Peter Corris: Beware of the Dog

‘You referred to your work. What do you do? And what does your husband do?’

‘That’s diplomatic. Not many men would put the questions that way around.’

‘I’m learning,’ I said.

‘Patrick is… listen to me. I’m a partner in a small travel agency. I used to be an air hostess. We specialise in business travel. Patrick’s an architect and he has interests in other things.’

‘I gather the divorce isn’t amicable?’

‘Far from it. In the last few years before we separated we fought about everything.’

‘Such as?’

‘Money, me working, the kids, drugs, lovers real and imagined.’

I leaned back in my chair. ‘That’s a rich mixture. Perhaps you’d better tell me about this package and we can work back from there.’

‘Right. Well, we… Patrick… God knows what you say under these circumstances. We have four acres in the Blue Mountains, at Mount Victoria. I heard that Patrick had been spending time up there so I knew he must have built some kind of a house. The land was worth about thirty thousand and that’s how it appeared in the preliminary settlement documents, so I went up there yesterday to check it out. Sure enough, he’d built a nice little timber and glass cabin looking out over the valley towards Bell’s Line of Road. D’you know the mountains, Mr Hardy?’

‘A bit. It sounds pretty good.’

‘It is. I’d say that property would be worth five times as much as Patrick has stated. That kind of fraud is typical of him.’

‘You searched the cabin and found the bullets?’

‘No. God, no. I wouldn’t do anything like that. I’m trying to play it very straight so as not to give him anything he can use to challenge the custody claim. That’s why I’m here.’

‘Go on about the bullets.’

‘I went into the Post Office for some change to make a phone call. I’d only been up to Mount Victoria once or twice, and not for at least five or six years, but the woman in there recognised me and gave me the package. As you see, it’s addressed to my husband.’

A label on the package read: Lamberte c/- PO Mt Vic 2765.

‘Not exactly,’ I said.

She shrugged. Well, I was never there, for God’s sake. It had to be for him. I think that’s why she gave it to me-to be malicious. They must know what Patrick does up there.’

“What would that be, do you think?’

‘He’s a very attractive man physically. He knows it and uses it.’

I was beginning to get a picture of the Lambertes’ marriage. The woman was telling her story well with a certain amount of conviction, but, as with war, truth is the first victim of marital conflict. I had to feel for explanations other than the one Mrs Lamberte had jumped to. ‘Perhaps your husband has taken up target shooting?’

She looked at me pityingly. ‘Mr Hardy, he’s threatened my life on more than one occasion.’

‘In front of witnesses?’

‘Yes.’

Why don’t you go to the police?’

‘For the same reason I didn’t break into his bloody love nest. Patrick’s the professional. He can afford to hire the high-power legal help. I’m working on a shoestring, relatively speaking. If I… overstep my rights, invade his property, level false charges, Patrick will try to show that I’m unstable, an unfit mother. I can’t take that risk. The only chance I have to get custody and a fair division of the properly is to play strictly by the rules. But I’m afraid.’

I studied her closely. Every hair remained in place but there was an intensity and force in her voice that might have been her way of showing fear. It’s one of the tricky aspects of the job-something I didn’t tell the students about-judging whether a person you’ve met for the very first time is telling you the truth. ‘People say things they don’t mean,’ I said. ‘I do, you do, everyone does. What makes you think your husband means what he’s said?’

‘Look, Mr Hardy, I don’t want to sound unfeeling, but Patrick Lamberte is a shit. He was a spoiled brat, an indulged adolescent and a boy wonder. He had it very, very easy. He bowled me right over, I admit it. He propositioned me on a flight to London and we were screwing in the Dorchester a few hours later. He established his architecture firm when there was tons of work around and money to burn. The recession has hit him really hard. He’s got problems every way he turns. All I want to do is make sure that my future and that of my kids don’t go down the drain when he does.’

‘I get the idea,’ I said. ‘If you take half of the assets now, he’s finished.’

‘Possibly. It’s a very delicate business. If there was any scandal now the creditors could close in. Everything could be lost. If it’s all done quietly there’s a chance Patrick could restructure. I’m afraid he doesn’t see it that way, though. He’s irrational.’

‘You mentioned drugs.’

‘Patrick uses cocaine. It’s one of the things that brought him unstuck.’

‘I’d have thought you could make some mileage out of that in the custody matter.’

‘I don’t want to. If that came out the whole financial house of cards could come down. You can see how tricky it all is. Barbara said you were a discreet and intelligent man.’

Discreet and intelligent, I thought. Wait till they hear I’m a tertiary teacher. I’d helped Barbara Winslow unravel a difficult relationship with her politician husband. I suppose you could say I was discreet. I’d also been well paid. ‘What do you have in mind for me to do, Mrs Lamberte?’

‘Watch my husband. See if he meets with shady characters or seems to be plotting something. He’s due to go up to Mount Victoria in four days. You could keep an eye on him. See if he tries to collect the package and how he reacts when it’s not there.’

I was intrigued and I had another idea about what to do with the package, which only goes to show how intelligent I am. I told Mrs Lamberte that I’d accept her case and charge her five hundred dollars as a retainer. She wrote out a cheque without blinking. I got her address and that of her husband and the name of the lawyer who was acting for her. That about concluded our business. I gave her a receipt, locked the package and her money in a drawer of my desk and offered to escort her to her car. She refused and I was relieved. Gave me a chance to finish my drink.

‘So, how did it go?’ Glen said.

We were sitting in a Thai restaurant in Glebe Point Road. I don’t care for Thai food much but Glen does and we went Italian the last time we ate out. I was thinking about the Lamberte bullets. ‘How did what go?’

‘The talk at the college, what d’you think?’

‘Oh, it was fun. I enjoyed it. Dan was happy.’

‘I thought you were going to be nervous.’

‘I was OK as soon as I got my first laugh.’

‘How soon was that?’

‘Right off.’

I told Glen how the lecture had gone while we waited for our food. She rubbed the arm she’d taken a bullet in the previous year. That was in Newcastle soon after we met. The wound was one of the reasons she’d swapped policing for teaching. Rubbing it had become a habit. Sometimes I rubbed it for her in bed, along with other parts. We enjoyed touching and talking, and what else is there, really? She spent part of her time at the academy and part in police stations and offices showing the trainees the ropes. She liked it and didn’t seem to miss the operational work. She kept very fit in a gym and drank more mineral water than wine. I drank more wine than mineral water but less than I used to, and the long weekend walks we took kept me reasonably springy.

I ate a forkful of spiced beef. ‘Dan wants me to give the talk again. He said he could probably get me steady work.’