Follow the Money

'Don't tell me, I wouldn't understand. Let's go.'

In the Coogee flat, Sabatini dumped his bag and went straight to the computer in his workroom. He had it up and running in a split second and began tapping the keys, wiping boxes and scrolling at a rapid rate the way they do.

'Here it is, look.'

On the screen was a photograph of a school soccer team. The boys looked to be about sixteen or seventeen and wore that confident expression that goes with private school and sporting prowess. The names of the players were listed at the bottom of the photograph. Sabatini pointed. A tall, dark haired youth stood in the back row and a smaller, less dark boy was in the middle row. According to the list of names the smaller boy was Richard Malouf and the taller was William Habib.

Sabatini put his finger on the boy in the back row. 'That's Malouf without a doubt, or the man we know as Malouf.'

I peered. 'They're alike, but you're right.'

'I sort of noticed it when I was working on this stuff but I just put it down to a glitch in the names. I should've checked. Now that there's some doubt about Malouf's identity…'

'When I've run up against a name change or confusion,' I said, 'I always check the dates. How do the dates we know about him stack up?'

Sabatini worked through his notes and his published pieces.

'The football photo is of their last year at school. If he did a four-year honours course at WA there's a three-year gap between leaving school and going to university.'

'I've heard of a gap year, but not three years. We need to find out more about William Habib. The starting point's the school.'

Sabatini sighed. 'I'll try. I need some coffee. Would you mind? The milk's probably off, though.'

'I'll leave you to it.' There was plenty of ground coffee in the kitchen but the milk smelt dodgy. I was glad to get out into the fresh beachside air.

Coogee is hilly, good cardiac exercise territory. I tramped up a few hills and finished at the shops in Clovelly Road. I bought the milk and a bottle of wine and some sandwiches. Who knows how long an Internet search takes? Could be hours, so I bought a paper as well and looked at the headlines on the way back. The news about the economy was good- things that should be up were up and things that should be down were down. The government was happy; the opposition was grumpy. The experts were puzzled.

Sabatini was clattering away, swearing occasionally and muttering to himself. He had some classical music I didn't recognise playing softly; no surprise there, I can only recognise 'Bolero' and a couple of Beethoven concertos, a bit of Tchaikovsky at a pinch. I made the coffee and took a mug and a sandwich in to him.

'Thanks,' he said, with his eyes on the screen.

'How's it going?'

'Takes time.'

I went out onto the balcony to drink my coffee and look at the water. Many times I've been tempted to move to the eastern suburbs, get a flat with a view, swim eight months a year. Something holds me back.

I heard Sabatini's printer chattering-a good sign. I finished the coffee, opened the bottle of wine and drank some with a sandwich. A greyish morning had given way to a bright afternoon. I read some more of the paper and dozed in the sun.

'We've come up with something.'

I jerked awake as Sabatini came out onto the balcony with a sheaf of printout in his hand.

'I got on to the school, Riverside Grammar. They have the students' outstanding results over the last twenty odd years and Richard Malouf is right up there. No sign of William Habib. Same for sporting achievements and there the position is reversed. Malouf OK at soccer; Habib good at everything.'

He flicked through the sheets. 'A Richard Malouf died in Cooktown Hospital in 1992. A drowning. The school has him listed as a departed old boy. A brief report in the Cooktown Courier says he was accompanied on the swim by an unnamed school friend who failed to save him.'

Sabatini held up another sheet. 'A Richard Malouf enrolled at the University of Western Australia in 1994.'

'I wondered about that,' I said. 'When you've been a star at a Brisbane private school why do you go to uni in Western Australia? It's a long way to go to get away from home.'

Sabatini went on. 'This Malouf didn't do so flash except at computer stuff. He was brilliant at that. But he captained the soccer team and was the opener for the cricket team; handy pace bowler, too.'

'Sounds more like Habib. Any trace of him and why the switch?'

'William Habib was charged in 1990 for assault with intent to do grievous bodily harm. He never appeared in court. Bail was posted and forfeited. This is the kicker-Selim Houli put up the bail.'

We talked around that for a while. It looked as if William Habib had assumed the identity of Richard Malouf and had gone as far away as he could to gain his credentials using Malouf's school results to get him started. Then he worked his way back east and found himself a spot where he could gain access to a lot of business accounts and manipulate others, under cover of legitimate activity with Selim Houli as some kind of backer.

'It leaves us no closer to finding out what the big picture is,' Sabatini said.

'No, but at least we know something about him that he doesn't know we know. Tell me William Habib has an old mother who he couldn't bear to see troubled.'

'I checked the Brisbane phone directory. There's a column and a half of Habibs.'

'I wonder if he killed Malouf and swiped some of the things he'd need to do the identity change.'

Sabatini shrugged. 'It was a long time ago.'

It was a stalemate; far from learning anything that might give us the initiative, we were simply waiting for Malouf/ Habib to contact me when he chose. We decided that the only thing to do was wait a few days for the call and play it by instinct at that point-perhaps hinting that we knew his real identity and hoping that might throw him off-balance.

'If he doesn't call in that time?' Sabatini asked.

'You write something along the lines of "Is Richard Malouf still alive? And who is he?" Something like that and see if it touches a nerve.'

'The police'll pick up on that and they'll be after us.'

'The more the merrier. I've dealt with the police before.'

'Yeah, and lost your licence. But, okay, we'll see how it plays out. I owe you for Rosemary. Keep your phone charged up.'

We had a drink and left it at that. I drove back to Glebe. The roadwork that had been going on for almost a year was almost finished and some of the businesses that had looked to be struggling were picking up. I reckoned it was about time I saw Megan again and was thinking about that as I turned into my street. The low winter sun was in my eyes and I shielded them with my hand as I brought the car to a stop outside my house. I was still a bit dazzled when I got out and jiggled my keys, feeling for the right one.

'Hardy!'

Lester Wong stepped out from behind one of the shrubs in front of the house. The muzzle of his sawn-off shotgun was about three metres from my chest.

A voice: 'Police! Drop the gun!'

I hit the ground hard. There was a roar like an unmuffled exhaust, and shredded leaves dropped on me as I heard the pellets bouncing off the car.

'Drop it!'

Two sharp cracks, and when I looked up I saw Lester on his back, sprawled across the tiled path and he wasn't moving. part three

PART THREE 25

I had grazed palms, bruised knees and torn trousers-pretty soft landing after facing a sawn-off. That didn't mean I could go quietly inside and pour myself a congratulatory drink. The police arrived, then the media; mobile phone signals bounced around and I ended up in Chang's Surry Hills office.

'Thought it was about time we had a chat, Hardy,' Chang said. 'Lucky for you we were there, or lucky Ali was there- best pistol shot in the service.'

Ali was still wearing his displeased expression.