Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout (4 page)

Not here. Lets go.

They walked up Bourke Street to
Chaffeys club, on the corner of King Street. It was a cloaked and sombre
warren of private rooms and alcoves, where lawyers met clients and other
lawyers. It was a place where Chaffeys conversation with Raymond would go
unremarked, even if it was overheard.

Raymond stretched his long legs. In
the briefcase.

Chaffey opened it. Travellers
cheques, crisp and new, and a roll of $100 bills. Twenty cents in the dollar,
he said.

Raymond shifted in his chair. The
leather, old and cracked and friable, creaked under him. I was hoping the five
grand plus the paper would cancel the ten I owe you.

Chaffey closed the briefcase. He
gave a short laugh. Fair enough, but I think you owe me in
spirit,
if
nothing else. I can put two jobs your way, one pays fifteen grand, the other a
hundred.

Raymond watched him carefully. Hundred
grand? What do I have to do for that?

Ive got a client prepared to pay a
hundred thousand dollars for a collection of paintings.

Where are these paintings?

At present theyre hanging in the
University of Technology in West Heidelberg, Chaffey said.

For the next ten minutes, he
described the job, explaining how lucrative art theft was. This job, he
concluded, will be a pushover. No alarms, no cameras.

Raymond stroked his bony jaw. I dont
know. What do I know about art? Id need a partner, someone who knows that kind
of thing. He paused. Whats the other job?

Chaffey told him about Steer and
Denise and the remand centre. You get fifteen grandup front, hows that for a
sweetener? All you have to do it spring Steer, hole up with him and his
girlfriend for a couple of days, then deliver them both to a freighter anchored
off Lakes Entrance.

Raymond turned a little sulky then.
It spoilt his looks. Spring some guy from remand? Bit downmarket isnt it?

Chaffey shrugged. Quick, easy
money. All you have to do is drive a car and babysit for a few days.

Ill think about it.

You do that, Chaffey said.

Raymond stiffened, cocked his head. Sirens.
Hear them?

Just so long as they havent come
for you, old son, Chaffey said.

* * * *

Five

Wyatt
ran and the cops ran, Wyatts shoes snickering minutely across the
prefabricated concrete levels of the parking station. The cops were noisier,
shouting, grunting with exertion, their footwear heavy and booming. As he ran,
Wyatt took a baseball cap from the pocket of his jacket, threw the jacket under
a parked car and rolled the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. It was not
much, but a little was often all he needed.

Wyatt reasoned it through as he ran.
If Heneker had warned the cops, then theyd have arranged a trap at the parking
station. Instead, they arrived late, indicating that theyd followed Heneker
without foreknowledge of the actual meeting place.

There was only one explanation: Liz
Redding had shaken off the effects of the Mogadon and alerted the police in
Melbourne to tail Heneker. And that meant shed come to suspect that Wyatt had
the jewels after all and wasnt simply making a run for it. She was a cop, and
Wyatt was Wyatt, so it was only natural that shed suspect further treachery
beyond the obvious and assume that hed attempt to strike a deal with the
insurance company.

Wyatt ran to the top level, to a
door marked EXIT. He pushed through and found himself in a department store
cafeteria.

Better cover than hed hoped for.
The chunky white crockery smacked onto plastic trays, the stainless steel
cutlery rattled in serving bins, hot quiche steamed behind glass, the chrome
rails gleamed and he was swept into a clamorous queue at the servery. Morning
tea. He lifted an abandoned
Herald Sun
from a corner table, loaded two
pastries and black tea onto his tray, and went looking for someone who could
turn him into a law-abiding citizen.

All of the tables were occupied, and
most of the chairs. Wyatts eyes passed over the tables where hed stand out or
invite irritation. He didnt want elderly couples, friends enjoying coffee
together, solitary eaters or office workers snatching a break from work.

There, at the centre of the crammed
area of tablesa woman with a pram and two fractious children. Wyatt edged
through to the unoccupied chair, said, May I? and unloaded his tray and
opened his newspaper. The woman glanced at him tiredly and went back to
juggling the competing needs of the baby and the two older children. The
children ignored her. They were squabbling over a date scone.

Here, Wyatt said. He nudged his
pastries across the little table. I havent touched these. I dont really want
them.

The woman flashed him a cautious
smile. Deciding that he wasnt a threat, she said, Say thank you to the nice
man.

The children stared at him, looked
down, muttered aggrievedly.

Youre welcome, Wyatt said.

He scanned the newspaper. Hed been
living in Tasmania before events had taken him to Vanuatu, and was out of
touch. A hold-up man called the bush bandit had been hitting banks in country
towns. The reporter used words like cool and unhurried and well-planned
to describe the man and his actions. Wyatt wondered who it was. There was a
time when he would have known something like that. Whoever the man was, he was
part of a dying breed. Junkies had got into the game now. They were vicious and
desperate and prone to taking stupid risks.

Wyatt became aware of a shift in the
atmosphere. Police, at least four of them, two in uniform, taking care not to
alarm anyone but still scanning the cafeteria. Their heat and eagerness and
frustration were palpable. He said to the children, What do you recommend?
Should I go and see the new James Bond film?

They kneeled on their chairs,
craning to see his finger on the cinema ads. And their mother looked, welcoming
the diversion. If you didnt know it, Wyatt and the woman and her children were
a family in town for the dayshopping, morning tea, a film for the kids before
they went home.

A ripple passed across the room and
then it was gone, replaced by crockery smack again, laughter, complaints, the
sounds of the city feeding itself. Wyatt got the woman to talk. He did that by
asking her questions about her children. After a while she began to notice him,
faintly longing, faintly wary. She coloured a little, inclined her body toward
him, switched from talking about her children to talking about herself. She had
no hope or expectation of anything, just grateful that someone should take an
interest.

