Peter Corris: The Reward

White nodded. I get it.

Id tried to tell it matter-of-factly, but it hadnt been like that at all. Ramona Beckett was hell on wheels, tall, dark, thin with sexual energy in every gesture. She ate like a wharfie and was a junior gymnastics champion who ran fifteen kilometres every day. She had a fast metabolism but her touch was strangely cold. She got by on five or six hours sleep, she read a lot of books and liked to wear black leather, the way she had the night I turned the tables on her. She was a living, breathing contradictiona feminist, a reactionary, a corrupter and an idealist. She genuinely believed that she could improve life in the state for everyone, if only she could acquire the power to do it. She ended up hating me, of course, but I couldnt say I had the same feeling for her. I got a tissue from a pocket pack in the desk drawer and blew my nose. Clear the sinuses and you can clear a lot more besides. Any number of people could have had reason to kill her, I said.

Including the guy you worked for?

I shrugged. Who knows? Maybe. Maybe he didnt tell me the whole story. But hes definitely not a candidate to bring in the reward on because hes dead.

Out came the tobacco again and the brown-stained fingers rolled the cigarette just as deftly as before. He looked at it, burred over the ends, smoothed out the wrinkles, tapped it on his thumbnail and didnt light it. Better not, he said. You might make me laugh again.

Ill try not to. Why dont you try not beating about the bush? You said you had a line.

White leaned forward across the desk. His teeth were bad and his breath was worse. He was sweating too and there was a stale odour coming from his clothes. The word is, it was a kidnapping. There was a ransom note that got suppressed.

That got my attention. Until very recently there were any number of cops and lawyers and magistrates and politicians in Sydney who acted as if none of the laws applied to them; seventeen years ago it was even worse. Thats interesting, Barry, I said. Tell me more.

He eased back in his chair. Are you in?

Come on, Id have to know a lot more than that. And in for what? You said a hundred grand.

Thats right. Ten per cent. Thats generous. Id have to split the reward with at least three other people.

Who?

He shook his head. I need a commitment.

And I get a five hundred dollar retainer and two hundred a day plus expenses.

Do I look like Ive got that sort of money? Youd have to work on a contingency basis.

Its a natural reaction to place some confidence in a person with a decent vocabulary and a reasonable command of grammar, but in Barry Whites case the impulse had to be fought against. As I say, he was well educated and no-one ever called him dumb, but he was corrupt and devious, or had been, and Ive never known adversity to straighten anyone out. I dont think so, Barry. No.

He gave that grin again which must have been appealing when he was in better condition. He squirmed bulkily in the chair and took a thin wallet from his hip pocket. It was worth a try, Hardy. He took seven one hundred dollar notes from the wallet and laid them on the desk. This buys me one day, right? The retainers returnable if you back out.

His eyes were faintly bloodshot and it clearly hurt him to part with the money. That he was doing it meant something, but what? Thats right, if I take you on. Youre not a good bet, Barry. You verballed blokes and planted drugs on women and took kickbacks till you forgot what job you were supposed to be doing.

All thats true, he said. I was a fucking idiot. I thought I was too smart to get caught. Do you know what I did with all that money? I drank and ate and fucked it away. Thats how dumb I was. Ive got nothing, Hardy. No wife, no kids, no house, no reputation, no pride. All Ive got is this one chance. Have you ever been down to one chance?

Not quite.

But close?

I thought about how it had been when Cyn left me, coldly removing every single item shed owned and breaking a lot of those wed owned jointly. I thought about the alcoholic slide Id gone into when Glen Withers married her policeman and the nice, structured life Id had had fallen apart like a house of cards. And it was my fault. Pretty close.

His eyes darted around the room, taking in the dirty windows, the dust on the fax machine and the top of the filing cabinet, the peanut shells in the waste-paper basket. Youre not exactly setting the world on fire yourself, are you?

If wed been in a boxing ring, youd have to have called the round about even. I was tired of sparring. I knew I wanted a crack at the hundred grand, I just didnt want to do it completely on his terms. Why dyou need me, Barry? You were a cop and a PEA. You know the ropes. Youve got some information, some contacts, some leads. You know how to talk to people. Whyre you here?

If he knew he had me, he didnt show it. He finally brought the rollie up to his mouth and lit it, again putting the match in his pocket. It made me wonder if hed been inside where they do little things like saving matches to play cards with. He drew on the smoke judiciously. I havent got the resources, he said. I havent got a car or a mobile or an answering machine. I havent got any decent clothes and most of all I havent got the contacts. This is going to mean talking to cops and lawyers and journos. You can do it, I cant. Theres a few things we can do together, but not much. Thats why I need someone. Im not going to piss in your pocket, Hardy, but I know you dont rip people off. Thats why I need you. What dyou say?

The lawyers are all doing it, so why not the PEAs? I negotiated a contract with Barry White on a contingency basis. I was to get 10 per cent of whatever reward money he recovered, my cut to come off the top. How he divided up the remainder was his business. I had the option to work on other matters simultaneously and to pull out of the arrangement at any time after the first week. This meant I was giving him six days credit. Give a little, take a little. He signed with a flourish.

Shit, I need a drink, he said.

Ill shout you one in a minute. First things first. Where does the information about the ransom note come from?

White had finished his cigarette without choking and he made another one. Does the name Leo Grogan mean anything to you?

I dont think so.

He was a Homicide Squad D. Good cop, but the grog got to him and he was invalided out. I was having a few drinks with him a week or so ago, just shooting the shit, you know. The Beckett case came up. Leo was pissed, of course. He was on the team that looked into it. He reckoned certain people took certain sums of money to suppress a ransom note.

Thats vague, I said. What people? And who paid up?

Thats where I played it smart. Leo hasnt got any time for me. If I showed an interest hed clam up for sure. I sounded him out about the reward. He thought it lapsed when the old man died.

So?

I told you there were things we could do together. This is one of them. We have to go to Grogan, get him oiled just right and tell him how things stand. We cut him in for a third if everything works out.

What if he wont play?

I happen to know hes drawing a disability pension hes not entitled to and that hes got assets he hasnt declared. If he gets stroppy

So there it was. Cyn always said that the people I associated with made me violent, insensitive and untrustworthy by osmosis. I resisted the idea but here was a good chance to test it. Barry White had his copy of the contract in his pocket and mine was in my filing cabinet. I could always pull out of this if it got too sticky, couldnt I? I went to the nearest pub with White and bought him three schooners of old with his money while I drank a couple of middies of light. The beer didnt seem to affect him until someone spilled a drink that splashed his newly pressed trousers.