I walked back through the park, promising myself a jog there if I had time. I stopped for coffee in a kind of pavilion under the Moreton Bay figs and thought to myself that I'd done pretty well. I took the piece of paper from my shirt pocket and examined it. Three names, two completely unfamiliar to me. Inventions? I didn't think so, the man had been too frightened. The coffee was good and a light breeze was blowing pleasant smells around under the canvas. I had a second cup and took my time over it.
I paid, left a tip, skirted the cycle path and took another route past a shrubbery and garden bed towards the motel. A man stepped from the shadows and blocked my way. A big man, very big. He wore jeans and a leather jacket over a T-shirt and he tucked away a mobile phone as he confronted me.
'You've got something I want,' he said.
'What would that be?'
'A camera and a piece of paper.'
'Buy your own and look in a bin, you'll find plenty of paper.'
He advanced to within a yard and held out his right hand. 'Give.'
That was a mistake-an extended arm is vulnerable. I grabbed his wrist with both hands, jerked and twisted. He let out a yell and swung wildly at me with his left fist. He was no southpaw, the punch was slow and awkward. I stepped inside it and hammered my right fist into his ribs hard and twice. He grunted and bent over. He was game though and tried to do something with the arm I'd mistreated but it was all out of whack, possibly dislocated at the elbow, and his effort was feeble. I grabbed his right wrist again and put downward pressure on it. He almost screamed and sank to his knees to ease the strain and the pain.
He was young, fit-looking and strong but inexperienced. By now he was almost helpless and he knew it so he began to swear. I whacked him a backhander across the face and he stopped swearing.
'You tell Dr Lubitsch, or whoever he hired to hire you, that this sort of stuff is pretty much a full-time job with me. You weren't up to it.'
'Fuck you.'
'Grow up and learn your trade. If you'd held out your left hand you might've connected with your right and things could've gone your way, son. Give me your mobile.'
'What?'
'Give me your mobile or I'll break your jaw and scatter your teeth.'
He scrabbled in his jacket pocket for the phone and handed it to me.
'Right. Now you stay exactly where you are for ten minutes. I'll be able to see you, believe me. If you move, I'll chuck your phone in the river. If you behave it'll be waiting for you up at the exit to the park.'
I left him and walked away. They value their phones above all else for work and play, and I knew he'd do as I said. I didn't even have to look back. I put the phone on the sandstone gatepost and went on my way.
Sending a heavy after me, incompetent though he turned out to be, confirmed that the names Lubitsch had given me concerned him enough not to want to leave any evidence that he'd done so. I figured I'd done all I needed to do in Brisbane and it was time to go. There was just a chance that the doctor had other, better, helpers. Best to pass on the jog around the park. I booked on a mid-afternoon flight back to Sydney, willingly paid for the second night I wasn't going to spend in the motel and drove out to the airport. To judge by the windsocks, the wind was a southerly and should speed the flight home.
I was back in Glebe by late afternoon. Lily wasn't around and by agreement we hadn't got into the domestic habit of leaving notes about where we were and what we were doing. I was having a drink when Catherine Heysen rang.
'Mr Hardy, I suppose you've heard from Frank.'
'Yes.'
'He wants the DNA test.'
'I know. Are you going to have it done?'
'I'm not sure. Have you made any progress?'
'It's hard to say. I have some people to see and then I might have a better idea and be able to give you a report. I don't suppose you've heard from your son.'
'No, nothing.'
'Frank intends to help him, whether he's the father or not.'
Her voice softened, lost its arrogant edge. 'He's a fine man.'
Watch out, Frank, I thought, but I didn't say anything.
'If you need money, Mr Hardy…'
'Not at the moment and perhaps not at all. I'll be in touch, Mrs Heysen. Goodbye.'
As I put the phone down Lily came in carrying a pile of photocopies. 'Saw the car. That was quick.'
I kissed her. 'You know me-immediate results.'
She dumped the copies on a chair and gave me a hug. 'I've nearly finished this bastard. Hey, Hilde rang and wants us to come over for a bite. She knew you were in Brisbane, but now you're back, d'you want to go over there tonight? I could do with a break.'
'Sure. And I've got things to talk over with Frank. Did she tell you the news?'
'Did she what. Couldn't stop talking about it. I'll give her a ring. I must meet that kid of yours sometime.'
'Yeah. I'd like to see her again myself when she's ever in the one place long enough.'
'Who's she like, you or her mother?'
I thought of Megan's close physical resemblance to my sister and her restlessness, and my former wife's precise, planned approach to things. 'Me,' I said.
'God help her.'
After getting drunk out of relief and happiness the day before, Frank and Hilde had gone on a marathon bike ride and sweated out the toxins. From the way they were looking at each other I guessed they'd also had a good sexual workout or two. They were in fine form.
Hilde knocked up a barramundi dinner with all the trimmings and we got solidly into the dry white. Peter had sent a photo of his girlfriend electronically and they'd printed it out. It showed a vibrant, dark-skinned, raven-haired young woman smiling happily with pearly white teeth.
