The Undertow (20 page)

‘What?'

‘White people.'

‘Not many. There was this one guy . . .'

‘Yes?'

She put her perfectly manicured hand up to her smooth cheek. ‘I called him Scarface. Real ugly, a real mess. Should've seen a plastic surgeon. He drove a cool black Beemer so he must have the money. Trish, get busy, Mrs Turnbull's due any minute.'

‘Does he live here, this bloke with the scarred face? Have you ever seen him around the town?'

Karen shook her head. ‘No.'

That was all I was going to get. I thanked them and left.

I enquired at the accountant's office and got nothing at all—professional discretion. I stared longingly at Speciality Travel's locked door and the apartments above and behind, but there was no way of broaching them.

As I moved back to my car, a man wearing a turban approached the travel agency door. I went across to him non-threateningly, and spoke as politely as I could.

‘Excuse me, are you here to see Mr Heysen?'

He didn't like the look of me one bit. ‘Sorry, sorry,' he said and hurried off, almost tripping on the gutter.

I couldn't see what else there was to be done in Bowral. Maybe Sawtell was holed up here, maybe not. I didn't fancy asking around for Scarface and his Beemer. The day had dawned grey all around, and the wind was keen. Southern Highlands after all, have to expect that. The only thing to do was head back to the city: Catherine Heysen was the key to the next moves and it was definitely time to bring Frank in—to disturb his peace of mind. After experiencing the hard-line resourcefulness of Sawtell, I felt the need for backup such as Frank and Hank Bachelor could provide. Still, I did a run up and down the main street and a few cross streets and out to a couple of housing estates and the business park, looking for a cool black BMW. Waste of effort.

Conference time. When I got back to the city I phoned Hank and brought him up to date on the essentials. He said the earliest he could make a meeting was five o'clock. Frank wasn't at home. I phoned Lily and got her to pull some strings. A couple of hours later the fax, not used that much these days, sparked up and copies of news clippings from the
Sydney Morning Herald
, the
National Times
and the
Sun
began to come through. The cuttings covered the trial, conviction and escape of Matthew Henry Sawtell.

He was born in Balmain, had just enough education to make it into the Police Academy, and was considered an outstanding recruit. Tall, strongly built and athletic, he impressed all the right people, did well in uniform with a couple of citations for bravery, and rose quickly as a detective. After his fall investigative journalists working on the story discovered family connections to the Painters and Dockers and signs that Sawtell had never seen the police force as anything other than a means of personal enrichment. He wore the livid scar on his face as a badge of honour. There were several photographs of him, mostly wearing a hat. Grainy and blotchy though the faxes were, his strong, almost handsome features were apparent. In one photo taken when he was a young man, before he got the scar, Herb Elliot's arm was around his shoulders. Catherine Heysen's kind of guy.

I got through to Frank in the mid-afternoon, told him most of what was going on, and he agreed to the five o'clock meeting in my office. I sat and waited for them with my mobile on the desk. I dislike the things, the fiddly little buttons, the dopey ring-tones, the expectation they've set up that unless you have one you're not a serious player at anything from shopping to international diplomacy. No choice now—it was the only connection to Mad Matt ‘Scarface' Sawtell. He didn't need to have anyone keeping tabs on me now. From his point of view he had me where he wanted me. The trick would be to turn that around.

Hank got there first. He settled in a chair and surprised me by lighting a cigarette.

‘Stress,' he said.

I nodded. I got an ashtray from the desk drawer, produced my emergency ration scotch and poured him a drink in a paper cup. He took it and nursed it gratefully. The chair I'd set out for Frank was one I'd found in an empty office in the building—I don't do much conferencing.

Frank arrived looking anxious. He accepted a drink before glancing around the office. It was his first time there.

‘Shit, Cliff, can't you afford something better than this?'

‘Low overhead. Money spent on essentials.'

‘Yeah, like a good car.'

‘What's got up your nose?'

‘Sorry. Personal stuff. Let's get on with it. I admit I'm pissed off about you going after William without telling me. What did you plan to say to him?'

