Peter Corris - Make Me Rich

‘All right, all right, I’ll tell you what I know.’ He tried to turn around, but Parker kept him the way he was, looking down at the boat in the water. ‘Well, “Bully”, he’s from Queensland, and…’

‘We don’t want the bloody encyclopedia’, Parker snarled, ‘and I know enough about it to tell if you’re lying. I’ll make it easier for you. Who is Hayes supposed to hit?’

‘Collinson.’

I opened my mouth but Parker motioned me to shut it. ‘In Australia, is he?’

‘Yeah.’

I waved down to Guthrie to indicate that he could finish the charade with the boat-if that was what it had been. I gave him a thumbs up, too. Parker eased back on Tiny and let him come around and sit down again. I gave him the half-full can of beer and he drained it.

‘What’re Liam and Dottie doing?’

‘They’re helping “Bully” flush this Collinson.’

Parker and I both spoke at once; I backed off and let him in first.

‘What d’you know about a cop named Parker?’

‘Bugger all. I heard he was getting close to Collinson and people wanted him stopped. That’s all.’

It was my turn. ‘The Guthrie kid, where’s he fit in?’

‘He’s Collinson’s kid. Hayes found that out somehow. Liam’s been trying to use him to get to Collinson. The kid’s fuckin’ Dottie; he’s been on some jobs. Liam’s working on him.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Look, I don’t fuckin’ know, do I? They reckon on using the kid to get to Collinson. I dunno how.’

‘What about the other Guthrie kid-the one in Brisbane?’

‘Don’t know nothin’ about that. Could I have another drink? Shit, that’s all I know.’

I got out the photograph of the man I knew as Peter Keegan and showed it to Spotswood.

‘Is this Collinson?’

The question itself seemed to alarm him and he looked at the picture as if he was staring into the face of the gorgon. ‘Jesus’, he breathed. ‘I dunno. But if it is what you’ve got there’s worth a fuckin’ mint. There’s no pictures of Collinson-none at all.’

‘That’s right’, Parker said. ‘Let’s have a look at that. You watch Tiny in case he decides he’s bullet-proof.’

I watched him but there didn’t seem to be much point in it. His mind was on other things and other places. I went back to the fridge and opened another can.

‘You got a name to go with this?’ Parker said.

‘Yeah…’

‘Keep it to yourself for now. We’ve got the connection between your business and mine, though.’

‘Looks that way-but it’s getting complicated. I’ll need to think it out.’

‘We’ll have to park Tiny somewhere’, Parker said. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Whaddya mean?’ Spotswood yelped. ‘I told youse what I know. I won’t talk to nobody!’

‘I know you mean well, Tiny’, I said. ‘But you’re dumb and Liam isn’t. He’d have it out of you in no time. You wouldn’t have time to get your first schooner down.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’ Parker handed me back the photo and looked at Tiny as if he was wrapping around a parcel-something to discard. ‘Let’s go and have a talk to your Mr Boats, he might have some ideas.’

I doubted that and reluctant wasn’t the word for Tiny, but Parker had a hardness to him that carried all before it. We went out of the flat. Nails had lifted on the surface of the roof, and we had to pick up our feet. We went across to the top of the ladder, and Parker motioned me to go down first. I turned, went down backwards and was half-way when I heard the shout and the high-pitched scream. I flattened myself to the ladder, braced and gripped hard, as Spotswood’s body flopped heavily past me. My face was digging into the wall when he hit the cement with a noise like wood splitting. I went down fast and heard Parker coming after me.

Tiny was lying face up; there was brain pulp on the cement; blood and other matter. His eyes were open and his jaw hung slackly like Jess Willard’s after Dempsey finished with him at Toledo. I noticed that he had only a dozen or so teeth in his head. The big body was spread and relaxed; the urine stain was a wide, dark stripe down the inside of his trouser legs.

‘What happened?’ I said.

Parker stood beside me; his skin was pale under the blue beard and his mouth was drawn into a hard line. ‘Caught his foot on one of the nails, he bloody near took me with him. Shit, this is a mess!’ He patted his pocket, feeling for the cigarettes he no longer used. ‘Not that he was any bloody loss. He saw a few off himself.’

I stared at him, wondering. But it didn’t seem like the sort of thing Parker would do. To the law though, it wouldn’t make much difference-by abducting Spotswood we’d put ourselves in jeopardy.

‘What’s this Guthrie like?’ Parker snapped.

‘You saw him. He’s good. This is bad, Frank.’

‘It could be worse; he was drunk, he fell, he’s dead. Who’s going to care? You reckon Guthrie could sit pat?’

Paul Guthrie had asked for action and now he had his share; I was sure he wanted to see the whole thing through. This was pretty rough, but I remembered his anguish at his perception that his family was under threat.

‘I think I can square him’, I said. ‘But I’m going to have to let him in on a few things. I’ll also have to tell him who you are.’

‘Here he comes’, Parker said. ‘Go ahead.’

Down the walkway, Guthrie was hurrying out of the shadows towards us.

‘Listen’, Parker hissed. ‘You can’t tell him about Collinson. I want to flush him out as much as “Bully” Hayes does.’

Guthrie looked down at Tiny Spotswood’s body. He swallowed hard, pulled off the knitted cap, and ran his hand through his hair.

‘He fell’, I said. ‘I’m sorry to involve you in this, Mr Guthrie.’

‘I asked you to’, he said. ‘Did this man have anything to do with what happened to Ray and Chris?’

‘Not directly. I can’t say that. But the people he’s associated with are at the centre of it. He knew something about it.’ I turned towards Parker. ‘This is Frank Parker. Mr Guthrie. He’s after Catchpole for a different reason. Our paths have sort of crossed.’

Parker and Guthrie nodded at each other, warily.

‘We’re going to have to ask you for more help, Mr Guthrie’, Parker said quietly. ‘Looks very quiet tonight. Is anyone likely to have seer us here?’

Guthrie shook his head. ‘No, very dead tonight.’ He suddenly heard what he’d said and looked down at the corpse again. He clamped his jaw tight and looked up at. me. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Something pretty hard’, Parker said. ‘Just do nothing. If someone finds him tonight, just act as you would if you’d never seen him or us. If it works out that you find him in the morning, just do the same. You don’t know anything. Can you do it?’

Guthrie looked at Parker as if he was a horse in the yearling ring. He grabbed my arm and moved me away. ‘Hang on, I want a private word with Hardy.’

He drew me away into the shadows.

‘Who is he?’

‘He’s a cop. Or was. This Catchpole business has cost him his job and his reputation. He’s out to get Catchpole and some others. He’s a good cop-and an honest one.’

Guthrie pondered it, then nodded. ‘That’ll do me. If you say he’s okay I’ll take a chance on him.’

‘It doesn’t have to be a life-long pledge. If things got really sticky for you, of course you could talk freely-and we’d back you up. But we need some time now, and some secrecy. A session down at police headquarters could blow the whole thing.’

‘Why?’

‘Not secure.’

‘You can’t trust the police?’

‘Hard to-not all of them, anyway. I trust Parker, though.’