Wyatt - 05 - Port Vila Blues (20 page)

I asked Julie

De Lisle had to lay down the law
again. Typists do not make opera bookings for me. I asked you to do that and I
expected you to do it. Same as it wont hurt you to make coffee now and then.
He held up his hand as if to stem a tide of protest. I know, I know. But just
remember thisyoure starting at the bottom and when youre at the bottom you
have to expect to do some of the shitwork, pardon my French.

Sally breathed in, swelling her
chest, and breathed out again, a protracted sound of grim acceptance.
Otherwise, she was silent.

Speaking of French, De Lisle said,
some of my Vanuatuan cases have been very instructive.

Sally tried to look interested.

De Lisle rubbed his hands together. Sometimes
they have a nice tribal killing or two lined up for me, the occasional
smuggling racket. He sat back and grinned at her. I actually had a
firebombing once, in New Guinea. So-called freedom fighters chucked a molotov cocktail
through a Nestles depot in Port Moresby, saying what was wrong with milk from a
mothers breast? De Lisle laughed and his eyes dropped to a point below Sallys
neck. I could do with an assistant, he said, in a different tone of voice.

Sir?

This circuit court caper through
the Pacific. Life would be a whole lot more pleasant if I had an assistant
along with me.

Yes, sir.

There was a pause and then De Lisle
pushed down on his desk, lifting up and out of his chair with a grunt. Well,
the courtroom awaits.

First up, as Sally had promised, was
a Turkish woman requesting an intervention order against her violent husband.
She was a Muslim and things got off to a bad start when she said she wouldnt
swear on the Bible. De Lisle leaned over the bench at her. You must swear an
oath. How can I accept your word if you dont?

The womans lawyer stepped forward. Sir

De Lisle rounded on him, snarling, If
she wont swear on the Bible then I will not hear her case.

The lawyer conferred with the woman.
De Lisle watched in distaste. She was swaddled in cloth. Eventually the woman
swore on the Bible, her eyes closed and averted. Her hand, he noticed, was a
centimetre short of actually resting on the Bible. Still, he let it pass.

Then the evidence was presented. De
Lisle had heard it all before. A husband, driven to distraction by something
his wife has done or said, tries to sort her out and finds shes slapped a
court order on him.

So De Lisle questioned the woman. How
serious would you say these punches were?

She would not look at him. He broke
two of my ribs.

Look at me when Im asking you
questions. Did your husbands punches break the ribs, or did you perhaps fall
down the stairs?

Still she would not look at him. It
went on like that for ten minutes, a farce that De Lisle had to nip in the bud.
He told the woman, told her lawyer:

Your request for an intervention
order is denied. I simply cannot accept the truth of testimony presented to me
by a person who cannot maintain eye contact. Its shifty, meaning the testimony
of such a person is shifty. He lifted and dropped a handful of folders. I dont
doubt that there was some violence involved but I urge you to seek a culturally
appropriate remedy. He looked hard at the womans downcast face. Madam,
surely youre aware of the powerfully patriarchal nature of your culture?
Clearly violence is an expected outcome of the values of your particular
society. There must be some more appropriate course of action you can take.
Speak to the old women, the old men, cultural leaders who know what to do in
cases like this. Application denied, he concluded, and busied himself with making
notations on the brief while the woman and her lawyer left the court and the
murmurs in the background died away.

The hearings dragged on through the
day and De Lisle found his attention wandering. Being around Sally all day had
stirred something in him. Cassie Wintergreen. Hed go and see Cassie
Wintergreen, maybe stay the night if she was amenable. He had a key, so he
could let himself in if she wasnt there.

He went home, changed, and got to
her house in Double Bay at six. He fixed himself a scotch. More news about the
Asahi robbery on the six-thirty news.

She came storming in at
seven-thirty, and she looked terrible.

You bastard. You didnt tell me
that gold butterfly was stolen.

De Lisle waited a moment, spoke
carefully. How do you mean?

