Peter Corris - Beware of the Dog

Willis was polite. He introduced himself and Constable Booth and asked if I was prepared to make a statement.

‘What about?’ I said.

‘The circumstances surrounding the fire at Salisbury Road, Mount Victoria and the deaths of Patrick Lamberte and Karen Livermore.’

I told it straight: why Mrs Lamberte had hired me and what I’d done and hadn’t done. I hadn’t entered the cabin before the fire started; I hadn’t actually seen Lamberte take the posted package inside; I had no idea of who the woman was and no brief to report on Patrick Lamberte’s romantic associations. I didn’t know where Mrs Lamberte was now and had had no contact with her since the fire. Even when I ran dry Willis didn’t prompt me. Eventually I got through it all. Constable Booth had clattered away, easily keeping pace with me. She shut down her machine and told Willis she’d be back in an hour with a printout.

Willis, a tired-looking middle-aged man with jowls and thinning hair, flopped into a chair. ‘Doesn’t sound too good,’ he said. ‘Even given the fuckin’ stupid job blokes like you do.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘You say you cleaned out the shells?’

I was tired by this time and I simply nodded.

‘Fits. They found a little lump of melted metal. What we don’t know is what caused the fire. You reckon the wife set it up?’

I shrugged, which hurt my burned back. ‘How would I know?’

‘You’ve met her. You’re her boy.’

‘Someone must have interviewed her by this time.’

It was Willis’ turn to shrug. ‘Not really. She was in shock, her quack said. She had a certificate. No-one really got to talk to her. Now she seems to have pissed off. Sure you weren’t rooting her yourself, Hardy?’

I closed my eyes.

‘It’s bad for you that she’s not around. The sister shacked up with the husband?’ Willis shook his head stagily. ‘Makes it hard to believe that you were camped out there in the fuckin’ freezing cold just to keep an eye on things.’

‘I told you. She thought her husband was going to kill her.’

‘Nothing we’ve heard about him makes that likely. He was a wheeler-dealer and an arsehole, but that’s it. And there again, he’s not around to give your story the confirmation it so badly needs. You’re in a bit of a spot, Hardy?’

‘What’s the charge?’

‘We could do something with putting dangerous materials through the post. Could cost you your licence, but you’ve got a bit of pull, I hear. So maybe you can fancy step your way out of that.’

I kept my eyes closed. His voice was a tired drone. With a bit of luck it’d send me off to sleep.

‘Fire could’ve been an accident, I suppose,’ Willis went on. ‘Stove blew up as she was making cocoa. Or they were smoking in bed.’

‘There was an explosion.’

‘So you said. Then again, you were in the army. You probably know a bit about explosives and such.’

‘Not much.’

‘Still, you know the right people. Know someone who can take the bang out of bullets, for example. I’m not sure that’s legal and I don’t think you happened to mention that person’s name. Maybe he’s got a workshop full of jelly and, what d’they call it, plastique?’

‘You’ve seen too many movies. You’re fishing. I’m tired. Go away, Sergeant.’

Willis laughed. I opened my eyes as I heard his chair scrape on the floor. He’d pulled it closer to the bed and now I could smell him-aftershave, bad teeth and beer. ‘I’m sorry you’re tired, Hardy, because that was just the easy part,’ he said. ‘You made your statement and you’ll sign it. Easy stuff. You were in control. You could lie as much as you liked. Thank Parker and your girlfriend for that. But their protection just ran out. Now I want to ask you a few questions and you can take all the usual warnings as given.’

I said, ‘About what?’ But I knew.

‘Tell me all about how this crazy twat who shot her dad got your gun, and why you didn’t say a fuckin’ word about it.’

Police minds work in strange ways. It seemed in this instance that they were more upset at my not reporting the loss of the pistol and evading their attempts to catch me, than at a possible double murder. I said something like this to Willis.

‘Don’t kid yourself. It’s early days in that investigation. If we come up with something against you Hardy, you’ll wish you’d taken up bee-keeping.’

Willis wasn’t as jaded as he looked. He began to get worked up and I wondered what lay behind his attitude. He’d been with me for almost two hours-maybe he found it hard to go that long without a drink. Maybe he didn’t have private health insurance the way I had to have, and resented my quiet room and leafy view. And there were young nurses. I wished one would come in now and usher him away. No such luck.

‘I was embarrassed,’ I said. ‘It’s embarrassing to have your gun lifted.’

Willis snorted. ‘Especially by a woman.’

‘By anyone.’

‘And you’re not embarrassed now? You can talk to me about it?’

I lifted my bandaged hands up above the blanket. The action hurt. ‘They tell me I nearly died. It puts things into perspective.’

Willis scowled. ‘Fuckin’ smartarse private eyes,’ he said.

I twigged then. He was expressing the police force’s anger over the publicity given to the case of two PEAs who’d been charged with bribing police officers, conspiracy to murder and conspiring to pervert the course of justice. The case had been in the news when I’d made my trip to the mountains, but that was almost two weeks ago. Glen and I had talked about it in the early stages, but there must have been later developments which we hadn’t discussed.

‘Brewster and Loggins,’ I said. ‘What happened to them?’

Willis nodded. Some of the energy seemed to drain from him. ‘Loggins jumped bail. He’s probably in Spain by now with that fuckin’…’

‘Ray Brewster?’

‘Offed himself. Took a uniformed man with him and left a letter.’

There’s nothing the police dislike more than suicide letters and dying declarations. They have a dramatic impact that is almost impossible to refute. I wondered what Brewster had said. I’d met him once-a big man, ex-cop, which made it worse, slow-witted and violent. He’d resigned from the force when it was obvious that he was on the take. The granting of a PEA licence had been his price for keeping quiet about everyone else who was doing the same. An old story. Old pigeons coming home to an old roost.

‘I’ve got nothing further to volunteer about the Wilberforce matter,’ I said. ‘Beyond this-I have a client whose interests I am pledged to protect.’

‘Get off the soapbox, you…’

There was a knock at the door and Constable Booth entered carrying a sheaf of papers. She gave two sets to me and one to Willis as if she was unaware of the tension in the room. She wasn’t, though. She clicked a ballpoint pen with perfect timing and handed it to me.

‘A signature at the foot of two copies, please, Mr Hardy. Sergeant Willis will witness. There are two passages which are a little obscure. I’ve tagged them. Perhaps you’d be good enough to make corrections and initial the two copies at those points.’

‘Happy to,’ I said.

I flicked through the pages slowly, trying not to let Willis see how much the movement hurt me, making the amendments and initialing, watching him do a slow burn. When we’d finished, Constable Booth executed a smart turn and marched from the room, like me, she seemed to find the situation slightly ridiculous. I put my spare copy of the statement on the bedside cabinet, along with the water carafe, the as-yet-unopened paperbacks and untouched grapes.

Willis heaved himself up from his chair. ‘Be careful,’ he said.