Peter Corris - OFear

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OFEAR

[Cliff Hardy 12]

By Peter Corris

Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

* * * *

Did you know a man named BarnesTodd? Cy Sackville asked me.

What do youmean, did? I do know him. Barnes Todd.

Imsorry, Cliff. You dont know him any more. Hes dead.

Shit, Isaid. Everybodys dying these days. How come you and I arentdead, Cy?

Sackville smiledhis expensive lawyers smile, the one that means were going to winbut itll cost you. I keep myself fit and I work in a professionknown for the longevity of its members. Whereas you

Dont,I said. On both counts. Well, private eyes live longer on average thansome people.

Who?

Astronauts.Im sorry to hear about Todd. He wasnt that old, was he?

About fifty,bit more.

Depressing. But Iwas determined not to be too depressed, there had been too much of that in mylife recently. Its always nice to see you,

Cy, but why thesudden summons to your pricy presence? You werent Todds lawyer,were you?

Sackville shook hiswell-groomed head. Hes about my age, which is more than forty, and Irate him marginally brighter and about twenty times richer than me. At fivefoot seven hes six inches shorter, and we both weigh about twelve stone.You can see what a good team we make. You dont seem very upset atmy news.

I didntknow him well! I snapped.

Sackville raisedone eyebrow. He was sitting behind his big polished desk under a painting witha lot of clouds and light in it. It looked as if it could float off the wallany minute. Then it could float out the window, across Martin Place and maybedown the Pitt Street mall. Since the big stock market crash, I had been in afew plush offices where space had opened up on the walls. But Cy has alwaysbeen careful and patient. You seem to be under a lot of strain,he said.

Usually Cysaffluence, displayed in the wood panelling of his office and the cut of hissuits, amused me; today it got under my skin. I shrugged and plucked at thefabric of the chair I was sitting in. I was pretty sure I could get a fingerinto the upholstery and do some damage. Ive got a few problems,I said.

Women?

No woman.Thats one of the problems.

Money?

Ditto. Whatsall this about Todd?

Sackville fiddledwith a file on his desk. Its a bit weird. I got a call from Toddssolicitor, name of Hickie. One-man show in Bondi Junction. Well, its nota bad location for certain kinds of work. Anyway, Hickie got a letter from Todda couple of days before his death.

I suppose thatswhen I took it in properly- that Barnes Todd was dead. I met him almost twentyyears ago when I was happily married and looking for a cheap house. He dabbledin real estate, among a lot of other things. He found the Glebe terrace I stilllived in, helped with the finance and a few other problems. Id seen himperhaps two or three times a year since then- at the pub, in the street or in arestaurant. He was about ten years older than me and hed served in theKorean war. We used to have a drink and joke about our wars. Mine was theMalayan emergency which had started earlier than Korea and gone on longer, to1960. Id been in on the very end of it. The talk drove Cyn, my thenwife, nuts. This was years ago, of course. Until recently, war talk hasexcluded women in our society. Maybe its different in the Middle East.Nowadays you can meet female journos and photographers who know a bit about it,but Cyn knew war from books and films, which give you only a shadow of thephysical and mental truth. Anyway, Id liked what Id seen ofBarnes Todd.

The memories didntimprove my mood. Whats this exchange between legal chaps got todo with me?

You are in a bad way. Haveyou been playing tennis or doing anything for your body lately?

No, Isaid. My bodys been letting me down.

It feels tired inthe morning and it wont sleep at night. Get on with it, Cy.

I had toascertain that you knew Todd. That you were acquaintances, at least.

Youvedone that. He was a big bloke, bald and getting fat. He didnt do muchfor his body either, but I wouldve expected it to last him a fair whilelonger. How did he die?

Caraccident. He went over a cliff down on the south coast.

I nodded. Hehad a house down there, I remember. I used to think he was lucky to have it.

Sackville grunted.He has a house at Palm Beach, so I suppose he doesnt think much of thesouth coast. Wife. No children. Have you met his wife, Cliff?

No. Ithought he was a bachelor with girlfriends. I saw him with a few women over theyears. Look, now I come to think of it, I dont think Ive seen himfor a year or more.

Hickie tellsme he was married about a year ago. To let me see Heopened the file and flicked over a page. Felicia Armstrong. Younger thanhim. Shes now a fairly rich, fairly young widow.

I dug the fingerunder the binding on the chair and felt the stitching. It gave a little. Cy,I said, get to the point. As far as I know Todd was a good bloke. If Idheard about it, Id have gone to his funeral. Maybe. Like Id go toyours, or Harry Tickeners.

Sackvilleshuddered. Dont speak of us in the same breath. Tickener smokesforty Camels a day. Its very likely youll get the chance to go tohis funeral. I plan to outlive you.

Yourerisking a violent death by playing the close-mouthed lawyer on me. I could beout making money. I leaned forward and stared at his face. I saw nolines, good teeth, gold frame glasses and an even tan.

Cy blinked. Imglad to see you can still clown. I was beginning to worry about you. You lookas if youve just copped a ten-year sentence with no remissions.

I had had a fewsnorts of mid-morning wine and hadnt stood too close to the shaver. Ineeded a haircut and my twice-broken nose has wanted straightening fortwenty-five years. I let my tainted breath drift across his desk, sniffedloudly and stroked my stubble like Mickey Rourke. Whats thebottom line, Cy?

I rememberwhen you used to play the alcoholic, Sackville said. After Cynleft you. It went on too long and it wasnt all that convincing, orfunny. Barnes Todd has left you some money.

Why?

To find outwho murdered him.

I sat back in thechair. Sackville unhooked his glasses and set them down gently on top of thefile. He massaged the bridge of his nose and tried to look grave, but there wasa flicker of amusement in his eyes. It irritated me, the way a lot of smallthings had lately. Whatsso funny ? I thought. Id been in this business for nearlyfifteen years. Id found murderers before, hadnt I? Well, stumbledacross a couple. How much money? I said harshly.

Ten thousanddollars. His wifes not too happy about it.

* * * *

A rock band was playing in the Martin Placeamphitheatre when I left Cys office. The drummer and the bass guitaristhad shaven heads; the singer and lead guitarist had hair to their waists andboth wore leather skirts, high-heeled boots and heavy make-up. I suspected thesinger was a man. Twenty years ago they would all have been arrested forcreating a public nuisance, but now the shoppers and lunchers walked by orpaused to listen while they ate. None was visibly corrupted. The singerscreamed, Fuck me! into the microphone, but no one did, at leastnot there and then.

By the time Icrossed Castlereagh Street the heavy, jolting music was a thin wail and byMacquarie Street the traffic was making more noise. Id told Sackvillethe truth-business was bad and money was short. I bought a sandwich and shareda seat outside the Public Library with a young Japanese couple, clearlytourists, and a woman in a long overcoat who was muttering to herself as shecrunched hard frozen peas from a packet. I ate the sandwich and considered thejottings I had made in my notebook.