‘Emails can be a bit cold,’ I said. ‘I wanted to talk to you and answer any questions. And see how you’re holding up.’
‘Thank you, Cliff. It’s funny, it’s all so far away but just hearing you makes it seem a lot closer.’
‘Is that better or worse?’
‘I’m not sure. You say the police and the lawyer are the next people to approach. What about Dad’s employer?’
‘I think we need to know as much as we can about the circumstances before tackling them. Our initial approaches, like yours, haven’t got anywhere.’
‘I was so sorry to hear about Mr Dart. I know how fond Dad was of him.’
‘Like brothers, his wife said.’
‘What do you make of her?’
I realised that I hadn’t formed a clear opinion. ‘I suppose you’d say she was vibrant, also sad and angry. She wants to hire us to look into her husband’s death. . which she’s sure was murder. She could be right.’
‘Would that be a conflict of interest?’
No way to dodge the question. ‘Not if the two matters are related.’
‘You think my father’s dead, too, don’t you?’
‘Margaret, I think the best hope is that he found he was in danger of some serious kind and has gone into hiding.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Dad.’
I thought, but didn’t say: Or that someone is holding him to force him to do something.
She picked up on the pause. ‘God, I know it looks bad, but I’m still hoping.’
‘It’s all speculation. I’ll tackle the lawyer. Hank will give you his email address and you should alert him to what we’re doing. Depending on how that works out, we’ll gee up the police and the media to get busy.’
‘This is all going to cost a lot of money. I can raise-’
‘You’re not to worry about that. I can cover the cost for now and we can sort things out later, depending on the results.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘For selfish reasons, mainly.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘I’ll explain another time. Meanwhile, please just do what you’ve been doing-authorising things and people- it’s all you can do for now. Oh, I’ll get Hank to scan this drawing of your father’s I mentioned and send it. See if it means anything to you. How’s the weather?’
‘Like always. Thank you, Cliff.’
I rang off. She was a smart woman and the explanation for why I was putting in the time and the kilometres wouldn’t have been hard for her to grasp-I was grateful to her for providing me with a chance to do the sort of thing I’d done for more than twenty years. It was work I enjoyed, mostly, and which I’d done well, mostly. I hadn’t come up with any ideas on how to occupy myself for the rest of my life, which, according to the medicos, was a good long stretch if I looked after myself. Certain avenues were blocked and others-golf, monitoring my investments, hobby farming-didn’t appeal. For now, I didn’t have to think about it. Selfish, as I said, and not something you want to parade with a loved, missing father at the centre of things.
I emailed the bits and pieces of information I’d collected so far to Hank.
Horace Greenacre had an office, or rather a suite of offices, in Double Bay, above the boutiques and bijou shops of various kinds. It was accessed through a heavy glass door at street level with his name etched on it and a deep-carpeted staircase. Over the years I’d had a few clients in the suburb and, despite their money and/or their pretensions, their problems turned out to be much the same as people’s everywhere-deceit, greed, love, hate. But solicitors there are more specialised than those in less affluent areas. They tend to deal in family trusts, quiet transfers of assets and the briefing of QCs when their clients get into trouble-which they do.
Viv Garner had smoothed my path, so I was ushered into Greenacre’s office by his secretary with more deference than I’d encountered in lawyers’ precincts in the past. Strangely, being an ‘associate’ of a licensed PEA and a client and friend of another member of the legal profession earned me more respect than being a private detective myself.
Greenacre was in his fifties, impeccably groomed and suited with a trim figure that suggested gym membership and diet tonic with his gin. Although Viv must have told him about my being drummed out of the profession, Greenacre didn’t let on. He got up from behind his desk to greet me a few steps inside the door and shook my hand.
‘Mr Hardy, I’m very glad to meet you. I’ve been worried about Henry for some time. Can’t reach him. Come in, come in and let’s talk. Viv Garner has a very high regard for you and of course I’ll help in any way I can. Have a seat.’
He went behind his desk but slid his chair partly out so that it wasn’t a complete barrier between us as I took a chair off to one side.
‘Mr Greenacre, I’ll be blunt-’
‘Horace.’
An old trick, always works-interrupt the flow, allow a second to size a person up. ‘Horace, are you telling me you’ve had no communication from Henry McKinley for nearly two months and have no idea where he is?’
Greenacre wasn’t fazed, or not much. He picked up a sheet from his desk, looked it over and put it down. ‘I resent the implication but I appreciate the need to ask the question. The answer is no.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve had a communication from Margaret McKinley, several in fact. Again, singing your praises. She asks, authorises you might say, me to answer any questions you might have. I’m prepared to do that, up to a point. Fire away.’
‘In his last meeting with you, whenever that was, did McKinley express any concerns, doubts about the work he was doing, worry about his personal safety?’
‘No.’
‘Were you involved in the contractual arrangements he made with Tarelton Explorations?’
‘Henry showed me the contract. The remuneration was handsome and the undertakings the company made to provide research facilities and staff seemed generous. I thought some of the restrictions were severe-limitations on what could be published and a long period after the expiry of the contract whereby Henry couldn’t do much of anything at all. The sort of thing leftists want to impose on former government ministers and the like, but Henry said he was happy with the arrangements and I saw no reason to advise him otherwise.’
‘The contract was to run for. .?’
‘Five years.’
‘That seems a long time.’
Greenacre shrugged. ‘They evidently valued his contribution.’
‘Do you know anything about what that might have been?’
‘No. The details of Henry’s professional work are way beyond me.’
‘Me too. Last question. McKinley’s will. Any strange bequests? Anything surprising?’
Now he displayed some professional caution. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘The man’s disappeared. There are signs of some sort of. . disturbance in his affairs. Let’s face it, he could be dead. I need to know if his will reflects anything unusual in his past, especially the recent past.’
‘I thought you’d ask that and I checked the will. This is tricky. I certainly can’t go into details while Henry’s whereabouts are unknown.’
‘I’m not asking for details.’
He took up another sheet of paper. ‘Printout of Ms McKinley’s email,’ he said as he reread it. ‘Just making sure I understand her instructions precisely.’
I wondered what she’d written, not that I was ever likely to know. This man played strictly by the book. He put the sheet down and shook his head.
‘There’s nothing unusual in the will. Just exactly what you’d expect.’
‘I assume Dr McKinley had investments?’
‘Substantial.’
‘Who handles his financial affairs?’
He shook his head. ‘Before answering that I’d need further instruction.’
I thanked him and left Hank’s card asking him to get in touch if any information came his way. Horace didn’t like me one little bit, but he wanted to keep Margaret McKinley as a client in the hope of doing business with her. To that end he was prepared to be polite to me. Just.