Peter Corris - Aftershock

‘I gave Ted Withers another hour or so of life. And if it hadn’t been for him you’d still be sitting there with your finger up your arse.’

‘I can see why not everyone in Sydney likes you.’

I sighed and suddenly felt old and empty. I wanted something to eat and drink and someone to be nice to me, and someone to be nice to. ‘I’ve got a knack for getting into situations that bring out the worst in people, including me. What’s next, Commissioner?’

‘I hear you didn’t want to get your face on television?’

‘Right. They never get me on my best side.’

‘Keep it that way. How do you stand with your clients?’

‘Lousy,’ I said.

Morton sucked in air and put the braided cap he’d been carrying back on his head. ‘I’m going to talk bullshit for a few minutes, you go back to your motel and wait. We’ll have a de-briefing at the hospital when Sergeant Withers is up to it.’

‘When’s that likely to be?’

Morton straightened his jacket. ‘Tomorrow, I hope. Depends on how the news of her father’s death affects her.’

One hospital is pretty much like another in my experience. They all use the same disinfectant and have the same bugs in the air conditioning. The Newcastle Community Hospital wasn’t worse or better than average, but slightly more interesting in that it showed some signs of renovation and repair after earthquake damage. Twenty-four hours after the Costi siege Morton, a Chief Inspector named Reynolds and an Italian-speaking Sergeant who was the police ethnic community liaison officer, and I gathered at the bed of Senior Sergeant Glenys Withers.

After a nurse had told us what not to do, we took chairs around the bed. I sat a discreet distance from the patient. She looked good; her hair was brushed and shining and the little bit of weight she’d lost around the face suited her. The white hospital smock didn’t do much for her though, nor the drip feed into her arm. We exchanged smiles while Morton and Reynolds made commiserating noises to Glen about her dad and then approving noises about her and each other. When Glen indicated that she was quite fit enough to talk, Morton invited a stenographer in and we got down to business.

Glen told us that she had set her radio to broadcast the alert signal if she didn’t return within an hour.

‘Sensible precaution,’ Reynolds said. ‘Sound procedure.’

Once inside the house she had requested a private talk with Gina Costi to which the girl had reluctantly agreed. ‘She was terrified,’ Glen said. ‘Quite literally. She’s not very bright and you could see she’d been under a lot of strain.’

‘How did you handle it?’ Morton said.

‘I tried to be discreet. I said we’d received certain information about Oscar Bach and would she like to comment on her relations with him.’

“Who was in the house then?’ I asked.

‘I’d only seen Gina, Mr and Mrs Costi and the… servant, whatever she is.’

‘Housekeeper,’ the liaison man said. ‘Mrs Adamo.’

Glen nodded. ‘At first Gina didn’t want to say anything. I pressed her a little, mentioned Mark Roper. Then it all came pouring out-how Bach had forced her to have sex with him, how Roper had done nothing, how she’d tried to keep quiet about it. She was ashamed, but more frightened than ashamed.’

‘Frightened of what?’ Morton said.

‘Of her brother, of Renato. Apparently he’s completely crazy about the idea of family honour. He’s all hung up on old Italian ideas about virginity and dishonour and vendettas and all that. She’s brainless, but she was sensible enough to be scared that Renato would kill her and Roper and Bach if he got the chance. She said he likes killing.’

I glanced at the liaison man’s notepad. He was writing in Italian, underlining the words and adding exclamation marks. I had the rogue thought that Helen Broadway would have been able to translate his notes for me.

‘Gina got drunk at Christmas last year. The strain of keeping it all in was too much for her and she told her brother Mario. She loves Mario. She says he’s the gentlest of her brothers.’

‘Not hard to edge out Ronny,’ I said.

Morton signalled for me to shut up. ‘Go on, Sergeant, if you feel up to it.’

‘I’m all right, sir.’

She went on to spell out the chain of events as Gina understood them. This was pretty much how I’d worked it out in my own head, much too late for it to be of any use. Mario had told his father that he intended to kill Oscar Bach. For all his mildness, Mario was just as keen on honour as Renato, just more cunning about it. Mario had seized his opportunity in the chaos following the earthquake. He’d been keeping tabs on Bach, come on him just as he’d avoided being injured when the church collapsed and had attacked him with a brick. The trouble was, Bach had fought. Mario had killed him and done enough to make it look as if Bach was a quake victim, but he’d been badly injured in the fight himself and ended up comatose in hospital.

‘This was what Gina and her father pieced together,’ Glen said. ‘Mario had told Sergei Costi all about it and how he planned to kill Bach.’

‘Mario must have really done some work on Bach,’ I said. ‘Somehow he found out that he was Werner Schmidt. Was Mario a drinker?’

‘Gina says he was,’ Glen said.

‘He phoned up Antonio Fanfani when he was drunk. That was just before opportunity knocked on December 28. That explains why Sergei ordered the work to be done on the Ocean Street place. He was hoping to clean away anything that Bach might have left lying around.’

Reynolds consulted a file. ‘Mr Costi wanted to demolish the building, but he was prevented by a regulation requiring buildings over a certain age to be inspected for possible heritage value.’

‘Sergeant,’ Morton said.

Glen was beginning to look tired, but she took a drink of water and went on. ‘Renato was in the house. He listened to all this. He must’ve because… after, I heard him shouting and raving and parroting Gina’s exact words back at her. He must’ve locked his mother and father and the housekeeper away somewhere. Then he burst in on Gina and me. He was completely crazy. We fought over my weapon, but he got it and… he shot me. I heard things after that, but I was in shock and none of it makes much sense until I saw Cliff on the stairs.’

‘Mr Hardy has been of considerable use,’ Morton said smoothly.

‘Did they find bodies at the house?’ Glen said.

Morton nodded. ‘Two.’

Then I remembered that the only person I’d told about Bach’s interest in the lagoon was Ted Withers and he was dead. It wasn’t the time to make the point. Morton asked a few more questions and invited Reynolds and the liaison man to do the same. There was nothing more of substance to add. He thanked Glen and wished her a speedy recovery.

‘I’d like a to have a word with Cliff, please,’ Glen said.

Morton put his braided cap on. ‘Certainly. I’d like to see you, too, Mr Hardy. In ten minutes, shall we say?’

They trooped out and I went to the bed and kissed Glen’s now slightly damp forehead. Then I took her hand and played with it, the way you do. ‘I’m sorry about your father,’ I said. ‘He gave it a very good try.’

Her eyes were wet. She sniffed and shook her head. ‘He was corrupt. He knew that I knew. It was very difficult. Only a matter of time. I’m glad he didn’t finish up inside or on the front seat of his car with a shotgun. You know’

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘What does Morton want with you now?’

‘I don’t know. If he wants to get nasty I’ll say I won’t tell him where the other bodies are.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Where are they?’