Free Matrimonial Causes by Peter Corris Page A

next hasty swig of Heineken. It was no way to drink high quality beer. ‘What … what are you doing?’
    I loaded the gun, trying not to make the action too melodramatic. ‘You’d better tell me where she lives, unless you want to come with me.’
    â€˜I’ve been stupid,’ he said wearily. ‘She’s a very exciting woman.’
    All of a sudden, Andrew Perkins didn’t look as impressive as he had on the tennis court and as he no doubt did in a courtroom. He ran his hand back over his head and feathered up his hair which was thinner than it had first looked. It was receding at the sides, too, something careful arrangement had concealed. I closed the cylinder and put the gun in its holster. The click of the mechanism made him twitch. I didn’t like Perkins lording it over me, but I didn’t want him coming to pieces, either. At that moment I could probably have got a cheque for Virginia Shaw out of him and walked away, but it had gone beyond that. Below the wall phone there was a message pad with a ballpoint pen attached to it by a chain. I tore a leaf from the pad.
    â€˜Where does she live?’
    Perkins had almost finished his second bottle. ‘In Bronte. Barker Avenue, Number 10, Unit 16.’
    I wrote the information along with a description of the woman’s car and Perkins’ number on the slip. ‘You’re her employer, maybe you should come with me.’
    He shook his head. ‘I’m more than that. She ... knows things about me. If she’s betrayed me … I … I have a violent temper. It’s better I don’t go.’
    â€˜Suit yourself. Have you got a key?’
    He went into the sitting room and came back with a leather key holder. He detached a key and handed it over. His compliance puzzled me.
    I said, ‘I’m not acting in your interests, you understand.’
    He smiled and freckles stood out on his facewhich had lost all colour. ‘Exactly in whose interests are you acting, Hardy?’
    â€˜Will I have any trouble from Carl if I just walk out of here?’
    Perkins shook his head.
    â€˜You stay put,’ I said. ‘You’ll be hearing from me or the police or both.’
    He shrugged and tilted the beer bottle to his flabby, moist mouth.
    I didn’t see Carl, but I had a feeling he was watching me from somewhere and would have been on the job in a flash if I’d tried to steal the Alfa. Useful bloke, Carl. It wasn’t far to Bronte and the roads weren’t too busy. The exercise and the beer had given me a lift and I’d recovered some of the ground I’d lost with Perkins. I quickly rolled a cigarette while waiting for a light and got it lit at the next stop. This was getting interesting. Miss Farquhar was playing some kind of game and I was keen to learn the rules from her. If she wasn’t at home I’d just have to find her. It was one of the things I was supposed to be good at doing.
    Unlike some avenues, where there isn’t a tree in sight, this one had plenty—plane trees and she-oaks on both sides as it curved up away from the beach over what must originally have been a sandhill. Mostly blocks of flats, the occasional set of semis and a few Federation cottages. The flats I was looking for were set on a big block well back from the road. A lot of houses must have come down to provide the space. There were three modern blocks built of pale brick with bigwindows, each containing a dozen or more units. I parked in the street and approached on foot. A wide driveway led to a series of parking bays and carports. The higher the rent the better the car protection. Perkins had told me that Miss Farquhar drove a white Mini that still carried its black and white Victorian number plates. It was sitting in its uncovered space, locked, neatly parked.
    The layout of the blocks was logical and well signposted. Miss Farquhar’s place was on the second level of the middle