Follow the Money

'I want to talk to her and I want you to pave the way.'

Standish evidently thought it time for him to play a part. 'Why, Hardy?'

'Boats,' I said. 'Boats have a lot to do with all this somehow. I phoned Mrs Nordlung, she told me where her husband was and within an hour he was dead. It looked as though Houli's enforcer Yusef Talat killed him, perhaps scared him to death. Houli's technique seems to be to get people to alert him to what's going on. I want to know if there's a connection between Gretchen Nordlung and Houli, or with Freddy Wong for that matter.'

'I didn't know you had a sister,' Standish said. 'I gather you're not close? You didn't go to Stefan's funeral. He was your brother-in-law.'

May Ling flared, 'Neither did you and he was your client.' She picked up her glass and had another sip. 'I try not to be close, but it's hard in our community to cut yourself off. And she clings, when she needs to, and that can be at any time.'

'Can you arrange to meet her?' I said.

'With you along?'

'Absolutely.'

Standish swilled the dregs of his drink in his glass. He wanted another but he didn't want May Ling to see his need and he didn't want me to see his dependence on her. A tough choice. He reached for the bottle and topped himself up.

'Jesus, Hardy,' he said. 'If… Gretchen is under Houli or Freddy's control they're likely to turn up at this meeting.'

I nodded. 'That'd be interesting, wouldn't it?'

May Ling looked worried, a frown line disturbing the satin-smooth brow. 'What game are you playing?'

'The only one I know,' I said. 'Push the buttons and see what pops.'

17

The venue for the meeting, at lunch the following day, was a cafe at Circular Quay. Fine by me; plenty of people about and I like to see the ferries at work. A bit of didgeridoo goes down well, too. It wasn't quite May Ling's kind of place though, a touch too much of the common people, and she struck me as an indoors woman, the place where she did her best work. That complexion hadn't been subjected much to sun, wind and rain. A bit of a threat on this day. The winter sun was strong and she had mounted massive protection-a broad brimmed hat and sunglasses that seemed to cover most of her face.

She'd dressed down for the occasion in trousers, medium heels and a sweater and I wondered what this meant about her relationship with her sister. The scarf and gloves she wore added a touch of elegance, but she clearly wasn't trying to outshine another woman.

I watched her approach, cleaving through the tourists and lunchtimers, expecting them to part, which they mostly did.

'Mr Hardy,' she said as she deposited her bag on the table and took off her gloves.

'Ms Ling,' I said. 'Sydney at its best.'

'Which puts it way behind a lot of other places.'

'You think so? I don't agree.'

'You wouldn't. I hope you're ready for… Gretchen. She devours men.'

'Why here? She lives in Seaforth.'

'So she's a bit out of her comfort zone. Gretchen'll find this very tacky…'

'She'll have trouble parking her Beemer or Porsche or whatever.'

'Taxi. She's lost her licence at least twice. She's a maniac driver.'

Unlike you, I thought. 'Devours men, you say-is that why you never told Miles about her?'

She ignored that and glanced around for a waiter. 'I'm betting the service here is sub-standard.'

'I've got a carafe of the house white coming. What was her name before she changed it?'

'I forget. Why don't you ask her if you want to get off on the wrong foot. Here she comes.'

I could see why May Ling hadn't chosen to compete with her sister. There was no chance of winning. The photograph in the magazine hadn't done her any justice. There was no other way to describe her but as exquisitely beautiful. I caught an amused look on May Ling's face as I got to my feet. For her, I'd only made a sketchily polite gesture. This woman could pull the strings.

'Why, May, honey, how nice to see you in such rugged and polite company.'

'Cliff Hardy,' May Ling said, 'this is Gretchen Nordlung. Gretchen spent a little time in San Francisco and she likes to let it show.'

Gretchen smiled at me, showing perfect teeth, perfect eyes, perfect lips. The effect was overwhelming and, strangely, almost comic. 'Bitch,' she said. 'Where's your fancy lawyer, and who's this thug? I'll give you ten minutes.'

Like May Ling, as well as the fragile beauty there was a tough side to her. Thug might be the only way to play it, I thought. I remembered the loose, almost sloppy style of her speech on the phone. Nothing like that now. 'I rang you wanting to speak to your husband. You told me where he was. When I got to the marina they were fishing him out of the water.'

'Did you? I've forgotten.'

'I wanted to ask him about his sighting of Richard Malouf. I particularly wanted to know where and when that might have been. Do you know anything about it?'

The carafe of wine arrived and I poured a glass.

'I'm not going to drink that piss,' Gretchen said. 'What's all this about?'

'Just answer the question, Sunny,' May Ling said.

Gretchen tensed, her eyes narrowed and suddenly she looked more dangerous than beautiful. 'Don't you call me that!'

'Sorry,' May Ling said. 'I'd forgotten about that chink in your armour.'

The two women glared at each other. A ferry hooted, a waiter hovered nearby, the Aboriginal band tuned up, but they were oblivious to everything except their mutual hostility. I shook my head at the waiter and leaned forward.

'Did your husband tell you he'd seen Richard Malouf?'

'Yes. Yes, but he must have been wrong. Richard's dead.' She picked up the bag she'd put on the floor. 'Is that all?'

'Saw him where?'

'Somewhere on the fucking harbour.'

She'd spoken more loudly than she'd intended, and a couple of heads turned towards us.

'I think your husband was right and Richard Malouf is still alive.'

I don't know what reaction I'd expected but it wasn't the one I got. Her face, a mask of anger and disdain, was suddenly transformed into a picture of confusion and distress. She fumbled in her bag.

'You can't smoke here,' May Ling said.

That left Gretchen reaching for the glass of wine I'd poured. She drank some and spilled some on her dress. 'What… what do you mean he's alive?'

It was no time for pussyfooting. 'His wife has admitted that she made a false identification. Under pressure.'

'My God!' Her voice was a whisper; she sat back in her chair and stared out over the quay. She gripped the glass in both hands. A number of rings on her fingers, but no wedding ring.

May Ling struck like a cobra. 'He was your lover, eh, Sunny? Just another one in a long, long line. He came on to me, too. He was slipping it to every willing woman in sight.'

Gretchen didn't respond to her use of the name. In fact, she didn't appear to have heard what her sister said. She drank a little wine, retched, and for a minute it looked as if she'd vomit, but she collected herself. 'I was in love with him,' she said. 'I loved him so much and he promised me we would…'

Her head fell forward and she fainted, sliding down in her chair. May Ling was lightning fast and strong. She grabbed Gretchen's arm and supported her before moving to get a better grip. People around, already interested, murmured their concern but May Ling quelled them with a fierce stare.

'She'll be all right,' she said. 'She's a diabetic and the silly bitch doesn't eat enough. Her sugar's always low and a shock can trigger a hypo. Pour some sugar into that wine.'

I poured three sachets of sugar into the half-glass of wine and May Ling forced her sister, coming out of the hypoglycaemic faint, to drink it. A good deal of the liquid spilled on her clothes, but enough went down to bring her around. Her face was damp with sweat and there were wet patches showing under her armpits and spreading. I'd faced the same situation and done the same things for my diabetic mother many times when I was young and was always surprised at how quickly it worked. Gretchen's eyes opened and came back into focus.