Win, Lose or Draw (eBook)

Peter Corris (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2017 | 1. Auflage
256 Seiten
Allen & Unwin (Verlag)
978-1-76063-913-6 (ISBN)

Infos

The forty-second book in the Cliff Hardy series Will one man's loss be Hardy's gain? 'I'd read about it in the papers, heard the radio reports and seen the TV coverage and then forgotten about it, the way you do with news stories.' The police suspect the father, Gerard Fonteyn OA, a wealthy businessman. But he's hired Cliff to find his daughter, given him unlimited expenses and posted a $250,000 reward for information. Finally there's a break - an unconfirmed sighting of Juliana Fonteyn, alive and well. But as usual, nothing is straightforward. Various other players are in the game - and Cliff doesn't know the rules, or even what the game might be. He's determined to find out, and as the bodies mount up the danger to himself and to Juliana increases.

Peter Corris has been writing his best selling Cliff Hardy detective stories for thirty years. He's written many other books, including a very successful 'as-told-to' autobiography of Fred Hollows, and a collection of short stories about golf.

Textauszug

3

‘It’s obvious,’ Cartwright said. ‘The man was obsessed with her, worshipped her. He thought she was the reincarnation of his first wife.’

‘How did you learn this?’

He deliberated whether to answer but eventually did. ‘From the son.’

‘Is he a reliable source?’

‘And the stepmother.’

‘Same question.’

‘We got a psychologist in.’

I’d seen a couple of doctors’ names on Fonteyn’s list. I wondered whether one of them was the psychologist and that made me wonder how much of the police investigation had been made available to Fonteyn or the earlier investigators. I asked Cartwright whether he’d cooperated with them.

‘Minimally,’ he said. ‘You seem to be a special case, having Frank Parker’s support, but I can still use my discretion about what I tell you.’

‘Fair enough. Just a few questions then. Wasn’t Fonteyn at work all day?’

Again he paused to consider. ‘He can come and go from his office whenever he likes without anyone necessarily seeing him. His secretary was off sick. He could answer the phone or not as he pleased. There was no one to keep tabs on him for most of the day. Besides …’

‘Besides what?’

Cartwright seemed keen to convince me that I should go away and not bother him. ‘It’s not entirely clear when the kid was last seen. The servants didn’t clock in until mid-morning. The wife had been out late the night before and slept in. So, apart from the father, who said he’d seen her at breakfast, there was no verifiable sighting of her from the evening before when, again according to the father, she went to bed early.’

‘This expression “veg out” she’s said to have used. Who supplied that?’

‘The father again, allegedly quoting her.’

‘What about the son?’

‘What about him?’

‘When did he last see his sister?’

He consulted the file. ‘The night before, like the father. The son took off at sparrow-fart the next day. Has his own car.’

‘She didn’t phone or text or whatever else they do?’

‘No.’

‘Was that unusual?’

He shrugged. ‘Apparently not. She wasn’t a great one for the … social media. She read a lot, especially in the holidays, and was serious about her sports She valued her sleep. I wish I could say the same of my kids.’

‘What d’you think happened?’

‘I don’t like to think.’

From the way he spoke I could tell that he’d taken the matter seriously; he’d worked at it and it had worked on him.

‘You’ve wrapped it up in your own mind, Inspector. You must have a theory.’

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands to his head to stroke his thinning hair as if he knew the case had eroded and reduced him. ‘Fonteyn has a boat. He’s a strong, fit guy and there’s a very, very big stretch of water right on his doorstep.’

I absorbed this. ‘What were your impressions of Fonteyn?’

‘I only met him once, briefly.’

I stared at him. ‘But you were the investigator. You must have reported to him on progress, or lack of it, got the list of names and so on.’

‘I got the names but I didn’t report to him. I reported to the Super, who reported to Fonteyn.’

He spoke with some heat. Clearly he’d resented the kid-glove treatment Fonteyn had received.

‘Did he do a lie-detector test?’

‘He passed it. The guy’s a near genius, I’m told. People like that can beat the polygraph.’

I nodded. ‘But you met the stepmother?’

‘Again, briefly. That was pretty hands-off as well.’

‘But your impression?’

His thin mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Icy, top-drawer type. No time for the girl or her brother. Riding the gravy train.’

‘So you think Juliana’s dead?’

‘I do. I’m sorry, sounds like she was a good kid for someone born with the silver spoon, but that’s what I think.’

‘And you don’t believe we’ll ever know for sure who did it?’

‘Not unless she pops up, trussed with Fonteyn’s old school tie.’

‘The heat’s off. If he did it why would he hire me at this late stage?’

He went to the file again and flicked through several documents until he found the one he wanted. He did it impatiently, weary of being questioned. I’d got everything I’d get from him. ‘Talk to the psychologist, this Dr Anna Rosen. She’ll fill you in.’

He read off a mobile number and slammed the file shut. I thanked him and left. We didn’t shake hands.

