Ashley Guy was sitting behind a big desk studying a printed sheet. He stood when we came in and held out a hand to shake. We shook. He sat down and gestured towards two chairs. The room was spick and span, as if some brain work might go on there, but nothing as mundane as filing or keyboarding or signing things. Guy wore the unbuttoned waistcoat of a three-piece suit with a light blue shirt and dark blue tie. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with his fair hair thinning and his waistline thickening.
‘I can’t give you a lot of time, Mr Bachelor and Mr. .?’
‘Clifford,’ I said.
‘. . Mr Clifford, but I’ll do whatever I can to help in the time available. Of course, we’re very concerned about Henry.’
‘Likewise his daughter, likewise the police pretty soon,’ Hank said. ‘Our enquiries have turned up grounds for more than just concern, but I thought to come to you before bringing in the police with. . all guns blazing, as you might say.’
‘These grounds are. .?’
Hank shrugged. ‘Kind of circumstantial, but it’d help a whole lot if you could tell us precisely what Henry McKinley was working on.’
Guy shook his head. ‘That’s precisely what I cannot do. That information falls under the heading of commercial confidentiality. Every research project here involves us in the outlay of a great deal of money, sometimes for no return. Competition in our field is intense. Perhaps you understand, being in the business you’re in.’
‘Maybe I do,’ Hank said, playing him a little.
Guy hesitated, glancing uncertainly left and right, before taking a slim file from a desk drawer. ‘Anything else-his medical record, qualifications, references, salary, in general terms, contractual provisions, in outline-I’ll be happy to give you.’
‘Healthy, was he?’ Hank said.
‘Very.’
‘Solvent?’
‘Yes.’
‘With time to run on his contract?’
Guy wasn’t stupid. ‘You know this already, don’t you?’
‘That’s confidential,’ Hank said. He nodded to me. I took a folded-up high quality photocopy of McKinley’s drawing and put it on the desk.
‘Someone,’ Hank said, ‘don’t know who just at present but we’re working on it, missed this when he bought up a whole set of McKinley’s drawings. This is a copy, naturally. Mean anything to you, Mr Guy?’
Some say watch the eyes, others watch the mouth; some say look for a frown or hand movements. I know you’d be flat out doing all those things at once and a good liar probably didn’t show anything. Guy looked closely at the drawing, moved it a little, and then shook his head.
‘It appears to be well-executed to my inexpert eye, but I’m afraid I have no idea what it means.’
‘We’re in the same boat,’ Hank said, ‘but it certainly means something because someone paid out quite a few hundred dollars to gather up the ones that went with it.’
Guy shrugged. ‘You’ve got me. Was there anything more?’
Hank stood up and I followed suit. ‘Is there anything more, Mr Clifford?’ he said.
I took the drawing and folded it. ‘I’d say there’s a good deal more, but that’ll do for now.’
Hank executed a courtly half-bow, the way Americans do. ‘Thank you for your time, sir.’
We went out quickly. In the corridor we could see our escort hurrying towards us but Hank held up his hand, shook his head and she stopped.
‘We’re fine. Sure you’ve got better things to do.’
The woman looked nonplussed, but we were on the move and to trot after us wouldn’t be her style. We strolled down the corridor, studying the blueprints as if they meant something to us. When we reached the waiting area for the lifts I touched Hank’s shoulder.
‘Got your mobile?’
‘Sure.’
‘Snap a picture of that bloke there waiting for the up.’
Hank did it with the speed and secrecy I’d known he’d be capable of. We rode the lift to the lobby, handed in our passes, and left the building.
‘Thirsty work,’ I said. ‘Must be a pub around here somewhere.’
We found one in Elizabeth Street and settled down over middies of Old.
‘He wasn’t a personnel man,’ Hank said. ‘Someone higher up.’
I nodded. We’d both noticed the same things: the ‘Ashley Guy’ nameplate had been slid in on top of another but not exactly, so that a centimetre of the previous one still showed, and Guy’s uncertainty about which side of the desk the drawers were on when he reached for the file.
‘Means they’re worried,’ I said.
‘Plus, I never trust a man wearing a three-piece suit.’
Hank took out his mobile and studied the photograph. The man was big, florid, overweight, in an expensive suit and with an expensive haircut. ‘Who is he?’
‘I don’t know, but he’s familiar. It’ll come to me.’
Hank took a long drink and sighed. ‘That’s real beer. Are you cool about me and Megan, Cliff?’
‘You’ve both been around long enough and had enough experience to know what you’re doing. I hope you’re good for each other. I’d say the chances are better than even.’
‘I should’ve known not to expect a straight answer.’
‘There aren’t any straight answers to real questions.’
Back in the Newtown office, Hank plugged the phone into one of his computers and printed out the photograph. He laid the print on his desk and the three of us gathered round to look at it.
‘Likes his lunch and dinner,’ Hank said.
Megan looked at us both. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’
I said, ‘I feel I should, but. .’
‘That’s Hugh Richards,’ she said, ‘shadow minister for minerals and energy in the state parliament.’
‘I’m a bit out of touch,’ I said. ‘How solid’s this state government?’
‘They’re on the nose,’ Megan said. ‘You must have seen the stuff in the papers-law and order, transport, water. .’
‘I thought that was standard state politics-shit on the last lot while they try to shit on you. And nothing gets done except calls and hand-wringing over the things people want to do-like gambling, watching porn, drinking and taking drugs.’
‘Jesus,’ Hank said. ‘That’s fundamental cynicism.’
‘He’s right,’ Megan said, ‘but it looks a bit worse for this government. The word is there’s a high profile child sex abuse case with a drag component coming up and some DUI matters that could be very embarrassing.’
‘How d’you know all this?’ I said.
Hank mimed clattering a keyboard. ‘She reads blogs.’
‘I’ll have to try to find out what that means, exactly,’ I said. ‘What about this Hugh Richards?’
‘The things that’re protecting this government,’ Megan said, ‘are four-year terms and the useless opposition. But Richards is thought to be a possible saviour. I’ll do some work on him.’
7
Hank had arranged a Skype hook-up with Margaret McKinley so that we could all see each other on the computer screens. It was late at night for us, early in the morning for her, but that was fine because she was due to start an early shift. She was in her nurse’s uniform, looking crisp and competent.
‘Hi, guys,’ Margaret said. ‘You’ve been busy. Don’t worry. I know there’s no good news. I’ve adjusted to that.’
She’d had emails from Hank and me. She held the faxed copy of her father’s drawing so we could see it. It had lost some of its definition in the transmission but still had a powerful clarity of line and shading.
‘The original’s better, Margaret,’ I said, ‘and we’re keeping it safe for you. What d’you make of it?’
‘Hello, Cliff. I’ll be glad to have it. I haven’t got a lot of Dad’s stuff. He was a perfectionist and he didn’t keep what he didn’t think was up to scratch. And he sold a bit, so thanks. I’ve looked at it from every which way, and the only thing I can come up with is-a quarry.’
Hank and I looked at each other.
‘That’s a whole lot better than anything we thought of, Ms McKinley,’ Hank said. ‘A quarry. Why not? Facing north, or looking north, or something.’
The admiration in Hank’s voice brought a smile to Margaret’s face, animating it. She was an attractive woman with the attraction usually muted by her concerns and responsibilities. Now it showed through to its best advantage.