I shrugged. ‘I was going to play it by ear. Find out if he was hooked up with Sawtell and try to talk him out of it.'

Hank said, ‘That doesn't matter now. What d'we do when he makes contact and expects you to set up a meeting with Mrs Heysen?'

Frank shook his head. ‘Can't let that happen.'

‘What do you suggest?' I said. ‘Give it to the police?'

I could almost see Frank's brain cells working. Playing by the book, he shouldn't have any involvement in this given his relationship to one of the pawns in the game, or two of them—three if you counted Sawtell. Too close to too much. But the police record in hostage bargaining situations is 50/50 at best and there were other considerations. Sawtell was an experienced shooter facing a never-to-be-released label if caught. With nothing to lose he'd kill if pushed into a corner and take as many with him as he felt like.

‘No,' Frank said. ‘He expressed his hatred for the police at his trial and I don't imagine he's changed.'

‘Cassidy and Wain are out of the picture,' I said, ‘but some of the people who helped him escape could still be around and wouldn't want him talking. Remember our feelings along those lines when I got pulled by those two Ds? It only takes a spark to set off a hostage situation.'

‘What?' Hank said.

I opened my hands. ‘Sorry, mate. Wheels within wheels. There're probably cops and others who don't want him around.'

Hank didn't take offence, one of his strengths. ‘Okay, we know he's got some helpers,' Hank said. ‘What I can't understand is why he wants to see Mrs Heysen. Why he's back here at all.'

‘They were lovers,' I said.

Hank took his cigarette pack out, glanced at Frank and put it away. ‘So? Ancient history.'

‘It doesn't feel that ancient,' Frank said.

I'd hardly touched my drink. Now I took a sip. ‘At least we can be sure Heysen did the operation on Sawtell and botched it. Sawtell got away but he was a good-looking guy whose face was ruined. He took revenge on Heysen. But Hank's question remains.'

We sat there with no answers. Then my mobile rang.

24

‘D
on't answer it,' Frank said.

Hank stared at him.

‘String him along for a bit. Don't give him the high ground.'

The phone rang for a while, then stopped. Hank nodded. ‘Guess you've been in this kind of situation before.

First time for me.'

‘Not exactly,' Frank said, ‘but there are certain principles, right, Cliff?'

‘That's right,' I said. ‘The trouble is they change with the circumstances.'

Hank shook his head. ‘That means they're not principles. Let's say a principle is we don't let Sawtell meet with Mrs Heysen. Will that hold for all circumstances?'

‘Yes,' Frank said.

‘Then how does anything happen?'

Frank looked at me. ‘Remember the Patterson siege?'

I did. Wilbur Patterson was a serial killer who'd holed up in his mother's house with his father as a hostage. He wanted to meet with his girlfriend and the police had no doubt he'd kill her and his father.

‘It was before your time here, Hank.' I gave him the essentials.

‘So what went down?'

‘We used a stand-in for the girlfriend,' Frank said.

‘How'd it come out?'

‘Pretty good—the father wounded, the stand-in unharmed, Patterson dead.'

‘A win.'

Frank took a sip of his drink. ‘We were lucky. Patterson had poor eyesight and he panicked.'

‘Doesn't sound like this Sawtell's the panicky type.'

‘No,' I said. ‘But he must be under pressure of some kind or he wouldn't be into this. What worries me is a feeling I have that he doesn't care whether he comes out of it alive or not. That's about as bad as it gets in these things.'

The phone rang again. Frank looked at his watch and shook his head. ‘Next time.'

‘What if he changes his mind?' Hank said. ‘Cuts his losses. We don't know where he is. He's home free.'

‘That's not Sawtell,' Frank said. ‘He does what he says he'll do.'

‘How'd he get caught then?'

I'd read the cuttings and could answer that. ‘He trusted two people he shouldn't have.'

‘So he's a poor judge of character?'

I nudged the mobile with a pen, just to be doing something. ‘Aren't we all.'

The phone rang again and I picked it up.

‘Hardy.'

‘You're in your office in Newtown. You have two men with you. One's vaguely familiar but I can't place him. I don't know the other one.'

