‘Not so good,’ he said. ‘How will she go in court?’
I thought about the woman’s impressive profile and figure, her style. ‘Just fine, if she’s sober, and there’s no reason to think she won’t be.’
‘Quite. Well, there may be a way to discredit her-if she’s had treatment and so on. But the first thing to do is get the trial date put off and an extension of Mrs Fleischman’s bail. Shouldn’t be any problem about that, given the circumstances. Then I suppose I can open talks with the other side, see if they’re willing to give a little.. ‘
‘No,’ Claudia snapped. ‘No deals. I didn’t do this and I won’t be punished for it.’
Stratton pursed his lips and suddenly looked less boyish and handsome. I could see him some years down the track with jowls from too many business lunches and thinning hair. He was a deal-maker, no doubt a shrewd and advantage-seizing one, but not a fighter. Claudia had a head of steam up. I sensed that she’d taken a dislike to Stratton. The strategy he’d proposed for dealing with Judith hadn’t gone down well. But this was dangerous. At this point, we needed his level-keel approach.
‘I’m pursuing some lines of enquiry,’ I said quickly. ‘I think they’re promising and may… open this whole matter out. Do I have your authority to proceed?’
That put the ball right on the service line in Stratton’s court. He was smart enough to see that he could lose the brief if he followed the line of least resistance, and he’d have known that Cy would’ve backed me all, or almost all, of the way. Was he about to break ranks with the revered boss not yet buried? Not his style. He smiled, showing the great teeth and made a note on a pad, showing his keen mind. Although there wasn’t an ashtray in sight, Claudia flicked out a Salem and lit it. A look of annoyance crossed Stratton’s face before he smoothed it away. He was discomforted though-he didn’t have an ashtray, possibly about the only client comforter he didn’t have, and he had no idea of what to do about it.
‘Of course, Mr Hardy. You have carte-blanche, subject to the usual restrictions.’
‘Good. I can get a cheque from Janine?’
‘Have you submitted a progress report?’
‘Cy just wanted a final report.’
He nodded. He was itching to say something like ‘Things are going to change around here,’ but he didn’t. All three of us exchanged nods and we left the office, Claudia nursing the long ash on her cigarette. She dropped it in a pot-plant immediately outside the door and turned to me, smiling that great, toothy smile.
‘What a prick,’ she said.
‘Yes. But we need him for the time being.’
‘He thinks I did it!’
I shook my head and took hold of her arm. She was wearing a collarless white cotton shirt, loose black trousers and medium heels. I wasn’t trying to steer her in any direction, I just wanted to touch her and a hand on the arm is about as much as you can do in legal chambers. ‘Worse than that. I don’t think he cares who did it. He just wants to win, but a win for him, as he sees it, could mean five years or so in gaol for you.’
‘No!’
‘Fucking right, no.’
We moved away from Stratton’s door down a corridor, past the rooms of Cy’s other associates and partners to the general office area where three or four people worked at telephones, word-processors and photocopy machines. Miss Mudlark saw us and I steered Claudia over to her.
‘The funeral’s tomorrow, Mr Hardy,’ she said.
‘I know. I’ll be there.’
Miss Mudlark looked somewhat drowned. Her brown hair was lifeless and lying flat on her round skull and the shine had gone out of the brown eyes. She looked at Claudia briefly then looked away. I could read her thoughts: It’s because of you he’s dead. But I still didn’t know whether or not that was true.
We went to the lifts and waited.
‘I thought you were going to get a cheque from her?’ Claudia said.
‘I was just needling him, the way you did with the cigarette.’
She smiled. ‘I like you.’
‘I like it that you do.’
24
I pointed the 4WD towards Vaucluse where it would have lots of mates-Land Cruisers and Pajeros with unscratched duco. Claudia was tense beside me. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘I’m sure. Yes. I don’t care if the staff think I killed Julius. Bugger them. The place is mine until someone takes it off me. Bugger them!’
I could feel her whipping herself up and I didn’t discourage it. Wandering around in a joint like that where the gardener and the housekeeper thought you were a murderer and where the only memories were bad ones would take some nerve.
She laughed. ‘Think I’ll have a swim. The pool was the only really good thing about the horrible place. I’m a good swimmer, came third in the state under-18 breast stroke. How about you?’
‘I’m not much of a breast stroker.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘I used to surf a bit when I was young. Should have joined the life-savers and all that but I wasn’t public-spirited enough. And I didn’t like marching. Funny thing is, I went into the army for a few years a bit later.’
We talked background until I drew up at the gates to the Fleischman residence. The sun was high and hot and a swim sounded like a good idea, but not for me here, not today. Claudia reached across and squeezed my arm.
‘I’ll be all right, Cliff. I’ll stay here for a while. Might even stay the night or I might go to Kirribilli. I’ve got your numbers. I’ll let you know.’
‘What’s the number here?’
She told me and I wrote it down. ‘If you stay, I’d like you to let a man named Gatellari come in. You heard me talk about him earlier. He’s good and he wouldn’t get in your way. There must be about a dozen guest rooms in that place.’
From where we were you couldn’t get much of an idea of the size of the house and she looked at me curiously.
‘How d’you know that?’
‘I scouted around here a few days ago.’
She squeezed again. ‘My very own detective. Talk to you later.’
She climbed down, opened the back door, pulled out her overnight bag and walked towards the gate. I watched her easy, graceful stride and the way she stood. Straight back. Swimmer’s shoulders. She spoke into the intercom and waited before pushing the gate open. A quick wave and she was through and tramping up the drive. Despite myself I couldn’t help thinking that she still had her old passport with her. For detective read suspicious and mistrustful, also bloody near exhausted. Driving, love-making, talking to lawyers and getting very little sleep as a combination isn’t recommended for the almost-fifty brigade. My days in the Maroubra surf, when I could stay on a board for hours waiting for a wave and ride in one after another, paddling straight back out for more, were long behind me. Besides, I had to save my strength for a funeral and tennis.
I went first to the office in Darlinghurst to check the mail, faxes and telephone messages. Various small things I’d neglected since taking on the Fleischman case were threatening to get away from me and I spent a little time trying to get on top of them. This involved a few calls and faxes from me, nothing too strenuous. I was operating on about half physical and mental strength and not capable of doing any more. There was a message to call Frank Parker. I deliberated, decided, got myself a glass of wine and made the call.
‘Ah, Cliff. Thanks for calling. Have you acted on the information?’
‘I have, yes.’
Relief entered his voice. ‘Well, there haven’t been any waves so you must have been discreet.’
‘Always.’
‘Making any progress?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Still being discreet. Something you might be interested in-your old mate Haitch Henderson’s dead.’
Is this a trap? Have they found some connection? I forced myself to sound only mildly interested, tiredness helped. ‘Yeh, natural causes?’