The Bat(74)

Had Andrew been trying to tell him that Otto Rechtnagel had murdered Inger Holter? And, if so, why? How had Harry managed not to understand what Andrew wanted him to understand? The introduction, the cunning reports, the obvious lie about the eye-witness in Nimbin having seen White – had all of this been to divert his attention from White and make him see?

Andrew had ensured that he’d been put on the case and teamed up with a foreigner whom he reckoned he would be able to control. But why hadn’t Andrew stopped Rechtnagel himself? Had Otto and Andrew been lovers, was that why? Was Andrew the source of Otto’s heartbreak? If so, why kill Otto just as they were going to arrest him? Harry rebuffed a drunken woman who staggered to his table and wanted to sit down.

And why kill himself after the murder? Andrew could have got away with it. Or could he? The lighting engineer had seen him, Harry knew about his friendship with Otto and he didn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder.

Right, perhaps it was time for the closing credits after all. Shit.

The dogs were barking in Harry’s stomach.

Andrew had taken insane risks to catch up with Otto before Harry and the others got their hands on him. Harry’s throbbing headache had worsened, and now it felt as though someone was using his head as an anvil. In the shower of sparks behind his eyes he tried to hold on to one thought at a time, but there were new ones coming all the while, each one nudging out the last. Perhaps McCormack had been right – perhaps it had just been a hot day for a dysfunctional soul. Harry couldn’t face thinking about the alternative – that there was more. That Andrew Kensington had worse things to hide and more to escape from than occasionally enjoying a man.

A shadow fell over him, and he looked up. The waiter’s head was obscuring the light, and in the silhouette Harry thought he could see Andrew’s bluish-black tongue sticking out.

‘Anything else, sir?’

‘I see you have a drink called Black Snake . . .’

‘Jim Beam and Coke.’

The dogs went wild down below.

‘Fine. A double Black Snake without any Coke.’





35


An Old Enemy Awakes


HARRY WAS LOST. In front of him were some steps, behind him was water and more steps. The level of chaos was rising, the masts in the bay were veering from one side to the other, and he had no idea how he had ended up here. He decided to climb. ‘Onwards and upwards,’ to quote his father.

It wasn’t easy, but with the house walls as a support he struggled up the steps. Challis Avenue, a sign said, but that didn’t mean a thing to him, so he continued straight on. He tried to look at his watch, but couldn’t find it. The streets were dark and empty, so Harry presumed it was late. After ascending even more steps he reckoned that had to be the end of them and turned left into Macleay Street. He must have walked a long way, for the soles of his feet were sweaty. Or had he been running? A tear in the left knee of his trousers suggested a possible fall.

He passed some bars and restaurants, but all of them were closed. Even if it was late it must be possible to have a drink in a big city like Sydney. He walked off the pavement and flagged down a taxi with a light on the roof. It braked, then changed its mind and drove on.

Shit, do I look that bad? Harry wondered with a chuckle.

Further along the street he began to meet people, he heard an increasing hubbub of voices, cars and music, and rounding the corner he suddenly recognised where he was again. Talk about luck, he was in King’s Cross! Darlinghurst Road lay before him, brash and noisy. Now all options were open. In the first bar he was refused entry, he was allowed into a little Chinese dive, and there they served him whiskey in a tall plastic glass. It was cramped and dark inside, with an unbearable racket from all the gambling machines, so he re-emerged on the street after knocking back the contents of the glass. He held onto a post watching the cars float past and trying to suppress a faint memory of having spewed on the floor of a bar earlier in the evening.

Standing there, he felt a tap on his back. He swivelled round and saw a large red mouth opening and a cavity from a missing canine.

‘I heard about Andrew. I’m sorry,’ it said. Then it chewed gum. It was Sandra.

Harry tried to say something, but his diction must have been poor, for Sandra sent him an uncomprehending look.

‘Are you free?’ he asked at length.

Sandra laughed. ‘Yes, but I don’t think you’re up to it.’

‘Is that necessary?’ Harry managed to say after some effort.

Sandra looked around. Harry caught a glimpse of a shiny suit in the shadows. Teddy Mongabi was not far away.

‘Listen, I’m working now. Perhaps you should go home and have a nap, so we can talk tomorrow.’