'Her name's Ramona,' Hilde said. 'She's Brazilian with Portuguese, African and Indian ancestry.'
'With Frank's English and your German background that should make for hybrid vigour. Are they going to live here?'
'Who knows with Peter?' Frank said. 'But they're getting married in Rio and coming here to have the babies.'
'I'll have to learn to cook Brazilian,' Hilde said.
'What does she do?' Lily asked.
Hilde laughed. 'Would you believe? She's a journalist.'
Hilde and Lily settled down to watch something on the History channel and Frank and I went to his study. I handed him Lubitsch's list.
'Let's see,' Frank said. 'Jesus Christ!'
The name that had struck me hit him just as hard: Matthew Henry Sawtell, known as 'Mad Matt'. He'd risen to the rank of detective inspector in the New South Wales police force and was tipped to go even higher when his world collapsed. An undercover sting operation showed him to be guilty of giving the green light to criminals, to sanctioning at least two murders and conspiring with a corrupt politician to fake a kidnapping with an outcome that would advantage them both.
'Mad Matt,' Frank said, almost whispering. 'Now he's a definite possibility. He escaped from Goulburn. Severely wounded a guard and killed an inmate. He was very high profile and nailing him was a big feather in the anti-corruption cap. Highly embarrassing for all concerned when he escaped. His file's still very much open although a lot of people would like it to be closed.'
'Meaning?'
'What d'you think? He had protection at a pretty high level until they just couldn't shield him anymore.'
'Did he put them in? I remember him going down but I forget the details.'
'No, he kept mum, but it doesn't take much to work out that he used those tickets when he needed to get out of gaol and away.'
'Nice town, Sawtell, up near Coffs. I surfed there when I was young. You knew him?'
Frank nodded. 'I knew him. He was called "Mad" because he was the reverse. Unemotional-cold, calculating, ruthless bastard.'
'With those friends in high places.'
'Right. He had money, too. The gaol break must have cost him a bit. Yeah, he could've gone for plastic surgery.' Frank touched the side of his face. 'He had a knife scar here. Very distinctive. And he could've set Heysen up for a fall to get him out of circulation and warn him to keep his mouth shut.'
I thought that over and didn't like it. 'I can't see it, Frank. Why wouldn't Heysen use what he knew about Sawtell as a bargaining chip to get out of the charge against him?'
Frank shrugged. 'I don't know, but the thing just has a whiff of Sawtell about it. Devious was his middle name, if it wasn't vicious. Trouble was, he had charm and a sense of humour and people liked him. Especially women.'
'What about the scar?'
'Distinctive, but didn't disfigure him. Badge of honour. Didn't put the women off. Let's have a look at these others. James Ashley Whitmont, that'd be Jimmy White if my memory serves. Rapist, skipped bail and vanished. Had money but no brains. Not his sort of thing. Alexander Cart-wright. I remember him vaguely. Whistleblower, I think. He went into the witness protection program. Hard work to find him. Anyway, he was old, probably dead now.'
'How old was Sawtell?'
'Forties.'
'So very likely still alive.'
'Yeah, he was a fitness freak. Didn't smoke, exercised. He'd been a good athlete-in the pentathlon at the Rome Olympics, just missed a bronze. But he could be anywhere, not likely to be hanging around Sydney.'
'What would he be doing then?'
'Anybody's guess. Something perfectly legitimate somewhere or highly illegal and profitable somewhere else. Or both.'
'That resourceful?'
'Easily, but it hardly matters, Cliff. He's long gone. Probably not in Australia. One of the reasons to change your appearance in a case like his would be to get a passport.'
'I don't agree. Rex Wain was shit scared, as if what he knew could still hurt him. If all this speculation about him's on the money, it could mean Sawtell's still around.'
Frank shrugged, surprising me.
'What does that mean, mate?'
'You could give that to Catherine as a strong suspicion. Might satisfy her.' Frank leaned back in his chair and stretched. 'I have to admit my thinking was all screwed up when Catherine contacted me. Hilde was worried sick about Peter and I didn't know what her mood was going to be from one day to the next. I'm not proud of it, but when Catherine approached me it seemed like… something to do, some kind of escape.'
'But not now?'
'No, not now.'
'I hate loose ends, Frank.'
'So do I, but now they don't seem to matter too much-some of them.'
'Meaning?'
'Let me get you another drink. Who's driving?'
'We tossed. Lily lost. She's on a limit of three.'
He went away and came back with a solid scotch with a fair bit of ice. Same for him. Frank had turned his chair around from his desk and I was sitting in the rocker where their cat Bluey, which always hid when guests arrived, usually sat while Frank was working. Frank had small photos of Hilde and Peter on his desk. Space for more.
I sipped the drink. 'Frank? It'd still be a feather in your cap, finding Sawtell.'
'I don't wear the cap anymore and don't need feathers. Come to that, it'd do you more good. I imagine the reward that was up for him's still available. But I want to turn our attention to William Heysen. Let's forget about the old farts. See if something can be salvaged from all this for the young people.' part two