How do I mean? Ill tell you how I
mean. Last time you were away gallivanting in Vanuatu, it was stolen from my
safe, and now I learn it was stolen to begin with.

Ah.

Yes,
ah.

Cass, listen, did you report it?

It was Wintergreens turn to choose her
words. I dont want to go into the reasons, but I had cause not to report it.

Well, that was a relief. Cass, what
makes you think it was stolen.

I was informed of the fact, wasnt
I?

De Lisle breathed out heavily,
keeping a rein on his impatience. Im listening.

There I was, in the office this
evening, minding my own business, when who should come calling but the man who
burgled me.

Huh, De Lisle said.

Is that all you can say? This
fellow had a bit of style. Not your regular burglar. He wanted a chat, kind of
thing. You know, where did I score the Tiffany, so on and so forth.

Pause. Did you tell him?

Nasty chuckle. I guess youll soon
know one way or the other.

Whore. Cass, can I use your phone?

Why darling, youve gone all pale.

De Lisle scowled, wheeled around,
made for her study, rapidly mapping his way out of Australia. Hed need to keep
the risk of detection and interception down. Ansett to Coffs, first thing in
the morning, charter a small jet to Suva, bugger the cost, sail the
Pegasus
back
to Vila, where the Asahi stones would be waiting for him.

Meanwhile, though, he couldnt risk
going back to his apartment. De Lisle made his phone calls, wondering exactly
how he could sweet-talk Cassandra Wintergreen into letting him stay the night.

* * * *

Thirty

After
his run of piss-poor luck, things were beginning to look up, Baker could feel
it. Things were beginning to fall into place.

Hed seen the Goldman bitch before
lunch the previous day, and this time hed quizzed her about De Lisle. Just
casual, not making a big thing of it, just stuff like: was De Lisle Australian?
Did he have a wife and kids? Did he live in a wealthy suburb? Was it true they
called him the hanging judge? Why hanging judge when hanging wasnt allowed
any more? Did he always have a go at people in court, their surnames and stuff,
making them feel small? Maybe he lived on the North Shore? When was he next
headed for the Pacific? Stuff like that.

Goldman had acted busy and
abstracted again in her little partitioned office. A whole mob of ethnics going
yap yap yap outside, waiting to see a duty lawyer, keyboards tapping in the
background, printers whining, high heels up and down the corridors, phones
ringing, clerks yelling out names and docket numbers and what court to go to.
Plenty to distract the bitch but she went cagey on him and wouldnt give him a
straight answer. Just, the surname was French but as far as she knew he was
born in Australia; she didnt know about his private life; yes, he had a
reputation for sternness; hanging judge was just an expression; she was
sorry, but she had no intention of discussing De Lisles movements or where he
lived.

She gave him a hard, level look. Terry,
I hope youre not thinking of doing something stupid.

Like what?

Like having a go at him.

Give us a break, hed told her. What
do you take me for?

A man with a grievance, she said, just
because another man called him a loafer. A man who was supposed to seek
professional attention for a drug and alcohol problem but didnt.

Yeah, rub it in, he said sourly.
Then he brightened. Besides smirking, I cant find him in the phone book.

She smirked back. There wasnt much
humour in it.

Okay, if she wouldnt tell him where
De Lisle lived, hed follow the bastard. Baker walked right back down the
corridor to the notice board, found the days listings, saw which court De
Lisle was in, and took a seat in the back corner where he couldnt be seen
clearly.

He watched through the long afternoon.
De Lisle seemed to be in a hurry, rushing through the hearings. Hed been in
the sun, Baker guessed, taking in the mans mottled skinunless it was due to
his shitty personality. Entirely possible, Baker decided, watching De Lisle
lean forward at one point, practically spitting in some poor bastards face: Mr
Patakis, why are you dressed like that?

