Beyond the Horizon (15 page)

After George had sated his lust he rolled over to reach for his suit jacket and take out a cigar.

‘I really enjoyed that,' Maude lied. ‘I wish we could just lock ourselves in a room and see what else we could get up to.' George did not answer but sat up in the bed to light his cigar. ‘We could – if I lived with you,' she continued.

George stiffened. ‘That cannot happen,' he warned. ‘This arrangement suits us both.'

Maude reached over to touch his face and George pulled back. ‘I love you,' she said as convincingly as she could. ‘What if you did not have a wife but just me in your life?'

‘But I do have a wife,' he snorted. ‘And will for a long time.'

‘You and I could live together, and every night would be the best in your life,' Maude crooned. ‘Don't I please you and help take away your worries?'

George turned his attention to the girl, and in the dim light he could see that she was in the prime of her life; a beautiful young woman with a depraved mind equal to his own. The idea was tempting, but it could never happen, not with his position in Sydney's society as a stalwart of family ideals. Maybe he could employ her as a housemaid, he mused. He had done that before, until Louise had insisted that he fire the last one, whom he had made pregnant. She had been a simple country girl with little imagination, and George was secretly pleased to have an excuse to let her go. He did not wonder about the child she was carrying; she could not prove the child was his, and there was no way he would recognise a bastard as his own. Maude, however, was something very different, and he did not want to lose her too soon.

‘If I did not have a wife, you and I could live together,' he said to placate her, and saw the sudden shining in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the lips, drawing him down to her.

14

S
ean Duffy was appalled but not surprised to see what poor physical condition Harry was in when he appeared for a committal hearing in the courthouse. Shackled, he stood with his head bowed, but Sean could see that he had been beaten again. Harry's wife was crying openly, tears streaming down her face at the sight of her battered husband. Sean turned to her and said quietly, ‘I'll get him out of here, I promise you.'

She glanced up at Sean and he could see the pain in her eyes.

‘He suffered enough in France,' she said and Sean knew what she meant.

The magistrate entered the courtroom and all stood respectfully.

Sean had armed himself with every piece of evidence and now presented it with every ounce of his professionalism. The prosecution then rose and called on Detective Inspector Jack Firth to give his evidence.

Sean grilled him savagely, and once or twice was reminded by the magistrate that he should not make insinuations against the police officer. The prosecution's main witness, Lenny Johnson, failed to appear when called, so in the end the magistrate gave in Harry's favour, deciding that the prosecution had not established a case to put him on trial before a judge and jury.

Sean walked out onto the steps of the courthouse. Harry's wife had gone to the petty sessions office to wait for Harry's release. She'd thanked him over and over, but he knew he would have gone to any lengths to get Harry off; he was a good man and he had been a good soldier. He didn't deserve to be treated like a criminal.

‘Think you're smart, eh, Mr Duffy,' Firth's voice said from behind him. ‘Smartarses usually come unstuck around me.'

Sean turned to see the police officer glowering at him. ‘You and I know that your star witness did the killing and I just wonder why he failed to appear today.'

‘Lenny Johnson,' Jack Firth reflected. ‘He and I will sort that out later, but in the meantime I would watch yourself. Never know about a bad accident happening to a man as disabled as yourself, do we.'

Sean controlled his anger, remembering the time when the policeman had deliberately pushed him under a steam train at Central Station, fleeing before any action could be taken to apprehend him. Sean had only survived thanks to Harry but had known that it would be a waste of time bringing the matter to other police as the detective inspector was feared by those of his colleagues who weren't bent, and admired by those who were. ‘I heard that a certain file found its way into the hands of the inspector general recently,' Sean retorted. ‘It must have caused you a few sleepless nights.'

Firth blinked. ‘And the same file has now disappeared,' he replied with a smirk. ‘Any sleep lost has been compensated for by a friend.'

‘If you are depending on George Macintosh's support in the future, I would think twice about that,' Sean said. ‘The second you are of no use to him he will throw you to the wolves.'

‘Did I say anything about Mr Macintosh?' Firth responded. ‘I think you have things confused. Must have been all that shellshock you blokes sob about like little girls when you come back from a bit of fighting.'

At the slur Sean felt his rage rising in a way that brought murder to mind. But he also sensed that Firth was deliberately goading him to do something rash. Sean was trembling violently now and he could not control it; he knew it was linked to shellshock but he did not know how or why.

‘Look at you,' Firth sneered. ‘You're trembling like a scared little girl already.'

Sean gripped the walking stick hard and wished he could sit down and bring his shaking under control, but to do so would only satisfy Firth's sense of victory over him. This fight was with words and so far Firth was winning.

