Chaos is harder to search through than order; I spent more than an hour there, patiently sifting and probing. As far as I could tell Pauline was working on three different stories and a novel. The stories were about police corruption, religious sects in Queensland gaols and a profile of a newly appointed judge. The novel was about a terrorist who was laying mines in Sydney Harbour.
Pauline was famous for the depth of her research, even on small stories. There wasn’t a scrap of evidence to suggest that she had any interest in a land development on the central coast.
I picked up one of the sandwiches and a couple of the biscuits and fed them to Gough on the way out.
When I got back to Glebe there were three frantic messages from Kelly on my answering machine. I phoned him and had to tell him to calm down and take a breath and stop gabbling.
‘Okay, okay,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to see Pauline. She’s in danger.’
‘ I saw her an hour ago. She was a danger to others the way she was driving.’
‘Stop fucking joking! You heard about the second body?’ His voice was thick with worry and fear.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Unidentified.’
‘Not any more. Not if you know who to talk to. That means two of the characters associated with this development I was telling you about are dead.’
‘What sort of characters?’
‘Operators, you know the kind. I didn’t make anything of it when the first one turned up. The cops sat on it but I got a whisper on who he was. Name of Morrison. He was a go-between, handled the graft, or some of it. Michael mentioned him in the letter. Well, those blokes-they’re into all sorts of things. They have enemies. But this new one, Brent Fuller. Shit!’
‘He in the letter too?’
‘Yeah. He was more… central and more… exposed. Am I making sense?’
‘Only just.’
‘In a thing like this there’s always a couple of unreliable people. Michael’s letter pointed out a few weak links. Pauline must’ve showed the letter to someone who’s in with them, or talked about it.’
‘You’re sure you didn’t talk to anyone? There aren’t any copies?’
‘No. Copies? Don’t be crazy. It looks to me as if they’re getting rid of a few of the expendable people. Look, in effect, they’ve taken out number one and two among the small fry if you regard Michael’s letter as a sort of list.’
‘How well do you know these people?’
‘Parsons knows… knew Fuller pretty well. I knew him too.’
‘You should be talking to number three.’
‘I have. They almost got him this morning. They killed his guard dog but they tripped an alarm. He’s on a plane right now.’
‘Where would Pauline have been going? I saw her leave your house.’
‘The News most likely. I called but she’s set up some kind of interference system. I can’t get through to her. I’m worried, Cliff.’
‘Yeah. Where’re you now?’
‘Balmain. At my flat.’
‘It’s time for the cops, Byron. Whatever the consequences.’
‘Jesus. Yeah, I suppose so.’
‘I’ll take Pauline somewhere safe and I’ll call you. You’ve got a bit of time to think about it but… ‘
‘I’ll do it. Don’t worry. Just get her!’
I drove in to the newspaper building, parked illegally and took a lift to the features office where Pauline did her talking and filing. The editor told me that she’d gone off to the pub, the Colonial nearby, with some fellow workers. I reached the pub in record time and spotted Pauline drinking in a corner of the saloon bar. I went across and grabbed her arm.
‘Pauline, I’ve got to talk to you.’
‘Piss off.’ She jerked her arm free and some of her drink spilled on the trousers of the heavy-set man on the opposite stool. Pauline giggled; it wasn’t her first drink. ‘Sorry, Stan. I’ll get your pants dry-cleaned if you’ll take them off.’
Stan smiled and lifted his glass. I jolted his arm trying to get another grip on Pauline and his drink spilled down his shirt.
‘Shit! What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?’
Pauline laughed. ‘Stan, defend my honour.’
Stan came off his stool faster than I expected. He was big and thick and moved like a footballer rather than a boxer but he connected on my shoulder with a solid swinging right. I had to let go of Pauline to keep my balance.
‘Keep out of this, you,’ I snarled. ‘Pauline, this isn’t a joke, Byron…’
‘Bugger Byron! And bugger you, too.’
Maybe that was what Stan had been waiting to hear. Stan was certainly eager. He slammed me in the chest and got set to take my head off with another swing. I stepped back, drew him forward and belted him with a quick left hook to the ear. The three or four other drinkers around craned forward interestedly. Pauline shouted something that might have been ‘Stop!’ or might have been ‘Go!’ I didn’t pay proper attention because Stan was in again, swinging. I fended two shots off with my forearms and stepped closer bringing my heel hard down on his toe. He yelped and I uppercut him so that his teeth clicked. He stumbled back and went down.
I gripped Pauline’s arm and pulled her off the stool. ‘Don’t talk. Just come!’
‘You are keen, after all,’ she said.
I hauled her to the car and drove to Glebe. When she was settled with a drink I called Kelly’s flat and got no answer.
‘That’s odd.’
Pauline raised her glass. ‘He’s odd. Did you know he’s kinky? Likes to dress up.’
I stared at her. ‘I don’t believe it.’
She giggled. ‘You’re right. He doesn’t. I do. Wanna play, Cliff?’
‘I want you to stay here while I go and find out what’s happened.’
‘Happened? Whaddya mean happened? Nothing happens to Byron, nothing happens anywhere near Byron, he… ‘
‘Shut up, Pauline. This is serious. Two people
Parsons wrote about in that letter are dead. Byron’s scared you could be next.’
‘I’m sick of hearing about that fucking letter! I hardly looked at it.’ She stopped as if her own words had made an impact on her. She stared at me, trying to focus. ‘Two people dead? You mean some of the shit might actually be rubbing off on Parsons?’
‘Maybe, but Byron… ‘
‘Hold on. I’m going to freshen up. This sounds interesting.’
She went to the bathroom and came back dabbing at her face with a towel. ‘It sounds like a story. I suppose Byron’s told you I’ve used confidential stuff?’
I nodded.
‘I haven’t. He’s paranoid. You said something’s happened. What?’
‘I’m going to Balmain to find out.’
‘Me too.’
‘You’re pissed.’
‘I sober up fast. I’m coming.’
There was no point in arguing. We got back in the car. Pauline lit a cigarette, took deep drags and seemed to be trying to will herself sober. When she finished the cigarette she wound the window down and breathed deeply. She coughed and looked red and sore-eyed but her voice was steadier.
‘Two dead, you said. You mean the bodies, last night and this morning?’
‘Yeah.’ I made the turn into Darling Street. ‘Morrison, I think it was, and… Fuller. Byron knew them.’
‘Jesus. Fuller got Byron his flat. He’s into real estate around here and Byron wanted a place in Balmain. You know how it works.’
I did. I knew that the politicians and their associates were involved in a network of favours and obligations, given and granted, that to some extent governed what they did. Some of them were ‘covered’, as the smart operators put it, by girls, gambling debts, shonky deals. There were a hundred ways.
Byron’s flat was in Duke Place where town-houses are going up as fast as they can pull the old warehouses and chandlers’ sheds down. I parked and twisted the steering wheel so the car wouldn’t roll into Mort Bay. Old habit. The handbrake on my newish Falcon is rock solid. Pauline got slowly and stiffly from the car and stumbled in her high heels as she crossed the road.