Peter Corris: The Big Drop

‘Eh?’

‘You are a detective. You worked for Norman, you can work for me. I can pay you enough. Find out for me who killed him.’

The proposition rocked me, but maybe it was what I had in mind all along. She told me that she was from the Philippines and had come to Australia as a sort of mail-order bride. She thought her blood was more Indian than Filipino but she wasn’t sure. This had happened almost ten years ago, when she was eighteen; she’d put up with six years of near-imprisonment until Scholfield had broken her out. She didn’t give me the details and I didn’t ask. She and Scholfield had been lovers since then, on an irregular basis because he was often out of town. He’d help set her up in business as a handicrafts dealer. The way she told it, she had immigration and tax problems and Norman had marital problems, but she’d loved him and he was all aces to her.

‘Did he tell you what he was doing, I mean… recently?’

‘No. He never told me details. Big, he said. Very big. He treated it as a joke. But I don’t think it was a joke. He was very worried when he rang me the last time.’

‘Was that…’ I searched my memory and came up with the date. ‘And about this time of day?’

‘Yes.’

‘He was worried, I was with him. He was worried two hundred bucks worth.’

‘I will pay you ten times that to find who killed him.’

‘Put it like that and I’d be glad to. Where would I start? Any ideas Miss…?’

‘Seneka, Louise Seneka. I don’t know. I am thinking.’

Just to watch her think was a pleasure. She’d drunk about two-thirds of her drink, but the ice had melted and she’d lost interest in it. I’m a bit that way with a g amp; t myself, so I tend to slug them down. She didn’t smoke or fidget in any other way. She sat and concentrated and you could almost feel the force of the concentration. Scholfield had been a tall, slim man with thick fair hair, cut short. He wasn’t handsome but he looked extremely healthy, which almost amounted to the same thing. They’d have made a good, contrasting pair. One thing was sure, with a woman like that to keep company with, he wouldn’t have jumped.

‘He left something for me to post, in a coat at my place. I didn’t do it. After he was dead I didn’t want to look.’

‘Could be a start,’ I said. ‘Let’s go. How did you get here?’

‘A taxi.’

‘We’ll go in my car then.’ We went down the stairs and out onto the street. My car was parked around the corner and I took her arm to steer her; her arm was incredibly slender but felt very strong. I was completely distracted by her physicality; the warmth and the light bones. I was utterly off-guard, and when the man moved from behind the car next to mine and dug the gun into my ribs it took me slow, dumb seconds to react. And that made it too late.

‘You and the lady get in the car. You in the front and her in the back. I’ll kill him, lady, if you don’t get in.’

I propped and she must have felt me go rigid as I gripped her arm. She got the message and went with me as I shuffled towards the black Fairlane. The gunman tapped me to indicate how I should bend and prodded me forward. I went. He was good; his big heavy body dealt with me and blocked her off at the same time. She got into the back with him, and I sat down beside a youngish Asian who started the car and got it moving quickly and smoothly. I felt the gun on my neck.

‘You got a gun?’

‘No, I don’t usually carry one when we go out for a drink.’

‘Don’t shit me, Hardy. You never met her before. We’ve been trailing you since Scholfield used you to chauffeur him to Hunters Hill. This is the first interesting thing you’ve done. That was Norman’s favourite pub.’

That made him information-rich as well as gun-rich, a dangerous combination.

‘She’s a client. What’s the idea?’

His voice was level, almost bored. ‘The idea is you shut up until we get where we’re going.’

‘Where’s that?’ He answered me with a vicious dig of the gun into my neck and I shut up. The Asian drove like an angel; his hands barely moved and he touched the brake pedal as if it was a soap bubble. The car glided back towards the city as the afternoon light died and a little sprinkle of rain settled the dust. The driver left the freeway at Darling Harbour and wound up through the streets that avoid the bridge approaches. It was dark when we stopped in a lane which dead-ended in a high, dark ruin that was overdue for demolition. The gunman hustled us out of the car, and the driver backed out of the lane and took off.

A dead-end and sheer brick walls on either side, there was nothing to do but obey the gun. He shepherded us to a deeply recessed door and ordered me to knock on it. I did and stepped back when bright light hit me as the door opened. A small, dark man in a suit stepped away from the door and the gunman motioned Louise Seneka and me to pass him.

‘Any trouble, Willie?’ the man in the suit asked.

‘None. What’s up? Why the suit?’

‘Appointment. I’ve got to go out.’

‘You mean you’ve got no guts for it.’

We were standing on frayed lino tiles in a lobby with an old lift and a badly hung door standing open. Through the door I could see a room with a chair and desk. The whole place had an uncomfortably spare feel to it, but the feeling might have just been a product of the rather strained conversation of our hosts.

‘This is a mistake,’ I said, just for the sake of saying something.

‘You might think so very soon,’ Willie said. ‘You’re staying, Barnes. Let’s get them in there and get on with it.’

Barnes took out a handkerchief, which was dirty. It looked strange coming out of the pocket of his clean suit; but then, he didn’t look as if he wore a suit all that often. He wiped his sweating, red face and then his hands. ‘All right,’ he said.

We all trooped through into the office-like room and Willie kicked the door shut behind him. There was a chair in front of the desk and he pushed me down onto it. Barnes pointed to the corner of the room behind the desk.

‘Go and sit over there.’

Louise Seneka looked at him. ‘On the floor?’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you going to do?’

No one said anything to that; she walked across and crouched in the corner.

‘Right down!’ Willie barked. She sat, and looked defiant.

There was no natural light in the room, just harsh fluorescence; I could smell dust in the air, also fear, mostly mine. Barnes went behind the desk and Willie perched on it, about three feet away from me.

‘No beating about the bush,’ Willie said. ‘Norman Scholfield gave you something, you or the woman. It’s ours and we want it. Hand it over!’

I glanced across at the woman; she’d opened her coat and I could see her slim body, held straight and tense. Our eyes met and she shook her head.

‘Can’t help you,’ I said. ‘Spent two hours with the bloke. He made a delivery, I went along for company. That’s it’

‘Maybe the woman’s got it,’ Barnes said. Willie got off the desk and went over to the corner. ‘Well?’

She shook her head. ‘Just like him,’ Willie said. ‘Nothing to say. Could be he was protecting you?’

She looked at him with those dark, hooded eyes and if he could see anything in them except hate and defiance he was sharper than me.

‘Looks like it.’ Willie put his foot on her bent knee and pressed down. She gasped sharply but kept looking straight at him. Willie smiled and moved his foot. He stepped back and circled around behind me.

‘Put your hands behind you, ‘round the chair.’ He clipped me lightly on the back of the head with the gun as he spoke and I did what he said. I felt something rough bite into my wrists; I resisted, but with a couple of jerks and a steadying touch with the gun he had my hands tied.