Salt and Blood (11 page)

I nodded, said nothing.

‘Yeah, he'd beaten the living shit out of this guy in a pub. I just happened to be there. Wasn't on duty. I was super fit in those days and I'll tell you it took me all my time to get him under control. When we got to the lockup he broke free and took to one of the officers there. Tough bloke but Harkness put him in the hospital, multiple fractures. Again, it took three of us to subdue him.'

I finished the sandwich and the coffee. ‘Most of this is new to me,' I said. ‘I mean the detail. But I had the gist. When you say you were curious about him …'

‘Yeah, well, a couple of the blokes at the station wanted me to go in and give him a good kicking, you know? I might've too, I was pretty angry. I went into the cell and he was babbling. Drunk, but not that drunk by now, not after everything that'd gone on over an hour and a bit.'

‘Let me guess,' I said. ‘He seemed to have forgotten all about it. As if it'd never happened.'

Hughes looked surprised. ‘That's right. I kind of got him to stop talking and tried to tell him what
an arsehole he was and he didn't know what I was talking about. He went right on spewing out this stuff.'

What stuff?'

‘He was saying he'd killed his wife and kid. Not sort of, really. Actually killed them.'

‘He was pissed.'

‘Like I say, not
that
pissed. Sounded like he meant it.'

‘And you reported this?'

‘No.' He swivelled and looked along the street at the multicultural parade as if he was gazing backward in time to when he had full control of his body. ‘I shouldn't, but I'm going to have another coffee. Coffee's real bad shit, you know. You can't drink it when you go on a homeopathic course. It's toxic as hell. You have to clear it out of your system first up.'

‘That right?' I signalled for the waitress and ordered two more long blacks. When they came he stirred in two spills of sugar, breaking all the rules. ‘I envy you, man. When we finish here you're going to jump in your car and go chasing after what comes next. Right?'

‘I wouldn't say jump, but yeah, that's more or less right. Why didn't you report what Harkness said, Brett?'

‘I thought about it and I was going to but then his brother and solicitor arrived and I found out he was an actor and that changed my mind. See, what he'd been babbling was like in two voices. He'd say something in one voice, and then something else in another quite different voice. Changing
from one to the other real quick. When they told me he was a TV actor I figured he was remembering some old script or something. Sounded just like some of that crap. Then I heard that he was being taken out of circulation and I let it go.'

At least now I had something to take to Jerry Weir, but Hughes had more to say. ‘I wanted to tell you this when Frank Parker told me that you were minding Harkness and that someone had taken a shot at him.'

‘Yes?'

‘Thinking back I don't reckon he was quoting from a script. I reckon he was confessing to killing his wife and kid. And it's likely there's someone out there who wants him for that, wouldn't you say?'

14

Brett Hughes finished his coffee and began playing with the paper napkin, folding it into smaller and smaller squares. ‘I've given you a problem, have I?' he said. ‘I was sort of thinking I might be helpful. Talking like this, getting that call from Parker. Felt like old times. I miss the job. Still miss it like hell after all these years.'

Right then I was thinking that I could do without my job very easily. It was getting complicated the way it can, with new information piling in on the old and contradicting it or calling it into serious question. I shook my head to make him feel better. ‘No, mate. It's useful information, I just don't quite know how to make use of it. The thing is, this woman I'm working with has taken off with Harkness. So it's a question of how dangerous he is.'

He unfolded the napkin. ‘Very, I'd say. Sorry.'

‘The psychiatrist who recommended his release says he isn't.'

‘Did he know about the confession? That's how you could see it now, I have to say.'

‘She. Yeah, I suspect she did. Wouldn't talk to me about it though.'

Hughes shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘That's another funny thing now I come to remember. There was this rookie detective around when we were dealing with Harkness. Mary something. She was with the sergeant when they took him some coffee after he'd calmed down. I was a bit keen on her. We all were …' He broke off and looked as if he might go back to napkin folding but he didn't. ‘Anyway, I had a word with her afterwards and she reckoned Harkness was the biggest spunk she'd seen in years. And she was a good-looker. From the way she talked about him I reckon he could've had her on her back in no time flat.'

