Peter Corris: The Undertow

'I need broadband,' she said. 'That fucking dial-up's too slow.'

'It's fast enough for me.'

Lily leased a state-of-the-art laptop after she lost everything in her house, but my basic dial-up arrangement for the Web didn't suit her. She worked in the spare room where my clunking old Mac now sat shamefacedly apart from her gleaming model.

'Yeah, your computer skills are definitely twentieth century-at best. When my place is up and running, I'm going to have wall-to-wall 2010 everything. Is that a bottle you've got there?'

She came down the stairs and gave me a hug and we opened the bottle of red and sat out the back where the autumn sun had just about retreated. The bricks I'd laid- very inexpertly, after chopping up ancient concrete back when Cyn and I bought the place-were still warm. Leaves were falling from the shrubs and drifting in from outside and I made a mental note to sweep them up. Sometime.

'What's on your plate, Lil?'

'The multifunction polis. Remember that?'

'Vaguely.'

'Right, you and everyone else. I'm off to Adelaide tomorrow to look into how it's going. You?'

Lily had met Frank and Hilde a few times, liked them, and knew how close we were. I told her about Frank's problem as we worked through the Merlot.

'Tricky,' she said.

I sneezed; the drifting leaves activated a mild allergy of some kind. I pulled a tissue from my pocket and Frank's money came out with it.

'Nice,' she said.

I blew my nose. 'Yeah-hidden from Hilde. Frank's cut up about it.'

'D'you think he's… in love with this Catherine?'

'No, but you know what men're like.'

'Don't I just? Would you go off me, Cliff? If I went into mood swings and hot flushes?'

'Mood swings you've already got. I don't know if hot flushes'd bother me.'

'We'll have to wait and see, won't we?'

I said, 'I read somewhere about DNA tests. Apparently one in four shows that your poppa ain't your poppa. Remember the song?'

'No, you're older than me, remember.'

'That's right. Any tips on handling this, Lil? I read the other day that males are better at asking how things work and females are better at human relationships.'

'Yeah-watch yourself with Catherine thingo. If she's got to old Frankie, she could get to you.'

I phoned the late Dr Heysen's widow in the morning while Lily was waiting for her cab to the airport. I told Catherine Heysen that Frank Parker had enlisted my help and she agreed to meet me at her place in Earlwood at 11 am. Her voice was the kind they classify as educated Australian. Tells you nothing, because there are various ways of acquiring it.

'You old charmer, you,' Lily said as I put the phone down.

'Less of the old. What's that supposed to mean?'

'I often wonder, after people hear you on the phone, all mild-mannered and persuasive, what they think when they get a look at you.'

'You mean the busted nose and the scar tissue?'

'And other things.'

'I'll tell you-they think, that bloke's been through a bit and maybe he'll go through a bit more for me. Also, they notice the good teeth.'

'Capped.'

'A touch of vanity for reassurance.'

The taxi horn sounded in the street and I carried Lily's bag out. A brief hug and kiss and then she was off. I didn't ask when she'd be back, as she never asked me-that wasn't the deal. She looked very good in her suit and heels and I knew that I'd soon be missing her taking the mickey out of me and making love with energy and humour.

I spent the next hour or so working through Frank's file and putting names, addresses and phone numbers in my notebook. The case had a formidable cast of characters, including detectives still serving and no longer serving, witnesses to disagreements between Heysen and Bellamy, associates of Rafael Padrone and experts of various kinds. Heysen's barrister was dead, as Frank had said, and so was the trial judge, but Heysen's solicitor and the prosecutor were still alive. Their details went into the notebook, although Frank cautioned that the addresses and phone numbers might be out of date.

There was a detailed description of the crime scene; reconstructions, as best Frank could remember them, of interviews with Heysen and others; and his recollection of how the Heysen finances stood. There'd been a substantial mortgage on the Earlwood house but Catherine Heysen was still there now, despite the couple's income dropping to zero. Interesting. The son, William, had been an infant at the time of the trial and he barely rated a mention. Heysen had been struck off the medical register after his conviction and his appeal had been refused. Not surprising. A number of Bellamy's patients and lovers had been interviewed. Frank had some of the names but no further details and, given the AIDS epidemic at the time, it was problematic how many would still be around.

Apart from it involving a close friend, it was the kind of case that interested me. Also the kind you had to work hard at to get a result. A money-spinner, but I didn't want to bleed Frank.

The Heysen house was a big, sprawling affair on a corner block overlooking the Cooks River and a stretch of green beyond that. The water view wouldn't have been an asset in days gone by when the Cooks River was more or less a sewer cum toxic waste dump, but it'll become more acceptable as the river gets rehabilitated. Long way to go. The government is said to have promised the money, but nothing much seems to be happening. With half a million people living along the river's banks, I suppose cleaning it is a big ask. There were more apartment blocks in the locality than freestanding houses.

I parked in the street and looked the place over more closely. It was far too big for a woman and a child as things must have stood when Dr Heysen went inside. Probably they'd planned a large family. Still, I wondered why she hadn't traded it in on something more manageable.

I could see a large garden in front and down the side, through an electronically controlled gate, a wide driveway. There was enough grass to keep a Victa busy for an hour or so. The corner block was deep, so there was probably more garden and grass at the back. Quite a few tall trees graced the scene, no doubt harbouring birds and cicadas, but also likely to drop leaves into the guttering. Okay for the doc who could afford to hire help, but what about the widow?

Frank's notes on her were minimal, as if he couldn't bear to think about her too much. She was forty-six now and had been a dental nurse before her marriage to Heysen at age twenty-two. Her father had been a champion cricketer and an executive in a large sporting goods firm. I had no information on her mother or on whether either of her parents was still alive. Given her age it was more than possible. Then again, if they'd died asset-rich, maybe she'd inherited the means to keep this big joint going.

I was respectably turned out in dark slacks, a blazer and a blue business shirt. No tie; I draw the line at ties. I opened the gate and tramped up the steep, central path to a set of steps leading to a wide porch at the front of the house, which had a white stucco finish. The condition of that kind of surface can tell you something, and in this case it told me that the house was well-maintained. No serious flaking. A security screen covered the solid front door. I rang the bell and waited. In a place this size, if she was having her morning tea out the back, it could take a while to get to the front door. Might not even hear the bell.

The door opened and she stood there in the late morning light. Even with my vision impeded by the screen, I could see why Frank was feeling the undertow: Catherine Heysen was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.

'Mr Hardy?'

'Yes.'

She unlocked the security screen. 'Please come in.'

She stepped aside to let me in and then moved swiftly ahead of me down the passage. The quick glimpse I'd caught of her was a total surprise. She had very dark hair and eyes and an olive complexion. In a black dress with a couple of fine gold chains around her neck, she looked as Mediterranean as the Isle of Capri. She was medium tall and strongly built and her walk was stately.