‘You never had the guts to enlist, did you, Firth?' Harry appeared on the courthouse steps, his wife beside him. ‘I heard what you said to Major Duffy. I would have loved to have you with us in the trenches to see you soil your pants when the shelling started.'

‘You two'll keep,' Firth said with a shrug, and sauntered away.

Harry's wife stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Sean's trembling shoulder. ‘It will be all right, Major Duffy,' she said quietly. ‘You saved my Harry from the hangman today.'

Sean gave a weak smile.

‘Luv, you go home and prepare dinner,' Harry said, stepping in. ‘Me and the major are going to have a beer or two to celebrate.'

Harry's wife glanced at her husband and this time she did not remonstrate with him. There were times when a man needed to drink, and she obviously reckoned today was one of those days.

‘C'mon, boss,' said Harry, helping Sean down the street. ‘Let's go get rolling drunk.'

Lenny held the curtains apart and stared out onto the narrow street below. He knew that the court hearing was probably over, and that Firth would be looking for him.

He let the curtains fall back and reached for the bottle of whisky he had brought with him. It had been fortunate that Lenny had remembered his half-sister's address, finding her place without much difficulty. He hadn't seen Maude Urqhart for years, and hadn't she grown into a lovely thing. He took another swig from the bottle.

The door to the bedroom opened behind him and Lenny turned nervously to see who it was. He breathed a sigh of relief – it was only Maude.

‘You want a swig?' he asked her as she sat down on a chair in the corner of the room.

‘No, but you can't stay here tonight,' she replied, crossing her legs under the filmy material of her nightdress. ‘I may be expecting a guest.'

‘You call them guests in your business?' Lenny said with a twisted smile. ‘I thought they had another name.'

‘I am now a woman of means,' Maude replied haughtily. ‘I am the mistress of a very powerful man and he looks after me.'

‘Mr George Macintosh, I heard on the streets,' Lenny said, sitting himself on the edge of the unmade bed.

‘How come you never went to court?' Maude asked, changing the subject. ‘I thought everyone was scared of Mr Firth.'

Lenny took another swig from the whisky bottle and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘He might be a bad bastard, but I knew he would never get a case against Griffiths,' he replied. ‘Besides, I'd rather face Jack Firth on the street than an angry Harry Griffiths, any day. Old Harry had a reputation for killing Huns with his bare hands. He can be a dangerous bastard. All I got to do is keep my head down until Firth cools off. Maybe make a deal with him about Mary Jackson.'

‘Did you kill her?' Maude asked bluntly.

‘Don't ask me questions like that,' Lenny snapped. ‘Not if you want to keep your pretty looks and make your next birthday.'

Maude rose from the chair and walked over to the bed to sit beside Lenny. ‘I'll make a deal with you,' she said, touching him on the arm. ‘If you help me out, I'll get you enough money so that you can leave Sydney, maybe go down to Melbourne, get away from Firth.'

‘You? With a lot of money, don't make me laugh,' Lenny chuckled. ‘Where would you get money enough to help me?'

Maude stood up and walked to the window. ‘I have a way of getting enough money to pay you to top someone,' she said without looking at him.

‘Do what!' Lenny exclaimed. ‘For a moment I thought you said you wanted someone dead.'

Maude turned from the window. ‘That is exactly what I want you to do, and I will pay you well for it.'

‘Jesus, you're a cold one,' Lenny said, surprised at how calm she was. It must be in the blood, he thought.

‘Who do you want topped?' he asked.

‘A woman,' Maude replied. ‘You seem good at that. Her husband will pay a lot of money to rid himself of her,' Maude continued, lying. She had yet to convince George to give her a large enough sum of money to pay for the death of his wife – unwittingly, of course.

‘Who's the husband?' Lenny asked, curious now.

‘I can't tell you that until you agree to do the job, can I,' Maude said.

Lenny shrugged, took another swig of whisky and burped. ‘It'll cost you a heap,' he replied. ‘But I'll do it.'

Maude sat down next to him on the bed once again. ‘You must swear on your life that you will never tell anyone of our deal,' she said, running her hand up the inside of his trouser leg, causing Lenny to stiffen in surprise.

‘I swear,' he said. ‘Who do you want me to do in?'

‘George Macintosh's missus,' Maude said and Lenny looked at her in shock.

‘What on earth do you plan to get out of this?' he asked.

‘Everything she has,' Maude answered with an enigmatic smile. ‘And more.'

‘Bloody hell, Maude,' Lenny said. ‘This will cost you an arm and a leg.'

