The Dunbar Case(32)

Watson grunted. ‘That was sensible.’



‘He won’t be happy.’



‘Why d’you care whether a crooked old fart like Jobe Tanner is happy?’



Marisha flared, recovering a good measure of her composure. I tried to soothe them both by getting Marisha to describe anything she could about the person who’d fired the shot.



‘Two shots,’ she said. ‘I think the second one was for me but Jobe pulled me down despite ...’



The shakes returned. After more whisky she repeated what she’d said to me. She had a feeling Joseph Tanner was responsible for the shooting.



‘A feeling?’ Watson said. ‘That’s not worth a—’



‘Based on what?’ I said.



‘On how he looked at me at the hospital and what Jobe’s told me.’



‘Jesus,’ Watson said. ‘If you’ve got inside information on a war between Jobe and his sons, I want to know about it.’



‘One son, probably,’ I said.



Watson was swilling the last of his drink and almost spilled it. ‘What the fuck do you know about it?’



It was a tricky moment. The more I learned and heard about the Tanners, the more I seemed to get drawn into their machinations and steered further away from what I’d been hired to do. I had dangerous information myself—knowledge of the cop inside the Tanner network and the sister’s role in the scheme of things—and I didn’t feel able to reveal any of that. On the other hand, I wanted to get as clear of it all as I could and coming semi-clean to Watson was a way to do that.



Watson wasn’t dumb. ‘I can see your beat-up brain working, Hardy. You’re wondering how many lies to tell.’



‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m wondering how to protect Marisha and myself and my client’s interest first and then how to help you.’



‘Thanks a lot.’



‘I’d like you to nail whoever killed Pete McKnight.’



‘Oh, that’d be a sort of bonus, would it? You’re a scavenger, Hardy.’



‘I’m tired,’ Marisha said.



I looked at Watson.



‘There’s a hotel we use. You’d both be safe there.’



I put my hand gently on Marisha’s slumped shoulder. ‘And you’d be able to keep an eye on us.’



‘Give me something, for Christ’s sake,’ Watson said.



I wanted to talk to him about stolen millions and a missing backpacker, to get some corroboration of Templetons and Kristine’s story, but it wasn’t the right time.





~ * ~





13





The hotel was of a higher standard than I expected. There was room to move around, good lighting and fittings, and even white terry-towelling bathrobes. Marisha took a very long shower and wrapped herself in a robe as she watched me making coffee.



She was rapidly regaining her confidence. ‘Put yours on and we could be like Bob and Blanche.’



‘No thanks.’



‘You ever think of getting married again, Cliff?’



‘Don’t see the need. Look at Julia and what’s-his-name.’



‘Tim. You’re right, I never felt the need, ever. Why did you say Joseph might be at war with Jobe but not Hector? What dealings have you had with them?’



‘Is this research or ... ?’



‘Oh, shit. I’m sorry. It must sound like that. No, I just want to know to help me work out what to do next.’



What to do next, I thought. Good question. I was sick of holding everything in and I told her pretty well the whole story, stressing that she’d have to get my okay to publish some of the stuff I’d spoken about relating to Wakefield and the supposed Dunbar documents.



Colonial history didn’t interest her; she homed in on the present. When I finished she said, ‘I’d like to talk to Kristie.’



More single-mindedness. ‘So you’re going on with the Newcastle underbelly stuff?’



‘Hell, yes. I need a book to my name. I want to get back to Sydney. I thought I’d had enough of it and coming up here was the right move, but I miss it.’



I could understand that. Couldn’t live anywhere else myself, and the prospect of her being back there was attractive. At my age you need all the friends you can get. I decided I’d help her as much as I could, hope the Tanners would resolve their differences one way or another and leave the way clear for me to persuade Kristie to help in Wakefield’s quest. It was all a bit speculative but the best I could do.



We ordered a room service meal. Marisha spent a good hour fielding phone calls. She told her editor she’d be filing tomorrow. She fended off other journalists and reassured a few people she was all right. I phoned Templeton. Again, he said he could talk for a short time.