Wyatt - 05 - Port Vila Blues (8 page)

He put Wintergreen out of his mind.
Half a weeks work here in Vanuatu, then spend two or three days sailing the
Pegasus
to Suva. A spot of Supreme Court work in Fiji, then fly back to Sydney,
leaving the
Pegasus
moored in Suva. A quick turnaround in Sydney this
time. Hed arranged his workload so that he could be in Vila to collect the
Asahi stones.

Grace, De Lisles hi-Vanuatan
servant, was waiting for him on the verandah. White cloth on the cane table,
martini in a steel jug beaded with condensation, chilled glass, a plate of
oysters. De Lisle stood close to her, rotated his bulk a quarter turn, fitting
his groin against her thigh. Her brown skin felt cool beneath the hairline.
Then cotton, a series of bumps along her spine, then her wonderful arse.

De Lisle rested the folds of his
chin on her bare shoulder. He watched her stare out across the water, very
still except as he began minutely to move against her.

* * * *

Ten

It
was eight oclock on Thursday morning before Niekirk got back to his motel. He
crawled into bed, exhausted from the bank job and the long hours staking out
the U-Store building.

He slept long into the day, then
showered in scalding water, needles of heat easing the strain in his neck and
shoulders. He dressed, caught a tram into the city, walked the arcades. The
Asahi Collection, on show from Monday 9 said the discreet card in the window of
the Soreki 5 department store. Niekirk mapped the area in his mind, then sat in
a coffee shop opposite, watching the security men change shifts. Groundwork. He
would spend another day doing this, then fly back to Sydney, wait for word from
De Lisle.

Late in the afternoon he returned to
his motel. He was turning the key and pushing the door open when a man came
through the door behind him, crowding his back. Another was already in the
room, smiling humourlessly at him from the edge of the bed. If Niekirk hadnt
been exhausted he might not have been bushwacked. They wore suits and he knew
that was bad news.

He turned to the suit behind him,
half inclined to fight his way free, but stopped when he saw the gun, a police issue
.38 revolver, stopped when he heard the giggle, high and mad.

I wouldnt if I were you.

The guy leaned back against the
door, a gun-happy light in his eyes, tongue tip sliding once over his upper
lip. Dont make me, he said, giggling again, jerking his head in a nervy
spasm, tossing hair away from his eyes. It was a ragged fringe of hair, cut
haphazardly by someone once a monthwife or girlfriend, but maybe even mother
for all Niekirk knewover an eager killers face.

So Niekirk turned to the suit on the
bed, who said immediately, smiling all the while: A few matters to discuss,
Sergeant Niekirk.

So they had his name. Niekirk forgot
about offering his fake ID. He reassessed the smile of the man on the bed. It
was a reflexive, all-purpose smile, the kind used to express rage, pain,
pleasure, hope, bonhomie to the media, ingratiation to the men upstairs who
outranked him, and often nothing at all. The other guy had the .38 but this was
the one Niekirk had to watch.

What matters?

The smile. This and that. Missing
items.

The voice was deep-chested, a
sonorous baritone that liked to listen to itself. Niekirk said, Im entitled
to a phone call.

The senior man got to his feet. He
was tall, a little stiff. He made a flowery gesture at the bedside telephone
with one long, well-shaped hand. Be my guest.

Niekirk had memorised the number he
was to call if the local boys in blue nabbed him. He stood rather than sat, and
faced the room, the telephone cord clumsily draped across his chest. He waited
for the dial tone and punched in the number. At once he heard the ringing tone
on the line and a soft burr in the room. Smiling one of his smiles, the elegant
senior man fished a small black fold-up phone from his pocket.

Niekirk replaced the handset. Youre
our green-light cop.

The austere face kept smiling. I
suppose I must be.

Got a name?

The smile faded a little, deciding. Springett.

Youd have rank, Niekirk observed.

The smile came back. Inspector.

Whos the cowboy on the door?

Lillecrapp.

Jesus Christ.

It is a mouthful. Sit down. The
bed.

Niekirk complied. Springett remained
standing, every hair in place, a neat, perfect knot in the bright, chaotically
patterned tie at his throat. The suit itself was sombre, the shirt crisply
white.

Niekirk said, What missing items?

Cast your mind back to your first
hit, that bank job in February.

What about it?

Youll recall there was a small
gold butterfly encrusted with diamonds?

Think Im a philistine? I know what
it was, a Tiffany.

A Tiffany, exactly. Well, its
turned up again.

How do you mean?

I got word yesterday afternoon that
a small-time character here in Melbourne is trying to fence it.

Niekirk raced through the
possibilities. He knew that Riggs and Mansell hadnt pocketed anything from the
safety-deposit boxes, for hed packed everything himself. They couldnt have
dropped it in the alley behind the building. There couldnt have been two
Tiffanies. De Lisle wasnt stupid enough to offload it to a small-time fence. The
courier, he said.

Now I wonder how come I knew you
were going to say that? Springett said.

I handled the transfer. My men didnt
take the Tiffany. I didnt take the Tiffany.

Springett was watching him. Behind
the smile he was guarded, sceptical. You sound very sure of yourself.

Fuck Im sure. Id check out the
courier.

Springett said nothing for a while,
as if weighing up possibilities. I take it that you know a man called De
Lisle?

Niekirk grinned. Now we come down
to the nitty-gritty. Yes, I know him.

I thought so. De Lisles setup
works in theory, separating your side of things from mine, separating the
courier from both of us, like a circuit-breaker arrangement in case one of us
takes a fall. But what happens when one of us starts acting solo, know what I
mean?

Niekirk watched him carefully. You
dont like it that the left hand doesnt know what the right is doing. Nor do
I. I especially dont like it that you knew my name but I didnt know yours.
Did De Lisle give it to you?

I insisted on knowing. I had to be
ready to cover up if anything happened, like your name appearing on an arrest
report.

Fucking lovely. An imbalance of
power between us right from me start. So, if I pull the jobs for him, what do
you do?

Reluctantly, Springett said: I put
the jobs together identify the target, supply photos, floor plans, maps of the
alarm system.

Niekirk looked at him cannily. For
a fee?

Now
thats
the nitty-gritty,
Springett said. I get a cut of the action. Exactly a third.

Same here. Its my blokes who get a
set fee.

But have you been paid your third
yet?

A retainer.

Springett nodded. Sounds familiar.

The rest when the heats off and De
Lisles moved the stuff.

Trusting pair, arent we? A
retainer to keep us sweet. Not many men would put up with that.

Fucking spit it out, Springett. Hes
got you over a barrel, same as hes got me. If we dont play ball he puts us
away. If we do his dirty work, we stay out of jail and pocket a few hundred
thou. Am I right or am I right?

Both men relaxed, feeling a common
ground between them. Lillecrapp continued to loll against the door, bored, too
absorbed in cracking his knuckles to feel envy or interest in what they were
saying.

Niekirk said suddenly: Whats De
Lisle got on you?

Springetts face shut down. Now youre
stepping over the line.

Suit yourself.

Its no longer a factor.

Sure.

Its strictly business now.

Sure. So youve told him the
Tiffanys shown up?

Not exactly.