Appeal Denied: A Cliff Hardy Novel by Peter Corris

Townsend wants to get to me before I can check on him, I could tell him that our enquiry’s in train and it wouldn’t hurt to talk about the break-in. If he’s clean he’ll be interested, if he’s not he’ll know anyway.’
    We cleared away what was left of the food and put the empty bottle in the box where empty bottles go.
    ‘I’d like to help you clean up, Cliff, but …’
    ‘I bet,’ I said. ‘Thanks, Frank. It’s a lousy time for me but you’re helping. The work helps, too.’
    We were on our way to the front door. Frank turned back. ‘I need a piss. That wine’s run straight through me.’
    He knew where to go and when he got back and was zipping up, I said, ‘Hey, what about this Kristos?’
    ‘Don’t know anything about him.’
    ‘Okay. I was thinking I might contact Williams and try getting something out of him.’
    I opened the door and began to usher Frank out. I reminded him of the loose tiles and the dodgy step. A car, slowed by the hump at the top of the street, went past and Frank’s body turned rigid as he propped.
    ‘What?’ I said.
    ‘Did you see that driver? The one in the light blue Falcon?’
    ‘No. I was worried about you falling down the steps. Why?’
    ‘Fuck it. I haven’t seen him for a few years, but I’d swear that was Vince Gregory.’

8
    ‘T here’s a big apartment complex down the way, maybe he lives there,’ I said.
    ‘Last I heard he lived in Longueville.’
    ‘Girlfriend? Boyfriend?’
    ‘Vince Gregory hasn’t got any friends of any kind. He was checking up on you.’
    ‘Did he see you, Frank?’
    ‘I don’t know. I’ll hang around for a bit and see if he comes back.’
    We stood on the cracked front path for a few minutes but no one showed.
    ‘You all right to drive, Frank?’
    ‘No. I wasn’t expecting to be. I left the car up in Broadway. I reckon I’ll be right by the time I walk back there with a coffee or two on the way.’
    He set off towards Glebe Point Road and I went inside the house. A knock sounded at the door within minutes.
    I opened it to see a man in a suit and a light overcoat holding up a card.
    ‘DI Gregory, Mr Hardy. I’ve been ringing your mobile for an hour or more.’
    ‘It’s in the car. I’m still not used to being contactable wherever and whenever. You could’ve tried the landline.’
    ‘I did. It was out of action. Can I come in? We have to have a talk. Here or somewhere else.’
    I let him in and went straight to the telephone. It had been disconnected and it looked as if someone had been investigating the working of the fax and answering machine. They’d have got bugger-all from that.
    Gregory looked around the untidy room with an expression impossible to read. I held up the phone jack.
    ‘Disconnected by whoever broke in and did this.’
    He nodded. He was in his forties, solidly built but barely medium height, maybe a shade under. Roundish face, closely shaven but with bristles showing already. Thinning dark hair. I moved some books from two chairs and got a bit closer to him. A definite smell, something like old damp socks.
    ‘Have a seat if you want. Sorry not to be more hospitable. I gave a statement to DS Williams. Good man, I thought.’
    If Gregory knew I was provoking him he didn’t show it. He shrugged out of his coat and folded it over the arm of the chair clear of where he sat. His suit was immaculate. I waited for him to preserve the crease in his trousers the way his type do, but he didn’t. He sat back and took a notebook from his pocket.
    I pre-empted him. ‘What’s this in connection with, Inspector?’
    ‘The death of Lillian Truscott. I’ve learned that you’re a beneficiary under the terms of her will.’
    ‘Yeah. That means I killed her. Lock me up.’
    ‘That’s not funny.’
    ‘No, it isn’t. Get on to something that is.’
    ‘As I passed by, I saw former deputy commissioner Frank Parker here with you.’
    ‘He’s an old friend. We had some lunch and shared a bottle of wine.