Peter Corris: The Reward

I was in just the right mood for a sick, bent copper. Lets go and see him. Youd better stay clear of this, Bob. You have to live here.

Bob nodded. Byrons more or less in my bailiwick. I know a few people down there. I could get some pressure applied to Andrea.

Good, I said. Max and Ill go and see Sligo. Wheres he live?

Pacific Towers, its a high rise at the south end of the beach. Apartment 901.

Bob patted his waist. The walk backll do me good.

The day had heated up and the tourists were out in forcepale legs and dark glasses, fat bellies and big behinds and some beautifully proportioned people of all races and both sexes. Max drove carefully through the light traffic and parked opposite the soaring tower block that would cast a shadow over the beach later in the day. He hadnt spoken since leaving the bar and I wondered about his mood.

Whats up, Max?

Do you feel were getting any closer to finding out who killed Ramona Beckett? Thats the object, remember? Especially from your point of viewthats where the money is.

I was thinking along other lines and admitted it.

I dont like losing the plot this much, Max said.

It probably all ties together in some way, I said.

And if it doesnt?

It wouldnt be the first time.

True, Max said. Very true. I have a tendency to want to tie things up. It made me very unpopular in Adelaide with those people who liked things to stay untied.

We crossed the road, skirted the palm trees in pots and went up the fake marble steps to the squawk boxes.

Ill handle this, Max said. I can usually hear these things for some reason.

I told Peggy Hawkins Id try to keep her out of it.

Max looked at me, shook his head and pressed the button for apartment 901.

Yes. A thick, husky voice.

My name is Max Savage, Mr Sligo. Im a senior investigating consultant with the New South Wales Police Force. Id like to have a word with you.

What about?

I mouthed the response but Max nodded impatiently. Its about information received from Sean Beckett, Wallace Cavendish, Andrea Craig and others about the Ramona Beckett case.

The big plate glass doors slid open.

Colin Sligo was a big man, or he had been. He wore pyjamas, a paisley dressing gown and slippers, not an outfit to increase your presence, but there was clearly something wrong with him. He was stooped, he shuffled and it looked as if the gown had once fitted him better than it now did. He ushered us into a big living room with a dynamite view of the Pacific Ocean. He waved us into seats and sat with his back to it.

Well?

I launched into an edited version of what we were about and what wed learned. His grey, flabby face scarcely changed as I spoke. He looked as if nothing I said could touch him and I worried that we were going to get nothing at all.

Sligo looked at Max. Whatve you got to say?

Nothing just now, Max said. Im waiting to hear from you.

Sligo shrugged. Youve got it all pretty well sorted out. Johnno knew I was coming up here and looking for a big score to take with me. I ran interference for him. Nothing much to it. Beckett paid well. Still does.

Not for much longer, I said.

Sligo shrugged again. The slight movement seemed almost to exhaust him and he sat still after it for nearly a minute. I need a drink, he said. Scotch, ice and water. Would you mind, Hardy? Im pretty crook.

I went across to a bar similar to the one at the brothel and made the drink. I looked at Max, who shook his head. I made a drink for myself. I was puzzled. Id expected resistance, threats, bluster. In a way, this acquiescence was harder to deal with.

Thanks, Sligo said when I handed him the drink. What dyou want from me?

Max leaned forward in his chair. The Craig woman says you put pressure on Beckett by saying you knew whod done the kidnapping.

Thats right. Johnnos idea. He was a smart cunt.

But you didnt know? Max said.

Sligo shook his head and then obviously wished he hadnt. Just that movement caused him to sweat. He took a handkerchief from the pocket of the dressing gown and wiped his face. I didnt have a fucking clue. Neither did Johnno. Of course, we didnt even bother to look.

I sipped my drink thinking this was very weird. I looked carefully at Sligo to see if there were any tricks he might pull. He certainly didnt have a weapon and there didnt seem to be any way he could summon assistance.

Have you been keeping an eye on things in Sydney? I asked. Got anyone down there working for you?

The only interest Ive got in Sydney is in the horses and the football. Cavendish paid the money into an account regular as clockwork. There was nothing to watch. Tell you one thing, though.

Whats that? Max said.

That Neville bitch, the one that used to be on the force, gave the ransom note to me.

This was almost too much to handle. Why the fuck would she do that? I said.

Sligos face, flabby in some places, sunken in others, almost made it to a smile. Youve gotta understand how much all these people hated each otherJohnno, Peg, me, Neville. We were all looking for the edge. Neville got the edge on Johnno but she reckoned she was safer giving me an edge on him, too. If Johnno ever sent anyone after her shed tell them who had the note. It was all so fucking devious, no wonder it came unstuck. How did it come unstuck, anyway?

We dont know yet, I said quickly. Wheres the note?

The almost smile had faded. Sligo sucked in a deep breath, apparently to give him the strength to get his glass to his mouth. I was part of the bloody game. It amused me that Johnno was sweating for years and paying through the nose for something that didnt exist. I burnt the fucking thing.

Describe it, Max said.

Oh, it was fair dinkum, Id say. Not one of your TV bullshit things with cut-out newspaper and that crap. It was professionally typed and what Id call stylish. I cant remember exactly what it said. Something about having abducted the girl and being prepared to let her live for two hundred thousand dollars.

Max was taking notes. Who was it addressed to?

Sligo scratched at his grey, flaky skin. The family, I think. Im not sure.

What were the arrangements?

Jesus, its a long time ago. None of your pickup nonsense. The money was to be paid into a bank account and the girld be freed in a few days. You could do that back thenmove large sums of money around, before the fucking government had its finger up everybodys arse.

That much talking appeared to exhaust him and he sank back in his chair and sipped his drink.

They had photocopiers back then, I said. Are you sure you didnt make a few copies, for insurance?

Ive told you. I burnt it and I fucking laughed while I did it.

Youre not laughing now, I said. In fact youre not much of anything. Whats wrong with you, Mr Sligo?

He drew in a deep breath and I could hear a rattle inside him that seemed to start in his lungs and come out through his throat. Ive got cancer. Found out for sure two days ago, except Ive really known it for weeks. Ive got it everywhere. Probably got it in the dick, and I dont give a shit about you or Cavendish or Beckett or any fucking thing.

Colin Sligo had never married and had no immediate family. He didnt care what revelations about him came out after he was dead which he said would be a matter of weeks if he didnt speed it up himself. He gave us the numbers of the bank account Cavendish had paid into on behalf of himself, Hawkins and the two women. He kept drinking steadily and was three parts drunk by the time we were ready to go.

I still dont see whats in this for you, Hardy, he said. Its ancient history.

I couldnt see any harm in it so I told him about the reward.

He came as close as he could get to a laugh. Good luck. Good fucking luck.