‘Yeah, he's still like that, it seems. But that raises a point. Did you talk to anyone at the station about what Harkness had said about killing his wife and kid?'

Hughes lifted one of his hands and stroked the side of his face. I could see the calluses at the base of the fingers where the mitts hadn't quite protected his hands from the weights bars. ‘Jeez, now you're asking. It's a long time ago and not that long before all this shit happened.' He slammed his hands down on his thighs. ‘I remember that I was thinking about reporting it like I said until the acting came up. So I would've been thinking about how to write it up. Don't think I talked to anyone, but shit, I just can't remember.'

‘Do you remember exactly who was in the station at the time?'

He shook his head. ‘Not right off. I could probably work it out, but. Oh, I get it. You're thinking about who'd know that he said he killed them. But you're talking about police officers.'

‘There's cops and cops,' I said. ‘No civilians there? Clerks? Drunks?'

‘Don't think so, but I'd need peace and quiet to think about it.'

I gave him a card with my contact details on it. ‘If you come up with anything I'd be very grateful if you'd get in touch. And thanks for this.'

He grinned. ‘Too easy, and you're paying for the coffees, right?'

I put money on the table. We shook hands again and it became one of those awkward moments between the able-bodied and the handicapped. He pushed off and I said, ‘Can I … help you on your way?'

‘No, mate. I can drive myself. I've got a car all hooked up. I'll be right. Just stay right where you are if you don't mind.'

I watched him swivel the wheelchair and scoot away along the pavement. He stopped at a white Honda Civic and with a bit of lifting and shoving manoeuvred himself into the driver's seat, and for that moment my problems didn't seem so big at all.

‘Time out'—what does that mean? How long? I had no idea. I tossed up whether to try to talk to Dr Weir and learn more about Rodney Harkness's ‘confession' in the hope that it might give me some lead, or to keep after Glen by phone and email. Neither approach seemed promising. I found myself driving back to Bondi with no par
ticular plan in mind, just a vague hope that the Pajero might be there and that ‘time out' meant twenty-four hours. No such luck.

I parked in the allotted carport for the flat and went up the stairs. The door was standing open with splintering around the lock. I felt my pulse increase and the adrenalin kick in. My gun was in my bag under the bed and I had to hope whoever had broken in hadn't found it. I looked along the concrete walkway for a weapon and the only thing in sight was a kid's skateboard lying wheels up outside a flat further along. Better than nothing. I scuttled along and grabbed it.

I went in low and fast, shouting and whacking anything in sight with the skateboard. He came out of Rod's bedroom carrying the iMac. A big guy. Young. He dropped the computer and yelled when he saw me. The adrenalin-pumped momentum drove me forward and I rammed hard at his groin with the skateboard. I missed, caught him on the thigh and didn't hurt him much. He lashed out and got me on the side of the head. I reeled back and he came on, still yelling, scared and angry. Dangerous as hell. I was slightly dazed but I still had the skateboard. I swung it backhand against his left knee and caught it just right so that it collapsed inwards. He went down but he wasn't finished. I moved in and he just missed with a lashing kick. I slammed the side of the skateboard against his ear and the wheels bit into the back of his head and that was enough for him. He flopped back on the carpet, panting and bleeding.

I straddled him, holding the board hard under his jaw, forcing his head back. ‘Now just who the hell are you?'

‘What … what d'you mean? I just come along and seen the door busted, and …'

I'd practically been cutting off his wind but now I eased back. ‘You didn't break in?'

‘No, man. I swear. I just …'

‘Okay, okay. When was this? How long've you been here?'

‘No time. I seen the computer and grabbed it. Then you come in. Fuck, I was scared.'

‘You should be. Break and enter, theft, assault. Serious charges.'

‘Look. I told you. I never broke in.'

‘Hard to prove. The Bondi cops don't like thieving pricks like you.'

