The Dunbar Case(9)

‘Fair to middling.’



‘Busy?’



‘He’s getting on like the rest of us. I shouldn’t think so. Loves a drink.’



‘Like the rest of us.’



‘Speak for yourself. I’m off it.’



‘If it doesn’t make you live longer at least it’ll feel like it.’



‘He can be fun,’ Viv said. He undertook to ring Braithwaite, vouching for me. I gave it a few hours and rang his chambers. I was put through to him. He said he’d been glad to hear from Viv and asked how he could help.



‘You represented John Twizell.’



I heard a wheezy sigh. ‘I did. Not one of my successes.’



‘I have a client who has an interest in him.’



‘That’s understandable; he’s an interesting character in his way. What’s the nature of the interest?’



I wasn’t prepared to tell him much until I’d sized him up. ‘Perhaps we could meet?’



He agreed, named a wine bar in Castlereagh Street and suggested five o’clock. Early for knock-off time. Looked as if he wasn’t busy.



~ * ~



The Cellar Bar was one of those below-ground joints that enjoy popularity for a while before jaded, fickle drinkers move on to somewhere else. As the name implied it had a theme defined by low beams, wooden barrels and a flagstoned floor. Drinkers could sit at tables or on benches if they wanted to feel especially authentic. The lighting was soft but adequate to see what you were drinking, and there was muted piano music playing. At 5.05pm there were only three customers—a young woman and her rather older companion, and a man on his own with a glass in front of him and a newspaper open at the racing page.



I approached him. ‘Mr Braithwaite?’



He looked up. He bore more than a passing resemblance to the late Lionel Murphy—thinning grey hair, bags below the eyes, jowls and a nose that glowed like a stoplight.



‘You’d be Cliff Hardy,’ he said, ‘the notorious private detective. I’m delighted to meet you. Can’t understand why it’s taken so long.’



He half rose and we shook hands. I’d had a lot of time for Lionel Murphy, who I’d met once or twice, not least because I had benefited from his no-fault divorce law, and I was prepared to like his look-alike.



‘Don’t sit down.’ He drained his glass and held it towards me. ‘Mine’s a double brandy and soda.’



I went to the bar and bought his drink and a glass of red for me. Braithwaite was putting the paper in his briefcase when I got back to his table.



‘You’re a punter?’ I said.



He took a pull on the drink and shook his head. ‘Cheers. No, part-owner. Foolish, but it’s an interest in my declining years. You’re bearing up well after all the slings and arrows I’ve heard about.’



‘Just about,’ I said. ‘I’d like to have a talk about John Twizell.’



‘You realise I’m only talking to you because I’m interested in someone with your reputation and because Viv Garner says you can be trusted and I trust his judgement.’



There was nothing to say to that so I just drank some wine.



‘Anyone else coming to me with an interest in Johnnie and I’d ring the police straight away.’



I’d been getting ready to relax into some kind of cautious but more or less cordial interchange, but this made me sit up straight. ‘Why’s that?’



‘Outside of prison, Johnnie Twizell could count the days of his survival on one hand. Inside, he’s doing well to last this long.’



‘Please explain.’



‘You’ve heard of Jobe Tanner, surely?’



I had, and that was the other reason the name had caught my eye in Wakefield’s text. Tanner was a high-level Newcastle crime figure. A fingers-in-every-pie type who kept the really dirty stuff at arm’s length while profiting from it. He’d been called before two royal commissions and had been charged a few times for conspiracy and other difficult-to-prove offences but acquitted. Witness intimidation was second nature to him. Braithwaite saw me processing the name and nodded.



‘Kristie Tanner is his daughter. He swore to kill Twizell.’



‘That seems extreme. He didn’t kill the woman.’



‘No, but he damaged her very severely. Her injuries were so bad that I succeeded in getting the judge to withhold the photographs from the jury. Prejudicial. It was about the only success I had in the matter. Jobe Tanner has the means to do it, particularly in the persons of two very nasty sons.’



It was a fair bet that Wakefield knew this and took it as a reason to hire someone with the right experience to approach Twizell. Megan was right: I seemed to find trouble without having to look for it. But I’d taken Wakefield’s money and I needed it.