The Greenwich Apartments (16 page)

‘Now. Let me help you in and I can meet the Missus.'

‘I haven't got a Missus.'

‘Who's this at the door then?'

Helen came to the gate. She was looking spectacularly good in a red shirt and jeans. Scott Galvani broke the taxi driver's record for getting out and assisting a passenger—not the world's hardest record to break. He helped me to the gate.

‘You look terrible,' Helen said.

‘I'll be right. Helen Broadway, this is Scott Galvani.'

‘Hi' Galvani said.

‘Hello. Are you going to pay the fare, Cliff?'

‘Hey, hey, don't worry about it,' Galvani lit the cigarette he'd been waiting for.

‘What?' Helen said. ‘Free rides?'

‘I've got to go out again later, love. Scott's going to drive me. Might need a bit of help.'

‘You can't afford a driver.'

‘Hey, I'll work for free.'

‘You must be good,' Helen said.

S
COTT
Galvani came into the house. Before we knew it, he was cooking spaghetti bolognaise, scooting down to the bottle shop for a flagon of red, and generally being entertaining and helpful. He let Helen try out her Italian on him and he praised her efforts.

‘Six months there, really workin' at it, you'd be like a native.'

‘What I wouldn't give,' Helen said.

This is getting out of hand,
I thought. Bondi is one thing, Palermo is another.

The spaghetti was terrific. Galvani washed the dishes and didn't sing in the kitchen.

‘He's nice,' Helen said.

‘He's persistent.'

Over coffee I talked about the Wise case and Galvani nodded.

‘I read about it. The video girl.'

‘That's crap! There's something else behind it. Marjorie Legge or Phil Broadhead or someone like that.'

Galvani whistled. ‘That's heavy.'

‘It could be. I'll back off fast if it is, don't worry.'

Helen glanced at me. Galvani was smoking filter tips and she had just lit her Gitane. The smoke was hurting my eye but I didn't want to spoil her pleasure. I grinned at her but Galvani frowned. ‘I don't get you, man.'

‘I just want something to satisfy her father. I'm not out to clean up Sydney.'

‘Oh, right,' he said.

I drank coffee and thought about what I had to work with. It wasn't much. Essentially I had to find Jan de Vries and find out why he was frightened.

‘Why is he frightened?' Helen said.

‘Who?'

‘Jan de Vries.'

‘Are you a mind-reader now?'

‘It's the obvious question.'

‘Yeah,' Galvani said.

‘Look, Scott, I'm not sure this is such a good idea, you tagging along. I
might
get a line on de Vries tonight from the mother.'

‘Hope so,' he said.

‘I haven't got any worker's compensation policy or anything like that.'

‘I'll sign a waiver.'

‘Did you read that or see it on TV?'

‘What's the difference? When do we go?'

Galvani went to the toilet and Helen put on a jacket. ‘Think I'll go over to Ruth's,' she said. She kissed me and I could taste the French tobacco and Australian wine. ‘You're an idiot to go out with an eye like that but I know I can't stop you. Tell you what, though, I'm glad you've got him along.'

Something bothered me on the drive to Leo Wise's house in Bellevue Hill. In fact the worry had started back when Scott asked me which car I wanted to take, the Falcon or the taxi.

‘The taxi, I think. Nobody looks at a taxi when it's parked.'
But who cares who's looking?
I thought. As I say, it nagged at me as we drove. Scott took it easy out of consideration for my damaged state and he kept the chatter to a minimum. It was a cool night; I had on boots, corduroy pants, a thick shirt and a light jacket. I had the gun under my left armpit. What I'd really need, if there was any trouble, would be a cricketer's helmet with visor. Scott had pulled a sweater on over his T-shirt. I could tell that
he wanted to smoke but he chewed on a toothpick instead.

‘Here it is. Not bad!'

I pointed ahead and he let the taxi roll on past the house. It was big and white, behind a high white wall. Inside the wall there'd be a tennis court and swimming pool. Inside the house there'd be a miserable woman.

‘What do I do?' Scott asked.

‘I told you it wouldn't be exciting. You wait.'

