Outside it was dark with a chill wind getting up. I sat in the car grateful for its warmth and tried to think about what to do next. There were things to tell Frank but nothing he'd want to hear. I thought about how matters had fallen into place for him-Hilde, Peter, his grandchildren on the way. Leave him in peace, I thought. Against that, if it was really Sawtell we were up against, and he went feral, that peace could be shattered. I couldn't decide. Army strategy seemed like the best bet-when in doubt, do a recce.
I keep the necessities for operational survival-toothbrush, razor, soap, towel, a half-bottle of whisky and two plastic containers, one full of water, the other to piss in-in the car. The downside of my arrangement with Lily is the frequent lonely nights, the upside is not having to check in.
I worked my way south-west, picked up the freeway and followed it down as it skirted towns like Yerrinbool and Mittagong. Time was when you had to go through them and country driving was like driving in the country. Now it's set the cruise control and get there, not that the Falcon has cruise control. I turned on the radio to catch the news.
Just in case Bush had pressed the button and this was all a waste of time.
As I drove I wondered whether I still had a client. Catherine Heysen had bared her soul. More than anything else she'd been man-hunting. I had to assume she still cared for her son but, given her egocentricity, that was a slender thread and my rudeness to her might have been enough to snap it. Possibly, but probably not. As for Frank, whose money I still hadn't worked through, he'd be pissed off at this independent action. But I could always mend bridges with him. That led to the thought that my objective here, for both parties, was to get William Heysen clear of the shit.
It was after 9 pm when I reached Bowral but the town hadn't closed down. Several pubs were busy and there were restaurants doing fair to good business along the main street. The days when all you'd find in a town like this was a Greek cafe, maybe a Chinese, were long gone. Good thing.
I was low on petrol and energy and I pulled in at a servo with a fast food outfall, as Andrew Denton had once styled them. I topped up, bought a street map of the town, coffee, and the least toxic-looking sandwich I could see in the display case. I sat in the far corner of the sparsely populated eating area, concealed the action behind the map, and spiked the coffee with cut-price scotch. Maybe it was just my hunger, or the alcohol lift or my hyped-up state, but the sandwich tasted surprisingly good and I bought another.
No problem locating Shetland Street; it ran off the main drag, not far from where I was. A short cul-de-sac. I wouldn't have expected William to locate himself in the foothills. I ate the second sandwich, drank the coffee and speculated about the town. All the signs were that it was keeping pace with the times: the restaurants and cafes, the craft shops-all with advertised websites-bricked footpaths and judiciously spaced and nicely staked trees. It undoubtedly had computer service companies and broadband. Many of the houses I'd seen on the way in had sprouted pay-TV satellite dishes. A good place to set up William's probably dodgy operation-good communications, close enough, but not too close rent-wise to Sydney and Canberra. A good place for 'Mad Matt' Sawtell to ply whatever trade he was pursuing?
The payphone in the service station cafe had a phone book and I looked up William. No listing. Without any particular plan in mind, I drove to Shetland Street. William's flat was in a new and pretty up-market block above a collection of four shops. The street was well lit and I could see that the complex had high security-an electronically controlled gate to get to the parking area and something similar at the foot entrance.
I got out of the car and crossed the street for a closer inspection. There were four apartments. You had to buzz to get past the gate and there were no names posted. I buzzed all four: two didn't answer and the two that responded did so with female voices. A girlfriend? Didn't seem likely. Neither voice sounded young. Presumably our boy was out somewhere. Well, I could wait.
I took a look at the shops: a Vietnamese bakery, an accountant, a hair and beauty pit stop, and a travel agency-Speciality Travel. A sign in the smoked glass window read: 'passport photographs, visas arranged, online bookings, video conferencing'. No way to be sure, but it looked as if William could be cutting down the time and distance between home and work.
I made a mental note of Speciality Travel's phone number and webpage address and went back to the car to jot them down. I was settled with notebook and pen in hand when I felt the cold bite of metal at the base of my skull.
'Drop the stuff in your hands and put them on the wheel. High up-five to one.'
The instruction came with a sharp jab and then an easing of the pressure. Someone who knew what he was doing.