The Patakis geezer was about twenty,
small, agile-looking, a gold stud in each ear, long black hair, a lot of hair
on his bare arms, legs and chest. Probably what was getting to De Lisle were
the loose gold satin shorts, the perforated powder-blue workout singlet, the
sockless high-top Nikes.

Patakis looked down at himself,
briefly brushing one hand down the black hairs on his legs. He looked genuinely
puzzled. This is top gear, judge. Three-fifty, four hundred bucks worth. His
mouth hung open. Baker knew he was handing De Lisle a line.

So did De Lisle. He snarled, Its
an insult to come into my court dressed like that.

Patakis took a different tack. I
was in court six yesterday, judge

Your worship, thank you.

worship, and my best strides got
too creased to wear today. Theyre at the cleaners.

Couldnt you have borrowed some
clothes? Spent your ill-gotten gains on a decent wardrobe?

Patakis defence lawyer had been
watching De Lisle and his client tiredly, amusedly, but in good conscience he
couldnt let this go by unchallenged. Baker watched, grinning despite himself,
as the lawyer bobbed up from his seat. Your worship, I really must

De Lisle waved a hand irritably over
the courtroom. All right, all right. Mr Patakis, you are charged with

Baker had tuned the bastard out,
thinking about how hed fix him. An hour later hed tailed De Lisle to
Woollahra. De Lisle didnt stay long. He came out wearing a change of clothes
and was in his car and gone before Baker could get the Holden started.

Frustrated, Baker had another look
at De Lisles apartment block. The place looked impenetrable: ground floor
apartment, lock-up garage under the building, inside elevator, swipe-card
access to the lobby. He tried something that hed seen work on TV, pushed all
ten intercom buttons, but no one buzzed him in and when a woman said Yes?,
all clipped and hoity-toity, Baker had gone tongue-tied and backed off.

The next day hed gone back after
breakfast, wearing overalls and carrying a bucket and a squeegee. He waited
until a suit in a BMW drove out of the underground carpark, slipped inside the
building before the door had closed, and made his way to De Lisles patio. He
knocked. No answer. Cunt, Baker thought. Hes gone for the day already.

He lifted the sliding glass door
experimentally. Piece of shit: it rose three centimetres out of the track and
he had no trouble levering the bottom away and stacking the whole door against
the wall.

De Lisles apartment had the cool,
restful air of a place that has been switched off while its owner is away.
Baker roamed through the darkened rooms, pocketing a silver ashtray, a Walkman,
a gold pen. The broad quilt in the main bedroom bore the impression of a
suitcase and one or two shirts and items of underwear had been left behind.

Baker found De Lisles study, got
out the
Yellow Pages
and began to ring around the airlines, giving the
name De Lisle, saying he was confirming his flight details.

He hit paydirt at Ansett.

I dont understand, Mr De Lisle. We
had you on our eight-thirty to Coffs Harbour this morning. That flight has
already left.

My mistake, Baker said hurriedly,
breaking the connection.

Coffs?

He pressed the redial button,
prepared to disguise his voice, but he was connected to a different booking
clerk this time. You got any spare seats to Coffs today?

Let me check that for you.

He could hear her tapping away. Nothing
until tomorrow lunchtime, Im afraid. Shall I confirm that for you?

It would have to do. Baker told her
yes, then asked how much.

Return?

Yes.

She told him and he wondered if his
good luck was running out before it had begun. No way could he afford it. When
do I have to pay?

When you collect the ticket, sir,
an hour before departure if possible, otherwise the seat may be allocated to
someone else.

So Baker went to the Cross after
dark to earn himself an airfare.

There was a back street where young
blokes about thirteen or fourteen would hang out, hopping into the Jags, Mercs,
Saabs that cruised by. A few quick blowjobs and theyd have enough to score
themselves a virusy needle. But it wasnt the kids Baker was interested in, it
was the perverts driving the expensive cars. Unlike normal blokes, who bought
their fucks off women inside four walls, the blokes who cruised for kids were
usually very rich, usually puny, usually feeling dirty and guilty after.