Salt and Blood (6 page)

I shrugged. ‘They don't know how good you are.'

‘I'm getting lost here,' Rod said. ‘Please tell me what else you were supposed to investigate. If it's necessary you can still brace Warren and my mother about the shooting and see how they react.'

‘That's true,' I said.

Glen drew in a deep breath. ‘Okay. The other part of my commission was to attempt to locate your wife and child. Your mother and brother said they hoped to reunite you with your daughter.'

Neither Glen nor I was in any way ready for what happened next. Rodney Harkness seemed to shrink in size as if he was cringing away from his physical existence. He let out a high-pitched shriek, sprang from his chair and dashed to the bedroom. He slammed the door and Glen and I sat there and listened to his passionate and despairing keening.

7

When the sound of Rod's distress reached an unbearable level, Glen got up and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I heard murmurs and the wailing broke down into sobs and then sniffs and then silence. I wandered around the flat wishing there was something strong to drink. I flicked through a couple of Rod's books, including the Presley biographies. The little bits I read confirmed my impression that Elvis was a deeply needy man who was ruthlessly exploited. But then, as a friend of mine once said to someone who'd put this proposition in a pub discussion, ‘He spread 'em.'

I inspected the surfboard again. The receipt had gone. A lot of work to wax. Just the thought of paddling it out to catch the waves made my shoulders ache. If Rod was going to take up surfing again he'd do it with me on the beach. That thought jerked me back to what I should have been thinking about all along: Minding him had turned into protecting him and protecting him logically led to finding out who wanted to kill him, which was what he was offering to hire me to do.
Given my contract with Glen, not to mention our association, how awkward was that?

Although it had been spelled out in the information we'd already been given, one thing was now even clearer than before—judging by his reaction to Glen's talk of finding his wife and child, their loss was at the heart of his problems. Glen emerged as I was unenthusiastically contemplating another coffee.

‘He's exhausted,' she said. ‘Probably sleep for a while. You making more coffee?'

We took the mugs out on to the balcony. If there was someone holding money to kill Harkness and expecting more, he wouldn't take pot shots at two non-targets. I was sure from watching from the taxi that Rod and I hadn't been followed to Bondi, but that raised the question of how many people knew about the flat.

‘You'll have to find out from your clients who knows about Rod being here,' I said. ‘So we can judge how safe he is.'

‘Right. My impression is that Warren handled it, but who knows? He might have put his secretary on it. Think I should tell them what's happened, Cliff?'

‘Tricky. And here's another one. He,' I inclined my head towards the bedroom, ‘tried to hire me to find out who wants him dead.'

‘Shit. What did you say?'

‘Said I'd talk to you.'

‘This has got stickier than it started out, and it was sticky enough.'

‘And how.'

Glen raised an eyebrow. ‘That doesn't sound like you. What does that mean?'

I meant,
and you're attracted to him,
but I said, ‘Nothing. I think we're going to have to work more closely together on this than we thought.'

‘You're staying with it though, aren't you? Even though minding isn't protecting.'

She had a double need now—the need to be working, to be engaged, and the interest in Harkness himself. ‘Sure,' I said. ‘Might have to vary the contract a bit. Expenses'll be higher.'

‘Thanks, Cliff. I think we'll split it down the middle. I'll look for the wife and child and you find out who's trying to kill him. That gives you the pointy end.'

‘Only right. What about finding who's behind getting him out?'

Neither of us had touched our coffee and it was cold by now. Glen emptied hers out into a pot plant holding a stunted rubber tree and I followed suit. ‘I think we might both be involved in that one,' she said.

We put off talking about Rod's collapse and what it might mean for his fitness to get on with his life. Instead we discussed whether or not to tell Lady Rachel and Warren about the shooting.

‘It could have just been some crazy. Pot-shotting,' Glen said.

‘Two shots, well grouped, from concealment. Quick exit. I don't think so.'

‘Someone after you?'

‘Can't think of anyone just at the present. Not likely to either.'

