Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout (22 page)

Later she curled up with him,
murmured for a while, breathing against his neck, then fell heavily asleep. She
was slack, heavy, peaceful and close against him. Wyatt drew his arm out by
degrees, swung his legs to the floor and stood. The room swayed and tilted. He
closed his eyes, sat, and when the room righted itself, dressed carefully. His
shoes presented a problem. He stood above them, clasped the back of a chair,
wound his toes in, forced the heel down. The laces could wait; he needed to
keep his head up.

The keys to her car were in a
leather shoulder-bag. He found a purse, a small box of tissues, tampons,
moisturising cream and a mobile phone. Wyatt pocketed the keys, two hundred
dollars and the phone. He glanced at the bed. She was sleeping. He closed the
door quietly behind him and pressed the gadget on the key ring to disengage the
locks on her car.

They sprang open with a strangled
electronic yelp, the drivers door creaked when he opened it, and Liz Redding,
wrapped in a motel blanket, was at his window before he could start the car and
drive away.

He sighed, wound down the window and
heard her fury and disappointment. You bastard. Not again, I dont believe it.

Wyatt showed no embarrassment, no
anger, no haste only deliberation. Liz, you belong here.

She stood away from him, suddenly
exhausted, looking cold and vulnerable and insubstantial beneath the blanket. Im
tired of this, Wyatt.

The pause was awkward. Wyatt
thought: Ive constructed a life out of moving on. Its easy, all you do is
turn your back and put one foot after the other down the road. Would she stop
him or wish him luck? It came down to disappointment. Hed disappointed her.
But she was not vindictive. Wyatt suddenly felt obscurely grubby for trying to
sneak away. His head boomed, a spike of pain behind his eyes. He leaned back
and closed his eyes.

Youre not fit enough yet.

You could be right, he said.

Some of Liz Reddings combativeness
came back to her. I want you.

Were different.

No were not. Ive got the Asahi
jewels.

He opened his eyes. Where?

She jerked her head. In my case. I
went back to the yacht and found them. I intend to keep them, Wyatt. I intend
to melt down the settings and sell the stones.

Theyre fakes.

She laughed. Is that what Heneker
told you? I knew he smelt wrong. He was playing it both ways. If you get
arrested, his firm gets the Asahi Collection back. If you dont, and he can
deal with you again, hed pay you some minimal reward for the so-called fakes
and pocket the rest. She paused. Wyatt, join me.

In the gathering silence they were
both stubborn, waiting for a way out. Wyatt thought: How calculated are her
moves? Does she resemble me, or have the things Ive done, the evasions, made
her wary? When doubts set in, its best to go on what is known. Wyatt knew
himself, he didnt know her. But he was beginning to, and that hadnt happened
to him for a long time. He said, attempting a grin, We cant stay here.

* * * *

Thirty-three

The
drive to Belgrave took fifty minutes, but when Raymond got there he found that
Chaffeys house was shut up tight, curtains drawn, no car, no sign of life. He
searched under flowerpots and mossy garden stones, but found no spare key. The
door was deadlocked; there were bars over the windows and security company
stickers on the glass. Surely Chaffey wouldnt have panicked and done a runner
because the job went sour?

After that he tried Chaffeys
office. The whole building was shut. Saturday.

Raymond felt spooked. He drove to
Hastings with a sensation of guns at his back, of dogs at his heels, expecting
to be pinned to the ground by lights and clubs, but he completed the journey
intact.

He wondered how he was going to play
it with Vallance. Hold out for more time? Offer the paintings as collatoral?
Offer to come on board as an employee? Holding out for more time seemed to be
the best bet. He knew he couldnt get hard cash for the paintings in the PVC
cylinder for weeks, maybe months.

Then again, he did have access to
money. Wyatt would have heavy cash put away somewhere, maybe under the
floorboards of his place in Tasmania. Plus he had things to settle with Wyatt,
the old festering sore and now this more recent cunt act: the whole collection
is in their hands and Wyatt walks out on the job as if the risks and rewards
and hard work meant nothing at all.

In a slow pass along the street front
outside Vallances flat, Raymond noticed that the Venetian blinds were closed
and the front step was piled with newspapers. He felt the beginnings of another
panic attack. Vallance had found other investors. Right now he was out diving
on the wreck, stripping it bare. Leaving the Jag two blocks away, Raymond
returned on foot and knocked on Vallances door.

When there was no answer, he stepped
back and examined the neighbouring flats. They looked as mute and unlived in as
Vallances, and there was only a seagull watching him, so he lifted his foot
and kicked at the lock until the flimsy wood splintered and he could push
through into the stale interior.

Within a few minutes it occurred to
him how temporary the flat was. A few days earlier, when hed stayed the night
here, his mind had been on his prick and the gold coin, so he hadnt noticed
the bareness. Now the flat looked what it was, a dingy place, probably rented
furnished for a short term, the kind of place you walked away from.

Yet there were clothes in the closet
and toiletries in the bathroom. Some eggs in the fridge. The answering machine
was turned on.

Raymond thought his way into
Vallances skin. Hed fear burglars, a high unemployment place like this.
Burglars headed for your usual places: cupboards, drawers, coat pockets,
freezer compartment, under the lid of the cistern. Where wouldnt they look?
Raymond started with the exhaust fans, one in the kitchen, the other in the
bathroom. Nothing. But he kicked a tile on the bath and it clattered to the
floor. Behind it were gold sovereigns, silver florins and gold and silver
ingots, and it all fitted nicely into a red vinyl Thomas Cook bag.

The next step was Quincy. Raymond
found the captain listed in the local phone book, a weatherboard house near the
waterfront. Again parking the Jag some distance away, he returned on foot to
scout around outside the back fence. It appeared to him that Quincy was out.
His only impression was of silence and dashed hopes.

