‘Booze, gambling, women.’
‘All that. He makes no bones about it. It promises to be a unique inside account, Mr Hardy. A mega bestseller. He needs it and, frankly, so do I.’
‘How long does he think it’ll take?’
‘Six weeks, he says.’
‘That’s a lot of my time and someone’s money. Yours?’
She gave me that disarming, crooked smile again. ‘No, the publisher’s, if I can work it right. The thing is, publishing houses leak to the media like politicians. I’m sure I can get the contract we need for this book, one with all the money bits and pieces built in, but as soon as I get it the news’ll flash round the business and hit the media. I’ve told Andrew that and he says they’ll come gunning for him from all directions. That’s why he suggested, no, requested, you. Will you do it?’
It was too interesting to resist and I liked her. I agreed to meet Black Andy and talk to him before I made a decision.
‘But you’re more pro than con?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’m intrigued. But we get back to it-six weeks solid is big bucks.’
‘I’ve got a publisher in mind who’ll be up for it.’
‘What about libel?’
‘He’ll cope with that as well. He’s a goer.’
‘Can I see what you’ve got from Andy already?’
She looked doubtful. ‘He asked me not to show it to anyone until I was ready to make the deal, but I suppose you’re an exception. I can’t let you take it away, though. You’ll have to read it here.’
She handed me a manila folder. It held four sheets of paper-the outline of Coming Clean: the inside story of corruption in Australia. I read quickly. No names, but indications that the people who would be named included well-known figures in politics, police, the law, media and business, as well as criminal identities. The fourth sheet was a list of chapter headings, with ‘Who killed Graeme Bartlett?’ as an example. Bartlett had been a police whistle-blower whose murder a few years ago hadn’t been solved.
‘This is it?’
‘I’ve seen more. He showed it to me on our second meeting but he wouldn’t let me keep it. He said it needed more work and he will only hand those chapters over to you. No you, no deal.’
Flattering, but very suspicious. There were harder men than me around in Sydney, plenty of them, but maybe hardness wasn’t his priority. If he was genuine about his problem, Black Andy would have known that anyone he hired to protect him was liable to get a better offer. Some of the possible candidates would switch sides at the right price. My dealings with him hadn’t been pleasant, but at least we’d understood each other. And perhaps my police contacts were something he thought he could make use of.
We came to terms. We’d only get to the serious contract point if I accepted the assignment. Short of that, for a bit of sniffing around and the initial meeting with Piper, I’d charge her a daily rate as a security consultant to her business.
I rang Piper that night and arranged to meet him at 11 am in two days. I wanted the time to do some research on him and his new-found faith. He wanted to hand over more material to keep Melanie happy and convince me. He gave an address in Marrickville and I scribbled it down. We were talking about Sunday. Okay by me, I wouldn’t be doing anything else just then. Piper’s voice hadn’t changed, a Bob-Hawkish growl, but I fancied his manner was softer. Maybe my imagination.
I talked to Frank Parker, an old friend and a former Deputy Police Commissioner, and to a couple of serving officers with whom I was on reasonable terms. I found out nothing startling, but got confirmation that Black Andy’s pension had been rescinded, that he was widowed and rumoured to be unwell. It’s easy enough to put a rumour about. His main henchman, a former cop named Loomis, was in jail on an assault conviction. It wasn’t quite what Melanie had said-Piper turning his back on his thug mates-but Loomis would have been his first line of defence in the old days, and his absence added some credibility to the story.
I heard the hymn singing inside when I located the address Piper had given me-the sect’s meeting hall-and took my seat out of earshot on the other side of the road. Best vantage point, but it was hot and the bus shelter didn’t give much shade. I hoped the word of God would end on time.
They filed out, more than a hundred of them, men, women and children, all neatly dressed. A few walked off, most headed for their cars. Among the last out was Black Andy Piper. Dark suit, white shirt, dark tie, despite the heat of the day. He spotted me immediately and beckoned me over. Same old Andy-do as I tell you. I gave it a minute, pretending to wait for the traffic, just to be bolshie.
By the time I’d crossed the road, Piper was standing on his own outside the hall. Maybe Melanie Fanshawe wasn’t a good judge of weight, because he’d definitely trimmed down a bit. A hundred kilos, tops. He’d also grown a grey beard. He looked thinner and older. His black eyes bored into me as I approached, then they drifted away and he seemed almost to smile. Almost.
‘Hardy’
‘Piper.’
We didn’t shake hands.
‘Come in,’ he said. ‘I want you to meet Pastor Jacobsen.’
We went inside. A man sitting on a plastic chair in the front row of a crowded space turned around as we entered, stood and came towards us.
‘Pastor, this is Cliff Hardy. The man I told you about.’
Jacobsen was a bit below average height, and thin. He wore a clerical collar, beige suit and black shoes. Not a good look. His hair was scanty and arranged in an unconvincing comb-over. Big ears, pale face and eyes, long nose, weak chin. His mouth was pink and damp-looking.
‘Mr Hardy,’ he said in a strong southern US accent. ‘I’m honoured to meet you, sir. Well met in Christ.’ He held out his hand and I took it. He closed his other hand over our grip and I immediately wanted to break free.
‘Mr Jacobsen,’ I said.
He released my hand slowly. ‘I know Brother Piper puts his trust in you so I’ll leave you to your business. Call me any time, Brother Piper.’
‘Thank you, Pastor. I’ll be at the Bible class later this week. Mr Hardy will be my… shepherd, I trust.’
‘Excellent.’ Jacobsen picked up a Bible from the lectern and walked away.
‘C’mon, Andy,’ I said when Jacobsen was out of earshot. ‘This is bullshit.’
Piper sank down into a chair. ‘Hardy, have you ever heard the saying, “there are no atheists in a slit trench under fire”?’
I sat in the row behind him. ‘No, and that’d be bullshit too, because I’ve been there.’
He sighed and looked weary. ‘What place does God have in your miserable life?’
I leaned over him. ‘As Michael Caine says in Alfie, “A little bit of God goes a very long way with me”.’
I’ll swear he wanted to tell me to pray, but he held it back. He picked up a manila envelope from the chair next to him and handed it over. ‘I have to clear up a bit in here and lock up. I’ll see you later, Hardy.’
I drove to Paddington and went into the pub near Melanie Fanshawe’s place. Quiet at that time on a Sunday. I bought a beer and used my Swiss army knife to cut away the tape. Chapter One was called ‘The Bully’ followed by ‘The Rookie’ and ‘The Bag Boy’, just as in the chapter list I’d seen. I read quickly. Piper explained how he’d been a bully as far back as he could remember and how a cop at the Police Boys Club had told him he was perfect police material. He named the cop and told how he and several of his colleagues, also named, had recruited Piper and some other boys to form a gang of burglars and car thieves.
He went on to explain how endemic corruption had been in the service despite the enquiries and attempts to clean it up. With his silver medal, rugby and boxing credentials, young Piper came to the attention of two detectives who controlled the flow of money between brothel owners, the police and politicians. Piper became the chief bagman while still a constable. The chapter had detailed information on meetings, amounts of money, bank accounts and, again, names.