When he
went in from the front he aimed for the carotid artery. A tough sheath of
muscles protects it, and thats why the thrust has to be strong. He finished
with a wriggle to sever the artery, removed the blade, and watched Pedersen
slide, twitching, to the floor. It was quick and clean, one of the many things
that separated Letterman from the amateurs.
He photographed the body, let
himself out and drove back across the city to his motel in St Kilda. On the way
he thought about the nature of luck in his profession. Although his leads had
amounted to nothing, he believed that it was important that hed followed them.
It could mean good luck would come his way. He might hear something about Wyatt
when he least expected it.
That was why he wasnt surprised to
find a While You Were Out message under his door. It told him to expect a
phone call. The caller would ring every hour until midnight, and again the next
day, starting at seven in the morning. Letterman looked at his watch just as
the phone rang. Eleven pm. The voice on the other end said he knew where Wyatt
was.
* * * *
FIFTEEN
The
fountain near the Gertrude Street lights, the caller had said, and Letterman was
now watching it from behind a tree. He was in the southern area of the parkland
attached to the Exhibition Building, on the citys edge. The time was five
minutes to midnight. The caller said twelve-thirty, but Letterman was staking
the place out first, looking for anyone who didnt belong there. A tramp was
sleeping on a bench near the duck pond and another was under an elm, swigging
from a bottle in a paper bag, but otherwise the area was deserted. Now and then
kids and lovers walked through the park, pausing to watch the splashing water
before moving on again.
Lights were strung around the
Exhibition Building, and if he half-closed his eyes Letterman could see its
shape picked out in pinpricks of light. A Japanese tour party had been in the
park when he arrived, taking flash photographs of the possums. They were gone
now. A pathetic-looking student wearing an old coat had passed by him twice a
few minutes ago, but Letterman had growled, Got a problem, pal?, scaring him
away.
At twelve-thirty a man approached
the fountain and stood with his back to it. Although the light was poor,
Letterman could see him clearly enough to know that this was his man. Ill be
wearing white overalls, the voice on the phone had said. Letterman saw a
stocky man, standing confident and alert, the light making his long hair glow.
There appeared to be rings on the mans fingers and chunky sneakers on his
feet.
Letterman remained where he was.
This was a good place for a meetingthe noise of the fountain would provide
some cover if the informant was carrying a wire, there were plenty of exits and
places to hide, and it was dark. But he knew that darkness was no protection
against fancy cameras and telescopic sights. He wore a rudimentary disguisethe
horn-rims, his hat brim low, his collar turned upbut knew that wouldnt stop a
bullet in the back. There were plenty of people whod want to give him one. Yet
the set-up looked okay.
He stepped out from the tree. The
contact had devised a stupid recognition signal, but he went along with it. Excuse
me, Im looking for the hospital.
The contact jerked his head around,
recovered, and pointed toward a building opposite the city corner of the park. Over
there.
Letterman left the shadows
completely and joined the man at the fountain. He said softly, What do I call
you?
Snyder will do. Youre Letterman?
Letterman nodded. What have you got
for me?
Not so fast, Snyder said. He sat
down on the lawn near the base of the fountain and rested his forearms on his
knees. Lets talk this over.
Letterman looked down at the bushy
head for a few seconds, then sat with Snyder. Theres nothing to talk over.
You tell me where to find Wyatt and I pay you twenty grand.
Its not that simple. How do I know
youre good for it? Thats the first thing.
went in from the front he aimed for the carotid artery. A tough sheath of
muscles protects it, and thats why the thrust has to be strong. He finished
with a wriggle to sever the artery, removed the blade, and watched Pedersen
slide, twitching, to the floor. It was quick and clean, one of the many things
that separated Letterman from the amateurs.
He photographed the body, let
himself out and drove back across the city to his motel in St Kilda. On the way
he thought about the nature of luck in his profession. Although his leads had
amounted to nothing, he believed that it was important that hed followed them.
It could mean good luck would come his way. He might hear something about Wyatt
when he least expected it.
That was why he wasnt surprised to
find a While You Were Out message under his door. It told him to expect a
phone call. The caller would ring every hour until midnight, and again the next
day, starting at seven in the morning. Letterman looked at his watch just as
the phone rang. Eleven pm. The voice on the other end said he knew where Wyatt
was.
* * * *
FIFTEEN
The
fountain near the Gertrude Street lights, the caller had said, and Letterman was
now watching it from behind a tree. He was in the southern area of the parkland
attached to the Exhibition Building, on the citys edge. The time was five
minutes to midnight. The caller said twelve-thirty, but Letterman was staking
the place out first, looking for anyone who didnt belong there. A tramp was
sleeping on a bench near the duck pond and another was under an elm, swigging
from a bottle in a paper bag, but otherwise the area was deserted. Now and then
kids and lovers walked through the park, pausing to watch the splashing water
before moving on again.
Lights were strung around the
Exhibition Building, and if he half-closed his eyes Letterman could see its
shape picked out in pinpricks of light. A Japanese tour party had been in the
park when he arrived, taking flash photographs of the possums. They were gone
now. A pathetic-looking student wearing an old coat had passed by him twice a
few minutes ago, but Letterman had growled, Got a problem, pal?, scaring him
away.
At twelve-thirty a man approached
the fountain and stood with his back to it. Although the light was poor,
Letterman could see him clearly enough to know that this was his man. Ill be
wearing white overalls, the voice on the phone had said. Letterman saw a
stocky man, standing confident and alert, the light making his long hair glow.
There appeared to be rings on the mans fingers and chunky sneakers on his
feet.
Letterman remained where he was.
This was a good place for a meetingthe noise of the fountain would provide
some cover if the informant was carrying a wire, there were plenty of exits and
places to hide, and it was dark. But he knew that darkness was no protection
against fancy cameras and telescopic sights. He wore a rudimentary disguisethe
horn-rims, his hat brim low, his collar turned upbut knew that wouldnt stop a
bullet in the back. There were plenty of people whod want to give him one. Yet
the set-up looked okay.
He stepped out from the tree. The
contact had devised a stupid recognition signal, but he went along with it. Excuse
me, Im looking for the hospital.
The contact jerked his head around,
recovered, and pointed toward a building opposite the city corner of the park. Over
there.
Letterman left the shadows
completely and joined the man at the fountain. He said softly, What do I call
you?
Snyder will do. Youre Letterman?
Letterman nodded. What have you got
for me?
Not so fast, Snyder said. He sat
down on the lawn near the base of the fountain and rested his forearms on his
knees. Lets talk this over.
Letterman looked down at the bushy
head for a few seconds, then sat with Snyder. Theres nothing to talk over.
You tell me where to find Wyatt and I pay you twenty grand.
Its not that simple. How do I know
youre good for it? Thats the first thing.
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