‘That’s what she said. I think I believe her.’
‘But you don’t know where she is now.’
‘That’s right.’
‘My God, Hardy, you haven’t exactly carried all before you.’
‘There were distractions.’
‘Yes, well, I registered the name Tanner and the connection with Twizell. Were you involved in all that gangland business?’
‘Peripherally. Did you make representations to the parole hearing?’
‘Yes.’
‘We should hear results from that soon. Johnnie Twizell knows something about the family history but not as much as Kristine.’
Disappointment replaced excitement. ‘So what do you propose to do now?’
‘You want me to stay with it? Costs are mounting. You’ve just about run through your retainer.’
‘Of course I do, and that’s what you have a reputation for, isn’t it—seeing things through?’
‘I like to think so.’
‘I’ll make a deposit into your account. Email me the number. Please try to find that woman.’
‘If I do and she has what you’re after, she’ll want a share if there’s money involved.’
‘I’ll be delighted to discuss it with her.’
~ * ~
More or less out of curiosity I rang Ted Power, the old cop whose name Templeton had given me as a reference. You don’t discuss such matters over the phone and Power, a resident of Ultimo, agreed to meet me at my office after he finished work that evening.
I remembered him as superficially calm but underneath highly strung from his own years of undercover work. He’d been shot at least once and bashed a few times and bore the scars like badges. His face was lumpy, ugly. He accepted a large scotch in a plastic glass gratefully.
‘Tough day, Ted?’
‘Cheers. Tough enough.’ He glanced around the room. ‘You’ve picked up a bit since your St Peter’s Lane days.’
‘So’s the rent. I’m glad to have a drink with you, Ted, but I won’t piss around—an undercover guy I met up in Newcastle gave me your name as a reference. It was enough to make me trust him, sort of.’
He raised his glass. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m going to need to talk to him again so I thought I’d better follow up and get your assessment.’
‘You have this place swept?’
‘Regularly. Hank Bachelor did it yesterday.’
‘I know Bachelor, he’s good.’ Out of long habit his voice dropped several notches. ‘Okay, name?’
‘Rod Templeton.’
Power eased his back in the hard chair and took a swig of his drink. ‘Roderick Fitzjames Templeton, BA, bronze medal Olympian.’
I raised my eyebrows. Didn’t say anything.
‘Judo,’ Power said.
I rubbed my arm. ‘It still hurts where he chopped me.’
‘Thought you said you were onside.’
‘As far as it went. What else can you tell me?’
‘Very tough, very bright.’
‘Incorruptible?’
‘Who is?’
‘Come on, Ted.’
‘It’s hard to draw the line in that game. Undercover police sometimes have to do criminal things in the course of their duties.’
‘I know that, but there are rules about how far they can go and what restitution has to be made, right?’
‘Right.’
He drank, I drank. He stared out the window, then he cleared his throat. ‘All I’ll say is that he pushes the envelope, pretty much the same way you do in your business, Cliff.’
‘So you’d advise me to be careful in my dealings with him.’
He nodded.
‘There’re no bugs here, Ted.’
He finished his drink and got up. ‘He’s done some very good work and I don’t think he feels fully appreciated. Enough said.’
I saw him to the lift and went back into the office and topped up my drink. Pill time. I kept a corresponding supply at the office to those at home, some in the fridge. I squeezed them out of the foils into my palm and took them with a mouthful of scotch. Supplies were low. A chemist in Glebe had half a dozen of my prescriptions on file. Once, feeling resentful, I told him I’d thought of chucking all the stuff away and letting nature take its course.
‘You can’t do that,’ he said, ‘I’ve got children to support.’
I smiled at the memory.
~ * ~
I did my usual Sydney things—paid bills, went to the gym, filled prescriptions, checked that Wakefield had deposited money. He had. Towards the end of my second day back I got a phone call. I didn’t recognise the number.