Peter Corris - Appeal Denied

‘How did you interpret that, Pam?’

‘I didn’t like to think about it, but I reckon he must have been caught up in some of the corruption. Turned a blind eye, took some money, I don’t know. The other day I talked to a friend of mine who was the wife of another man in the unit. He died of cancer. She said he told her before he died that Perkins and some of the others were thieves and murderers. She said her bloke was scared for his life because Perkins didn’t trust him and took him off a case that was a murder Perkins was covering up. When I heard that I put two and two together with Col being taken off the case involving your… partner. And I just snapped. I’m on this lousy medication for depression. It screws me up. But I took some and had a big vodka to give myself courage, and you saw what I did.’

‘You’ve put yourself at risk.’

‘I don’t care. My sister’s staying with me for a bit. She lives in Queensland and I’m going to move up there with Lucy. Get away from all this shit.’

‘I hope that’s going to happen soon.’

She smiled and some of the tension went out of her face, leaving it alert and appealing. ‘Tomorrow. I’m not really brave. I just had to do something.’

‘I understand. That’s why I’m trying to get evidence on why Lily was killed. I’m picking up bits and pieces and you’ve helped me.’

She shrugged. ‘Can’t see how. I haven’t got any evidence.’

‘Do you think your friend might have?’

‘Hannah? I don’t know. She might. She’s still furious about Danny’s death. She reckons the strain of working in the unit brought on the cancer. Probably not true, but…’

‘I’d like to talk to her.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Very.’

She looked hard at me and seemed to be making a judgement. ‘I’d say you’re every bit as tough as them. I’d love to see them screwed. I’ll phone Hannah tomorrow before I go. If she’s willing to talk to you, I’ll phone you and tell you where to find her and that.’

I gave her my card. She said she’d driven from Lane Cove and was all right to drive home. I said I’d follow her to make sure she was safe. Her car was parked around the corner from mine and I gave her my jacket again for the short walk.

The wind was cold and she drew the jacket around her. She put a hand into one of the pockets and took out my keys.

‘What d’you drive?’

‘An old Falcon.’

‘An honest man’s car.’

She put the keys away and took out my Swiss army knife. ‘Col always carried one of these.’

‘Do you know anyone in the unit you can trust?’ I asked.

‘No. I’ve had condolence calls from some of them and I expect I’ll get cards, but it’ll be bullshit.’

‘A woman called me to tell me about Lily. A detective named Farrow. Is she-?’

‘Jane Farrow? She threw herself at Col at a party. That slut. She’d fuck anything that moved. She’s the last person I’d trust.’

What had started out as a fishing expedition had possibly landed a fair-sized catch. Pam Williams struck me as a sensible, level-headed woman who’d allowed herself one uncontrolled outburst. Fair enough. If Hannah whoever-she-was, widow of Danny whoever-he-was, had any hard evidence to use against Perkins and the others, perhaps Jane Farrow’s dangerous plan wouldn’t be needed.

After following Pam to a modest block of flats in Lane Cove-a fair distance and a few grades down from Townsend’s bijou cottage-I drove home in a better frame of mind. It was late and I hadn’t eaten. I felt like a solid drink and thought I’d better act on the Graham Greene principle-I’d read that Greene’s only real interest in food was to act as a blotter for alcohol. Scrambled eggs and toast go down as well at midnight as at any other time, I reckon, and particularly with a solid scotch and soda.

I got the notebook I was using to replace the stolen one and started to make my diagrams and doodles. I’ve done this for years-writing names, connecting them with arrows and dotted lines according to the firmness of the information, and scattering exclamation points and question marks through the scribble. Tim Arthur had told me not to trust Townsend, but Harry Tickener had provided a satisfactory explanation for that. But here was a whole new expression of distrust-Pam Williams vis-a-vis Jane Farrow. Given that I’d already wondered why Farrow would have had any intimate connection with Gregory, her name now deserved a heavy underlining and a big question mark.

Townsend rang in the morning to ask about my progress. I claimed to be making some without giving details. I said that the name Gary Perkins, mentioned by Jane Farrow, had come up and I was looking into him.

Townsend didn’t sound very impressed and I suspected he knew I wasn’t telling it all. Perhaps I should have added a few notes of frustration. I tried to cover up by asking him about his progress, but he saw through that.

‘You’re hedging, Cliff. I thought we were in this together.’

I had to come clean, not only to stay onside with him, but to test his commitment to the investigation, given his relationship with Farrow. ‘I’m hearing things about Jane,’ I said.

‘So?’

‘You’ve had time to think about it. What’s your take on this plan of hers?’

‘I don’t like it, but she’s got us over a barrel. Unless we come up with something better she’ll go ahead anyway. There are other journalists, other private eyes for that matter. And you aren’t even one of them, strictly speaking. So, have you come up with anything better?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I’ve got a call waiting. Get back to me when you decide what the fuck you want to do.’

He hung up and I couldn’t blame him. He could tell I felt myself to be on shifting ground and that doesn’t inspire confidence. I moped around the house for a while and then the phone rang.

‘Hardy.’

‘Mr Hardy, this is Pam Williams. I’m calling from Mascot. Lucy and my sister and I are on our way to the sunshine state.’

‘Good for you.’

‘Hannah Morello is gung-ho to talk to you. Here’s her phone number and address.’

She rattled them off, with the airport lounge noise in the background. I scribbled them down and thanked her.

‘Maybe you can come back when all this is over,’ I said.

‘I don’t think so. Know what? Sydney’s overpriced and overrated. Bye.’

Good exit line. I rang Townsend and told him I had an informant ready to talk about police corruption in the Northern Crimes Unit-possibly in possession of hard evidence.

‘You were going to keep this from me?’

‘I just got confirmation. I’m inviting you to sit in on the meeting, on one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘That you don’t tell Jane anything about it until we follow it up, check it out, see what we can make of it.’

A hesitation, then he said, ‘Agreed.’

‘How will I be sure? We’re talking several deaths here.’

‘You have my word.’

I’d rather have had his mobile phone and every other means of communication he possessed under my control, but there was no way. Still, I played it cautiously. I said I’d call him back with a meeting place and time.

I rang Hannah Morello and told her who I was.

‘I’ve been waiting for your call,’ she said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘I’ve got your address. When?’

‘Just as soon as you can get here.’

Promising. She lived in Drummoyne. I said one hour. I rang Townsend and arranged to meet him at a point some distance from the Morello address in forty minutes. I drove to Drummoyne, scoped out the Morello house, and took up a spot where I could see Townsend arriving. I’d made sure I wasn’t followed; I wanted to be sure he wasn’t. Dead on time, he arrived in a sporty yellow Mazda. The place I’d chosen had a view of the water at Iron Cove if you walked fifty metres. Townsend sat in his car for a few minutes, got out and went to where he could see the view. Who wouldn’t? The day was clear and the water was blue and Sydney’s waterways have an attraction all their own, no matter what Pam Williams thought.