Follow the Money

I got her there. She was calm. She took off her shoes and stockings and I gave her a damp towel to clean her feet. The head butt had set up a ringing in my damaged ear. I stripped off my clothes, cleaned the cut with alcohol swabs and applied a dressing. I put on fresh clothes and joined her. Her usually immaculate hair was untidy and there were strain lines beside her eyes and mouth. She was still beautiful, but she'd never quite wear that imperturbable expression again.

I made coffee and we drank it laced with Black Douglas scotch rather than Courvoisier. She sat quietly for a while, nursing her cup. She looked around the room, taking in the books, CDs, photos and general air of careless maintenance. There were magazines and newspapers lying around and a glass and a coffee mug on a bookshelf. The carpet was new but hadn't seen a vacuum cleaner for a while.

When she seemed to be more or less composed, I said, 'Where did they pick you up?'

'At my place. Freddy… he helped me find it and lent me some of the money. I didn't know he had a key. I suppose I should have. What's going to happen now? Were you going to tell Miles about Malouf contacting you?'

I liked that about her, not having the first thought immediately for herself. I said I wasn't sure and that I'd have to think things through again now that Freddy was out of the picture.

'What about Lester?'

'I don't think he amounts to much without Freddy, do you?'

She shook her head. Mention of Freddy raised the inevitable question. 'Are you going to tell the police what happened?'

'I don't see why. Lester's going to cover it up in some way, and as far as I'm concerned it was a kind of self-defence.'

'Thank you. Oh God, what about the knife?'

'It's in the pocket of my jacket. Tomorrow it'll be in the sludge at the bottom of Blackwattle Bay.'

I showed her the spare room and found her a clean T-shirt. She kissed me on the cheek. When beautiful young women kiss you on the cheek you know you're over the hill, but I didn't really feel like that. As Wesley said, I still had some moves.

I took some pills. The pain in my side eased and the ringing in my ear dulled down. I thought about May Ling's knife work as I drifted off to sleep. She didn't owe him money anymore.

24

Standish collected May Ling in the morning. I brought him up to date on the recent events and told him that Freddy Wong had been killed by accident, with no likely repercussions for May Ling or me. She had regained complete control of herself by then, had showered, used my comb and didn't look any the worse for not having any makeup. She'd washed and rinsed her stockings and cleaned her shoes. Looked just about ready to go to work. Standish was all protective solicitude. He was relieved to hear that one of the people threatening him was out of the picture. I wondered what he'd think about his lover if he'd seen the way she'd stuck it to Freddy.

'Thanks again, Hardy. What now?'

'I have to think. As I said, the Wongs were all set to double-cross Houli. I'm going to try to find a way to make use of that.'

'Surely you just go to the police now and tell them Malouf's alive and leave it to them to catch him?'

'Don't you want to know what it's all about?' 'Not really, no.' 'I do,' May Ling said.

That wrong-footed Standish and he buckled straight off. 'Do what you have to do,' he said. He must have thought that sounded limp so he added, 'Do you need any more money?'

I said I didn't. May Ling wanted to visit Gretchen to make sure she was all right. Standish seemed to think that was an excellent idea. I told them to be careful, to keep close to other people and lock the doors.

'I think we might take a short holiday,' Standish said. 'But you have the mobile number in case you need any help.'

'Maybe a harbour cruise,' I said, 'or a houseboat on the Hawkesbury. Keep a lookout for Malouf.' May Ling laughed.

'You've got a sick sense of humour, Hardy,' Standish said. They left. I thought May Ling might give me another peck on the cheek but she didn't.

Sabatini rang. Airport. Want to pick me up?' 'In the bar,' I said.

He was nursing a beer when I arrived. No sign of jet lag. I got a Hahn Lite and we went to a quiet corner. I started to speak but he stopped me, reached into his bag and pulled out a tape recorder.

'Okay?'

I thought about it and decided it wouldn't hurt to have a record of events-things said and speculations made. I gave him chapter and verse while he finished his drink. He stopped the recording while I got two more. As I crossed to the bar I couldn't help thinking about Richard Malouf and his apparent awareness of the movements of some of the players-Standish, May Ling and me. I looked around, but there was no one answering his description, unless he was a master of disguise.

Resuming, I got to where the Wongs had picked up May Ling and me and there I did a bit of editing, much as I had for Standish. But Sabatini was a journalist.

'So who killed him?'

'It was a kind of accident.'

'Bullshit.'

'I was there, you weren't.'

'You don't trust me.'

'Look, the situation is fluid. At some point we're going to have to deal with the police. We'll be trying to hold the best hand we can, exert the most leverage. We don't need to give anyone ammunition, anything they can use to apply… opposite pressure. Shit, I'm talking like a physicist.'

'This tape is my professional property. I'm a working journalist. I don't have to make its contents available to anyone.'

I shook my head. 'That's what the book says, but you know and I know that the right judge in the right court can put you in gaol and the police can paint any picture of you they like with the cooperation of your press colleagues. Ever been busted for pot? Pros? Ever up on a DUI? Go through your accountant's work on your tax with a fine-tooth comb, do you? Make sure every claim is kosher? You know how it works.'

Sabatini turned off the recorder. 'Tell me off the record.'

I finished my beer: two lights in an hour. Probably all right to drive, but best to wait a while.

I said, 'When it's over. Maybe. But don't worry, you'll get your story.'

He had to be content with that and we got down to planning how to draw Richard Malouf out into the open and what to do after that.

'Why not tell the police that he's still alive, wait for his call and get them to trace it?'

'No,' I said, 'from what I've been told about him and from what he said himself, he'd take very good precautions against that.'

'Then do as he says, broker a deal with the police.'

'They wouldn't be in it. That's one of things worrying me. He's not playing the game he says he is. He can't really imagine the police would let him go, even if the business he's involved in is huge and he's in the clear on the two deaths.'

'Why not?'

'Too hard to cover up. Too many favours to call in at too high a level. No, we need to get hold of him ourselves and dictate the terms.'

'How?'

'How d'you squeeze information out of people who don't want to give it?'

He looked uncomfortable. 'I wouldn't put it quite like that, but one technique is to put pressure on someone else, someone the subject cares about. Who does Malouf care about?'

'On the face of it, only himself, but I'm wondering. Houli told Rosemary that Malouf wasn't his real name, remember? If we could find out what his real name is, who he is, we might get somewhere.'

'Jesus, that's a big ask, but…'

'What?'

'I remember when I was researching him, when I thought he was dead, I came across some anomaly, something that didn't quite fit. I dismissed it and I can't remember now what it was, but there was something. I'd have to go through my files.'

'Where are they?'

He reached into his pocket and took out a memory stick attached to his keys. I pointed to the overnight bag at his feet.

'Is your laptop there, your notebook, or whatever?'

'No, I left it with Rosemary. Anyway I'd have to go to my computer at home because it's all encrypted, the software…'