‘I grew up in Maroubra,’ I said. ‘Maybe we can all go surfing when this is over.’
Loggins consulted his watch. ‘We can’t hang onto this room much longer. Have you got any serious problems, Hardy?’
I considered the question seriously. Loggins had come up with a more or less credible plan along the lines he’d outlined previously. Gallagher had supplied a new wrinkle that suggested he knew a useful thing or two and was in touch with the right people. I didn’t like the idea of being a worm on a hook, but Gallagher had apparently kept the faith about my information, hadn’t he? We had another, more positive, agenda. I thought I caught a slight nod from Gallagher. I gave the moment a bit of air, poured some water and drank it slowly, collected up my smoking materials and stowed them away in my pockets. I pushed my chair back.
‘I’ll go along with it all, Inspector. As you say, I haven’t got much choice. I assume I can get my bloody gun back at the front desk? And that I can claim expenses from the police department if I run the mileage up.’
‘Well, that was bright,’ Gallagher said as we left the building. ‘What did you want to go and antagonise him for?’
‘I didn’t like his attitude. I notice he didn’t issue you with a permit to break down any door you liked’
Gallagher laughed. He’d been tense in the meeting but he was visibly relaxing now. We turned the corner into Liverpool Street. I’d left my Falcon in the Goulburn Street car park. I had my gun on my hip and the meeting had made me edgy and anxious for some action. Gallagher strode along beside me. He was about two inches shorter than me but he was athletic and fit and had no trouble keeping up. He said he’d walked from the Darlinghurst station-a fair trot on a warm morning.
‘We should have mentioned the ballistics results,’ Gallagher said. ‘No match. Meadowbank and Farquhar were killed with different guns.’
I shrugged. We entered the car park and climbed the stairs to the level where I was parked. Gallagher’s heels rang on the concrete and echoed in the enclosed space. He was moving and acting very confidently so I assumed he had things to tell me. I unlocked the car.
‘We’ve got a few calls to make,’ he said. ‘Be better to use your car than one of ours. Unless you meant that crack about the mileage.’
I drove down the ramps, paid the fee and came out in Castlereagh Street. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind,’ I said, ‘or do I have to guess?’
‘You’re in a shitty mood, Hardy. It’s no way to be. Relax.’
I didn’t want to play by Loggins’ rules and I didn’t know what Gallagher’s rules were. Either way I was taking orders, not controlling things, and I didn’t like the feeling. Gallagher’s suave, calm manner was beginning to annoy me. I drove into Ultimo and pulled up outside the Sydney News building. That shook him.
‘Jesus Christ! ‘What’re we doing here?’
‘I’m thinking of a whole new approach,’ I said. ‘I know a few people in there. I’m thinking about walking in and giving one of them the whole story, lock, stock and barrel. It might be a way out for me.’
‘What d’you mean, the whole story?’
‘Everything. Including what went on in that meeting just now and including the way you’re having such fun playing it so close to your bloody chest. You can come in if you like, supply a few good quotes.’
He loosened his tie, the first sign of uncertainty. I was well ahead of him there-I wasn’t wearing one. He took out a Marlboro and tapped it on the box. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘That’s a start. Is all this knighthood business on the up-and-up?’
He lit the cigarette. ‘It is and there might be more than one knighthood involved.’
‘Good stuff for the story.’
‘Get serious, Hardy. What do you want?’
‘I want to know if we’re going after Chalky Teacher or not.’
‘Of course we are.’
‘When? Now?’
Gallagher looked at his watch. ‘It’s up to you. The bloke I want to see knows where Teacher is going to eat lunch today. Would you rather go up against him before or after he’s eaten?’
‘He doesn’t drink, so it doesn’t matter. Before. Where do we find this bloke?’
‘Coogee. Let’s get going or Chalky’ll be well into his steak and chips.’
I started the engine and moved off. Gallagher felt around his seat and I asked him what he was doing.
‘No seat belts in this crate?’
‘No. There’s so much rust in the chassis I doubt they’d hold.’
‘Shit. Why’d you drive a car like this? The suspension’s shot, too.’
‘Going to issue me an unroadworthy notice?’
‘Someone should. Seat belts’re compulsory now. Haven’t you heard-”Belt Up and Live”? Interesting game, advertising. I nearly went into it myself.’
I turned out of Cleveland Street into Anzac Parade and moved to the centre lane, ready to go left at Alison Road. Gallagher squashed his butt out in the flimsy ashtray and brushed carefully at his neat suit. I couldn’t judge his mood-it varied somewhere between relaxed and excited. He lit another cigarette, the first time I’d seen him smoke two that close together. He offered me the packet and I refused.
‘You like those rollies?’
‘Helps me keep it down. I can’t smoke when I’m driving in the city. And it gives me something to do with my hands. You can take five minutes to roll a smoke if you want to. Why did you join the force, Ian? More money in law… or advertising.’
‘There’s more to life than money.’
‘True.’ I swung left into Alison Road. We went past the Thoroughbred Motel where Cyn and I had spent a memorable night in our courtship after I had got back from an interstate trip. Cyn was still a student then. Suddenly, I missed her and wanted to tap into the well of experience and feeling and talk we’d built up over the years. We rolled on eastwards. Just past the racecourse Gallagher stabbed a finger at the footpath.
‘Stop here. I have to make a call.’
He got out and used a phone box on the footpath. I watched as he felt in his pockets, dropped his money in and dialled-the perfect public servant. I was uneasy, though. He was slipping back into his secretive mode. Who was he calling, and why? Would he tell me? I’d have liked to make a call or two myself-to Vernon Morris maybe, or to Virginia Shaw or Joan Dare. But then Gallagher was back in the car, all toothy grins and confidence.
‘Hoadley Street, Coogee,’ he said. ‘Number 10. Just for a tick-then we’ll know where we’re really going.’
I started the car and revved it more than I needed to. The irritation was back. ‘Your informant is what-male or female? Animal, vegetable or mineral?’
Gallagher didn’t reply, which was probably to his credit. I drove on towards Coogee, feeling the pangs of hunger, stabs of pain from my disturbed tooth and deeper concerns. I tried to tell myself that two big tough men would be more than a match for one little tough man. But I couldn’t quite believe it.
19
The place Gallagher directed me to resembled a fortress. It was at the end of a no through road and occupied three sizeable blocks. There was a tennis court at the back, but substantial wire fences seemed to run around the whole perimeter apart from the front, where big metal gates were set in a brick fence six feet high. The house was a cream brick, two-storey job with white columns and bay windows. Cyn would have had it dynamited. There was a three-car garage at the end of a wide concrete drive that shone white under the morning sun. Gallagher got out, spoke into an intercom attached to the gates and waved me inside as they swung open.
There was going to be oil from my leaking gearbox and rubber from my battered tyres on the drive, but I supposed they had some way of dealing with that. I got out of the car and joined Gallagher on the path that led to the front door, a series of round sandstone slices set in a glossy lawn.
‘Your fizzes live well,’ I said.
‘He’s not my fizz.’
The door opened before we reached it and a small man in faded jeans, sneakers and a black T-shirt nodded to Gallagher.