Peter Corris - O'Fear

‘Hello, O’Fear. How are they keeping you?’

He gave my joke a smaller laugh and reached for my hand. I pulled it away and showed him the dressing.

“What’ve you been doing to yourself, Cliff?’

‘Just a scratch.’

‘It’ll play hell with your sex life.’ He laughed again and took the other chair. He looked the picture of well-being; his red hair was streaked with grey but thick; his skin was lightly tanned and clear, and his eyes and teeth shone. He looked as if he’d been spending time at a flash health farm. ‘There’s no one I’d rather see, Cliff, ‘cept me dear mother, and she passed away ten year ago, God rest her soul.’

‘Cut it out, O’Fear,’ I said. ‘Could we have a small ban on the phoney Irish stuff?’

‘You’re in a bad mood, I see. How Irish are yez again? I forget.’

‘Two grandmothers. They gave their husbands hell.’

‘Ah yes, they would. Irishwomen are the devil-they either love God or themselves and no man at all.’ He examined his hands, which were small and clean. It was a long time since O’Fear had pushed a wheelbarrow. When he spoke again, it was in ordinary, inner-Sydney Australian. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘How d’you like it here?’

‘It’s a shit hole. The ignorance in here is shocking.’

‘What’re your chances?’

‘It’s hard to say. It’s a conspiracy, of course. That’s what the police are best at. You haven’t come here to discuss my case, Hardy, or to have me sing you a song. What’s on your mind?’

‘Barnes Todd.’

‘Ah. Poor man.’

I watched his reaction very closely, but O’Fear was an experienced performer and I couldn’t read anything in his clear blue eyes or the set of his curling Irish mouth. ‘I’m enquiring into his death.’

‘On whose behalf? The widow’s?’

I nodded. This was a tricky course to steer. I wanted O’Fear to do the talking, to learn as much as I could from him before having to offer him anything in return. But O’Fear knew when to talk and when to shut up. He said nothing.

‘I understand you might have some information tor me.’

He let a bit of the Irish lilt back into his voice. ‘Now, how would you be reachin’ an understandin’ like that?’

‘I thought we were going to do without the blarney?’

‘Okay.’ That was the first sign I had, that quick compliance. He wanted out. I had to follow up the advantage.

‘How well did you know Todd?’

‘If I tell you that, will you tell me how my name came up?’

The points on that exchange would probably go to him, but I didn’t have much choice. ‘Yes.’

‘I knew Barnes a long time. More than thirty years. I met him in Korea and I worked for him at various times-borrowed money, this and that.’

‘Ever do anything dodgy?’

‘Who? Me?’

‘I’m told there was a time when he sailed a bit close to the wind. Moved things that perhaps should’ve stayed where they were.’

He grinned the way a man with good teeth can. ‘I neither confirm nor deny, and I don’t have any details.’

‘D’you know anything about his painting?’

He held up his hand. ‘You’ve had your whack, Cliff. Give a little.’

I told him that his name was on Barnes Todd’s lips when he died. O’Fear was no hypocrite; he took the information as an interesting fact, not an occasion for sentiment.

He nodded but said nothing.

‘Do you know what that might mean?’ I said.

‘You think he was murdered, do you?’

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘I’m guessing.’ He sat back in his chair and showed the million-dollar teeth in his ten-dollar Irish mug. ‘I think I can help you,’ he said.

My cut hand was throbbing. I rubbed it lightly and looked up at the dirty window. ‘If?’

‘If you get me out of here.’

‘I suppose I could have a word with Dolan.’

‘Bugger Dolan. Irish prick. Who’s your lawyer?’

‘Cy Sackville, as you very well know.’

‘What sort of money d’you make these days, Cliff boy?’ He reached over and took the lapel of my jacket between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You never put it on your back, but you look prosperous enough.’ He ducked his head under the table. ‘And you’re wearing shoes!’

I sighed. ‘I’m on a flat ten thousand fee for this job.’

His toothy grin became a broad smile. It was the sort of smile he used to flash in the smoky folk clubs before he broke into ‘The shoals of herring’. He held out his left hand for me to shake. ‘There you are, now. Sure it must be part of a grand plan.’

We shook, left-handedly, which is probably bad luck or something. Anyone watching might have thought we were members of a secret society. Perhaps we were-the friends of Barnes Todd.

‘Why don’t you get Sackville to do it?’ Michael Hickie said.

I juggled the coffee Jenny had brought me on my knee. ‘It’s good experience for you, Mike. You don’t want to become a grey corporate lawyer, do you? All balance sheets and no balls? This is where the action is-posting bail, “on his own recognisances” and all that.’

‘What happened to your hand?’

‘I cut it cleaning up the glass the burglar broke in Felicia Todd’s kitchen. See what I mean? That’s the workface.’ I was in a good mood and I knew why. The prospect of visiting Long Bay had been depressing me and I felt the load float away after I’d done the job and left. Also, I was glad to be putting one over on O’Fear. He thought he was getting Sackville and he was getting Hickie instead. Tough luck. You had to keep your guard up with O’Fear; he tended to favour the steamroller approach.

Hickie grinned. ‘I could feel patronised, but I don’t. I’ll get onto it straight away. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two.’ He squinted down at the notes he had taken from me about O’Fear. ‘You said there was something else?’

‘Two things. First, Mrs Carboni is putting together a profile of Barnes’ business activities. I assume that’s the operational end. Would you know about the contracts, correspondence and such?’

He nodded. ‘You’d get most of it from Anna. Barnes believed in open government. The people who worked for him could see the paper on the deals if they wanted to. I’ve got a few things, strictly legal, that wouldn’t be at Mascot. If Felicia okayed it, you could see them. What did you think of Bob Mulholland?’

‘Great bloke.’ I told him about the incident at Mascot.

‘Stanley Riley’s a madman, according to Barnes,’ he said. ‘Good thing you were there.’

‘Everything’ll be tighter now that things are running again. How busy will they be?’

‘Very. Quite a few jobs on hold to clear. I can go ahead with some leasing of space for storage and make applications for licences to ship some stuff.’

‘What?’

‘Chemicals. You need special trucks, special licences. It was all going through when Barnes died.’

‘Why was he getting into that?’

Hickie shrugged. ‘He said it had to be done, so it might as well be done right. The money’s good.’ He saw me looking dubious and he went on, ‘I should tell you that he was moving towards transporting radioactive waste.’

I groaned. ‘Jesus, this gets worse and worse. The greenies might’ve taken him out.’

Hickie put on what I took to be his pragmatic face. ‘You said there were two things you wanted.’

‘Yeah. I’m interested in a Yank Barnes had some dealings with last year. Felicia knew about him, but she didn’t know his name. What can you tell me?’

The coffee was cold; I put my mug on the desk, but Hickie drained his as if he needed to do something to help him think. ‘An American? Barnes dealt with a few of them.’