Peter Corris - Comeback

‘Let’s start over again. Why’re you so interested in us?’

I’d recovered my breath and straightened myself up in the chair. My kidneys had the ache that suggests blood in the urine. I’d been there before in my boxing days. My brain was working well enough though.

‘I’ve got a question first,’ I said. ‘Your reaction is way over the top for spotting a little surveillance. What’s got you so upset, Ralph?’

Cochrane and Salter exchanged glances and Cochrane nodded.

‘You were seen having lunch with that fat aresehole O’Grady the other day,’ Salter said. ‘Someone passing by your table caught the name Sterling. You weren’t discussing the fucking swordfish and O’Grady wouldn’t be advising you to join this firm.’

‘You’re right there,’ I said. ‘He told me not to have anything to do with you but I decided to go ahead and see for myself. And I’ve seen all I want to see.’

‘And what have you seen?’ Cochrane said.

Something interesting that I’ll keep to myself , I thought. I said, ‘I’ve seen a couple of stupid guys worried about a fat man.’

‘He’s a journalist and he’s never forgiven Phil for sacking him. You’re snooping on his behalf.’

I tried to force a laugh but the action hurt too much. ‘You’re wrong. He says he never had it so good. He’s enjoying what he does now. He reckons he owes Phil.’

They exchanged glances again.

‘I suppose we could be wrong,’ Cochrane said slowly.

I levered myself out of the chair suppressing a groan. ‘Is that an apology?’

‘Fuck you,’ Salter said.

‘You’ll keep,’ I said. ‘I wonder if Phil knows how you’re handling this?’

Salter looked worried; Cochrane didn’t. He said, ‘Phil’s much too busy to worry about a nobody like you.’

Cochrane stood and put his hands on the desk. He leaned forward, so close I could smell his aftershave. ‘You’ve wasted some of our valuable time, Hardy. You’re a loser from way back and now you’re scratching around trying to make a living. Well, don’t scratch around here. Now piss off!’

He pressed a buzzer on his desk and an answering knock came on the door within seconds.

‘Come,’ I said.

Cochrane growled. The door opened and a woman stood there with an inquiring look on her face.

‘Show Mr Hardy out,’ Cochrane said.

I followed the woman down the corridor, into the lift and we went down to the foyer without a word being spoken. The glass doors slid open.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

She pointed to my chest. ‘The pass, please.’

‘I’ll hang on to it as a keepsake.’

I glanced back at the building as I opened the car door. I thought I could see a figure standing at a window on the second floor about where room twelve would have been. I put the pass in my pocket and drove to the gate. The guard stopped me.

‘Where’s the pass?’

‘I gave it to a woman inside.’

‘No you didn’t. She just called me.’

I nodded. ‘Good security.’

I tossed him the pass and drove out.

I stopped at the first set of shops I came to and bought some painkillers. My back was aching and sending shooting pains up to my shoulders. I took three pills and sat on a bus stop seat drinking a takeaway coffee waiting for them to work. I stamped the image of Louis Salter on my brain-about my height and a bit heavier, maybe fifteen years younger. He had ginger hair and a long chin. The expertise of his punch suggested some kind of combat training, maybe military.

There was a reasonable chance of meeting up with him again. For one thing I still hadn’t sighted Anton Beaumont, but there had been something distinctly conspiratorial about the behaviour of the three senior associates. I had no idea what it was about but they were overanxious about something. Salter had reacted oddly when I mentioned Phil Tyson. I wondered whether Phil knew how his minions handled apparently minor matters.

There was no blood in my urine and I bounced back pretty quickly from the kidney punch. My doctor, Ian Sangster, whistled when he saw the bruise.

‘One of your best,’ he said.

‘Well placed,’ I said. ‘On the button. You can really deliver a whack there without fear of hurting your hand.’

‘You’d know. Just watch yourself for a few days. There could be some collateral damage.’

‘Like what?’

‘Don’t ask. I must say, apart from this you’re in better shape than you were a while ago. Getting back to work’s obviously good for you if you can just avoid the heavy stuff. How’s your sex life?’

‘On hold. . wrong expression. In abeyance.’

He laughed. ‘Use it or lose it.’

I thought about it as I walked down Glebe Point Road to get a coffee and do some thinking. I’d underestimated the Sterling guys and knew I’d have to rethink my strategy to get a look at Anton Beaumont. Or maybe not. I’d rattled the other three; so perhaps it was time to keep on rattling.

I sat in the sun and ordered a long black and flicked through the paper. The minority government was still being cautious, the opposition was still being aggressive and the independents were still being as independent as they could. It wasn’t very interesting but the opinion polls showed the voters were happy. Australians like a quiet life.

I rang Frost. I didn’t have much to report but I wanted to ask him about the Sterling associates I’d met. Before I could do that he thanked me for going to the funeral.

‘Sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you,’ he said. ‘It was good of you to come.’

‘It was a big turn-out,’ I said. ‘He was popular. I didn’t see the girlfriend there-Jane Devereaux.’

‘I asked her, left a message. I suppose she had her reasons.’

I asked him about the Sterling men.

‘I know Cochrane. He’s a tough prick. Don’t know much about the others. Do you reckon Cochrane could have had a hand in it?’

‘I don’t know, but there’s something going on there. The blokes I saw are up to something.’

‘You mean a few of them could be involved in killing Bobby?’

‘No, I’ve got the feeling it could be something in the future, but I suppose it could be connected.’

‘Well, stick with it, Hardy. With you on the job at least I feel like I’m doing something.’

It wasn’t a ringing endorsement but it was all I could expect. I finished the call and my mobile rang straight away. An unfamiliar female voice.

‘Mr Hardy, this is Jane Devereaux, Robert Forrest’s friend. I wonder if it’d be possible for me to see you.’

Robert? I thought. ‘Yes, Ms Devereaux. How would you like to arrange it?’

‘I’ve taken some leave. I’m quite free. I could come to your office. Would later this morning suit you?’

‘That’d be fine. Do you know where my office is?’

‘Yes, I have the card you gave Robert. That’s how I know your mobile number.’

She was on time. She knocked confidently and walked in the same way. She was medium-size in height and build, looking taller in very high heels. She wore a dark skirt with an ice-blue silk blouse and carried a substantial briefcase. Her fair hair was curly and short. The photo I’d seen hadn’t done her justice; she had fine-grained skin and though none of her features was striking taken separately, in combination her face became interesting and drew my attention. Her manner was assertive but her smile was shy. I stood and we shook hands.

‘Thank you for seeing me, Mr Hardy.’

She had a slight countrified drawl. I asked her to sit down and watched as she lowered the briefcase to the floor. She sat straight; her skirt rode up exposing slightly heavy legs, flattered by the high heels. She wore light makeup, no jewellery other than small silver earrings.