Peter Corris - The Washington Club

I sucked in a breath. Here goes, I thought. Another chance to screw everything up. But if I was evasive she’d know. ‘Why did you come up here, Claudia? And why did you bring the old passport?’

For some people, having their private effects snooped into, letters read, diary perused, is the ultimate betrayal. Nothing can repair the damage. My theory is that those who leave things where they can be peeped at want this to happen, at least on one level. It’s a convenient theory for someone in my line of work and helps to account for their overreaction. Others take it in their stride and Claudia was one of them.

She grinned at me, probing the gap in her teeth with her tongue. ‘Wouldn’t be much of a detective if you didn’t open the odd drawer, eh? I don’t blame you. I’m a terrible snoop myself. Let me loose in your place and I’d probably… ‘ She heard what she’d said and stopped. Apparently, like me, she was living whatever there was between us out minute by minute and this was the first time she’d looked ahead. A bleak expression spread across her face.

I wanted to comfort her. To touch her, to tame a few of the wild hair tendrils, to kiss her and feel the jut of those marvellous teeth, but I sat still.

‘I thought I might be able to get it doctored to pass muster. Thought about doing a flit,’ she said. ‘Just grabbing all the money I could lay my hands on, getting on a plane to Majorca and pissing off out of all this. It looks like they can’t bring you back from there.’

They can for murder, I thought, but I didn’t say it. ‘What stopped you?’

‘I thought about a woman I knew who was in the witness protection program. New identity and all that. She’d got involved in a quite different legal problem, unrelated to what had gone on before, and it was a mess. Her life was hell and she went mad. I thought of how much worse it would be in a foreign country with fake papers and all that. I made a rational decision not to do it and now I’m glad I did.’

I was glad as well, but I wondered if our reasons were the same. She reached over and touched the Band-Aid on the back of my hand. ‘We can tell everything to this Leon Stratton, can’t we? We can make Van Kep admit he was lying-’

‘There’s a problem. Van Kep might change his story if he knew the guy who threatened him was dead. But I can’t make the connection without admitting that I killed him.’

‘It was self-defence. He was a known criminal. He tried to blow you up and he had a shotgun. You had to do it.’

I shook my head. ‘I didn’t report it. I removed evidence and disposed of it. I’d be up to my balls in trouble.’

She smiled. The bleak look remained and the effect was disturbing. ‘So it’s you or me?’

‘No, I’ll come clean if there’s no other way. I promise you that. But we still don’t know who’s behind all this. That’s the real problem. Van Kep knows there are wheels, within wheels. One dead heavy may not be enough to sway him. Besides… ‘

‘What?’

‘I want to know, don’t you?’

She sipped some more wine and reached for the Washington Club brochure. ‘Yes, of course. But mostly I want to be out of the firing line. What’s this?’

I was doodling, hatching in around Van Kep’s box. I printed the name of the club in block letters and wrote Katz’s name under it, remembering that I’d seen him arrive as I was leaving. I told Claudia about the club and its gardens but she wasn’t interested.

‘I hate gardening. How about you?’

‘I’ve got a square yard or two of it at my place and it’s always a mess.’

She smiled. We were back there again, looking into an uncertain future. She flipped through the brochure. ‘Looks expensive. The sort of place Julius might like except he was violently anti-American. Hated the place, hated even to make money out of it.’

‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Cliff, what do we do next?’

‘Contact Stratton first thing in the morning. I’ve got a mobile in the car and then… ‘

‘Yes?’

I didn’t answer, I was too busy staring. She had left the brochure open at a page extolling the virtues of the Washington Club’s gym and spa. There was a glossy colour photograph of the changing room, all tiles and teak under discreet lighting, showing a big bank of tall, shiny metal lockers. The locker numbers were twenty centimetres high, printed in white paint. Locker number C20 was centre left in the photo, plain as day.

Claudia must have thought I’d gone mad. I started slapping pockets, digging in, turning out linings. The key was in the fob pocket of my trousers. I held it up in triumph and almost whooped. I took a gulp of wine and grinned at her.

‘So you’ve got a key,’ she said. ‘What does it open?’

I showed her the brochure and the number on the key. I hadn’t mentioned finding the key at Henderson’s hideaway. Now I did. ‘It’s a connection between Katz and Henderson. Has to be.’

‘Come on, Cliff. As soon as you get a reasonable-sized stack of lockers you’re going to get a C20. It stands to reason. Come to think of it, I seem to remember I was C20 back at Fort Street. Or was it D20? Christ, it seems so long ago.’

Not nearly as long as Maroubra High for me, I thought, but I wasn’t put off. ‘This is the intuitive part of the detective game,’ I said. ‘You might want to call it the feminine part.’

She smiled. ‘Bullshit. Blarney.’

I stroked the key. ‘My grandma would say it talked to her. Told her things. That was bullshit if you like. She was just reading all the signs people hold up-I’m rich, I’m poor, I’m happy, I’m a liar.. ‘

‘And you’ve inherited the talent?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m a rationalist. I get hints, inklings, feelings like everyone does. If they make sense I act on them. If they don’t, I chuck them out with all the other mental garbage. This makes sense. Katz makes sense! What d’you know about him?’

‘Next to nothing. I wasn’t privy to Julius’ wheelings and dealings, didn’t want to be. Why does he make sense?’

‘Most murders are domestic and corporations are like families these days, aren’t they?’

She snorted. ‘Not very in this case, I shouldn’t think, more like a despotism. Why would Wilson Katz want to kill Julius?’

‘I haven’t a clue and I don’t even need to think about it just now. I’ve got what I think is a link and I’m going to check it out, see what comes.’

‘How? You’ve already pretended to be a landscape gardener there. You can’t show up as a plumber wanting to check the toilets in the men’s room.’

‘I’ll think of something.’ In truth, I was already thinking of it. I flexed my legs, testing them for age and stiffness.

‘You’re not going to break in?’

‘No, I’m too old and smart for tricks like that. Would have at one time. I think I’m going to play some tennis.’

She reached for her cigarettes, stopped herself and drank some wine instead. ‘Tennis! Jesus, I’m facing a murder trial and you’re playing tennis.’

‘In the line of duty,’ I said. ‘Let’s go back to bed.’

‘I don’t understand you. I don’t know what’s happening here. What

… ‘

I got up, pulled her out of the chair and put my arms around her. I thought I was doing it for her and realised immediately that I was doing it for me as well. Good feeling. We stood there locked together for a full minute without speaking. In my mind I was back in Sydney, back on the job, testing myself, proving myself as always. It’s not something that’s easy to explain, especially to women. Claudia seemed to have some sense of it. She pulled away gently.

‘Bed then,’ she said. ‘In the morning I’ll ring the lawyer and go back to town. Is there anything I can do to help you?’