Peter Corris - Master's mates

‘And the other?’

‘Yes, before the call to the taxi.’

I recited my mobile number and she nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have told you of course, but since you appear to know…’

I’d left the mobile in the locker at Avonlea where it could ring till its batteries died. The sinking feeling I’d had since I’d phoned the hospital got deeper but I tried not to show too much alarm. Like all bureaucrats, she didn’t want any problems and any she had she wanted to go away. The bullet wound, the guard, the police and me all spelled trouble she didn’t need. It wasn’t hard to jolly her along.

‘Thanks for your cooperation, Ms Warwick. I-’

‘Mrs.’ She smiled. She could see relief in sight.

‘Mrs Warwick. I’m sure things can be sorted out. I take it Nurse Havel here saw Mrs Master leave?’

The young nurse almost bobbed her head as Mrs Warwick indicated that she could speak.

‘Yes, sir. I saw the lady leave.’

‘In a taxi?’

‘No, sir. She waits, the taxi comes and then another car. She gives money to the taxi man and then she leaves in the other car.’

‘What kind of car?’

‘Sir?’

‘Can you describe the car?’

‘Big,’ she said.

I was in my office when O’Connor’s call came through. I was staring at the computer screen, which was something I was likely to do more and more as time went on. It made me wonder how much longer I wanted to do this kind of work.

‘Hardy, what the devil are you playing at leaving a message like that? If you’re trying to humiliate me it’s been tried by experts.’

‘No. Hard though it might be for you to believe, I wasn’t thinking about you at all. Not really.’

‘Are you drunk? I take it this is about your meeting with the wretched Master?’

‘I’m not drunk, although I’m thinking about it. This isn’t about Stewart, it’s about Lorraine. Let me read you what’s on my computer screen.

‘“Hardy, stay out of this or she’s dead.”‘

Bryce O’Connor looked around my office as if he was thinking he wouldn’t park his golf cart in a place like this. In fact I’d cleaned it up a bit while I was waiting for him, more to give myself something to do while I was thinking than out of professional pride. Eventually he sank into the uncomfortable client’s chair and was so agitated he didn’t notice the discomfort.

‘Tell me,’ he said.

I gave him what I had, referring to my notes, producing the photographs, printouts of the emails, everything. He was in his business suit, but somehow his grooming seemed to have slipped a little. I’d have thought a criminal lawyer would be fairly used to the seamy side but maybe he’d always tried to keep himself aloof, and aloof wasn’t really an option now.

‘We have to go to the police with this,’ he said when I’d finished.

‘Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. The police, some police, are involved in this up to their necks. So are some lawyers, some customs people, possibly some politicians.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

‘I’ve been thinking it through. All I’ve been trying to do is to make up some ground for Master, because that’s what Lorrie wanted even if he didn’t.’

‘I understand that. My object has been the same.’

‘So you say. Maybe I believe you.’

‘I resent that.’

‘Resent away. For the moment, I’m going to trust you.’

He was younger than me, better educated, much richer and with far better prospects, but he knew that he was out of his depth this time. His natural inclination, a well-worn groove, would be to patronise a sub-professional like me and refuse to be talked down to, but he knew he had to take it.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘My object’s changed. Now I’m worried about Lorrie and her alone. Master’s just an incidental as far as I’m concerned.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You’re the avenue to him. What you have to do is tell him about this. Tell him his children have been threatened and his wife’s been kidnapped and-’

‘You didn’t say anything about the children.’

‘Think about it. How else do you reckon they got her out of the hospital, got her to fake a call for a taxi and got her into a waiting car?’

‘I see what you mean.’

‘You have to talk to Master. He must know more about this Eastman or West or whoever he is. He has to tell us how to get a line on him.’

He nodded eagerly. ‘Then the police?’

‘Maybe, depending on the quality of the information. In a strange way this latest development works in our favour.’

He looked at me as if I’d suddenly started speaking in Esperanto. ‘How on earth do you arrive at that conclusion?’

‘My guess is that by taking Lorrie, this bastard who’s doing all this shit thinks he’s gained a greater measure of control over Master and me. I think he’s wrong as far as Master’s concerned, at least. I think he’s broken cover.’

He agreed to talk to Master and report back as soon as possible. I stressed that it had to be in person, that I didn’t trust any of the usual means of communication. I also told him to make reassuring arrangements at Lorries place of business and at the house.

‘Like what?’

‘Like whatever your high-priced brain can think up. You’ve made a lot of money out of the Masters, and now you’re going to earn it.’

He protested. ‘I’m a busy man.’

‘Make time. If this setting up of Master comes out, it doesn’t look good for you either way.’

He was a few steps from the door but he stopped. ‘What do you mean?’

‘If you were part of it you’re going to stink; if you weren’t, you’re going to look foolish.’

He considered that. ‘And you have the say?’

‘We’ll see.’

I was on thin ice and I knew it. I didn’t really think that O’Connor was involved at the dirty end, or anywhere along the line, but it suited me to keep him on his toes. The more agitated he was, the more it should communicate to Master and I wanted him to be very edgy, at least as edgy as me. I had a sense that Eastman/West was under pressure and that he was operating alone. He seemed to be a hands-on type and they don’t like delegating and trusting others. Snatching Lorrie, I judged, was out of character. He tended to clean the decks immediately he was threatened. Where the present pressure was coming from I could only guess. Maybe the shipment had arrived. Maybe his various masters were getting alarmed at the body count. Perhaps his judgement was faltering. Good. But all that meant was that mine had to be spot-on.

One thing was for sure, I wasn’t going into this on my own. I needed allies. Still using the mobile, much as I disliked it, I phoned Frank Parker and arranged to see him later that night.

Frank and his wife Hilde, a former tenant of mine, live in Bronte in a modest semi with a view of the water, meaning it’s worth a hell of a lot more money than they paid for it. Their son Peter, my anti-godson, drops in now and then when he can spare time from his travels for Greenpeace. Frank met me at the door and shook my hand; Hilde hugged me; Peter wasn’t there.

‘I think he’s in Nepal,’ Hilde said, ‘doing something with the Fred Hollows Foundation.’

‘Vietnam,’ Frank said, pouring scotch.

Hilde shrugged. “Who knows? You look stressed, Cliff.’

‘He always looks stressed except when he’s pissed,’ Frank said. ‘It’s the only way he knows how to look.’

‘More stressed then.’

Frank nodded. ‘Yeah. What is it, Cliff? How can I help?’

Frank has no secrets from Hilde. I envy their relationship which seems to be based on affection, shared experience and something else. I’ve had the first two in my time, but I’ve missed out on the something else. Just being with them has a calming effect on me, and I was able to tell them the story fully and reasonably coherently, only backing up a few times to fill in things when they asked questions.