In a little while, the cops came
back, as Wyatt had supposed they would. They found the cafeteria essentially
unchanged. There were husbands and fathers among the diners and one of them was
Wyatt. They faded away again.

Wyatt got to his feet, showing
reluctance. Afraid I have to go.

Yes.

He took the escalators to the
bargain basement, alert for trained moves and involuntary gestures, anything
that promised troublehands curling near pockets, eyes flicking with
recognition, mouths turned away to lapel microphones or radios. He was in a
crowded space but moved through it as though along a deserted street,
jettisoning the clutter in his mind and limbering his body for the moment hed
need to think and act faster than those who were going up against him.

He saw cops on the way down. They
didnt see him. They were abandoning the search. The hard scrutiny had gone out
of their faces.

At the bottom he filled two logoed
shopping bags with cheap, bulky kitchen goods. Bit by bit he was building up
his credibility. On the way out he bought sunglasses and a straw hat. On the
streets of the city he was one among the thronging thousands.

The city offered trains, buses and
planes that would take him out of the state, but he knew that the police would
be watching the major terminals. He had to take a less direct and obvious route
out. There were flights across Bass Strait from Tyabb, near Westernport Bay.
Westernport was also where all this had started, so no-one would be looking for
him there.

He walked to Flinders Street
station, stopping from time to time to listen to the spruikers spilling onto
the footpath outside the discount stores. Wyatt had no interest in the cheap
and useless bargains. He was looking for gestures and movements again.

He took the express to Frankston.
Thirty minutes later he was on the train to Westernport Bay. When he got out at
Hastings it was late morning and he did not look out of place among the handful
of other shoppers returning from the city.

Wyatt wandered down the main street.
There was an opportunity shop opposite the new library. He went in, stacked the
kitchenware on the counter, nodded, went out again, toward the jetty.

As Wyatt saw it, Liz Redding would
be questioning Heneker by now. It wouldnt occur to her that the jewels were
still on the yacht. It was a long shot, but maybe they hadnt got around to
impounding it yet. Maybe it still sat at anchor.

A long shot. What Wyatt found was
the yacht tied to a jetty inside the marina with a yellow crime-scene tape all
around it.

He walked back up the main street.
At the library door he veered to avoid colliding with one of the librarians.
She was young, fair, ready to smile, and glanced at him as he edged past her
into the foyer and put coins in the public phone. Wyatt asked about flights to
King Island. There was one at 4 p.m. He booked a seat, looked at his watch, and
saw that he had four hours to kill.

* * * *

Six

Liz
Redding hurried from the staff room at the police complex, coffee slopping over
her fingers. They had Heneker in the interview room.

There were two men with himher superintendent,
Montgomery, looking slightly out of his depth, and Gosse, her new inspector.
She didnt like Gosse. Shed never seen him smile; he reduced the civilian
typists and filing clerks to tears three or four times a week; hed look past
you as though you were nothing to him while he spoke to you.

Montgomery climbed to his feet. Come
in, Sergeant Redding.

Gosse frowned, as though to argue,
but then he shrugged and turned away from her. Its already started, Liz
thought. Gosse will freeze me out and soon have Montgomery doing it too.

The room was small and bare. Liz
glanced at Heneker. Hed been the last person to see or speak to Wyatt, and she
felt a surprising need to be alone with him, ask him if Wyatt looked okay, even
though Wyatt had doped her coffee last night and run from her. Shed awoken
feeling thick in the head but known at once what had happened. Shed alerted
Montgomery from a pay phone in Hastings, and Montgomery had alerted the
insurance company.

Heneker looked nondescript, dishevelled
by the struggle in the undercover car park. He brushed grit from the knees of
his trousers, dabbed a damp handkerchief at an oil stain. His tie was crooked,
his suit coat crumpled, the collar turned up.

What more can I tell you? he said,
looking at Gosse.

Liz mentally framed a question, but
suddenly was racked with yawns. They threatened to lay her across the table.

Sergeant Redding?

She gulped her coffee. Im fine,
sir.

Carry on, Inspector.

Mr Heneker

He looked up. This being taped? I
want a lawyer.

Youre not under arrest, for Gods
sake. A few more questions

Then I can go home?

Of course, Liz said.

Gosse twisted his mouth at the
interruption and threw down his pen.

Heneker took advantage of it. He put
his head on one side and narrowed his eyes at Liz. If I may say so, you dont
look a hundred per cent.

A basic rule was: Never let the
bastards start to question
you.
Liz said, Lets start from the
beginning. You got a phone call? A visit?

Phone call.

After we contacted you?

Yes.

Gosse picked up his pen again. His
knuckles were white around the barrel. This was
his
show. A man? Did he
give his name?

Nope.

Didnt recognise his voice?

Nope.

When you saw him, did you recognise
him?

Nope.

Montgomerys chair creaked. Like a
kindly uncle he said, Your firm ever encountered a man with the name of Wyatt
before? He does this sort of thing, commits a robbery, negotiates a reward from
the insurance company.

Neither Liz nor Gosse could bring themselves
to look at Montgomery. Montgomery would be better off back in Traffic, from
whence hed come. One, hed given Heneker a name, if Heneker didnt already
have it. Two, Heneker could start doing his own checking now. Three, by butting
in hed eased what little tension she and Gosse had been able to generate in
the room, meaning theyd have to start all over again. It didnt seem that
Heneker had anything to hide, but it wouldnt be the first time that a burglar
and an insurance agent had worked hand in hand.