Peter Corris - Matrimonial Causes

‘He doesn’t. It’s not possible. But if he’s there when he’s needed that’s all it takes.’

‘Hmm.’ He handed me a bottle. We sat at the table and drank. Very convivial. Perkins had regained his composure and had his innate nastiness under control. He appeared to be thinking as he drank. He tore off a section of paper towel and wiped his mouth. ‘Something you said interested me.’

‘Virginia Shaw, I…’

‘No, I may or may not talk about that matter. I haven’t decided. You said you rang my office.’

‘Yesterday, about 10.00 a.m.’

‘And spoke to whom?’

‘A woman.’ I searched my memory. ‘Julie… Farnham?’

‘Juliet Farquhar. And what was discussed?’

‘Nothing much. I said I wanted to speak to you re Miss Shaw. She said you had no client by that name and that I should try some other Perkins. I said I wanted to talk to you anyway. I got the impression she consulted you. Then she said you’d be out of town on business for a while.’

‘You didn’t believe her and you persisted?’

‘After someone took a shot at me and yelled at me to stay out of the Meadowbank thing. Seemed to me you had to be behind that.’

The beer was cold and good. We drank at about the same pace and I had the odd feeling that we were thinking at about the same pace and along the same lines. Perkins put his empty bottle down on the table and used the paper towel again. He had thick lips and a problem with keeping them dry. ‘I can appreciate the reason for your intrusion and aggression,’ he said. ‘But I wasn’t in my office at that time yesterday, and Miss Farquhar didn’t mention your call to me.’

‘And you do have a client named Virginia Shaw?’

‘Not… officially.’

‘Would Miss Farquhar know about this unofficial client?’

‘Until now, I would have thought not.’

My turn to drain the bottle. I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. Perkins was looking more worried now than at any time so far. I had an advantage but wasn’t sure how to exploit it. When in doubt, go for the chain of command. ‘What’s Miss Farquhar’s job? How long has she been with you?’

Perkins frowned. A lot of horizontal wrinkles formed on his forehead below the red, crinkled waves of his hair-not a pretty sight. ‘A couple of months. She’s my… legal secretary. She has a Bachelor of Jurisprudence degree from Monash.’

‘Meaning that she knows a lot about the law but she’s not a qualified practitioner and she’s not doing articles?’

Perkins nodded. ‘She’s a very capable young woman.’

‘Maybe too capable. There’s something going on here. Virginia Shaw thinks that Charles Meadowbank was killed because he didn’t want to go through with the divorce. You helped to set that divorce up.’

‘Not really,’ Perkins said. ‘I’m not acting for either party. I just did Charles a favour by putting him in touch with Virginia.’

‘You might have helped to get him killed.’

‘Don’t say that! I don’t understand any of this. How do I know you’re telling the truth?’

‘Call Juliet Farquhar. She’s the link.’

His hesitation spoke volumes. Perkins wasn’t the sort of man who hesitated unnecessarily-he’d been caught out, and didn’t like it. Juliet Farquhar was coolly playing a game of her own and he didn’t want to think about what the consequences might be for him. I now had my strategy. ‘Don’t piss around,’ I said. ‘Somebody’s plans have gone badly wrong. Your Miss Farquhar could be getting you involved in something very nasty, or she could be in great danger herself. Maybe both.’

Perkins stood up and grabbed the wall phone. He didn’t need to refer to his little black book to get the number. He dialled rapidly. I opened the fridge, pulled out two more beers and opened them. I took a drink and put the other bottle within Perkins’ reach. He ignored it.

‘No answer.’ He slammed the phone back into its housing.

I shrugged. ‘She could be anywhere.’

Perkins shook his head and seized the bottle. ‘We were supposed to be going out tonight.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Drinks at six. She’d be getting ready by now. She puts in a lot of time on her appearance.’

I took another pull on the bottle and then pushed it away. Strong. I got up and took my gun and the bullets down from the fridge.

Perkins almost choked on his next hasty swig of Heineken. It was no way to drink high quality beer. ‘What… what are you doing?’

I loaded the gun, trying not to make the action too melodramatic. ‘You’d better tell me where she lives, unless you want to come with me.’

‘I’ve been stupid,’ he said wearily. ‘She’s a very exciting woman.’

All of a sudden, Andrew Perkins didn’t look as impressive as he had on the tennis court and as he no doubt did in a courtroom. He ran his hand back over his head and feathered up his hair which was thinner than it had first looked. It was receding at the sides, too, something careful arrangement had concealed. I closed the cylinder and put the gun in its holster. The click of the mechanism made him twitch. I didn’t like Perkins lording it over me, but I didn’t want him coming to pieces, either. At that moment I could probably have got a cheque for Virginia Shaw out of him and walked away, but it had gone beyond that. Below the wall phone there was a message pad with a ballpoint pen attached to it by a chain. I tore a leaf from the pad.

‘Where does she live?’

Perkins had almost finished his second bottle. ‘In Bronte. Barker Avenue, Number 10, Unit 16.’

I wrote the information along with a description of the woman’s car and Perkins’ number on the slip. ‘You’re her employer, maybe you should come with me.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m more than that. She… knows things about me. If she’s betrayed me… I… I have a violent temper. It’s better I don’t go.’

‘Suit yourself. Have you got a key?’

He went into the sitting room and came back with a leather key holder. He detached a key and handed it over. His compliance puzzled me.

I said, ‘I’m not acting in your interests, you understand.’

He smiled and freckles stood out on his face which had lost all colour. ‘Exactly in whose interests are you acting, Hardy?’

‘Will I have any trouble from Carl if I just walk out of here?’

Perkins shook his head.

‘You stay put,’ I said. You’ll be hearing from me or the police or both.’

He shrugged and tilted the beer bottle to his flabby, moist mouth.

I didn’t see Carl, but I had a feeling he was watching me from somewhere and would have been on the job in a flash if I’d tried to steal the Alfa. Useful bloke, Carl. It wasn’t far to Bronte and the roads weren’t too busy. The exercise and the beer had given me a lift and I’d recovered some of the ground I’d lost with Perkins. I quickly rolled a cigarette while waiting for a light and got it lit at the next stop. This was getting interesting. Miss Farquhar was playing some kind of game and I was keen to learn the rules from her. If she wasn’t at home I’d just have to find her. It was one of the things I was supposed to be good at doing.

Unlike some avenues, where there isn’t a tree in sight, this one had plenty-plane trees and she-oaks on both sides as it curved up away from the beach over what must originally have been a sandhill. Mostly blocks of flats, the occasional set of semis and a few Federation cottages. The flats I was looking for were set on a big block well back from the road. A lot of houses must have come down to provide the space. There were three modern blocks built of pale brick with big windows; each containing a dozen or more units. I parked in the street and approached on foot. A wide driveway led to a series of parking bays and carports. The higher the rent the better the car protection. Perkins had told me that Miss Farquhar drove a white Mini that still carried its black and white Victorian number plates. It was sitting in its uncovered space, locked, neatly parked.