‘Can I put the light on to read?'

‘No.'

‘What about the radio?'

‘Softly.'

‘Okay, Cliff. Good luck. You want me to honk if there's any suspicious characters around?'

‘No. Run them over.'

There was an intercom by the front gate. I buzzed and got Leo Wise's voice, distorted by the device. ‘Yes.'

‘Cliff Hardy, Mr Wise. Can I come in?'

‘Push the gate,' he said. There was a bleep from somewhere and the gate gave easily. I walked up a flagstoned path, bordered by flowers, to wide steps in front of the house. There was a bright light over the front door but the house was so wide the sides of the building were in shadow. It had two storeys, with a wide balcony supported by wrought iron pillars running across the front and around both sides. Windows from the upper level let out onto the balcony; all those windows in the front were dark.

Leo Wise opened the door before I could knock.

‘Evening, Hardy,' he said. ‘You look different with the patch. How is it?'

‘Evening, Mr Wise. No good for horse riding or swimming, otherwise okay. How's your wife?'

‘Composed.' I went into a sort of lobby with a high ceiling but no candelabra. Wise beckoned me towards a set of carved wooden doors off to one side.
‘Would you like a drink or something, or do you want to see her straight away?'

He opened the doors and we entered a study-cumlibrary. It was furnished with restraint—comfortable chairs, a writing desk and bookcases. It had cost a lot of money to keep it that modest.

‘I'll see her now, if that's all right.'

‘Yes it is. Have a seat. I'll get her. I might go off and do a few things on my own if you don't mind. Moira finds me inhibiting sometimes, or so she says.'

‘She knows what I'm doing?'

‘More or less.'

He went out through another door; I sat down and picked up a magazine. I looked at it without absorbing anything which is how magazines usually affect me.

Moira Wise came into the room and I started absorbing. She was taller than I'd expected, slim and dark-haired. She smiled and the effect of the large, dark eyes and slightly gapped teeth was devastating; she was dimmed by sadness and miles away from beautiful but I felt I could look at her all night. I started to rise but she stopped me.

‘Stay there, Mr Hardy. Leo told me about your eye. Getting up must be painful. I'll sit here.' She sat in a chair a few feet away and crossed her legs. She was wearing a black blouse and a white skirt, medium heels on plain black shoes. Once again, money spent on a tasteful, quiet effect. She cocked her head slightly to one side like someone correcting a small squint. ‘You're not what I expected.'

‘Oh, how's that?'

‘I expected someone bulkier, like … Robert Mitchum.'

‘You're a movie fan too, then?'

‘Yes, I think Carmel got that from me. What do you want to ask me, Mr Hardy?'

‘You know that the police idea, that Carmel was involved
in a pornographic racket, is bunk?'

‘You're too modest. You've shown that. We're grateful. I couldn't see the point when Leo said he was going to hire someone, but something good has come of it. All that video girl rubbish, it was … awful.'

Her voice was low-pitched, educated Sydney, without affectation. She didn't seem like a strong woman though, more one who held up well when the going was good and not so well at other times. She was going to be hard to talk to if there was anything she wanted to hide. It felt as if she'd crack if dropped. ‘Do you know why Leo wants me to … persist, Mrs Wise?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘I think he wants to have a good memory of Carmel. To understand what happened. To be rid of doubts.'

She smiled. ‘Oh, that's Leo all right. He doesn't like doubts.' She drew a deep breath. ‘No doubt he's right. Oh, a pun, of sorts.'

I nodded, drew a breath myself, and plunged in. ‘I've talked to lots of people who knew Carmel. They all liked her, all thought she was a great artist. I've seen her film and I agree. It was a fine piece of work.'

‘Thank you.'

‘There was only one person who expressed anything but dismay and loss at Carmel being killed.'

‘And who is that?'

‘If you and Carmel were close, if you talked together and shared things, I think you know who it would be.'

‘Barbara de Vries.'

‘That's right, Mrs Wise.'

‘What does she have to do with this?'

‘Please tell me about Dr de Vries and Carmel, then I'll answer your question. Leo thought Carmel had
never had a serious relationship, but this thing with de Vries was serious, wasn't it?'

