By Peter Corris
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Additional resources for Follow the Money
She shook my hand and kept hold of it just long enough to make me feel as if I was being drawn inside. ‘Come in, Mr Hardy. I’ve heard of you, of course. ’ She conducted me down a wide hallway past several doors on either side to a sitting room with a view out to a large garden and a swimming pool. The pool had a cover over it. Tall trees around the perimeter made the area totally private. There was a children’s swing near the end of the yard and what looked like a cubby house in a tree. She waved to a chair.
This kind of thing had happened quite a few times since I’d lost my licence. I suppose the cops couldn’t be blamed. There were always rogues in the profession; I wasn’t the worst but, as Caulfield said, I had a habit of getting under police skins. For tough guys, police skins are thin. I was upstairs at the computer, working through Sabatini’s articles, when he rang. ‘You didn’t put all your cards on the table,’ he said. ’ ‘I saw the news. ’ ‘I’m not sure I buy that, but it’s blown now. ’ ‘Let’s say you’re right.
Let’s say you’re right. ’ ‘I’m not sure I can trust you. ’ I laughed. ‘Nice one. Aren’t we all? OK, well I’ll give you something that might interest you. Two cops came to see me when I got home. Like you, they’d seen the news coverage and they warned me off. ’ There was a long pause and I thought I knew what was going through his head. I’d discussed this sort of thing with Lily a few times. Names, information, connections are the lifeblood of investigative journalism and private investigation alike.