“And that’s what the fight was about?”
“Yes. He’s been getting very pushy lately. He was pressing me to go into a mining deal and I’m not interested. He got nasty and started putting me down. I’m a lot older than him and he pointed it out. You saw how it went.”
“You were doing pretty well, you might have won it on your own. How’s it going to be, business-wise, if you break with him?”
“He’ll just have to accept it or move out. He hasn’t got a contract and I know he’s not short of women. He gets a good salary and the usual perks. He’s useful, he knows people. I think he’ll stay.”
“The silver spoon?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure. He’s never told me anything much about his background.”
We’d got over the hump and she relaxed letting her long legs slide down the bed. We kissed for the sheer pleasure of it. She rubbed her hand over my face.
“Bristly, black-bearded bastard.”
“Virility,” I said. “Tell me about Chalmers.”
“Christ, you like your work don’t you. What do you want to know?”
“Just one thing, was he connected in any way with Mark Gutteridge?”
“Yes,” she spoke slowly, beating her hand in time to the words on the bed. “He was Mark’s chief accountant for many years.”
I did the same. “And how did he come to work for you?”
“He approached me. I don’t know exactly why he picked on me. I do know that he couldn’t get on with Bryn.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know. Ross once said something about Walter being a repressed homosexual, that could have something to do with it. But Ross isn’t reliable on the subject of Chalmers.”
I thought about it. There were more connections back to the Gutteridge trouble for Ailsa than I’d realised. I still felt that the car bombing related back to the harassment of Susan Gutteridge, but I didn’t know how. Ailsa had given me some more people with possible motives, but Brave was still out in front and my main concern as well as hers. He was Harry Tickener’s concern too.
“I’m going to be very busy on your behalf today love,” I said, planting a firm kiss on her shoulder.
“And your own. Your rates are moderate verging on extortionate. Do you make a lot of money?”
“No. Overheads are high and I have long slack periods. Most of what I makes goes on booze and books anyway.”
“I can imagine. And on women?”
I disengaged myself and rolled off the bed. “Very little on women. Use your shower?” she nodded. “Are you married Hardy?” she said. “Was. Tell you about it sometime.” I started for the shower and turned back. She was sitting up again and lighting a cigarette. With the cream coloured fabric draped around her she looked like a young, scared Christian about to go to the lions. I walked back and put my fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck. I massaged her neck gently.
“We’ll have lots of time to talk,” I said. “Today I’ve got ten men to see and six houses to break into. Can you write me down the addresses of Chalmers and Ross… what’s his other name?”
She rotated her head cat-like under my fingers. “That’s nice. All right. Ross’ other name is Haines.” She got up, crossed to the wardrobe and got out a thick towel. She tossed it to me and I caught it and went into the bathroom. When I came back into the room she handed me a page torn from a notebook. The names and addresses were written in neat capitals. She made a grab at the towel around my waist and I backed off. She looked amused and got out another cigarette. I pulled on my clothes, bent down over the bed and kissed her on the head.
“You could have typed it out,” I said.
“Can’t type, never learned.”
I nodded. “What are you going to do today?” She blew smoke at the mirror. “Since I evidently can’t stay here with you,” she said, “I’ll go into the office and check a few things. I might go to the library. Where’s my protection by the way?”
“You should be safe enough if you stick to doing what you say. Take taxis and stay with other people. You can do it all the time if you try.”
“Taxis, OK. That reminds me, what about the police and my car? Will I have to talk to them again do you think?”
“I don’t think so, I’ve squared it for the time being.”
“Fully insured, I’ll get someone in the office onto it today. Good car, I think I’ll get another one the same.”
“You do that,” I said.
She flared. “Don’t be supercilious with me. I employ a lot of people, I spend my money. I do the best I can and I’m not hypocritical about it.”
“Like Susan Gutteridge?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got a point. I’ll call you about six, maybe we could have dinner, then I’ll have some things to do.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, it could be all over tonight if things go right.”
“You’re being mysterious.”
“Not really, if I told you all about it you’d think it was so simple you wouldn’t feel like paying me.”
She laughed and came up to me. I pulled her in and we kissed and rubbed together for a minute or two. I promised to call her at six, come what may, and left the house.
10
I took the first drink of the day in an early opening pub at the Quay. My companions in sin ranged from a tattooed youth, who was playing at looking tough and doing pretty well at it, to a grizzled wreck who was mumbling about the Burns-Johnson fight at Rushcutters Bay in 1908. He claimed to have been the timekeeper and maybe he was. I bought him a schooner and he switched to Sullivan-Corbett which was a bit unlikely. A scotch would probably have got me Sayers and Heenan. I had a middy of old and tried to anticipate the results of Tickener’s inquiries. The smell of toasted sandwiches interrupted this train of thought and I put the matter aside in their favour. I ate two cheese sandwiches and had a second beer. The rain had cleared and the day was going to be warm. Students and the unemployed would be on the beaches, accountants would be at their desks, private detectives would be peeling secrets off people like layers of sunburnt skin.
I got a shave in the Cross at a barber shop where I’d once seen Gough Whitlam, before he became Prime Minister — I figured he’d know where to get a good shave. The Italian razor man was neat and economical and let me read the paper while he worked. He was coming on strong with garlic and aftershave but I fought back with beer and I guess the honours were about even. The News had put Costello on the second page and had splashed a government statement about unions across the front. There was a front page picture of a cricket player kissing a paraplegic girl to remind everyone that God lives and life is still all fun and games.
I got to the office, checked the mail and the incoming calls with the answering service. There nothing of interest in either. I rang the number which Harry Tickener, newshound and wordsmith, had given me the night before. He must have been sitting on top of the phone because it was snatched up the second it rang.
We established identities, confirmed that we were both in sound health and got down to business. The records branch of the motor registry never shuts down to accredited people and Tickener’s contact had got what we wanted during the night. In a voice as thin and reedy as himself, Tickener recited the facts: “The Rover is registered to Dr William Clyde, 232 Sackville Drive, Hunters Hill, the Fairlane to Charles Jackson, 114 Langdon Street, Edgecliff, the VW to Naumeta Pali, Flat 6,29 Rose Street, Drummoyne.”
“Good. Do you know anything about these people?”
“Not a thing. The only Charles Jackson I know of is a cop, Detective Inspector, CID. I don’t know where he lives or what he drives. Never heard of the others, could find out though.”
“Right, you take Clyde, call me in an hour.”
I tidied my desk, throwing away bills and advertisements, and paid a couple of modest accounts with cheques I could cover by lodging Gutteridge money. I phoned Grant Evans at home. It was delicate but I was getting more confident.