‘I can give you more than that, Lenny. I can give you my whole body if you promise to do the job,' Maude purred.

Lenny could feel her hand tightening on the inside of his thigh. Her invitation had the thrill of the forbidden, and the Sydney criminal had never really lived by conventional morality. He reached for Maude and pulled her down onto the bed, forgetting the rest of the whisky. At least here he was safe from Jack Firth for the moment. Killing a toff's wife was a little different to killing a working girl, but he reckoned he was up for it.

In a hotel not far from the courthouse two men sat in a corner of the bar drinking quietly.

‘Who did the beating you got?' Sean asked as Harry brought over another couple of frothy ales to their table.

‘The screws,' Harry said. ‘They had orders from Firth to do me over.'

‘The bastard.' Sean took a swig of his beer. ‘One day he'll get his.'

‘Not much more the screws could do to mess up my handsome looks,' Harry said lightly. ‘Being inside, though, you get to hear things.'

‘You shouldn't have been there in the first place,' Sean replied, gazing around at the almost empty bar. The lunchtime rush was over and most of the pub's clients had returned to work.

‘Well, put it down to experience,' Harry said, drinking his ale with obvious relish. ‘Besides, my missus felt so sorry for you she gave me a leave pass to get pissed and fall over on the front doorstep this evening.'

Sean smiled. He knew that Harry's wife had once been an active member of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union, and the pressure they brought to bear with politicians had seen the introduction of six o'clock closing of hotel bars. He knew that around five o'clock this bar would be packed and towards 6 o'clock closing time the swill would start as men drank as much as they could before the doors closed and they were forced out onto the street. In some ways the decision had given Sean's law firm extra business as sly grog shops opened up to cater to desperate men seeking alcohol and police nabbed the owners to bring them before the courts.

‘I heard on the prison grapevine that Lenny wouldn't be turning up to give evidence,' Harry said. ‘Word is he's more scared of me than of Firth.'

‘I don't blame him,' Sean grinned, raising his glass in a salute. ‘Did you hear anything else of worth?'

Harry thought for a moment before speaking. ‘A bloke inside I did a favour for said that Lenny was going to hide out at his half-sister's place in the city. The funny part about that is Lenny's half-sister is none other than Maude Urqhart, George Macintosh's mistress. He keeps her in one of his houses in the inner city. I knew her when she was working on the streets. She must be about sixteen now, so it seems Mr Macintosh likes his women young.'

At the mention of George Macintosh's young mistress Sean experienced a strange feeling of satisfaction. It confirmed to him that Louise was being neglected by the man who had married her. Louise had been much in his thoughts since the meeting at the ball.

The two men continued drinking until the first of the workers spilled into the bar and they left to avoid the crush. Harry and Sean had to help each other along the street as they were both worse the wear for beer.

Harry could not help but think that it had been like this on the battlefields of France and Belgium – the more able-bodied helping the wounded back from the trenches. And it did not escape Harry's thoughts that they were far from out of danger even now they were back in civvie street. It started to rain, but at least there was no artillery shelling to follow the two men back to their homes.

*

George Macintosh was a worried man as he sat in his office, gazing out at the buildings adjacent to the company's headquarters. His bookkeeper had just left after discussing irregular entries in the company books. These concerned a bank draft for a considerable amount of money transferred from a Swedish bank account to the Sydney account. The transfer was not supposed to have happened yet, and besides being worried, George was angry. Maybe there had been a misreading of the codes he used in dealing with his German industrial partners who were producing the chlorine and sulphuric acid for the deadly mustard gas used on the Western Front against the Allies. But the stupid bookkeeper had taken it upon himself to query the transfer of funds with telegrams to Sweden, before raising the matter with George, and the bank had responded with a clear message that the profit was his share in German chemicals.

A shocked bookkeeper had produced the telegram to George and it now lay on his desk. At least the bookkeeper had not mentioned the matter to anyone else yet. George had explained that there must have been some kind of mix-up in communications and that he would sort it out immediately; then, without much subtlety, he'd mentioned that he would increase his bookkeeper's salary to thank him for his discretion as such a telegram could easily be misconstrued. What he'd seen in the man's eyes did not reassure George that the bookkeeper would keep his mouth shut. George was beginning to regret investing in the German chemical company. Originally he had done so because he had faith in German scientists to develop profitable pharmaceuticals for the future. That his hefty investment was producing the deadly gases used in the war was not an outcome he had foreseen, and although it did not concern him from an ethical or moral point of view, he certainly did not want anyone to know about it.