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“Well, I don’t know why she’d say that. Unless— Inspector, when did she say that about George Manville? Was it after I’d accused him, but before I admitted I was wrong?”

“As a matter of fact,” Fairchild said, “yes.”

“Then there you are,” Curtis said. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The woman had no proof, no corroboration. In her fantasy, she thought Manville would agree to her story, to get back at me.”

“After you accused Mr. Manville,” Fairchild said, “did he, do you know, consult a lawyer locally, named Brevizin?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Curtis said. “I’m sure he consulted someone, but I don’t know who.”

“I’m wondering what he might have said to Mr. Brevizin.”

“Inspector,” Curtis said, “let me end this. Tomorrow I’ll arrange for George Manville to phone you from Singapore.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Fairchild said.

“Believe me,” Curtis told him, “if George had been involved in piracy and hugger-mugger on the Mallory, he would have mentioned it. He’s not one to keep a good story to himself.”

Fairchild laughed, and put away his notebook. “I’m sure you’re right.” Standing, he said, “I appreciate your time, Mr. Curtis.”

He’s converted, Curtis thought. All he has to do is hear from Manville tomorrow, and the new story is in place: Zhang was a smuggler, it was his associates who attacked Kim Baldur, and however she got off the ship it wasn’t with Manville. A dead smuggler and a disbelieved fantasist, and I can get on with my work.

Also getting to his feet, Curtis said, “Inspector, I meant to send a note and a check to Captain Zhang’s wife. I’m sorry it turned out he was betraying me, using my ship that way, but I’ll still send the note and the check.”

“Very good of you, Mr. Curtis,” Fairchild said.

“Without saying anything about these suspicions,” Curtis added. “We could still be wrong, I think. There could still be some other explanation.”

“I doubt it,” Fairchild said. “But we will, of course, keep an open mind.”

“Of course.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Curtis.”

“Good afternoon, Inspector.”

The instant Fairchild was gone, Curtis crossed to the telephone, and called the station. Helen Farrelly answered, in her quarters, and Curtis said, “Helen, would you unlock the office and let Morgan Pallifer in there and tell him to call me at the Heritage in Brisbane?”

Yes, she would, and everything was fine there, no trouble, and five minutes later the phone rang.

“Curtis.”

“Morgan here.”

“Morgan,” Curtis said, “I want you to spend some time today and tomorrow morning with Manville.”

“Oh, yes?”

“I want you to listen to him, because I want you to be able to do him by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Do him?”

“I mean talk like him. Talk enough like him on the telephone so that a man who’s never met him will believe it’s him.”

“That shouldn’t be hard. We’re both American.”

“Yes, but there’s the sound of the voice, the tone, if one person was going to describe it to another. Your voice is a little higher-pitched. Anyway, you can do it. And tomorrow at one you’ll call my office in Singapore, and ask for Margaret.”

“Margaret, yes.”

“Margaret will patch you in to a call to Brisbane, to a police inspector named Tony Fairchild.”

“I get it. I’m calling from Singapore.”

“And you’re George Manville. And on that last night on the Mallory, you slept like a baby, heard nothing, saw nothing, left the ship in Brisbane the ordinary way next morning. And you didn’t see Kim Baldur that morning, but you didn’t think about it. And you’re happy to be working for Richard Curtis again, and you’ll give Inspector Fairchild the number in Singapore— Margaret will tell you — where he can call you back if he needs any more.”

Morgan Pallifer laughed. “I’ve never delivered anybody’s last words before,” he said.

19

Andre Brevizin entered the offices of Coolis, Maguire, Brevizin & Chin at exactly ten-thirty Monday morning, as was his wont, and Angela Brother, the firm’s excellent receptionist, raised two fingers as she said, “Two calls.”

“Good God,” Brevizin said. “Before I even get to my office? My papers? I’m not sure I like the pace you’re setting, Angela.”

“They’re both interesting,” Angela promised.

“At this hour? Try me.”

“The one is from a police inspector, Tony Fairchild. He rang at nine this morning, he wants to meet with you sometime today.”

“A police inspector? As a client, or as a policeman?”

“As a policeman. You can help with his enquiries.”

“We’ll see about that. And the other?”

“Richard Curtis.”

It took a second for the penny to drop, and then Brevizin said, “Angela! No!”

“Yes. He would also like an appointment. I promised to call them both.”

“Yes, indeed. What do we know about this policeman? What’s his name again?”

“Tony Fairchild. I’ve put notes on your desk. He’s something high up in criminal investigation. He’s the one who captured Edders and Petersen, remember? The stock fraud people.”

Some of Brevizin’s friends had been caught up in the Edders and Petersen swindles; Brevizin remembered it well. Had some client of his now been doing something iffy in the market? “We’ll talk to him second,” he decided. “This afternoon. Richard Curtis first. Let’s try for eleven-thirty, after my tea.”

Richard Curtis was as Brevizin had imagined him; a tough man, exuding power and energy. He dressed casually but well, and his eye and handshake were firm. Brevizin, in his enquiries over the weekend, had heard a few faint hints of shakiness in the Curtis empire, but nothing drastic and nothing solid. The man himself seemed solid enough, and not at all shaken.

They sat together where on Friday Brevizin had talked with George Manville, and Curtis got immediately to the point: “I believe you had a conversation last Friday with a friend of mine, George Manville.”

Brevizin smiled amiably. “A friend of yours?”

“We’re friends now,” Curtis said, taking no offense. “And I believe we’ll stay friends. This little flurry is over.”

“Flurry.”

“George told you what we’re doing on Kanowit Island?”

“The destination resort, yes.”

“And his technique for reshaping the land.”

“Yes,” Brevizin said. “I won’t claim I understood it, but he did tell me.”

“Fine.” Curtis sat back and spread his hands. “It is George’s technique, more than anyone’s, I’ve never denied it, and it’s brilliant, and I’ve never denied that. And I pay well for it. George is a top man, and he gets top wages, or any one of my competitors would steal him away in a minute.”

Curtis paused, as though Brevizin might want to comment on that, but Brevizin merely continued to smile at him, so he went on, saying, “I’m afraid George got greedy, decided he wanted more than top wages, he wanted to be a partner, to own a piece of me. I don’t work that way, Mr. Brevizin. I’ve had operations with partners, where each shared the same financial risk, put the same amount in the pot, took equal shares out. Expertise is not enough. Expertise does not get shares, it gets wages. You, for instance, are very well known in corporate legal circles in Australia. George chose well.”

“Thank you,” Brevizin said.