Peter Corris: Lugarno

I let him in. ‘Bit of a slum, isn’t it?’

If anything, his dress and appearance were smoother than before. Was he touching up the fair hair? Maybe. His casual jacket and pleated slacks were modish. ‘Who cares?’ he said. ‘What’s this about?’

I took him through to the kitchen and showed him where I’d patched the louvres with two pieces of three-ply.

‘See there? That bloke who was going to kill you, or one of his mob or someone sent by Prue Bonham, took a shot at me.’

From his expression it was obvious that he was sorry they missed. He shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

‘I want the name of the woman you spoke to about the blackmail.’

He shook his head. I backed him up so that he was pressed against the breakfast bench. ‘Ramsay, I’m not asking you nicely, I’m telling you!’

Ramsay wasn’t quite spineless. ‘No.’

I eased off. ‘Okay, Regina Kipps has agreed to lay a charge of theft against you. I planted something of hers in that Lane Cove house and when I told her I’d found it there she wasn’t happy. She’ll go the distance. Do you know what a criminal conviction means for a law student?’

He did and it shook him. I could see his brain racing: he didn’t think… but he couldn’t be sure. ‘You’re a bastard, Hardy. You and Tess deserve each other.’

It was hard but I held it in. ‘The name and the address.’

He told me.

I rang Tanya Scott and asked her if she knew the woman in question.

‘I do, slightly.’

‘I want to talk to her. Could you arrange a meeting?’

‘I suppose. What’s it about?’

‘Can we leave it that you’ll find out then?’

‘Mystery man. Am I going to get a second go at you?’

‘You could try.’

She laughed. ‘When d’you want this?’

‘As soon as.’

The meeting was arranged for two days later in Tanya’s Coogee apartment. Mrs Kylie Petersen, who lived in Bellevue Hill, had no idea of what it was about. A little investigation had shown me that her husband was on the board of this and that, chairman of the other thing. The chances of my rolling up to her home and seeing her on spec were nil.

I arrived ahead of time and admired Tanya in her white trouser suit and her view and her good taste as we chatted. Mrs Petersen, in a blue silk dress, was a tall, slender blonde in the Samantha Price mould and she looked ready to jump out the window when Tanya introduced me as a private detective.

‘Don’t be alarmed, Mrs Petersen. I don’t mean you any harm. I know the trouble you’re in and I want to help. I think Tanya can vouch for me not being any kind of crook.’

Tanya nodded. Nice of her.

I spelled it all out — what I knew about the escorts, the blackmail, the drugs. I filled her in on the two deaths and the near miss. I mentioned Stivens and Lewis and gave her both barrels on Prue Bonham. Tanya looked shocked as it came out. Mrs Petersen was sitting down and trying valiantly to retain her composure and only cracked to the extent of asking Tanya for a drink. It was eleven a.m. and we were already drinking gins and tonic. Tanya was smoking furiously and Mrs Petersen looked as if she’d like to do the same but resisted.

‘They’ve got their hooks into you?’

She nodded. ‘A videotape and some notes. I was stupid and I’m paying for it. Not the drugs, though.’ She held up her glass. ‘They tried but I prefer this, although I’m taking about four times as much of it now as I used to.’

‘Any chance of squaring things with your husband and giving them the flick?’

She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

‘You’ve got to do something, Kylie,’ Tanya said. ‘You can’t go on paying that Bonham bitch forever.’

Mrs Petersen knocked back the rest of her drink and clearly wanted another. ‘I can’t see what else to do.’

Tanya looked at me and said, ‘Cliff?’ as she moved towards the gin.

‘I’ve got a suggestion,’ I said. ‘At a guess, Mrs Petersen, you know a few other women in the same fix.’

She accepted her refill. ‘Sort of, by implication, if you know what I mean.’

‘I suggest that you get together with them and talk over what I’ve told you. If there’s anyone willing to go to the police about it the thing’ll crack wide open and you’ll be off the hook.’

She looked doubtful. ‘I think we’re all in the same boat.’

I finished my drink and poured myself a bit more. I looked out the huge window at a blue sky and a sparkling sea before turning back to the two women. ‘It’s a dirty world. I’m willing to bet some of these husbands aren’t as clean as the driven snow.’

Mrs Petersen nodded. ‘I know of one who’s a philandering bastard.’

‘My point exactly. Now I know a female private detective who could investigate these gentlemen and… get the women we’re talking about some leverage. The thing is this — the police want to act but haven’t got the evidence. Just one solid testimony and they’ll move. They’ll protect the witness, but she’d have to… be secure. You know what I mean.’

For all her smart appearance and impeccable make-up, Kylie Petersen had worn a slightly defeated air from the first. Now it seemed to drop away a little. ‘That’s a very interesting suggestion, Mr Hardy,’ she said. ‘Can you give me the name of the detective?’

Glen Withers, the senior policewoman who’d dumped me to marry an even more senior policeman, had left him and the force and opened her own private enquiry agency. I’d spoken to her a couple of times over the phone, had a drink with her, and we’d exchanged cards. I handed the card to Kylie Petersen.

‘Is she good?’

‘Very good,’ I said, and felt an old pang as I spoke. Tanya seemed to notice and gave a knowing smile.

‘I can’t promise anything,’ Kylie Petersen said. ‘But you’ve given me some hope. Thank you, Tanya. Thank you, Mr Hardy.’

Tayna and I both nodded. Comrades. Tanya saw Mrs Petersen out and I wandered back to the window to look at the view again. The sun had gone behind a cloud and all the blues and greens were muted. But the clouds were moving and the colours would soon be back.