Peter Corris: The Reward

So were set? Penny said.

Looks like it.

Its all a bit weird, isnt it? Perhaps we should have some back-up.

I told her about the meeting with Bruce, omitting some of the details, and Claudias assurance that she wouldnt have any support troops.

You believe her?

Yes.

Why?

God knows, I just do. Wheres Max?

Do you mean, howre things between us or where is he?

I laughed. Both.

Things are fine. Hes out checking up on Sean Beckett. Apparently he hasnt been seen around his usual haunts for the past few days. Max wants to keep tabs on him.

Good idea. Well, youve got the address in Wollstonecraft. I guess we meet there at eight fifty-five or thereabouts and go on in.

Do you remember the layout? Im thinking of the wheelchair.

I considered. A few steps. Nothing we cant handle.

My heroes. Ill see you there, Cliff.

Which left me with most of a day to fill in. I drove to the office and dealt with the matters that had accumulated over the time Id been concentrating on the Beckett case. It was clear from the answering machine messages and faxes that Id missed out on some business in that time. I chased up some of the people whod faxed and called and made some appointmentswith a dentist who wanted some overdue accounts pursued, with a widow who claimed her late husband had been sighted in Vanuatu and with a gambler who wanted an escort to and from the Sydney Casino in the next week.

Bob Lowenstein had faxed his account, minutely itemised and ludicrously small. Appropriate really, considering that Id been working for free for the past few days. He attached a note asking to be brought up to date and declaring his willingness to have professional intercourse with Peggy Hawkins if such was needed. As a complimentary service hed run the name Claudia Vardon through every relevant database he could think of and had come up with nothing. I wasnt surprised. I wrote him a cheque and promised to stay in touch.

I dug out the contract Id signed with Barry White and read through its provisions with growing amusement. With all its handwritten and initialled amendments and corrections, it wasnt worth the match itd take to burn it. Something for the files. I leaned back in my chair and allowed my mind to play on the question of the reward for information leading to the conviction of those responsible for the death of Ramona Beckett. A million dollars or so. Somehow I didnt feel that the things Id been doing had brought me any closer to it. Maybe I was even further away.

I drove home keeping an eye out for 4WDs and blondes and brunettes in dark glasses. I showered again and shaved again but I didnt go for the suit. I put on jeans and my old Italian slip-ons, strapped the shoulder holster on over a blue cotton shirt and laid out a light cotton jacket. With the way this case had been going I could be sitting all night in the parlour with my legs crossed or thrashing around in the bushes of Mrs Becketts mansion. I put the. 38 on the kitchen sink and used the jaffle-maker my sister had given me to build a giant construction crammed with all the leftovers in the fridge. I permitted myself one glass of wine and then extended the permit to two.

That got me through to a bit before seven with still a long time to wait. I deliberated about the gun but decided to take it. I considered ringing Frank Parker and decided not to. The front doorbell rang and I swore, then got cautious. I picked up the gun and held it behind my back as I opened the door after first switching on the outside light.

The woman who stood there was tall and straight. Her black hair fell to her shoulders and her make-up accentuated the size of her dark eyes, the sharp planes of her face and the wide slash of her mouth. She wore high heels, a short black leather skirt, a white blouse with a leather jerkin over it and a jacket to match.

Hi, Cliff. Going to invite me in again?

The voice was Claudia Vardons, but the face and body were those of Ramona Beckett.

I stood aside and let her in. I forgot about the gun and she saw it as I closed the door.

You wont need that, she said.

With you, theres no knowing.

She walked ahead of me down the hall. Her legs were perfect and her carriage was beautiful. I recalled that Ramona Beckett had been a gymnast and I remembered how this woman had flicked herself up and off the bed in her apartment. I was well on the way to believing her and I forced myself to pull back. Dyed hair or a wig, make-up and clothes can work miracles, they can even change a man into a simulacrum of a woman. She looked around the living room and turned towards me, smiling. Nothing about her was familiar except the black leather shoulder bag. She threw it at the chair with the same result as before.

A dump, but a nice dump. Could I have a drink, Cliff? I havent had one for days. Ive lost a few pounds, wouldnt you say?

I put the gun away in the closet and took off the holster. Guns werent relevant here. Youre a bit thinner, I said. Why?

Gabriella notices such things. She puts store in them. Im nine kilos heavier than when she last saw me, but every little bit helps.

I poured two glasses which emptied the bottle. Wed have to go on to Scotch if there was to be any more drinking. The experience was very peculiar. I didnt know whether I was dealing with the woman Id made love to seventeen years ago in a Potts Point flat, or another woman whod slept with me right here just a few days before. She wanted me to believe it was both, but shed have to prove it. She was sitting down now, showing flawless knees, calves and ankles under the short skirt. I handed her the glass, put a blank tape in the stereo set-up and switched it to pick up what was said in the room.

OK? I said.

Why not?

I hit Record and backed away to stand by the window.

Im Ramona Beckett, she said.

So you say.

You doubt it?

I took a drink, put the glass down, made a frame with my fingers and looked through it. Start with the head, I said brutally. The features are a bit different. Not as sharp. You seem to have perfect teeth. Ramonas werent her best feature.

She frowned. Youre a bastard. Youre talking about seventeen years and a car accident. That wasnt true what I told you. They had to remodel my nose, mouth and jaw. I always thought they did a good job. She tapped her glass against her white teeth. I gave up smoking twelve years ago. My teeth were yellow by then. Anyway, these have been capped and veneered at great expense.

I shrugged. Im not convinced.

I should be able to remember the name of that fancy Italian restaurant you took me to when you were pretending to be Peter McIntyre, who could pick the Liberal candidate for the seat of Bligh, but I cant. We went back to my place in Potts Point and fucked our brains out. I remember that, kind of. Then you got busy and really screwed me, with that videotape switch and all.

I told that, more or less, to Barry White. You couldve got it from him. Or…

Or what?

From Ramona Beckett, if you were involved in her kidnapping.

Rather than crossing her legs or playing those kinds of games, she leaned forward earnestly in the chair towards me. There was no kidnapping, Cliff. I faked the whole damn thing.

She told me that she had lost interest in getting into politics after Id turned the tables on her. Shed accumulated a fair bit of money but shed also acquired a cocaine habit and wanted more. She went to Manly and allowed herself to be seen, arranged things just so in her flat, sent a note to her parents house and went to ground.

Where? I asked.

Melbourne, where else? No-one in Melbourne cares about whats happening in Sydney and vice versa. I changed my appearance, cut the hair, ditched the leather. Id opened a bank account in a false name and I waited for the money to come in.