The Dunbar Case(35)
‘Hardy.’
‘Hey, Cliff, this is Jack Twizell.’
‘Jack?’
‘Yeah, a new me. You did it, man. I’m out tomorrow and I’ll be heading back to Newcastle.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘You bet. I want to buy you a drink to thank you.’
‘No need.’
‘And to talk about your proposition.’
‘I thought you said Kristie was the one to see about that.’
‘Two heads are better than one. Did you see her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Didn’t get far, eh?’
He was riding high, cocky, about to be released and no doubt feeling that the threat from the Tanners was past. Couldn’t blame him. I knew I’d have to deal with him but I wanted it to be on my terms as much as possible.
‘Only so far,’ I said.
‘Look, I’m guessing, after all that shit with Jobe and Joseph, that she’s not walking around in the sunshine, am I right?’
I had to niggle him. I had very ambiguous feelings about Johnnie/Jack. I didn’t like him much, didn’t trust him at all, but I needed him. He was a key player in the game. I wanted him confident and willing to help but not too confident, not feeling a sense of absolute independence. It’s not hard to touch a nerve with someone in his position.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘on the loose, like Hector.’
It didn’t work. He chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, Hector’s in South America by now, or some such fuckin’ place. Kristie’s a home girl. I can find her. Why don’t you come up to Newcastle? Meet me tomorrow and we can talk things over.’
I’d printed out my bank statement with Wakefield’s substantial deposit ensuring my survival for another stretch of time. Money confers an obligation; not as big as love or friendship, but an obligation nevertheless. I said I’d see him. Jack had made his plans; he had a place to stay lined up. He gave me the address as if he was installed already and prepared to be hospitable.
~ * ~
15
I drove to Newcastle, booked into a motel and phoned Kerry Watson.
‘You again,’ he said.
‘I’ve got some business to do with John Twizell. You knew he was out?’
‘You bet I knew. He has to check in with us twice a week and report to his parole officer in Newcastle. I doubt he’ll have time for anything else. What sort of business?’
‘It’s nothing to do with the Tanners. It’s family history.’
‘The family history’s bad—his old man was a crook and Johnnie was lucky he didn’t kill that girl. He was a smalltime crim himself. Don’t tell me Bathurst rehabilitated him.’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. What I’m interested in goes way back. I just thought I should let you know I was around, the way I’m supposed to do.’
‘Don’t make me laugh, Hardy. You want something. Spit it out, I’m busy.’
My guess was he was always busy—one of those people— but if he had been busy he might know what I wanted to know.
‘Any news of Hector?’
‘Thought you said you weren’t interested in the Tanners.’
‘I’m thinking about Marisha Henderson. You probably know by now she’s working on a book and I don’t imagine Hector wants it to see the light of day.’
‘Hector’s got bigger problems.’
‘Why? I hear he had a big blue with Joseph. Probably very pissed off at having his father shot.’
He sighed. ‘Hardy, you know more than you should and you’re more fucking inquisitive than’s good for you. I’m certainly not going to discuss operational police matters with you. But I’ll tell you this—we don’t know where Hector Tanner is and if you happen to stumble across him in your fucking around you’d better let us know at once.’
‘I won’t be looking and I would. I’ve got a couple of other questions, not strictly related to what we’ve just been talking about.’
‘Have you now? You’ve got a bloody nerve. Do you know how much work I’ve got piled up here?’
I didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. A conscientious policeman like Watson can’t suppress his curiosity.
‘Go on, then. Make it quick.’
‘What can you tell me about a cover-up of a couple of million dollars of stolen money?’
‘Nothing. It’s just a rumour.’
‘How about a British backpacker missing in the Newcastle area?’