Peter Corris - Torn Apart

'I was ready for both of those. So things aren't normal?'

He sighed and rubbed his hands together to warm them. It's hard to put your hands in the pockets of a suit coat. Mine were tucked away cosily in the deep pockets of my zipped-up leather jacket.

'The investigation into your cousin's death has been discontinued. I wouldn't be at all surprised if those charges against you are dropped.'

'Why?'

I could see that he was bursting to tell me and hated the fact that he couldn't. Frank was right; this was a decent man trying to do a decent job with malign forces arrayed against him. I gave him the out.

'The spooks've closed you down and threatened you.' He stood shivering in the wind and patting uselessly at his disarranged hair. 'I didn't say that, and this meeting never took place.'

Two days later Viv Garner rang to tell me, as Welsh had predicted, that the charge of importing the steroids had been dropped.

'Insufficient evidence,' he said. 'You lead a charmed life.'

I didn't have the heart to tell him why. I just thanked him and told him to send me his bill.

'You sound depressed.'

'Frustrated.'

'That's a temporary condition.'

'I hope so.'

The trouble was, I couldn't see any way to alleviate it. I scanned the photo of Patrick into the computer and sent it to Jack Casey. He rang to thank me but said he hadn't turned up anything new except that Patrick wasn't one of the men in the photograph of the shackled mercenaries. I went to the gym, went out to dinner with Megan and Hank and drank too much. I had two phone calls from Sheila, which helped a little.

Then I got an email from Angela Warburton in London.

Dear Cliff

You might think I'm pursuing you and maybe I am. Anyway, I'm coming back home soon. Had enough of this country with its class consciousness and all that. Looks like I've got a job with a documentary film-maker who's got six projects lined up and funded. This came about because I had another crack at the photo essay on the Travellers and it turned out well. Got a bit of attention. Sean Cassidy wasn't around. You might be interested to learn that he left for Australia a day or so after you two were here. According to old Paddy he was going to look up members of his family and attend some kind of get-together of descendants of Travellers in Kangaroo Valley this month. Wish I could be there and do a follow-up on my Irish piece, but I won't be back till next month. I'll look you up. Maybe we could go for a surf when the weather warms. Ciao, Angie

I read that and sat back. Sean Cassidy, aka Seamus Cummings, who'd had an affair with Sheila, looked daggers at Patrick and had been a soldier of some kind. In Australia by the time Patrick and I got back. Could it be? I emailed the shot of him I'd taken at the ceilidh to Casey asking, without giving him the name, if Cassidy/Cummings showed up in the photograph of the mercenaries in Angola.

He sounded excited when he rang me.

'It could be, could be. He's a lot thinner, but those guys were thin and super fit. Funny thing is, it could be one of two in the group who look almost identical.'

'What're the chances, on a scale of ten?'

'I'd say eight. Who is he?'

'Have you got a database of known mercenaries from Australia?'

'Yes.'

'Can I see it?'

'It's taken years to compile…'

'This man is in Australia.'

'Jesus, if I could talk to him.'

I'd phoned the Kangaroo Valley Tourist Association about the date of its Travellers meeting. 'I know where he's going to be soon. I'm not expecting you to email or fax the bloody thing. Let me have a look at the database on your computer. Be very interesting if there's a match.'

'What if there's not?'

'I'd still want to meet him.'

'You'd put me in touch with him?'

Why not? I thought. 'Yes, although it could be risky. You realise what you could be letting yourself in for?'

'This could be the man who killed your cousin.' 'Right.'

'Hardy, I'm ex-SAS myself and I've been working on this stuff for a long time. I've met some very hard cases in dodgy places.'

Not as hard as this, if he's the man, I thought, but I agreed that we'd go together.

'It'd take a day or two. Can you get the time off?'

'I'd fucking take it!'

He gave me his address in Balmain and I arranged to be there that evening.

Jack Casey had everything a successful academic looks for-a sandstone terrace with a water view, a good-looking wife, two kids-a boy and a girl-and a book-lined study. Briskly, he introduced me to his wife and the children before taking me off to the study with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Evidently the inside smoking ban extended to the house, because the room didn't smell of tobacco and his snuff box was on a shelf above the computer. He poured two glasses of Merlot and switched on the computer.

I studied the room as the computer booted up. No framed degrees, no military insignia. There was a photograph of his wife and another of the two kids and one of a football team. A younger, still bearded version of Casey was sitting in the middle row holding a football. The captain, apparently. I browsed the bookshelves-orderly, but not obsessively so. A low shelf held a few copies of Diggers for Hire and multiples of two other titles by Casey- The Great Lie and After Vietnam. I pulled a copy of the Vietnam title out and turned around when I heard the keys being tapped. 'You're too young for Vietnam,' I said. 'Gulf one. You?'

'Earlier. What've you got there?'

'A list of all the Australian mercenaries I've been able to trace post the Korean War. This is where I learn the name of your bloke, unless I'm supposed to leave the room.'

I laughed and drank some of the wine. 'I wouldn't abuse your hospitality like that, Jack. Try Sean Cassidy.' He hit the keys. 'No match.' 'Try Seamus Cummings.'

'That name rings a bell. Here we go. Bingo. Yeah, I remember now-Seamus and Liam Cummings.' Casey printed out two short dossiers:

Seamus Kelly Cummings, d.o.b. 2.1.56, Galway, Republic of Ireland, emigrated to Australia 1964; Australian Army (Sgt) 1975, discharged 1978; I.R.A. 1980-4; imprisoned 1984-7; rumoured mercenary Namibia 19xx (see interview 12a/765). Whereabouts unknown.

Liam Kelly Cummings, d.o.b. 1.10.56, Galway, Republic of Ireland, emigrated to Australia, 1964; Australian CMF 1976-?; rumouredl. RA. ?-?; rumouredmercenaryNamibia 19xx (see interview 12a/765). Whereabouts unknown.

'A couple of boyos, to be sure,' Casey said. 'Practically twins. Has to be them.'

He got the photograph of the captured mercenaries on the screen and blew it up. We studied the faces of the two who resembled my photo of Cassidy/Cummings. Making allowance for weight loss and the different conditions under which the photographs were taken, I was reasonably sure that one of the men was a match.

'Which one?' Casey said.

'Take your pick. What's this interview you've cited?'

'It was with a guy who claimed to be a sort of recruiting agent for an English organisation providing mercenaries for Africa.'

'Claimed to be?'

'That's why I labelled his information as rumour. He seemed to be on the level, but I couldn't get confirmation.'

'What did he say about the photograph?'

'No, that came from another source, not the recruiter. This bloke was a camera freak but pretty solid, I thought. I'm ahead of you-he might be able to throw some light on it. We're still in touch. I could probably see him soon.'

'How soon?'

Casey took a pinch of snuff, didn't sneeze and swigged some more of his very good wine. 'You said you know how to locate this Cummings. When are you going to do that?'

As I'd anticipated, we were back to dealing. Fair enough. I told him about the Travellers meeting and suggested that he