‘Yes. Very.'

‘Why didn't Leo know?'

She made fists of her hands and rubbed them together. ‘Carmel asked me not to tell him.'

‘Why?'

‘He was so unsuitable—married, a radical …'

‘You should see his house in Lane Cove. His lifestyle is about as radical as Marcos'.'

‘I see. Still, I couldn't see any future in it for Carmel. Neither could she.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘They fought all the time. It was on and off, on and off. Carmel used to get very upset.'

‘What did they fight about? Did she want him to leave his wife?'

‘No, no. Carmel is … was … was always an unconventional girl. No. They fought about the work they were doing.'

It suddenly seemed warm in the room. There was a slight draught from somewhere lifting the covers of the magazine I'd looked at, but it wasn't enough. I felt hot. I was sure I was getting close to the heart of it. ‘What work
were
they doing, Mrs Wise?'

‘I'm not really sure. I didn't see Carmel all that often, about once a week, sometimes not.'

‘But you talked when you did?'

‘Oh, yes. we talked. You'll have seen that we were alike, physically?'

I nodded.

‘Emotionally too, I think. We could always understand each other … sympathise …' She was close to tears now; her head was bent and she was fighting for control. I sat very still and sweated. After a minute she got the control. Her head came up and she was dry-eyed. ‘That's why it's so terrible. I miss her so badly, you see. As you might miss a friend.
But more than a friend. Do you have any children, Mr Hardy?'

‘No.'

‘Don't.'

This is a bad break for Leo,
I thought. But I didn't want it to turn out like that. This woman deserved better luck. I felt like a blackjack dealer, slipping out the cards. ‘I have to know about the work, Mrs Wise. It's important.'

‘To whom?'

I went out on a limb. ‘Don't you think Carmel would want you to understand what happened? Why she died? Why?'

She took a long time to answer, as if she was checking back over her daughter's twenty or so years of life, day by day, before deciding. The deep brown eyes opened wide as she looked at me. ‘Yes, I believe she would.'

‘Then tell me two things—first, about the work.'

‘It was political. They were compiling dossiers, on film, on people they … disliked.'

‘People like Marjorie Legge and … who's that husband of hers?'

‘Monty Porter,' she said automatically.

‘Right, and Phil Broadhead?'

‘I don't know actual names, but, yes, I think … people like that. Politicians too.'

‘God,' I said. ‘That's dangerous. Leo didn't know about this?'

‘No.'

‘So you must have suspected … you must have thought her death was connected to this work?'

‘No.'

‘No?'

‘She was a filmmaker. She might have got something embarrassing on these people, but to kill her …?'

‘All right, all right. Yes, sure. Now, Carmel and de
Vries fought about this. What sorts of fights?'

‘He was more radical than her, in every way. That's all I know. Surely you could have found out some of this from him.'

‘He's disappeared.'

‘What? Why?'

‘His wife thought he had run off with Carmel.'

‘That's ridiculous.' She realised what she'd said and a hesitant look appeared on her face. Her hands had unclenched as we'd talked but they turned back into fists again.

‘Mrs Wise, do you know where Carmel and de Vries went to work and conduct their affair?'

Again a long silence. She was yielding up her knowledge and interpretation of her daughter piece by piece, and it was painful. ‘Yes,' she whispered. ‘I know.'

‘Where? You must tell me.'

‘They had a sort of studio in a house in Balmain. On the top floor.'

‘Do you know the address?'

‘It's 3A Grafton Street, near the water.'

I thought I knew the street and tried to picture it. Container wharf, fashionable terraces, townhouse development. ‘You've been there?'

‘No, Carmel told me.'

‘Thank you. You
have
met Jan de Vries?'

‘Yes.'

‘What did you think of him?'

‘Charming, but I didn't like him. I doubt if he'll tell you the truth.'

We got up simultaneously and she showed me out. I didn't see Leo. We didn't speak again except to say goodnight. Then she went back into the big, empty house.

S
OCOTT
had the radio on a rock station. Some melodic and rhythmic sounds were just audible as I got into the car.