The Undertow Read Free Page A

the late Dr Heysen’s widow in the morning while Lily was waiting for her cab to the airport. I told Catherine Heysen that Frank Parker had enlisted my help and she agreed to meet me at her place in Earlwood at 11 am. Her voice was the kind they classify as educated Australian. Tells you nothing, because there are various ways of acquiring it.
    â€˜You old charmer, you,’ Lily said as I put the phone down.
    â€˜Less of the old. What’s that supposed to mean?’
    â€˜I often wonder, after people hear you on the phone, all mild-mannered and persuasive, what they think when they get a look at you.’
    â€˜You mean the busted nose and the scar tissue?’
    â€˜And other things.’
    â€˜I’ll tell you—they think, that bloke’s been through a bit and maybe he’ll go through a bit more for me. Also, they notice the good teeth.’
    â€˜Capped.’
    â€˜A touch of vanity for reassurance.’
    The taxi horn sounded in the street and I carried Lily’s bag out. A brief hug and kiss and then she was off. I didn’t ask when she’d be back, as she never asked me—that wasn’t the deal. She looked very good in her suit and heels and I knew that I’d soon be missing her taking the mickey out of me and making love with energy and humour.
    I spent the next hour or so working through Frank’s file and putting names, addresses and phone numbers in my notebook. The case had a formidable cast of characters, including detectives still serving and no longer serving, witnesses to disagreements between Heysen and Bellamy, associates of Rafael Padrone and experts of various kinds. Heysen’s barrister was dead, as Frank had said, and so was the trial judge, but Heysen’s solicitor and the prosecutor were still alive. Their details went into the notebook, although Frank cautioned that the addresses and phone numbers might be out of date.
    There was a detailed description of the crime scene; reconstructions, as best Frank could remember them, of interviews with Heysen and others; and his recollection of how the Heysen finances stood. There’d been a substantial mortgage on the Earlwood house but Catherine Heysen was still there now, despite the couple’s income dropping to zero. Interesting. The son, William, had been an infant at the time of the trial and he barely rated a mention. Heysen had been struck off the medical register after his conviction and his appeal had been refused. Not surprising. A number of Bellamy’s patients and lovers had been interviewed. Frank had some of the names but no further details and, given the AIDS epidemic at the time, it was problematic how many would still be around.
    Apart from it involving a close friend, it was the kind of case that interested me. Also the kind you had to work hard at to get a result. A money-spinner, but I didn’t want to bleed Frank.
    The Heysen house was a big, sprawling affair on a corner block overlooking the Cooks River and a stretch of green beyond that. The water view wouldn’t have been an asset in days gone by when the Cooks River was more or less a sewer cum toxic waste dump, but it’ll become more acceptable as the river gets rehabilitated. Long way to go. The government is said to have promised the money, but nothing much seems to be happening. With half a million people living along the river’s banks, I suppose cleaning it is a big ask. There were more apartment blocks in the locality than freestanding houses.
    I parked in the street and looked the place over more closely. It was far too big for a woman and a child as things must have stood when Dr Heysen went inside. Probably they’d planned a large family. Still, I wondered why she hadn’t traded it in on something more manageable.
    I could see a large garden in front and down the side, through an electronically controlled gate, a wide driveway. There was enough grass to keep a Victa busy for an hour