately speaking quietly. He shook his head and leaned forward intently. His fists, resting on his knees, clenched hard. Hed been speaking in a normal tone but now the volume went up a bit. No. My wife died a few years back. No kids. Im on good, indexed super from the South Australian department. Look, Mr Hardy
I grinned at him. Cliff, Max.
He cleared his throat, eased back in the chair and his hands relaxed. Good. Cliff. Right. I know youve got a living to make and people to protect
Call it keep sweet, at least for a while.
I dont want to get in the way of any of that and I wont if I can help it. But this Ramona Beckett case is bloody interesting and anyone with any kind of a feel for detective work would like to sort it out.
True. And from the angle Im coming at theres a hell of a lot of money involved.
But you wouldnt frame anyone or misrepresent things to get it?
No.
We can work together, dont you reckon?
Mm. Im a bit worried about you and the cop culture, I must admit. I was expecting you to be an academic or a computer genius or something. As things stand now, a former policeman involved looks pretty dirty.
Johnno Hawkins? Thats not a problem. Ive got no time for blokes like him. Never did.
Why dyou mention Hawkins?
Ive been reading the files, Cliff. If Hawkins was fair dinkum about that investigation Ill shout you drinks for a month.
There didnt seem to be any point in pussyfooting around. I told Max pretty well everything I knew. He made notes while I talked and only asked the odd question, mostly about White and Grogan. When I finished I scissored the fax, ran the sheets through the photocopier and handed the copies to him. He thanked me, folded them and put them away in his briefcase. Make interesting reading. OK, what do you want to ask me?
Id like to see all the investigation reports.
Max held his hand a metre above the floor. The files about this thick.
Shit. Hawkins notebook, then.
Notebooks. He filled half a dozen at least. Mostly bullshit, wool to pull over eyes. What would you be looking for specifically?
Obviously, trying to get a line on who wouldve paid him to run dead.
Right, well he interviewed everyone of course. Some of them a couple of times. You think youd be able to smell the phoney one?
Or ones. Who knows how many of them were in on it, if it happened.
Ill dig out the notebooks and we can go through them together. Theres one thing that worries me. Say it all happened the way your informant suggests, the likelihood is someone else was in on it, someone higher up, giving Hawkins protection. That person might still be around and might have a lot to lose.
I hadnt thought of that. Dealing with disgraced and retired cops is one thing, dealing with cops still in place and powerful is quite another. After my recent de-licensing and reinstatement I was vulnerable in a way I hadnt been before. And, as a good number of people found out in the seventies and eighties, a disgruntled policeman is a danger to life and limb.
How sealed-off can you keep your inquiries? I asked.
Not very. Ive already done the obvious thingcalled for all sorts of files to provide a haystack for the needle. But if anyone gets really interested… He opened his hands expressively.
Yeah, I said. But that cuts both ways. If you get to hear of anyone taking an interest, that could be a bird flushed.
Max smiled. I like your devious mind. How do you see it from here? Oh, shit, Im assuming
You can, I said. I think itll be intriguing, as you say.
Yes, yes, for sure. OK, the notebooks, then…
Itd be good if you could pull Barry Whites file and see if theres any hint on who his benefactor might be.
Max made a note. Right, and see if Hawkins had any particularly useful mates. What are you going to do?
Talk to the lawyer if I can. See if the reward storys kosher. If it is, Ill need to talk to the widow up on the Gold Coast. The trouble with this thing is, even if we get a line on who paid off Hawkins to suppress the note, it doesnt tell us anything about who killed Ramona Beckett. Not necessarily.
I see what you mean, Max said. Against that, theres a chance the guilty party went all the way with the kidnappers.
Maybe.
I might come to Queensland with you, if thats OK. Im on expenses. I wouldnt mind meeting a widow.
Weve got two widows here. Dont forget Mrs Beckett.
Oned be enough, Max said.