Peter Corris - The Reward

[Cliff Hardy 21]

Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

Doyou remember Ramona Beckett, Hardy?

I remember her, I said.

Perhaps you also remember that herfamily offered a reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction ofwhoever was responsible for her death. This was about two years after shedisappeared, and thats fifteen fucking years ago.

I shrugged. If you say so.

Am I right in thinking that you hadsomething to do with her?

The man whod asked the question wasBarry White, an ex-cop, ex-private detective, ex-nightclub bouncer, ex justabout anything in that line you could think of. He was middle class, universityeducated and had made Detective Sergeant pretty quickly, but hed resigned fromthe force just ahead of a corruption charge. Like me, hed lost his PEA licencefor breaches of the regulations. Id regained mine fairly easily and quickly onthe basis of a previously good record and the recommendations of policeofficers and others whose integrity was unquestioned at a time when a lot ofquestioning was going on.

White hadnt been so lucky. The onlycops he knew were as corrupt as he was and were leaving the force under cloudsor to go behind bars. He was a big, strong man, or had been, and hed lookedpretty formidable outside a nightclub for a while. But the booze softened andslowed him and people who like to start trouble in those places these days havelearned martial arts tricks that can make an old thumper like Barry look silly.Me too, for that matter. So hed slipped down a few more notches. When heturned up at my office that Monday morning I thought he might be scrounging forwork. He wasnt.

I knew her, yes.

Ramona was a rich, spoiled youngwoman who wanted to be the first female Premier of New South Wales. She did asociology degree at Sydney and, after blooding herself in university politicsand local government, she decided that blackmail was the way to go. She setabout seducing politicians and influential people with the aim of gettingleverage on them to put her where she wanted to be in politics. One of hervictims had had the guts to come to me professionally and Id helped him.

Well get to that. The unusualthing about this reward, White said, is that the money was well invested andhas accrued interest. The amount on offer now stands at over one milliondollars.

I didnt know that.

Its a long time ago. Peopleforget. But no-one was ever charged with Becketts murder and the reward isstill available, although her fathers dead now. You might remember that hermother was much younger. Mrs Beckett is still very much alive and at lastreport was still keen to see justice done.

I didnt much like the smell ofthis. Its nearly seventeen years ago, Barry, I said. Sure, I was aroundwhen it all happened, where were you?

He grinned and as it changedexpression the high-coloured face showed the marks of booze and fists and latenights. He wouldnt have been much over forty and he looked sixty. He took outa packet of Drum tobacco and probed in it for the papers. You mind?

I said I didnt but I did, a bit. Iused to roll them myself and I still missed the taste of the tobacco,especially the first three or four smokes on a clean palate, but I didnt missthe cough and the short wind. Still, the smell was good and there was no lawagainst me enjoying that. He rolled the smoke expertly and lit it with a matchwhich he put in his jacket pocket. He wore a business shirt, not too clean, atie likewise, a double-breasted blazer with one gold button missing, greytrousers and black shoes that had just had a shine. He sported a fresh haircutand shave and I could smell the lotions. I hadnt seen him for a while but whatId heard of him was that his marriage was washed up and that he was living ina room in Chippendale. Clearly, hed spruced himself up to see me. I wassuspicious rather than flattered.

He blew smoke towards the windowwhere a little more grime wouldnt hurt. I had the office painted and thewindows cleaned a year ago when I was given a two-year lease. It looked allright for a while but somehow lately itd slipped back.

I was there, too, White said. Iwas a probationary D at the Loo.

Whats this about, Barry?

Fuck, what dyou think? Its aboutthe money, of course. Ive got a line on who knocked Beckett.

Oh, yeah? And who was that?

He laughed through an exhalation ofsmoke and the cough caught him like a hard right to the ribs. He doubled overand his face turned purple as he fought the spasm.

Jesus, Barry, I said. Youreholding a full hand for a heart attack.

I know, he gasped, fighting forbreath. When he finally sucked some air in he said, Im just about fucked if Idont get this money. Ive got high blood pressure, a touch of emphysema and acrook liver. They reckon I can pull out of it if I stop drinking and smoking,lose weight and eat lettuce. If I can get the money Ill do it. Ill go to oneof those health farms in the fucking Blue Mountains and drink mineral water andbe a good boy. Itll be worth it. Kicking shit the way I am now, Id just assoon be out at Rookwood.

I nodded. I could understand that.Its easy to eat healthily if you can afford asparagus and chicken fillets. Agood bottle of wine wont do the damage of a slab of beer. Trouble was, thatline of thought made me feel like a drink and it was only four oclock in theafternoontwo hours before my self-imposed starting time. He went into acoughing fit again and while I waited for him to recover I tried to rememberwhat dealings Id had with him before. There wasnt much, a bit of a brush whenhe was extorting from a madam named Ruby Thompson who was a friend and I askedhim to lay off. He got even by verballing a client of mine who was probablyguilty anyway but deserved a second chance.

He got his breath back and looked atthe cigarette hed put in the ashtray. He reached over and snuffed it out.Maybe he could rehabilitate himself after all.

OK, OK, Id forgotten your sense ofhumour. Try not to make me laugh, Hardy. I could drop dead on you.

I was thinking he could drop deadfor all I cared, but I knew that wasnt quite true. I had ambivalent feelingsabout Ramona Beckett, but my feelings about a million dollars were prettystraightforward.

The way I heard it, you screwedher, literally and otherwise.

No comment.

Come on, Hardy. Im lining up ahundred thousand fucking dollars for you. I need to know how close you got toher.

While I didnt have Whites healthproblems, things werent getting easier. I was pushing fifty and the privatedetective business, like everything else, was rapidly being taken over bycomputers. Process-serving was being done by E-mail and fax, money was movedelectronically rather than in briefcases, and there were big agenciesspecialising in finding lost kids, de-bugging offices and protecting men insuits. I didnt have any life insurance and the superannuation the governmentwas obliging me to pay myself wouldnt keep me in red wine and secondhand booksif I stopped earning. I had to be interested in a hundred thousandbucks. There were a lot of questions in my head but it was best to play along,for now.

You knew what her line was, didyou?

Not really. Tell me.

I told him. This bloke she wasblackmailing came to me for help and we set her up. Sort of biter bit thing. Ipretended to be a bigwig, a lawyer who controlled the preselection for a safeLiberal seat. She arranged her usual dealthe drinks, the fuck in her PottsPoint flat, the video camera. Only she was a solo operator by necessity andcouldnt keep her finger on everything. I had help. I had someone swipe thevideo and substitute another one. I taped her when she came to me with thepitch. Then I turned the tables on hertold her Id send the video to her dadand give the tape to the cops and the papers. She backed off after that, butshe might have done it again, just being more careful. I dont know. She wentmissing oh, about a year after that, maybe less.