‘Okay. Let's be practical. Will telling them make our jobs easier or harder?'

I considered. ‘Easier, maybe. Sit Warren down. Tell him. Ask him if he knows of anyone who had it in for Rod that much. He might have made all sorts of enemies, who knows?'

‘What about her?'

I shrugged. ‘Leave her in the dark. Divide and rule. Let Warren decide whether to tell her or not.'

‘I like it.'

‘So, have you made a start on tracking the wife?'

‘Yes. I'm running credit checks on her under her unmarried and married names. Car registration. All that. Plus I've got a contact in Immigration checking women leaving the country around the time of the last letter. Her father's dead; mother could be alive and I'm looking. Plus she had a brother and I'm looking for him, too. Warren says there was a missing person report filed and I'm trying to get the file on that from the police. That sound all right to you?'

‘Sure. Can I get copies of these letters she wrote to Rod?'

‘I suppose. Why?'

‘Just to be up to speed. Another thing, when I dig the bullet out of the back seat of my car, can you get it appraised for me? You've got the contacts.'

‘All right.'

I felt I couldn't avoid the question any longer. ‘What medication is he on?'

‘Didn't they tell you at the institution?'

‘They told me bugger-all
and the little prick who was releasing him had a Gestapo look to him. Hang on.' I got up and took Rod's jacket from the chair where he'd dropped it. The long envelope wasn't sealed and I opened it and took out some papers.

Glen gave the closed door a quick look and then joined me in inspecting the papers. There was a form for his release on the court order, several documents from Rutherford House indicating dates of review of his case and a certified copy of a statement by a Dr Jerry Weir advising that Harkness was fit to rejoin society. There was a list of recommended therapists. Nothing about medication. Maybe Rutherford House was wary about revealing what he'd been on.

‘I think I might have a talk to this Dr Weir,' I said. ‘He seems to be one of the good guys.'

‘A shrink. He won't tell you anything.'

‘You never know. Meanwhile I suppose I'd better stay here tonight and keep an eye on him. Though we're going to have to give him some time on his own if we're going to do any useful investigating.'

‘Yeah, but not right away.'

‘No, I'll stick close for a couple of days at least, but I need to nip out now for a few minutes.'

‘Why?'

‘I have to get something to drink.'

‘Right.'

‘Do you mind waiting, or are you going out somewhere?'

‘No. Why?'

‘You're all dressed up?'

She delayed answering by carefully folding up the papers and restoring them to the envelope and the jacket. She kept her head turned away. ‘I do it from time to time to make me feel better.'

Over the next few days I did what I'd been expecting to do with Rodney Harkness, which was hang out with him. He seemed to recover from his fugue and made no reference to it the next day. We stayed local. Bondi. Bondi Junction. Nothing fell from a great height. No drive-by shooting. He drew out some money and shopped for food, things for the flat and some clothes. He bought some expensive coffee and a top-line grinder, ground it himself and drank quite a lot of it. If he was missing the grog he didn't show it. It turned out that he could cook and he did and seemed to enjoy it. He joined the Waverley Library and borrowed some books, mostly biographies.

He asked me a few questions about Glen and I filled him in as much as I thought necessary.

‘Were you on with her?'

‘For a time. Quite a while ago. It ended amicably, more or less.'

I didn't tell him about her drinking or AA. Her business. The third day I left him at a movie and checked my messages at home and at the office. Glen left a message to say that Warren had arranged the flat and bank account himself and that no one else knew about it. She'd got Warren
to phone Rutherford House and he'd been told that Rod wasn't on any medication. Nothing else important except that the car was ready. In the afternoon we got a bus up to the northern beaches and collected the car. They'd done a good job on the roof and the windscreen and there didn't seem to be any glass inside the car. But there would be; there always is.

He was quiet as we began the drive back, taking in the sights. Around Mona Vale he stopped looking and turned his head towards me. ‘Are you going to let me hire you, Cliff?'

