‘How will I know you?’
‘I know you, Hardy. I was a shit-kicking constable when you used to hang around with Frank Parker. I was his driver for a while.’
‘Sorry, I don’t remember you.’
‘Why would you? One hour.’
I put the phone down and tried to remember when Frank had a driver. He’d risen to Deputy Commissioner and had certainly had a driver then, but before that, as a chief inspector and a super? There must have been a few of them and they all blurred into one. Knopf sounded resentful and almost hostile, and nominating a gay bar? Looked like I was in for an interesting interview.
Years on the job should equip you to know if you’re being watched or followed and to some extent that’s true, but if the watcher or follower is good enough, and has enough cutouts, it can be tough. I walked to where I’d parked the car, as alert as I could be for the false moves, the little slips, but there was nothing apparent. I started the engine and let the old Falcon warm up after sitting for a while on a cool day and busied myself with the choke while I looked around. I drove to within a couple of blocks of the hotel by a route that should have been tricky to track. Still nothing. Either not there or very, very good.
Friday night, early, but the buzz was starting to build. The difference in behaviour between gays and straights I reckon is not that much. Quiet straights and quiet gays go out early, drink and eat and go home. Party types go out late and drink, eat or don’t eat, and stay out. The Beaumont Bar in the Prince Regent Hotel was dark and sedate, with k d lang playing softly in the background and a few pokies whirring quietly.
A couple of dozen people were scattered around, some at tables, some at the bar, some playing the pokies. Men and women, couples and singles, one group of three. All quiet. The barman, a handsome Polynesian wearing makeup and a pearl necklace, was the only person advertising. I ordered a beer and took a stool at the bar. The barman served it with a small bowl of nuts.
‘You sure you’re in the right place, brother?’
I lifted my glass. ‘Sydney, Australia. You bet.’
He laughed. ‘You’re right there.’
A very tall, very slim man had walked in. Suede jacket, black T-shirt, earring. He nodded to a couple of people and to the barman. He shot out a hand that was thin and hard with rings on three fingers. ‘Karl Knopf.’
I nodded. ‘Cliff Hardy. I remember you now. You drove for Frank when he was a super. Too tall for the job, really.’
‘That’s right. He was a good bloke, Parker.’
‘The best. What’re you drinking?’
‘What d’you expect, creme de menthe?’
‘Let’s get this straight-no, bad choice of words. You’re gay and I couldn’t care less. Okay?’
He smiled. ‘Just having fun in a grey old world on a grey old day. Glass of red, Timmy, please. Bottle, not cask. Mr Hardy will pay. He’s on expenses from a rich client.’
The barman uncorked a bottle and poured. ‘Why can’t I meet someone like that?’
‘You mean Mr Hardy?’
‘Shit, no, I mean his client.’
Knopf tilted his head to the left and we went across to a table at a distance from the other patrons. I took the nuts with me. We sat and we both had a drink and ate some nuts.
‘So,’ Knopf said. ‘What d’you want to know?’
‘Your impressions about the evidence presented in the Stewart Master case.’
‘Four kilos of top grade heroin.’
‘Handled by?’
‘Master and Master alone.’
‘Was that unusual?’
‘No. The supplier usually wipes it clean.’
‘Why didn’t Master wipe it?’
Knopf shrugged. ‘Didn’t expect to be caught.’
‘Careless.’
‘Very.’
‘I feel we’re fencing, Senior. Did anything strike you as unusual about the evidence?’
‘Like?’
‘Christ, I don’t know. Is it possible for someone’s fingerprints to get on that sort of packaging without them ever having touched it?’
‘You should’ve been his lawyer. It’s possible. Prints can be transferred with the right technology. Highly unlikely though.’
‘You weren’t asked that?’
‘No.’
‘And you didn’t volunteer it?’
‘I was a witness for the prosecution.’
‘Looking back?’
He shrugged and drank some wine. I’d finished my beer and a few of the salty nuts and was ready for a refill.
‘Senior?’
‘Don’t call me that. It’s Karl. It’s impossible to say. It didn’t come up at the time and I’d have to look at the stuff all over again from that perspective. And that’s impossible.’
‘Why?’
‘Why d’you think? The stuff’s been destroyed.’ He finished his wine and got smoothly to his feet. ‘My buy. Old, is it?’
I nodded. The place was filling up and the noise level was rising. Something louder was playing on the sound system and the pokies were buzzing along with the conversations. In days gone by the atmosphere would have been smoky. Not now. Knopf came back with the drinks and slid into his seat.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Peter Lo said you were interested when he told you the customs officers had been posted north and west. Why’s that?’
He had white wine this time and took a long swig. His eyes moved around the room as if he was checking it out for the last time. ‘Jesus, I don’t know why I’m talking to you.’
‘Yes you do.’
‘You’re right. Not long after the Master trial an offer came through for me to go on a study course.’
‘Where?’
‘Los Angeles. For a year, maybe two. Guaranteed promotion following.’
I took a long pull on the beer. ‘Nice, but you refused. Why?’
‘My partner’s dying of AIDS. The anti-viral cocktail didn’t work with him. Weeks to go. Their timing was a bit off.’
‘I’m sorry.
‘Are you? He’ll be glad to hear that.’
‘Look, Knopf-’
‘I know. I know. Chip on shoulder. Fuck it, it’s all so unfair.’
We sat quietly for a while and sipped our drinks. He drew in a deep breath and pushed his empty glass aside. ‘That’s it for me. You?’
‘I’m driving. Getting back to it, were there any unusual things about the evidence, the dope?’
‘Yes. You’re asking the right questions. The unusual thing was where it came from. Usually, you can trace the source pretty closely. It’s a matter of the chemistry-the Middle East, India, Afghanistan, South-East Asia-they all have their own stamp. But this stuff was different. It was high grade all right, but different, and the worry was that it might be from another source.’
‘Like?’
He shrugged. ‘The Pacific someplace.’
‘I see.’
‘That was the worry. They didn’t like the idea of a new close-to-home source opening up.’
‘They?’
‘Los Federales. ’
‘They were in it?’
‘Up to their balls-leaning on me for the analysis, sending me samples and literature. I reckon that’s why Master copped such a heavy sentence. I was told he was offered all kinds of leniency if he’d name names and talk places, but he never said a word.’
‘You sound as if you admire him.’
‘I was only in court a couple of days, but you had to kind of admire him. I mean, he’s good-looking, great body, so…but apart from that. He had a kind of dignity.’
‘Yeah, I saw him out at Avonlea the other day. He’s still got it, I’d say.’
‘What’s he doing out there?’
I shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘Like everything else, it’s just a bit strange. Look, Hardy, I have to go. Hope I’ve been some help.’
We shook hands, both standing up. ‘You have. Thanks. Just one thing. Why’ve you been so… open?’
He smiled and gave the first camp gesture I’d seen, a flick of the wrist as he consulted his watch. ‘My partner’s a cop as well. How do think they’ve treated him medically and professionally? I don’t give a shit!’
When I was younger the sort of interview I had with Knopf would have left me empty and depressed, and even now I found it sobering. But the world’s full of stories like that and it does no good to cry over them. Knopf struck me as basically tough. He’d recover from his loss and just maybe I’d learn something from this case that’d interest him. For now, I had something to report to Lorraine Master before I started going through large amounts of her money. Always best to appear busy before clocking up the big ticket items.