The look in his eyes told me that he was in complete agreement. For a second he thought about giving it another go but I increased the pressure on his jaw and his head fell back again. The carpet was a bloody mess by now and he was white-faced under his stubble and shaking. He smelled bad.

‘You a user?'

He sniffed and nodded.

‘Had your eye on this place did you?'

‘Yeah, seen the fuckin' Pajero and the sheilah … you know. Looked like she had a bit.'

I wasn't convinced, not with everything that was going on. Had someone employed him to look for something, maybe to get the computer? ‘I think we need the cops,' I said.

‘Jesus, man, no. Don't do that. I couldn't take it.
Look, I told you, I didn't break in and you haven't lost nothing.'

‘Why'd you take the computer?'

‘To get money for a fix. Why'd you fuckin' think?'

In a strange way the belligerence and mood swing lent him credibility. It seemed unlikely that Rod's pursuer, who'd played some pretty cunning tricks, would resort to a loser like this as an assistant. I took one hand away, reached for my wallet and showed him my licence. ‘I'm a private investigator and you've got yourself into something you don't want to know about. If you tell me everything you've seen here, and I mean
everything,
I'll think about letting you go. Otherwise it's the cops, and it still will be if you bullshit me.'

‘Sure. Sure thing.'

‘What's your name?'

‘Craig, Craig Griffiths.'

‘Okay, Craig. Where d'you live?'

‘Shit, man, why d'you want to know?'

‘Two reasons—so I can find you if I need to and so I can check on what you say if I have to.'

He gave me an address that might or might not have been true. It's always wise to give someone you're questioning an easy one first up and it helps to gauge truthfulness. Craig seemed keen to help and I wondered if perhaps I'd encountered him on his second visit and he already had a few things from the flat tucked away.

‘When did you start watching the flat?'

‘When I first seen the Pajero, like yesterday morning.'

‘Kept an eye on it ever since?'

‘Sort of, yeah.'

‘Anyone else watching?'

‘How d'you mean?'

‘Like I say. Was there anyone else showing an interest in the place?'

I could tell by the flicker in his eyes that he was considering lying. I put the pressure back on his throat. ‘Don't even think about it, mate. Doesn't matter how scary he was, I can be worse.'

‘There was this bloke today, yeah.'

‘The one who broke in?'

He nodded and hurt himself. ‘Shit! Yeah.'

‘Description.'

‘Big guy, big as me. Fit like.'

‘More. Hair, clothes, age.'

‘Shit, not much hair, sort of baldie with it clipped close. Dark suit. Dunno about how old—forty, fifty.'

‘Come on.'

‘Younger than you.'

‘A lot of people are younger than me, but we'll let that go. Vehicle?'

‘Camry. New.'

‘Colour?'

‘Red.'

‘Registration?'

‘Dunno.'

‘Tell me what happened, Craig, and get it right.'

Craig wasn't much of a storyteller, but with plenty of prompting I got a disjointed but detailed account of how the man in the Camry had pulled up outside the building, made a call on his mobile, waited, gone up to the flat
and returned to his car. He'd opened the boot and taken out a tyre iron. Craig had positioned himself on the level below and heard the door splinter. He said the intruder had been inside for perhaps ten minutes. After he'd left Craig had made his own entry and I'd surprised him almost immediately.

I'd let him sit up by this time but I positioned myself between him and the doorway and kept the skateboard handy. ‘For a second there I thought this fucker had come back.'

‘I'm not bald, Craig, and I'm not wearing a suit.'

‘Didn't mean that, man. I meant the kind of bloke he was.'

‘I don't get it.'

Craig wasn't the brightest and he fumbled for words to express his meaning. After a few moments of struggle he brushed his index finger against his upper lip. ‘Shit, I forgot to say he had this fuckin' moustache. He looked like a cop. That's what I meant when I reckoned he was like you, not looked like,
like,
see?'

I saw. All in all it was a pretty good description although a worrying one. Craig rubbed at his knee and throat and looked as if he was longing to be somewhere else.

‘Stand up,' I said. ‘See if you can walk.'