The Washington Club Read Online Free Page A

glass—Harvey Henderson, better known to the police and his few friends as ‘Haitch’ Henderson because of the alliteration and because he spent some formative years in Pentridge Gaol’s notorious H Division.
    Henderson didn’t look like a tough guy. He was short and stocky with a moon face and long soft brown hair. But the hair hid a half-bitten-off ear and other scars and I’d heard it said he didn’t have an original tooth in his head. He’d lost many of them in fights and bashings and ‘Corky’ Ryan had removed the rest with a pair of pliers when he was trying to get Haitch to tell him something Haitch didn’t know. Corky wasn’t around anymore.
    Henderson had served time for extortion, armed robbery and attempted murder in Victoria, Queensland and New South Wales. I’d runup against him years before when I’d been hired by a man who operated a dealership specialising in high-price imported cars and who’d been receiving extortion demands and threats to damage his stock. Henderson was behind it and I’d sent one of his minions to hospital. As it happened, Henderson was put away for something else and my client was satisfied. It was a few years back now and I couldn’t believe Haitch had a personal vendetta against me. That matter had been just one of his many sidelines that didn’t pan out. I thought hard, drank some whisky and couldn’t come up with any other connections between me and Henderson. He did anything and everything, from bodyguarding to body-damaging and body-disposal, standover, blackmail, you name it. His presence
had
to have something to do with the Fleischman case.
    I grabbed the phone, called Cy at home and got his fifteen-year-old daughter. Dad and Mum were at a Law Society dinner. Yes, she’d leave a message for Dad to ring me as soon as he got in, whatever the time. I made another drink, located Claudia’s card in the stuff I’d emptied from my pockets, and called her.
    â€˜Claudia, it’s Cliff Hardy. I have to ask you a question. Does the name Harvey Henderson mean anything to you?’
    It would have been better done in person, but I’d got the lead-in about right. Time for herto tense up if that’s what was to happen. I tried to imagine her standing against the big picture window with a couple of million dollars worth of harbour and city view behind her. I had her in the same clothes. All crazy—she could be in the kitchen in an apron cooking spaghetti. I held the receiver close, listened hard. Was there a pause, an intake of breath? I thought so, then I wasn’t sure. The voice, was it a tone or two higher, or was it the phone connection or my imagination?
    â€˜No. I don’t believe I know the name. Who is he?’
    I thought fast. She wasn’t the kind of woman you thought about protecting. She’d stood up to a lot so far and could probably stand some more.
    â€˜He’s a criminal. A hard case. He was watching your flat this afternoon. He drove off when he saw me.’
    â€˜My god. Why?’
    â€˜I don’t know. When you go out, what’s the procedure?’
    â€˜How do you mean, the procedure?’
    â€˜Do you walk down to the ferry or catch a cab in the street? Do you ring for cabs? Is there someone who picks you up?’
    â€˜All those things. Why? What are you saying?’
    â€˜I’m worried about Henderson being involved in this. I’ll arrange for someone to keep an eye on you, but it’s too hard to do round the clock. I want you to ring for a cabwhen you go out, get the number, direct it to the main gate and wait until you’re sure the cab that pulls up is the right one. Will you do that, please?’
    â€˜They’ll think I’m mad.’
    â€˜No, not in Kirribilli. They’ll just think you’re rich.’
    I regretted the words as soon as they were out. I got the deep freeze.
    â€˜This is ridiculous. No, I