I dropped the pen and notebook and did as I'd been told. I glanced at the rear vision mirror but it had been moved so that it showed nothing immediately behind me. A true professional.
'You don't have to look, you just have to listen,' the voice said. 'This is a sawn-off pump action shotgun with a heavy load. If you don't do what I say, exactly what I say, your head disappears.'
The sweat broke out immediately-on my body, on my face, on my hands-the voice and the threat had that much conviction. My throat was suddenly too dry to let me speak. I coughed and cleared it.
'Sawtell?'
Another quick jab and then something was hanging from my right ear.
'Plastic restraint,' he said. 'Right hand up and fasten it to your right wrist and the steering wheel.'
'I might need two hands for that.'
'Use them while you've got them.'
His calm was unnerving. I could only just hear him breathing, nothing heavy or out of rhythm. I adjusted the restraint, but left the clasp loose.
'Give it a tug.'
He had me. I closed the clasp and tugged.
'Okay. Marks for a good try. Now I think we can relax a bit. Or at least I can.'
'You can't ever relax, not to the end of your days.'
'True. For now, I mean. I knew you'd turn up here sooner or later, Hardy. How'd you do it? Did bright boy Willy let you see his car?'
'Figure it out.'
'Doesn't matter. I was told you knew your business and I had a man keep an eye on you.'
'Like Rex Wain?'
'Better, a bit better at least. Not hard.'
'I suppose they'll be expendable too.'
The shotgun barrel rapped sharply against my ear, drawing blood.
'This isn't a debating society. I'm going to tell you what you're going to do.'
'Or?'
'Or everything ends for you right here.'
'Fuck you!'
'What?'
'You heard me. You're talking too much, Sawtell. You want something. You want it badly and you need me to get it for you. So spell it out and we'll see where it takes us. But you're not going to blow my head off until you're sure you can't use me. So, as I say, fuck you.'
'You've got guts, I'll say that for you.'
The sweat was dripping from me and I'd played him as hard as I was ever going to be able to. It was time to ease up if I wanted to stay alive. He'd killed men before, some in hot blood, some in cold. He was as dangerous as a shark in bloody water.
'Tell me a few things,' I said. 'Indulge me professionally. Let's see where we get to.'
'You're a piece of work.'
That struck a false note-maybe he'd been watching too much television, had too much time on his hands. I was tempted to tell him so but I resisted, thinking I'd probably pushed him far enough. I kept quiet, forcing him to speak again.
'So what d'you want to know?'
'Did you frame Gregory Heysen?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'No comment. Anything else?'
'My guess is you ran into William Heysen somewhere in South-East Asia. Let's say Indonesia.'
'Close. Singapore.'
'You encouraged him to go into what he calls immigration facilitation, better known as people-smuggling.'
'He was willing.'
'Again, why?'
'Same answer. That's enough, but in case you're wondering, you won't find him across the street there. He's somewhere else.'
'Forced restraint's a serious charge.'
'Don't make me laugh. I've got two murder counts on the sheet.'
'Plus Wain.'
'Shut up and listen. You get me what I want or I'll send the little smartarse to you in pieces. Don't think I don't mean it.'
It had to be something to do with Dr Gregory Heysen again. Some retribution. I considered telling him Heysen wasn't William's father, but I couldn't see what good it would do at that moment. Maybe later.
'I'm listening.'
'I want to see Catherine.'
So it was all circling back towards her. I knew there was no point in asking him why. There was only one sensible thing to ask.
'How? You had her shot. She's still recovering and very well protected.'
'I know that. It's something for you to figure out. You've worked a lot of stuff out so far, let's see how smart you really are.'
He opened the door and I felt a surge of alarm. 'You can't just-'
'Shook you then, didn't I? Tell me your mobile number. Don't think, just do it.'
I rattled the number off.
'Right. I'll be in touch. Sit tight and don't turn round. If I see you move I'll blast the back of the car and let you take your chances with glass and the petrol tank.'
Opening the door had turned on the interior light. I was a big, well-lit target. I heard him slide out and I didn't move a muscle.