Peter Corris: Lugarno

‘You’re right there.’

He killed the cigarette early and looked at me through the smoke haze. ‘I want you to find out who supplied Danni with the drugs and get solid evidence on him.’

‘Or her.’

‘Jesus, what a world. Yes. Or her. If I can present that evidence when the police act, help them get a conviction, and show that Danni’s under treatment, my lawyer friend says there’s a chance she’ll get a suspended sentence and I can set about straightening things out. There’s not a lot of time I know, but I hope you’ll help me.’

I sat back and thought about it while he told me how my former client had said I was honest and resourceful and got quick results. I thought it’d look good on my card: Cliff Hardy, Private Investigations — honest, resourceful, quick… Except that sometimes you had to be less than honest, and resourcefulness wasn’t always enough and some things took time.

I stalled by asking Price what he did for a living.

‘In America they’d call me a lobbyist, here I’m a consultant. I advise people how to deal with government departments, get their projects approved, get them funds. That sort of thing. I used to work for a couple of ministers as an adviser.’

‘Which side of politics?’

That brought the first smile I’d seen from him. ‘Both,’ he said. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Not really.’ I’d had a reason for asking the question. For all I knew up to then Price might have been a politician himself or in the public eye in some way and desperate to keep his image clean. Hard to deal with those kinds of people because their number one priority is always themselves. But whether you called them lobbyists or consultants, people in Price’s game didn’t have to worry about their reputations. In fact a few rough edges probably stood them in good stead.

‘Does Jason know who the supplier is?’ By asking the question I’d indicated my decision to help him and Price let out an audible sigh.

‘I’m not sure. Possibly. But if he doesn’t know he’s bound to know someone who does. From talking to him I’ve found out a bit about this drug culture, so-called. It’s not all black and white the way the media has it. Some kids try it and don’t like it. Some like it too much and don’t do it again. Some take drugs when they feel like it and not when they don’t. The users have friends who don’t use. Some of them share and won’t sell.’

And some sell and won’t share, I thought, but I was encouraged by his attitude. I wasn’t sure that his plan was feasible in all its details but it had a humanitarian and sincere ring to it that persuaded me.

I’d prepared for the meeting by bringing my standard contract form; he signed it and wrote a cheque giving me a retainer of two thousand five hundred dollars against a daily rate of three hundred and fifty plus expenses, to be reviewed when the retainer was expended. I reserved the right to vary the daily rate upwards to a maximum of two and half times if I had to hire help, but the retainer would only be defrayed by the standard daily rate. He signed almost without reading it and I did the same — he because he was worried and stressed, me because I was embarrassed. The complicated contract had been drawn up by my accountant who’d told me that post the GST everything was going to get tougher and I had to have an edge. His edge was his higher fee for preparing my tax return.

Price had read the books. He’d come equipped with passport photographs of his wife and daughter and one of Jason dressed for golf and holding a trophy of some kind. He gave me his card which proclaimed him to be Martin (Marty) S. Price, Executive Director of High Flier Consultants Pty Ltd. The card carried his business phone number, his mobile number and his email address. If he thought a man who arranged business meetings in coffee bars probably didn’t have a computerised office, he didn’t comment.

Sammy appeared to have the cheekbones, mouth, eyes and hair for the job, and if her expression was a bit vacant-looking that probably didn’t hurt any. It’s never surprised me that models and racing car drivers seem to get together so often. Danni favoured her father; she was dark with strong features that missed prettiness but hit attractive dead centre — strong jaw, full mouth, straight nose.

Jason was what was once called willowy, when there were more willows about. Fair-haired, tall and slim, he had the sloping shoulders that seem to be good for golf as well as big hands clutched around his trophy. At about his age I’d won a couple of trophies for surfing, but they tended to be plastic dolphins mounted on plastic stands and there was no way I’d have been photographed with them.

It occurred to me that each of these people, my client included, looked exactly the way they should, given the little I knew of them. It worried me a bit. I was used to more off-centre kinds of characters, but maybe this case was just moving me up in the world.

The Prices lived in Lugarno, a suburb that was a sort of peninsula jutting out into the Georges River, and Jason was in Bankstown, not parts of Sydney I was very familiar with.

‘Lugarno,’ I said as I wrote it down.

In Glebe, people write their diaries and novels in coffee bars, give interviews to journalists, write notes for reviews of the food and service. No one took any notice of us doing business. Price seemed more relaxed now with business underway, cheques written, contracts signed. He was in his element concluding a deal, and it showed. He ordered two more coffees. He leaned back in his chair and unfastened the buttons on his stylish three-button single-breasted suit jacket. ‘Do you ski?’ he asked.

I’d surf-skied but I knew that wasn’t what he meant. ‘No.’

‘I do. When I was younger I skied all over Europe — Italy, Austria, Scandinavia, the lot. Switzerland. I had a wonderful time in Lugarno and when I found there was a Sydney suburb of that name, that’s where I wanted to live. Silly, huh?’

I shrugged. ‘Not really. Romantic maybe.’

That brought him jolting back down to earth. He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, well, what happens now?’.

I thought; I bank your cheque and make the rent on my office and pay the rego, but I said, ‘I’ll talk to Jason and see if I can find out what you want to know. How hostile is he likely to be?’

I got another smile, smaller this time. ‘How subtle can you be?’

‘Fairly.’

‘Do you know anything about golf?’

‘About as much as I know about skiing.’

Again, Price was in his territory, fencing. ‘Do I detect a note of class consciousness?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

Price actually laughed. ‘Your reputation for directness seems to be well deserved. Jason’ll be all right. If he’s not at home he’ll be at the Milperra Golf Club where he’s got some sort of apprenticeship. He’s really concerned about Danni. I doubt if he’ll give you names but he could steer you in the right direction. I assume you’ve got useful contacts.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, the police.’

I nodded. I was working on that. After Frank Parker retired and I served a short sentence for obstructing the course of justice, my effective police contacts faded away. I’d recently struck up an acquaintance at the gym with a detective in the forensic branch and was trying to cultivate him. Time would tell. I detached the carbon copy of the contract and handed it to Price who folded it neatly and put it in the inside pocket of his suit coat. The brief flashes of animation he’d shown were fading away now and he’d reassumed the haunted, stressed look that aged him. I could tell that he wanted to leave but couldn’t bring himself to break the connection without some form of hope.

I helped him. ‘Lugarno’s a long way from Cabramatta and the Cross,’ I said. ‘Do you think Danielle gets her supplies locally?’