CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Gary reached his office soon after nine o'clock and realised that he'd better tell Vincent Drew to turn off his meter. He mobile phoned the hacker. "Vincent, Gary here - stop working on the Arnott matter."
"OK. You found him?"
"You could say that."
"He's dead."
"He's had better days."
"What happened?"
"You don't need to know."
"Fair enough. But, hey, I saw on TV that the guy you were asking about - Robert Merton - got spit-roasted in his beach house."
Shit. Gary had forgotten that Vincent was in the loop. He spoke sharply. "Forget about that, OK - forget about it now."
"OK, OK. None of my business."
"Good."
"I'll send you a bill for about $1,500."
Gary was tempted to ask for a discount, but Vincent was being very reasonable. "Fine."
He hung up and wondered what, if anything, to charge Madeline Arnott. He decided to only charge her his out-of-pocket expenses - basically, Vincent's bill - and refund the rest of the advance she provided. He felt guilty about charging even that much. But, after everything he'd been through, he had no intention of paying Vincent himself. Anyway, if he didn't charge her something, she'd become suspicious. Perhaps the only thing he'd learnt about business was that nobody appreciates a free service. They just assume it was sub-standard.
So, after all that he had endured, he would be no closer to finding the $15,500 he owed the Tax Office. Bloody hell. There had to be much, much easier ways to make a buck. What a nightmare.
He had some court documents to serve and a workers' compensation surveillance job to do, but felt too depressed to do either. He desperately wanted to talk to someone about the shoot-out and unburden himself.
Unfortunately, he couldn't talk to Karen, because she was a cop. If his parents were still alive, he would have talked to them and they would have consoled him. So maybe, if he visited their graves, his mind would ease. Yes, that was what he would do.
The last time he visited their graves, he found fresh flowers on his father's grave. He had no idea who left them and felt guilty he took none himself. So he bought a bouquet of native flowers at a grocery shop near his office and drove his Toyota sedan up to the cemetery.
He parked in the top car park and carried the flowers down the hill, between elegant tombstones, into a pocket of serenity. The razor-sharp horizon separated the pure-blue sky and dark-blue ocean. A brisk sea breeze ruffled the heavy grass.
He reached his parents' graves and saw another bouquet of fresh red roses lying on his father's one. Who the hell kept putting them there? He itched to find out.
He put the bouquet on his mother's grave and sat on her tombstone. The anger he felt towards his father for having $300,000 buried in his backyard had almost dissolved. His father must have done something bad. But what right did Gary, who had just shot dead two people, have to judge him? For cops, the line between right and wrong could get very hazy. Maybe his father got handed a bunch of bad options.
After a while, he stopped thinking about his parents or the shoot-out and stared at the ocean. For almost an hour, a huge yacht, heeled far over, clawed towards the Heads and finally disappear into the harbour. He got up and strolled back to his car.
Gary returned to his office feeling better about life. That afternoon, he dashed around the Eastern Suburbs and served court papers on three litigants. Fortunately, they were all where he was told they would be and none tried to flee. After that, he went back to his apartment to clean it up before Karen dropped over that evening.
When he stepped through the front door, the cat popped its head out from under the sideboard and stared at him.
"Hello, Oscar."
The cat slunk up to him, rubbed against his leg and meowed loudly. After he stroked it a couple of times, it launched another vicious and unprovoked assault on the innocent couch, which was obviously not going to make it. He didn't mind that, but hoped the cat wasn't crazy. "Calm down or I'll get a dog."
He pushed open the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. After dismissively leaving a few more claw marks on the couch, the cat swaggered outside and sat on the concrete railing, gargoyle-like, unfussed about the twenty-metre drop.
Gary spent the next hour dusting, vacuuming and packing stuff away, with little noticeable effect. At six o'clock, he slumped onto the couch and watched Action Nightly News. None of the mayhem he'd been involved in got a mention, which was a good sign.
When the program finished, he went back to cleaning up. Just after seven o'clock, a knock on the door made the cat scampered back under the sideboard. Gary looked through the eye-hole. Karen stood outside, wearing a brown jacket and dark slacks.
He opened the door. "Hello, baby."
She'd obviously just come from work because, when they kissed, he felt her empty shoulder holster. Erotic? You bet.
She said: "You look sweaty."
"I've been cleaning the apartment."
She smiled. "For me?"
"I wouldn't do it for myself."
"That's true." She strolled into the living room and looked around, obviously wondering what had changed.
