Peter Corris - Master's mates

He had some guts. He pushed back and slid up against the wall until he was on his feet. ‘You’re that prick Warren was worried about-Hardy.’

‘No names, Ray. Better get going.’

I retreated to the steps, climbed them and left the boat. Master’s pistol went into the water with barely a splash. I looked towards the car park and saw brake lights come on and off and headlights swing away in roughly the spot where we’d left the BMW. I walked along the jetty and heard an engine surge into life behind me.

I went through the gate. The car park was almost empty and the Volvo was lying quietly in the shadow of a tree with no other car parked close. I walked up a path away from the car park and found a public phone where I rang Carmichael’s number. If he checked back on the source of the call, that’s all he’d get. Then I moved a bit higher and to the left, further away, and sat on a bench.

The Ballina Belle had pulled away from the jetty and was headed out into the dark water of the harbour. Two cars approached the marina. One cruised the car park while the other stood off at a distance. When they were satisfied, Carmichael and Hammond got out of the first car, drew their weapons and approached the Volvo. Then it was lights, camera, action. More vehicles streamed down into the car park and the officers of the law went into their practised routines. They sealed the area, talked to the night guy at the marina and the few other boaties still around, walked along the three jetties, but they paid no attention to me up on the hill.

I watched them pull North from the Volvo, untie and de-gag him and transfer him to a car. Carmichael, wearing gloves, took the pistol and silencer from the glove box and put them in a paper bag. Contrary to popular opinion, cops don’t always take items away from the scene of a crime in plastic bags. Sometimes they use paper. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s special paper, less contaminating. I’d have to ask Frank Parker.

My mobile rang several times during the operation and I saw Carmichael vent his frustration on his underlings each time, but I didn’t answer. Eventually they all left and the Watsons Bay marina settled back for its night time sleep with the lapping waves and the straining ropes and the groaning timbers. To hell with it. I never liked sailing and liked it still less after all this.

When all was quiet, I phoned Piper.

‘The woman’s safe. You’ll get your money.’

‘Fuck the money. Where’s Starcevich?’

‘Last I saw him he was pointing his boat out into the harbour. Probably going for the Heads.’

‘You arsehole. He’s got the H.’

I couldn’t help laughing. ‘That’s your problem, Andy, not mine. I’ll be in touch about the hundred grand. I know it’s not much… but you probably still want it anyway.’

There was some satisfaction in that. If Black Andy had masterminded the whole thing, seeing himself as the Napoleon of Sydney crime now and into the future Master had sketched, he’d run into a few obstacles. I didn’t know where Starcevich would take the stuff and I didn’t care. The amount he was carrying was a spit in the ocean compared with the worldwide trade, and while the politicians and preachers stay as blind gutless on the subject as they are now, the trade’ll flourish.

I eased myself stiffly off the bench and began to walk aimlessly, wanting a drink and vaguely thinking of a taxi. I had two cars, both miles away and not available. Then I smelled food and heard laughter and the clink of glasses. Stimulated, I started to think a bit more clearly and had an idea. I used the mobile phone again.

‘Hank? This is Cliff Hardy. You busy? Good. Meet me in the beer garden of the Watsons Bay Hotel and I’ll buy you a drink and tell you a story.’

But what I don’t understand is why you put them in the boat,’ Hank Bachelor said. ‘Why not just leave them in the car while you did the business?’

‘Hell, give me a break. I was making it up as I went along. Maybe I had some romantic idea of her and him, him and her, sailing away into the sunset. I don’t know.’

We were in the beer garden eating fish and chips and drinking Cascade. I mean I was drinking. I’d had three or four and didn’t feel like stopping.

Hank was going more slowly and eating more. ‘Anyways, I’m glad you called me. This is cool.’ He pointed to the restaurant at the end of the pier. ‘I was never here before. What’s that place like?’

‘Great but expensive. I’ll take you there when you finish the course. You should bring Pammy.’

‘Hah. Pammy’s a vegan and she doesn’t drink.’

‘I don’t see a big future for your relationship.’

‘Why did you call me, Cliff?’

I lifted the cold bottle to my mouth and took a long drink. The beer was smooth and the taste felt good and pure after all the things I’d been doing and thinking over the past few hours. ‘I dunno,’ I said. ‘I suppose I trust you and I suppose I had no one else to tell the story to and I know I need a lift home.’

He laughed and I joined him.

We sat quietly for a while and ate and drank while the people around us did the same. It was one of those rare moments when I felt in tune with other citizens. It was partly alcohol-induced and wouldn’t last, but I enjoyed it. Under the stars at Watsons Bay within sound of the water and in good company wasn’t a bad place to be and the empty feeling that came with the finish of a case hadn’t yet cut in. I wrapped up the leavings of the meal and dumped them in a bin and I told Hank I was going for another beer.

‘You’re drunk,’ he said.

‘Right. One more to seal it. Then you can drive me home.’

‘Sit. I’ll get it.’

He came back with a beer for me and coffee for himself. ‘You said you trusted me. How about the lawyer?’

‘Don’t trust him but I’ve got a lot on him and he knows it. Client-lawyer confidentiality gives him a fair bit of protection. It’ll work out.’

‘The cops’ll put you through the wringer.’

I took in some more beer. Still tasted good. I shrugged. I think I shrugged. ‘Won’t be the first time. They’ve got their killer all wrapped up. They’ll be happy.’

‘They haven’t got you-know-who.’

‘Won’t be the first time. Won’t be the last.’

‘I guess.’

I finished the beer and heaved myself upright. ‘Tell you one thing, Henry. Are you a Henry-type Hank, Hank?’

‘Howard.’

‘Tell you one thing, Howard. If you put any of this in one of your essays you better be sure to change the bloody names.’

Bryce O’Connor, true to lawyer form and with a lot at stake, handled things well. He hid Master somewhere and Lorrie went back to her office and home without any serious alarm ever being raised. O’Connor and I managed the delivery of the hundred thousand to one of Black Andy Piper’s ‘associates’. There was no escaping that obligation. I asked the guy we met whether they’d caught up with Ray Starcevich and he didn’t reply. I never found out.

Carmichael and Hammond grilled me as I knew they would. They were sure I was involved in the capture of Warren North, and they suspected me of being in contact with Master at the very least, but they had no proof. They threatened me with obstruction and conspiracy but the threats were empty.

They were happy to have someone to charge over the murders of Fay Lewis and Jarrod Montefiore and possibly Reg Penny. To their own satisfaction, they could close the book on these cases. But, given what I’d told them about North’s shadowy connections and what they’d learned themselves, they could be under no illusions. Bringing him to trial would be a long process and securing a conviction would be hard going.