‘They'd love to meet you,' I said.

‘I bet. I wonder if they'd like to meet the shottie.'

‘They'd cope.' I scribbled a note to Hank. He read it and was on his way instantly. ‘How're you coping, Sawtell? I spoke to a woman who saw you at William's travel place. She wasn't attracted.'

He laughed. ‘You'd be surprised how many are. Like I said, I want to see Catherine.'

Frank was at my elbow and I scribbled the gist of what Sawtell was saying.

‘Well, I suppose that might be possible. She'd need to know that William was safe.'

‘Fair enough. I'd let her talk to him and instruct my little helper to let him go when I was satisfied.'

‘What would satisfy you?'

‘Wait and see.'

‘We'd need a bit more than that.'

‘So would I, like a clear passage out. Who's that with you? I can tell you're communicating.'

I wrote: ‘Wants a getaway route. Who're you?'

Frank took the phone. ‘This is Frank Parker, Sawtell.

Remember me?'

I didn't hear Sawtell's response but he must have asked what rank Frank had achieved because Frank said, ‘Deputy commissioner.'

Frank took over the scribbling role and wrote: ‘Two birds, one stone'.

He said, ‘What does that mean?'

‘No police—William dead', he wrote.

‘I hear you,' Frank said. ‘Like to tell me why you're doing this?'

Frank sat with the phone in his hand, evidently with nothing coming through it. ‘Sawtell?'

Then Frank waved the phone in the air, indicating that the call was finished. The last words he'd written were ‘three hours'.

‘What?' I said.

‘Three hours to set it up. He'll call again with the arrangement.'

‘It's hard to follow a two-way conversation from notes.

Did you . . . pick up anything useful? Apart from what the bastard wants?'

Frank was silent and I had to prompt him. ‘Frank?'

‘I'm thinking. What did you pick up?'

I asked him about the two birds with one stone remark. He nodded. ‘Means he knows Catherine dumped him for me.'

‘The idea is to kill two birds with one stone, isn't it?'

‘Right.'

‘The only other bit I got was a funny thing he said. He referred to his little helper. How about you?'

‘Nothing. A bit of hesitation when I asked him why he was doing it. He called me Mr Clean.'

Frank went back to his chair and drained his paper cup. All of a sudden he looked old and strained again, the way he had when this whole thing started. He pushed the cup towards me. ‘Any more of that rotgut on hand?'

I poured him another slug and some for myself. It wasn't the answer to the fix we were in, but sometimes when you run out of ideas it seems like the only thing to do. It didn't look good for William and I thought about that as I sipped the drink. I hadn't liked him and could spare him, but then, I didn't like his mother either. Shouldn't matter, she was my client—or was she still? Very different for Frank—an old lover and a new son. No wonder he was feeling the strain.

I was about to say something just to break the silence when the desk phone rang.

‘Cliff,' Hank Bachelor said. ‘I got him. Would you believe he's driving that Commodore clunker?'

I mouthed Hank's name to Frank. ‘That was careless.'

‘Yeah. You'll never guess where he's gone.'

‘Hank, Sawtell's given us three hours. No time for guessing games. Tell us.'

‘Didn't you say Mrs Heysen lived in Earlwood? That's where we are. Big place near the river. Got a for sale sign out.'

I relayed this to Frank.

‘That's crazy,' Frank said.

‘What do you want me to do, Cliff?' Hank said.

‘Has he gone into the house?'

‘No, he's sitting in the car outside. Using his cell phone a bit.'

‘Stay there. I'll get back to you. Did you see the driver?'

‘Yeah, he stopped for smokes. Little guy.'

I hung up. ‘Hank says he was small.'

‘The little helper. This is weird. I can't imagine what he's playing at. It's crazy.'

‘You said that already. Did he sound . . . unhinged to you?'

‘No, but like I told you, he wouldn't, no matter what was going through his head.'

‘One thing's clear—he's obsessed with the Heysens. Is there any way he'd know where Catherine is? Did her people live in Lane Cove back when Sawtell knew her?'

‘No, Rockdale.'