Her hand shot out and I took it. It was warm. The house would be warm inside so the shirt was adequate. She shook my hand and kept hold of it just long enough to make me feel as if I was being drawn inside.
'Come in, Mr Hardy. I've heard of you, of course. I believe we have things to talk about.'
She conducted me down a wide hallway past several doors on either side to a sitting room with a view out to a large garden and a swimming pool. The pool had a cover over it. Tall trees around the perimeter made the area totally private. There was a children's swing near the end of the yard and what looked like a cubby house in a tree. She waved to a chair.
'I've made coffee. Would you like some?'
'I would, thank you. Black, no sugar.'
She smiled and her face didn't look plain anymore. 'Of course. Just a minute.'
I stood and wandered around the room. The furniture was simple but expensive. A photograph of two children, a boy and girl, stood on top of a bookcase. A couple of paintings on the walls could have been originals and could have been good, but they were abstracts so how can you tell? Flowers in a vase were dropping their petals.
Felicity Standish came back in with two solid mugs. She handed me one. She invited me to sit and dropped down into one of the leather armchairs. I sat and tried the coffee. Hot and strong.
'You said you'd heard of me. From your husband?'
'Oh, no. Haven't seen him for weeks. No, I read the papers. I'm a crime junkie. Did you look at the books?'
I hadn't, but now I swivelled around to look. Crime novels and true crime-hardbacks and trade paperbacks.
'I read about you, and your partner being killed, and you losing your licence. You were in the news there for a while.'
I nodded. 'Unfortunately. I won't beat about the bush, Mrs Standish. I was hired to look for Richard Malouf.'
Her hands tightened around the coffee mug. 'He's dead.'
'He may not be.'
'I'd know if he were alive; he was my lover. Oh, but I can see you already knew that. Miles told you. Hated to do it, but he did, right?'
I nodded.
'Did he tell you that he was screwing his secretary? No? But you're not surprised. Well, you wouldn't be-she's very beautiful and with a heart like a block of ice.'
I drank the coffee while she told me that after she became aware of Standish's infidelity she was easy meat for Malouf, who caught her in a down cycle and lifted her out of it. For a while.
'I don't know why I'm telling you all this,' she said. 'I don't know you.'
'I've got a trustworthy face.'
Her laugh was an embarrassed snort. 'I wouldn't say that, but I would say it isn't judgemental.'
'Thank you.'
'But you're being led up the garden path, Mr Hardy. You see, I think Miles Standish had Richard Malouf murdered.'
6
'That surprised you, didn't it?' Felicity Standish said.
I said, 'Yes. Are you serious?'
'I'm deadly serious. Although Miles was a serial adulterer, he couldn't handle it when I made one misstep. He can't bear to lose anything. That's why he's creating so much difficulty about our divorce.'
I looked around the room and out to the garden. 'Well, it's a lot to give up.'
She laughed. 'No, no, this is all mine. I inherited it. I put that badly. What I mean is that he can't bear not to win. He was good at a whole range of sports and his legal studies and at business. He married a rich woman and has a son and a daughter. A winner all the way until this happened. He was ruthless at everything, swept opposition aside. He beat up a man I was seeing before we got together. He had some cause, but it cost him money to avoid an assault charge. I think he was capable of killing Richard or having it done. He was certainly a police suspect, probably still is.'
The implication of what she was saying was clear. Maybe Standish had hired me to divert attention away from him, to muddy the waters. Felicity Standish drank the last of her coffee and sat, looking composed. I thought about the shelf of books and wondered whether she had overstimulated her imagination. I still had enough police contacts to establish whether Standish was a suspect in Malouf's death, but I urgently needed to talk to Standish, otherwise I was stumbling around in the dark.
'Where are the kids?' I said.
'At school. Why?'
'Does your husband have access, visiting rights, picking up arrangements?'
'Hah, I see where you're going. He has those rights but he hasn't exercised them for weeks. You need to contact him and I need to know where he is. How about I hire you to find him?'
I shook my head.
'Why not? Not ethical? You're de-licensed. You couldn't have a contract with Miles and you don't need one with me. What d'you say?'
'No, too much conflict of interest. I need to find him for my own reasons.'
'Fair enough, but the offer remains open. I'll give you the clue I would've given you if you'd accepted. If you want to find Miles Standish, keep tabs on May Ling. That shouldn't be too hard for a man like you. Should be a pleasure.'
The storm swept in and dumped water on the city and then departed as if satisfied. The sun shone through a thin cloud cover but a wind kept the temperature low. I did some scouting. A lane runs behind the buildings that front New South Head Road in Edgecliff. At the end of the lane was a small, undercover car park, electronically controlled. The only alternative all-day parking for anyone working in the area was the huge, multi-level operation on the opposite side of the road over the railway station. Somehow I didn't think May Ling was the type to battle with the plebs in the concrete jungle. That's where I put my car while I had a slow lunch in a restaurant nearby, read the morning paper from cover to cover and took a one-hour walk up to Darling Point and back.
At four forty-five I was sitting in my car in the lane where parking was illegal and keeping my eye out for inspectors. Eventually they'll install cameras in these places, sack the inspectors and reap greater rewards, but just for now human beings were still useful. The afternoon had turned cold; parking inspectors are like everyone else- given the choice they'll do their job in greater comfort and there were ample opportunities to work under cover along the main road.
At five fifteen May Ling came tripping down the lane. She had a minimalist silver-grey umbrella up against the drizzle and despite her high heels she avoided puddles like a dancer obeying a choreographer to perfection. She wore a grey suit with an unfastened silvery rain slicker over it and her face seemed to glow in the damp, shaded surroundings. She closed the umbrella as she entered the car park and one hand dipped into her grey suede shoulder bag. When it came to accessories, May Ling was right there.
After five minutes, a silver Peugeot slid out of the car park. French, it figured. The car headed towards the city and I fell in behind it, keeping two cars back. The evening was drawing in and headlights, brake lights and indicators were sharp in the gloom. May Ling was a precise, cautious driver. She signalled her intentions early and was easy to follow. She entered the tunnel, was patient as the lanes clogged up and didn't try any fancy moves although other cars were jostling for position. This was a woman in control of herself and not letting anything disturb her composure.
The hazard of following anyone in these conditions is in the prospect of them stopping. If the quarry pulls in and stops and there's no parking space close by, you're gone. You have to move on and your chance of circling round and taking another couple of passes is almost nil. May Ling didn't stop. She went on to North Sydney, took a left and worked her way back to McMahons Point and the water. I wasn't familiar with the area, but it looked like the kind of place where May Ling and the silver Peugeot would fit right in.
She pulled up outside a block of flats as a light rain fell. I went further up the street, parked and watched. She turned on the interior light and used her mobile phone. A couple of minutes later a man came hurrying from the block. He wore a raincoat with the hood up, completely concealing his face. He looked to be about the same size as Standish and moved like a fit man, but I couldn't be sure. May Ling had turned out the light after the phone call, so I couldn't see anything inside her car once he got in. She started the engine and drove off in her steady, careful way.