He said: "I'm giving it a thorough clean, so the gains aren't immediately obvious."
She giggled. "Thanks for letting me know."
"Want a beer?"
"Sure."
He took a couple of bottles from the fridge in the kitchen, returned and passed her one. "You should look under the sideboard."
She took a sip and raised an eyebrow. "The sideboard - why?"
"Just look."
She crouched and peered under the sideboard. The cat screeched and dashed off into the bedroom.
Karen rocked back and almost spilt some beer. "Wow."
"Sorry, I didn't think he'd get that upset."
She smiled. "No problem. What's his name?"
"Oscar, though I think I might change it to something a bit tougher."
"Like what?"
A shrug. "I don't know: Tex or Butch, or maybe Gary. I'll call him Little Gary."
"Don't you dare. Oscar's fine. Where does he come from?"
"A friend couldn't look after him, so I stepped in."
"He looked a bit thin."
"Like I said, he wasn't well looked after."
An appraising look. "I didn't know you were a cat person."
"Yeah, I've always liked cats. You don't like them?"
She shrugged. "They're OK, but I prefer dogs."
"Cats are better," Gary said, surprising himself.
"Why?"
"Dogs bark and slobber all the time to show affection. Cats don't make such a big deal out of it."
"Maybe that's because they feel no affection."
He frowned. "It's lucky Oscar doesn't understand what you're saying. He'd be very upset. I think you're getting jealous."
An unladylike snort. "Hardly. Out of curiosity, has your wonder cat been neutered?"
"Snipped?"
"Yes."
"I haven't checked. I assume so. Does it matter? He's not going to meet any chicks."
"It will calm him down. If you don't, he'll probably spend all day pissing in every corner to mark out his space."
"Oh? Do you know what to look for?"
"Of course."
He was uncomfortable about checking another guy's nuts, even a cat's. "Will you, umm, check him?"
"Me? Why don't you do it?"
He grinned. "I don't want to look at his balls, if he's got any. That would be totally disrespectful. I mean, we hardly know each other. He'll think I'm some sort of weirdo."
"But it's OK if I do?"
"Of course."
She laughed and punched him. "You're being stupid."
"I know. But you'll do it?"
She sighed. "Yes, when I get a chance."
"Thanks."
They sat on the couch and she noticed the fresh claw marks. "He obviously likes your cou
ch."
"He's making himself at home."
She took another sip and gave him a look many crooks had seen in an interrogation room. "You've been looking very excited recently. Are you doing something dangerous?"
She didn't rattle him. "No, just a boring surveillance."
She looked doubtful. "Really?"
"Yes."
A shrug. "Well, if you don't want to tell me, that's OK. As long as you're not having an affair."
"I wouldn't dare - you'd shoot me."
"Very true."
"What about you - what have you been doing?"
"Oh, I'm still investigating the wino stabbing."
"Getting anywhere?"
"Nope. Been knocking on doors and watching hours of CCTV footage, and getting nowhere. If we don't find a suspect soon, we'll have to frame someone."
"At least you guys are good at that."
"Hah, hah."
Gary sipped his beer. "I saw on the news that three people died in a beach house yesterday - seems they were shot dead before the place burnt down."
"Yep, looks like the shooter, or shooters, whacked them and torched the joint."
"You're not investigating that?"
A big frown. "No, goddamn it. I'm stuck with the wino. A couple of detectives were pulled off our team and sent up there, but not me, I'm afraid."
Gary was intensely relieved she wasn't investigating the deaths at Forresters Beach, because she was a damn smart cop. But he was still afraid that, if he became a murder suspect and their relationship became known - as it probably would - that would ruin her career. In fact, he was more worried about that than going to prison.
It was unfair to ask her for information about the Homicide investigation into the beach house deaths, but he couldn't help himself. "Have the Forresters Beach team got any leads?"
"Nope. They haven't even identified the bodies yet, though they think one's that accountant, Merton, who owned the place. I bet it was a drug deal that went wrong."
"Why?"
"They found a lot of money in the safe and shootings like that usually are." She looked past him and her eyes widened. "My goodness."
He looked around and saw the cat standing outside the bedroom, staring at them.
She said: "Hello, Oscar."
Oscar trotted over and rubbed against her leg.
Gary said: "Hey, ease up, buddy - that's my woman."
She scooped up the cat and glanced between his legs. "Mmmm."
"What?"
"He's not all that he could be."
"I'm sorry to hear that."