He vaulted the fence. A patch of
buckled asphalt outside the back door told him something about Quincys past
couple of days. Empty gin and beer bottles, leaking their dregs into a
cardboard box; a lumpish garbage bag slumped against the wall, ribbed and
jointed within by tins, cigarette packets, chicken bones.

He had a clear view through the
window to a greasy sink and an overflowing ashtray on the table. At the end of
the kitchen was an archway, and beyond that, in the curtained gloom of the
living area, Raymond saw the body of the sea captain.

He tried the rear door. It wasnt
locked. He went through to Quincy expecting to encounter the odour of death,
but only alcohol fumes and cigarette smoke thickened the air and Quincy stirred
when he prodded him.

Wheres Vallance and his bird?

Quincy propped himself on an elbow,
looked at Raymond, collapsed again. Gone out for smokes, what do you reckon?

Raymond opened the blinds and
returned to Quincy, hauling roughly on his arms and pushing him into a chair
and slapping his face left and right. Are they out at the wreck? Are they
stripping it?

Quincy shook his head and pushed at
Raymonds hands. What do I know? They never told me nothing. Theyre all the
fucking same, these city jokers.

Raymond wanted Quincys intellect
applied to this, not his feelings. He went into the kitchen and filled the
electric kettle. A jar of instant coffee lay on its side in the cupboard above
the sink. He spooned large quantities of coffee and sugar into a mug, added
boiling water and milk, and made a weaker cup for himself.

He turned to find Quincy leaning in
the archway, regarding him bleakly. Just clear out, okay?

He ignored him. Drink this.

Fuck off.

A memory boiled up in Raymonds
head, of Denise Meickle and what hed done about it. His vision went black for
a few seconds. When it cleared he was still at the sink and Quincy was still
alive, though pale and alarmed.

Look, I dont know nothing, Quincy
said, backing away. The pair of them owe me six hundred flaming bucks, thats
all I know.

Have they been here in the past
forty-eight hours?

Havent seen them for days.

Raymond thought it over. I want you
to take me out to the wreck.

Quincy cocked his head. Itll cost
you.

Contempt and satisfaction clear on
his face, Raymond slapped the red Thomas Cook bag into Quincys hands and said,
Take a look in there.

Quincy peered in. He whistled.

Theres more where that lot came
from, Raymond said. Take me out, now, today, and you can have whats in the
bag.

Its a deal.

Give me the bag, Raymond said. You
get to keep it later.

They walked out into the bright sun,
where children rode bicycles and teenage boys tinkered with cars and women
walked home from the supermarket. It was hot in the Jag. Raymond wound down his
window, for cool air, for air that was not saturated with Quincys pungent,
boozy perspiration.

The marina was quiet under the
wheeling sky. It seemed to Raymond that no-one saw them prepare Quincys
rustbucket for the open sea, not until a voice heavy with authority said,
Freeze.

* * * *

Thirty-four

It
had started with an anonymous phone call to CIB. The caller had been very
specific, CIB had swooped outside the casino, and now it was paying off. As
soon as Vallance and the girlfriendand Christou, the poor sod they were
putting the hard word onarrived at the police complex, Gosse separated them
and began by questioning Christou.

Then he went to Vallance and said,
without preamble: Mr Christou said that you offered to show him a shipwreck
site.

Might have done. Whats it to you?
Its business, private, between me and him.

Gosse stared at Vallance. The man
was a clothes horse: dark suit, expensive aftershave, a high gloss on his black
shoes.

He said that you were forming a
syndicate and did he wish to invest.

So? Nothing wrong with that.

Is that where you find your
suckers? The gaming tables?

Gosse agreed with the Opposition
that the casino was a blight on society. Certain crime statistics had
skyrocketed because of it. Good peopleincluding copperswere blowing all they
had on a throw of the dice or the fall of the cards. It made mugs of a lot of
people, and attracted mugs, like this Christou character, who owned a cluster
of market gardens and had more money than sense.

Mr Christou has given us a
statement. In it he says that you showed him items of treasure from a wreck. Is
that correct?

Vallances fingers went
tock,
tock
on the interview table. He shrugged.

Mr Vallance, for the sake of the
microphone, please answer yes or no.

Yes.

Coins, in fact. Are these the coins
you showed him?

Gosse poked a shoe-polish tin toward
Vallance. The lid was off. There were two florins and a bronze token nestling
in tissue paper. Could be, Vallance said.

No could be about it. We found
these in your possession. Now, where did you get them?

A shipwreck. Nothing wrong with
that.

I can think of several things wrong
with it. For a start, you are obliged to inform the authorities. Have you done
that?

Paperwork, bureaucrats, Vallance
said. All takes a while.

Gosse pressed on. Its also a
problem if the coins have been looted from a protected wreck. See what I mean?

Its not protected. I found it fair
and square. Its not even on the register.

So you dont mind if we have an
expert look at these coins, Mr Vallance?

Vallance cracked a little. He wiped
a bony finger across his upper lip. Do what you like.

Gosse got up to leave the room,
saying Interview suspended and the time for the tape, and pressing the pause
button. As he got to the door, Vallance called out, I asked for a lawyer.
Wheres my lawyer?

Legal Aid is stretched to the
limit. Therell be a solicitor here to see you as soon as ones available.

Gosse stalked down the corridor. The
sergeants room was almost empty. A tired detective, rubbing his face, was
yawning into the phone on his desk. Another detective was at the bank of filing
cabinets.

Wheres Liz Redding?

Both looked up. Havent seen her.

I need her to look at some old
coins. Tell her to contact me the minute she comes in.