‘Is this him?’
Swann showed the photo of Bernier to the squat, muscled man with a shark tattoo across his bare chest; teeth to tail, shoulder to shoulder. He was a scallop-trawler fisherman from Carnarvon on two weeks leave, renting a room at the Seaview. His shoulders were tanned and his face was burned. His long brown hair was sun-bleached at its tips.
‘Yeah, that’s him. No doubt. I ran into him comin out of the dunny. Not used to lockin it. He called me sir. Never been called sir before.’
‘What time was that?’
This was more difficult for the fisherman. He was down for a spree. Swann could see the heroin in his eyes, hear it in the flatness of his drawl. He stank of mildewed sheets and stale bourbon.
‘Dunno mate. Reckon it was well after midnight. Early hours. He was all dressed up. Smelt like a flower shop. Had one of them negro combs stickin in his hair. Was brushin it while he walked into the dunny. Last time I saw him.’
‘The fight yesterday, that brought the coppers. Were you here when it happened?’
‘Sure I was. I’m in town, I don’t leave this place. Got everythin I need right here. I keep to meself though. Heard the crunch of some blokes goin at it, bashin into the walls while they wrestled. Just cracked the door to take a look. Fists, kicks, one of ’em nearly went over the balcony.’
Swann looked over the balcony to the concrete apron that fed onto the carpark. That would be a lethal fall.
‘You sure neither of them were American? There was another white sailor here. He left a fake name with the manager.’
‘Everybody does that. It ain’t a crime, is it?’
Swann pursed his lips. ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘But they were locals. The swearin, you see.’
‘Did you get the feeling they knew each other?’
‘I got the feeling they wanted to kill each other. Couldn’t tell you anything else. The guy who got the better of the other bloke. Choked him out. He cleared off in his white Holden ute. An HZ it was. Burning oil. Slow to start and blowin black exhaust. Rings must be goin.’
Swann knew already that the injured man had been interviewed by the detectives, before being taken to Fremantle emergency with head wounds and concussion. Swann would get to him later.
‘You didn’t see a bloke up here, round the same time? He was shorter than you. Looked like a miner or fisherman. Red hair and a ginger beard. Handy-looking.’
‘That sounds like the fella made off in the HZ.’
‘He ever come back? You ever see him after that?’
‘Nope.’
‘Last question. I know that the door at the bottom of the balcony stairs, sometimes it’s left unlocked. Means that anyone can come up here, without being seen in the bar. Do you know if it was unlocked the night before the fight took place? The night the sailors were staying?’
The fisherman scratched his hairy belly, wouldn’t meet Swann’s eye. ‘Might’ve been. Sometimes, people come up here … I dunno.’
People like the fisherman’s dealer.
‘I can’t remember. Been a bit of a blur, mate, this past week. Got one more week left, before I head north again.’
Swann shook the man’s hand, could feel callouses formed by hauling rope, thanked him and moved to the next door, knocked twice.
Swann’s wife, Marion, and his eldest daughter, Louise, were seated on the front porch, drinking beer from tall glasses. Louise’s partner, Karen, and another young woman Swann didn’t know, drank glasses of iced water. Swann leaned over and kissed the crown of Marion’s head. Louise stood and Swann squeezed her in a hug. She smelt of cigarettes and cocoa butter. He stood back and took her in, a couple of weeks since she’d last come to dinner. She wore cut-off denim shorts and a tank top, thongs on her feet. Her black hair was cut short, just like she wore it as a girl. Spray of freckles on her nose. Clever, mischievous blue eyes. Louise worked in the public service as a lawyer, the first in either Swann or Marion’s family to go to university.
‘You remember Karen?’ Louise asked.
‘Sure I do,’ Swann said, smiling. ‘Good to see you again.’
Karen nodded and smiled, but didn’t meet his eyes. Swann hadn’t made up his mind about Karen. Louise loved her, but she was older, much older, and she rarely smiled. On the few occasions she came to dinner, her eyes constantly wandered around the house, always seemed to be making judgements, didn’t appear to like what she saw. She worked part-time as an academic and as a staffer for a state MP. Swann knew that Louise’s instincts were good. He supposed that his reservations were the normal ones due to a father wanting to see his children happy.
‘Dad, this is Maddie. She works for the Daily News. The reason we’re here. And also, because Mum told us you have something good to tell us?’
Swann gave Maddie a small wave. He sat on the arm of Marion’s chair. He told them about the diagnosis made on the Carl Vinson, the likelihood of a cure. Karen knew the story of how he’d sustained the shooting injuries, and he assumed that Maddie did too. ‘Should be able to start on the medication soon, all things being well. Can I get you another beer, more water?’
Louise and the two women shook their heads. Swann was waiting for it, was ready when it came. After all, Karen had looked disgusted when he’d mentioned the Vinson, and Maddie was a journo.
‘Dad. You and Mum don’t need the money. But you’ve got your notebook in your pocket. You’re still sick.’
Swann tried not to feel defensive. One thing about his family, whenever Marion or Louise challenged him, it was always with his best interests at heart. ‘That’s something me and your mother will talk about. No offence to Karen and Maddie.’
Marion squeezed his hand, a suggestion to continue. ‘It’s only temporary. And I’m just a liaison. Just legwork. I promise.’
‘Dad, Maddie’s been working on a story. The story about the murdered prostitute –’
‘Her name was Francine.’
Maddie took out her own notebook, held it up. Swann nodded.
‘Do you have a surname for her?’ Louise asked.
‘McGregor. MC, with no a.’
‘Maddie’s also writing about the sexual assaults, last time a US Navy ship was in port.’
‘That wasn’t the Vinson, or so I’ve been told.’
Now Maddie spoke up. She had a good voice for the trade – deep and clear. ‘Mr Swann. Can you confirm that … Francine, was in the company of a US sailor, before she was murdered?’
‘You know that already.’
‘But can you confirm it? For the record.’
Swann looked to Louise, who looked right back at him. ‘No, not for the record. Sorry.’
Karen cleared her throat. ‘Because you’re working for the Americans?’
Swann ignored the contempt in her voice, caught the brief look of hurt in Louise’s eyes. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I am. We’re trying to locate an AWOL sailor, who might have nothing to do with Francine’s murder. If he does, he’s going to cop it, I promise you that.’
Maddie leaned forward, tried to restore the ease lost by Karen’s comment. ‘Thanks, Mr Swann. Sorry for the questions. I’m getting nothing from the US media advisor. But I think it’s in the public interest, if you know what I mean.’
Swann nodded, because it was true. Louise stood and embraced him, whispered in his ear. ‘Sorry, Dad, but it’s important.’
Swann looked into his daughter’s eyes. ‘Yeah, it is,’ he said quietly, looking to Maddie. ‘You’ll get more details from Kerry Bannister around the corner. That’s where Francine worked. Tell her I sent you.’
Maddie smiled at Swann and Louise, put away her notebook.