Peter Corris - Matrimonial Causes

‘Good, good.’ Maxwell took off his hat and fanned himself again. He made it look natural but I was ready for something like that. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Matthews pull back from a position he’d moved to about fifty yards away.

‘If I seem a little slow-witted, Hardy, it’s because this enforced abstinence is causing my brain to seize up. You’re quite right, of course. I’m in hiding here. I…’

I opened the briefcase, took out the gin bottle and unscrewed the cap. ‘It’s warm and there’s no tonic, ice or slices of lemon.’

He eyed the bottle like a desert traveller stumbling across an oasis. ‘You’re utterly unscrupulous. I have been trying.’

‘I don’t give a shit,’ I said. ‘Your weaknesses are your problem. I want information because my life’s in danger and I believe this one’s all I’ve got. Oil your brains and talk to me. Maybe I can even help you.’

The last remark tipped the balance. Maybe it just enabled him to rationalise his action. He grabbed the bottle, swivelled a little to shield himself from view and tilted it to his mouth. He swallowed deeply twice before I took it away from him.

‘Oh my God, that’s better. Christ, I wish I could be sure I could trust you.’

‘If you were sure it wouldn’t be trust. It’d be something else.’

He shot me a surprised look. ‘Having a drink yourself?’

Warm neat gin wasn’t my drink of choice, even if the lip of the bottle hadn’t touched his cold sore. ‘No,’ I said. Tell me what’s going on and you can take the rest back to your cell.’

He looked glum. ‘They search you when you’ve been in contact with a civilian. I’ll have to drink it here and smoke like mad and chew gum leaves. Give me another tot, and I’ll tell you what I can. I don’t know everything, not by a long chalk, and I don’t want to.’

I handed him the bottle. He took a long pull and used his hat again to signal to Matthews. He didn’t bother to conceal the action this time. Out came the cigarette case and lighter and he got himself set. He told me that some prominent Sydney identities were involved in a conspiracy to get themselves trouble-free, reputation-saving divorces. Charles Meadowbank was one and he named two others-Bruce Redding, who was a member of Parliament, and a surgeon named Molesworth. He said there were more, possibly bigger people, whose names he didn’t know.

‘My belief is,’ he said, ‘that a certain amount of wife-swapping has been going on in high places. Now these people want to make the swaps permanent, but they don’t want fuss or the precious names of their various intendeds to be sullied.’

I said it sounded like a difficult thing to organise. He agreed but said it had been done through the agency of several lawyers like Perkins, a number of women like Virginia Shaw and several private investigators like himself.

‘Perkins claimed to know nothing about the Meadowbank killing. It looked as if this woman who worked for him had some involvement. She’s the one who was killed.’

‘He probably used her as a front and she exceeded her instructions. This whole thing has got out of hand.’

‘He seemed genuinely shocked when he learned of her murder.’

Maxwell shrugged and put his cigarette stub under the heel of his pale suede shoe. He glanced at the outline of the bottle in my bag, then looked away. ‘Like me, he probably had some involvement, but hadn’t expected things to take the turn they did.’

‘What exactly was your involvement?’

‘I helped to set up the women to be correspondents in the Redding and Molesworth matters. There was a sort of pool of money, a fighting fund established from these lucrative clients, and I was well paid. I’m using those funds here now. There was a promise of more when the divorces all went through.’

That dried him out and I had to give him another go at the bottle to get the flow started. ‘Don’t get pissed on me,’ I said. ‘It won’t work.’

‘There’s not enough here to do that. I had an enormous lunch out of sheer boredom. My stomach is well lined.’

I rolled a cigarette and listened as he told me of his alarm when he heard, first, that Meadowbank was pulling out of the agreement, and then that he had been shot. ‘That was all a bit too sticky for me, old boy. I decided it was best to get out of town and lie low for a spell. I was very perturbed when you turned up, to put it mildly. But I must say you had a brilliant strategy for winning my trust.’

The liquor was making him more confident now and oily. I hadn’t liked him to begin with and the dislike was growing, but I had a lot more to learn. There must be someone behind all this then,’ I said. ‘Someone holding it all together.’

He lit another cigarette and didn’t speak.

‘That’s what I need to know. That name.’

He shook his head. ‘I simply don’t know. I took instructions by telephone.’

‘Come on.’

‘It’s true. Of course, I sniffed around a little and came up with Andrew Perkins’ name and another member of our noble profession was in on it, too. I’m reluctant to name him and I’m sure he knows no more than I do. He’s a timid soul as well, and might have gone to ground. There’s a good deal of surmise in what I’m telling you, Hardy. I have to admit that.’

I felt rather let down. Maxwell’s sketch of what lay behind the deaths and deceptions Virginia Shaw had involved me in was interesting and convincing, so far as it went. But without a name, something to follow up, it all began to feel as fragile as a used tissue. I let my disappointment show by zipping up the bag. ‘This isn’t enough, Dicky. I’m considering hauling you out of here by the scruff of the neck.’

Maxwell shifted towards me on the seat; his soft hand shot out and fondled the bottle. ‘Don’t do that. Matthews would certainly stop you. He’s armed this time and he’s a very vindictive type. I’ll be honest with you. I can’t swear I’d give you that name if I knew it. There’s a lot of power and money behind this thing. But I don’t know it. Give me another drink.’

‘Why the hell should I? What can I do with what you’ve told me? One of the cops I’m in touch with knows there’s something going on. Maybe he’ll be interested to get a few more clues, but that’s not going to get me off the hook. I could ask the police to come and question you, I suppose.’

He sniffed and his tongue licked at the cracked cold sore. ‘If the impression I leave with is that you’re going to send the police here, I’ll be off within the hour. I assure you. Give me a bloody drink. Can’t you see I’m working myself up to tell you something more?’

He was sweating. Beads of moisture had formed where his hatband met his bald head and were threatening to run down into his eyes. He dabbed at the spot with a moist hand. His breath carried to me across the shorter distance between us- sweet from the gin but going sour, tainted with tobacco and fear. I gave him the bottle. He’d drunk about half of the contents and he disposed of another sizeable slug. I looked around and saw Matthews leaning against a tree. He was stripping a twig and crushing the leaves before dropping them to the ground. I was anxious to get away from the place.

‘OK. You’ve had your drink. Let’s hear it.’

He drew in a deep breath and surrendered the bottle. I let the last couple of inches run out onto the ground and he watched, almost approvingly.

I’d seen it before. Now he’d go on the wagon! Like hell he would.

‘If you keep me altogether out of it, I’ll tell you who shot Charles Meadowbank,’ he said.

I was back on the highway before the thought struck me that Richard Maxwell might have outsmarted me the way Ernie had predicted. What did I have? A name and a few vague allegations about some prominent people who were well-protected from the likes of me. Maxwell could be on his way north or south at that very moment. Somehow, I didn’t think so. He was a very frightened man, past his best and losing his grip. God knows what he would have done when he and his liver were younger and filter. But as it was, he’d backed me. I was almost flattered.