‘It's dodgy. I've talked about it to Glen because I'm sort of subcontracted to her. Why don't we let it ride for a while? See how it works out. But since I'm going to try and find out who worked on your release … you know, one thing could lead to another.'

‘How are you going to go about that? They wouldn't tell me. That is, they wouldn't say who brought my case to the attention of the lawyers.'

I didn't want to set him off again by saying I'd talk to the shrink. I told him I'd get some legal advice about accessing the Rutherford House records. I suggested that if the worst came to the worst they could be hacked into. Gave him some mumbo-jumbo about Freedom of Information. He seemed to swallow it.

‘I should be thinking about getting back to work,' he said. ‘Getting my life in order. But with this life threat stuff, and not knowing who's fucking with me … it's hard to focus on it.'

Safe train of thought. Worth encouraging. ‘Will you try acting again?'

‘Maybe. Or writing. I saw some weird things in that place. I might try a film script, couldn't be worse than some of the shit that gets out. I'd have to get an agent of course. Jesus!'

‘What?'

‘No, he wouldn't. Not even that mad bastard'd do that.'

‘What're you talking about?'

‘I've just remembered. I had this agent, Doug Schirer. Bloody hopeless. I reckon he lost me more jobs than he got me by being such a smart-arse. Eventually I told him I was dropping him and then I lucked onto a good thing in a series of commercials. Shit, I got it myself. He didn't have anything to do with it. Good money. Residuals, you know? He claimed his commission and I told him to get fucked. This was … before. He went under soon after and he said it was my fault, that I'd robbed him of a commission that would've kept him afloat and that I'd bad-mouthed him in the trade. I hadn't. Well, maybe I had, a bit. He said he'd get even with me.'

I shook my head sceptically. ‘Come on. Seven years ago, Rod. Not very likely.'

‘Yeah, I know. But the thing is, his hobby was shooting. Bloody Doug was a crack shot, nearly made it to the Olympics.'

I was only half paying attention to what he was saying because I'd begun to get an uneasy feeling from watching the ebb and flow of traffic in the rear vision mirror. I'd had the feeling before, more
than a few times, and it usually means something. I wasn't sure and I'd have to perform a few manoeuvres to find out, but I had a strong suspicion that we were being followed.

8

‘Don't look round,' I said.

‘Why not?'

‘I don't want him to know I'm onto him. I have to think what to do.'

We were approaching Narrabeen in moderate traffic. The lightness of the traffic had helped me spot the tail. An off-white 4WD. That, and the fact that the driver wasn't first class at the job. The 4WD stayed well back but had changed lanes when I had capriciously, and when I slowed for no good reason it'd slowed as well. A couple of times it would have been logical for the driver to have passed other vehicles. Didn't happen.

Rod sat silent for a while, then he drew in a deep breath and spoke hesitantly. ‘This is weird. Art and life, you know? I've played this scene a couple of times. You know what happened? I was a spy, like an ASIO agent, and I sort of lured the car following me into a place where I could surprise him. It worked okay on TV.'

‘This isn't a film and I'm not going to do anything like that.'

‘Why not?'

I concentrated on my driving for a while as I thought it through. ‘It's a big four-wheel-drive, newish, a Santa Fe, something like that.'

‘I can't tell one of those things from another, never could.'

‘Glen's got a Pajero. I've driven it a few times and liked it. I was thinking of getting something like that. I looked at a few. The thing is, I can't see how many people are in it. Tinted glass.'

‘So you don't like the odds?'

‘I don't like not knowing. I don't like the odds if there's more than one and if one of them's got that fucking rifle.'

‘Haven't you got a gun?'

‘Not with me.'

‘So what're the options?'

‘Hang on. I'm trying to get the number. Shit, it's smeared over. This isn't a game. Have you got any other ideas?'

‘I suppose we could ram it.'

‘Yeah, send it rolling through the guard rail so it bursts into flames and we drive on. End of problem.'

‘I wasn't being serious.'

‘Okay. Sorry. The only thing we can do is lose him.'