I was intrigued but not convinced by Cartwright’s certainty. It could’ve been based on frustration at not making progress with the case, or resentment at the subsidiary role he’d been forced to play. It certainly wasn’t based on an assessment of Fonteyn. From the sound of things, he’d not spent much more time with him than I had. I needed more information to get my bearings in the case and there were choices to be made about where to find it.

When in doubt, have a drink. I’d caught a bus that had dropped me a longish walk from the Darlinghurst HQ because I needed the exercise and parking around there is impossible. I wandered back to Crown Street and found a wine bar that provided sandwiches and light meals. I ordered a BLT and a glass of red and sat looking out at the passing parade—the suits, male and female; the youngsters, pale and dark, some tattooed and pierced, others more conformist; the old, discernibly slower than the young but many looking happier.

‘Hello, Cliff. What are you doing in these parts? Reminiscing?’

Ruby Thompson lowered her ample backside onto a chair at my table. Ruby was the madam of a Kings Cross brothel whom I’d had hands-off dealings with back when I had my office in St Peters Lane. Ruby was a fund of knowledge about the working girls and in those days, when I was dealing with the ‘faces’ of the area, she was very useful. I never allowed her information to get back to the street and once or twice I did her favours and we became friends.

‘No, Ruby. I’ve just come from visiting the cop shop. Can I buy you a drink?’

‘Got a drop coming, thanks anyway. How’s things?’

‘Tight, as the actress …’

‘Don’t. It’s not funny at my age. I heard you’ve got a couple of grandkids.’

‘Now how would you know that?’

‘Never mind. Boys or girls? How old?’

‘Boys, ah, eight, I think, and about three and a bit, roughly.’

‘Typical. I’ve got a couple as well. One of them wants to be a doctor, would you believe. Jesus, what I’ve seen of doctors …’

‘What you’ve paid them.’

‘Yes, well anyway, this one’s got his heart set on being a doctor but he’s weak at maths. That’s what brings me here … oh, thanks, love.’

A small carafe of white wine and a modest sandwich had arrived. Ruby, a bit over-dressed as always, shook off the silk scarf she’d been wearing over a silk dress with ruffles and shimmering gold flecks, and watched me as I poured her wine.

‘Ever the fucking gentleman,’ she said, ‘but never the …’

‘Let it go, Rube. We had this out long ago.’

Ruby swallowed most of the wine and I topped up the glass. She took a bite of her sandwich.

‘Yeah, yeah, well I have to hire the kid a maths tutor from the coaching joint in Riley Street. Not cheap, I can tell you.’

I raised my glass to her.

‘Ruby, darling, he’s lucky to have a granny like you.’

‘Right. And just think how useful it’ll be to have a bloody doctor in the family.’

Just a chance remark but, after Ruby made short work of the meal, I reflected that a tutor would be one-on-one with a pupil for at least an hour at least once a week, maybe more. And possibly for a fairly long period, if the need was great. Money wouldn’t have been a problem. Who better to know things other people might not know?

Fonteyn’s list showed that Juliana’s tutor was Ambrose Hastings. A landline and a mobile number were given for him. I checked the white pages and found he lived in Bondi. I couldn’t see Juliana riding her bike from Vaucluse to Bondi so Hastings must have done his tutoring at the house. Even better; that would give him access to the brother, stepmother and the servants and, possibly, the girl’s room. Then again they might have done their work by the pool or in the games room or the gym, which I was sure would be in the house somewhere. I imagined a billiards table, card-playing set-up, a dartboard, a rower and other exercise machines—things we all need.

It was 3.00 pm on a Friday. What does a maths tutor do on Friday arvo? I had no idea. I rang the mobile.

‘Hastings.’

‘Mr Hastings, my name’s Hardy. I’m a private investigator hired by Gerard Fonteyn to look into the disappearance of his daughter. You could call him to …’

‘No need, I’ve been through this before. You want to talk to me, I suppose.’

‘I do, if you could tell me where and when.’

‘Well … I must say that’s better than some of the summonses I’ve had. I’m at home in … Bondi after a rather hard week. You could come here and I could give you some time, I suppose.’

He gave me the address I already had—a flat in a street a few blocks from Campbell Parade—and I said I’d be there within the hour. Easy. Too easy? There was something about the contact that irked me. Was it the voice? Rounded vowels, private school, or the manner—a been-there-done-that world-weary tone. I puzzled about it on the drive and...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 6.7.2017
• Reihe/Serie: Cliff Hardy Series
• Reihe/Serie: Cliff Hardy Series
• Reihe/Serie: Cliff Hardy Series
• Verlagsort: London
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Schlagworte: accused • Crime • crime books • crime thrillers and mystery • detective • detective books • Detective Fiction • Fleshmarket Close • hard kill • hard road • hard wired • James Patterson • j b turner • jb turner • J. B. Turner • Lee Child • Mark Gimenez • michael hambling • Peter May • Stuart MacBride • twisted crimes • Val McDermid
• ISBN-10: 1-76063-913-3 / 1760639133
• ISBN-13: 978-1-76063-913-6 / 9781760639136