Peter Corris - The Black Prince

‘It’s more something to show you, really. About Mark’s investigation. I was working with him on the paper as I told you and now I’ve had a look at his files. I couldn’t bear to before, but…’

‘I understand. What shift are you on tomorrow?’

‘Morning, then I’m at the office of the paper. I could meet you there and show you.’

‘That’d be good. I think I can get clear of here by mid-morning. If I’m going to be late I’ll ring. What’s the number?’

She gave me the number, I wrote it down, thanked her and hung up. My destination was going to be Campbelltown after all.

I thought about calling Wesley Scott but decided the time wasn’t right. I wasn’t interested in dinner. After the beer I ate the crisps and nuts provided with the complimentary biscuits and called that dinner. To make up for it I ordered a big breakfast. That left some time to kill. Time can fly by in a motel when you’re with someone but it crawls when you’re on your own. Solitary big breakfasts aren’t much fun either.

I’ve never known instant coffee to keep me awake; I drank several cups while I read a book I’d thrown into the bag-Clifford Irving’s account of how he and Susskind attempted to pull off the hoax of the century by concocting a phony biography of Howard Hughes. I suspected that Irving was a bit of a shit, but he was a good writer with a great story to tell. I read until the book fell out of my hands.

On two new tyres, with a new windscreen and bacon, eggs, grilled tomato and toast inside me, I got to Campbelltown at 12.30, in time to catch Kathy coming off her shift. She still looked downcast but my judgment was that she was on the way up out of it. She had a naturally buoyant nature of a kind that’s hard to keep down. We walked through the campus to the newspaper office, housed in a demountable building that had that resigned, permanent look they get when there’s no money to replace them.

The Southwestern Star had a room in the building it shared with a student employment service, a textbook exchange and the Asian Students’ Association. The room was small, lined with shelves crammed with books, newspapers, magazines and academic periodicals. The desk was a chaos of paper, audio cassettes, computer discs and plastic coffee cups, some bristling with pens and pencils. Kathy waved her hand at the mess apologetically.

‘A lot of this’s Mark’s personal gear. It’s all mixed in with the paper stuff. He wasn’t a very organised person.’

At least she could speak his name without a sob and refer to him in the past tense. She’d get there. She sat down at the computer, turned it on and did the things young people can do- used the mouse, shot through all the intermediate stuff that baffles me and got what she wanted in seconds.

‘Here it is. Notes on possible sources of steroids. This is all about what happened to Angela, of course. That was the password he used for this stuff. Angie. I was just fooling around and tried it and got in. It looks as if he had a… what d’you call it? Someone who knows things, in Sydney?’

‘An informant.’

‘That’s right. There’s a few code names in all this. Was he just being mysterious or what?’

‘Hard to say. Investigative reporters do that.’

‘That’s right. That’s what he said he wanted to be-an investigative reporter.’ She sighed and tapped some keys. ‘Anyway, it’s hard to follow but… Jesus!’

The screen went blank.

‘What’s happened?’

She tapped keys frantically. ‘I don’t know. Oh, shit, yes, of course!’

‘What?’

‘He must’ve used a double password and put in a wipe function.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a way of safeguarding files. He built in a second password and unless the user puts it in at some point the files get wiped. I’m sure that’s what happened. Shit! I should have thought of it. He was up to all the tricks that way. I’m sorry, Mr Hardy.’

I was sorry as well but I could hardly blame her. I scarcely understood what she was saying. ‘Would the information be on the discs?’

‘Maybe.’ She pointed at the twenty or thirty discs littering the desk. ‘But where would you start? And he would definitely have put massive protection on the discs. I wouldn’t be able to get in. Oh, bugger him. Why’d he have to be so fucking clever?’

I had a feeling she was coming apart again. I spun her chair away from the computer, away from the source of her distress, away from Mark.

‘Listen, Kathy. Don’t worry. We’ll be right. Now, there’s obviously a way to make coffee around here. How’s it work?’

‘Jug in the employment centre. We all put in for the coffee and that.’

‘Okay. I’m going to make some. White with three sugars, right?’

‘Yes.’

Oh, to be young, I thought. ‘Okay. Make your mind a blank. Back in a tick.’

The door to the employment centre was closed but not locked. I boiled the jug, took two plastic cups from the stack, spooned in the International Roast and added long-life milk and sugar to Kathy’s and stirred. I took mine black.

‘Here you go,’ I said. ‘Drink a bit. Mind a blank?’

She was close to tears. ‘I feel an idiot getting you here…’

‘That’s not blank.’

‘Okay. Blank. Might as well be.’

We sipped coffee for a few minutes. She put her cup down and moved as if to turn back to the computer but I stopped her.

‘No. Listen. You read the stuff through once, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah. Sort of.’

‘So it’s a matter of what you can remember of it.’

She laughed and sounded as if she went on laughing she’d reach hysteria. That was the last thing I wanted. I shuddered at the thought of having to slap a young female student out of a fit when we were all alone in a demountable building at lunchtime. But she pulled back and suddenly seemed genuinely amused. Mood swings.

‘You know I told you I was a lousy student?’

I nodded.

‘That’s mainly why. I’ve got a rotten memory.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t believe it. Now, did Mark list some gyms or places that sold steroids?’

She nodded.

‘You saw the names on the screen?’

Another nod.

‘What were they?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s a waste of time. I haven’t a clue. I wasn’t concentrating on the detail. I was just, you know, interested, and then I thought about you and how Mark would’ve wanted me to help you. And now I’ve buggered it all up.’

I wanted to touch her, to comfort her, but these days you can’t do that. ‘Shush, Kathy. It’s okay.’

‘It’s not fucking okay. Stop saying that. I’ve fucked up the way I always do. Why did I bother when all he wanted to do was screw that black… oh, god. Listen to me. You’re wasting your time. All I can fucking remember from that bullshit is… ‘

‘Yes, Kathy. What?’

She looked at me with tears running down her face and misery making her almost ugly. ‘The informant. He was called Tank. I remember because it was such a funny name.’

‘That’s good. D’you know if it was a nickname for the bloke or one of Mark’s code names?’

She shook her head. ‘Don’t know. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. That’s a big help.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Hang in there, Kathy. You’re a hell of a lot better than you think you are.’

‘Thank you, Mr Hardy. Will you let me know what happens? I mean about Clinton and everything?’

Looking ahead. Another good sign. I told her I’d keep in touch and I meant it.

As I left I kept an eye out for Tanya Martyn. Somehow I expected to see her sprinting by in her tracksuit or striding along in her short, tight skirt. I didn’t and I was disappointed.