‘No, you’re the guy with the.22 and the piece of wire.’
‘That’s better. So you’re the tuna?’
‘I could have been,’ said Orlovsky. ‘I could have been. But I resisted.’
‘Swam away with a bullet in your brain. See if you can find out who’s working on this voice stuff,’ I said. ‘Start now. About tomorrow, you’re going on the road.’
‘Before dawn,’ he said.
‘How much do you make?’
Orlovsky eyed me suspiciously. ‘It’s a commitment,’ he said. ‘It’s an obligation.’
‘Far be it from me to come between you and your commitments. Can you get a stand-in?’
He rubbed his jaw, an imperfectly shaved jaw, a shave in progress. ‘The boss might do it himself. Can’t just bring in a temp for work like this, you know. There’s trust involved, I’m dealing with people…’
‘Don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘I’m not a cop anymore and I still don’t want to know. Tell the boss your temporary employer has urgent need of your services and he’ll pay, what, five hundred? For inconveniencing the man, the person. How much do you make?’
‘For the three days, six-fifty a day.’
‘Okay, two grand to you for lost earnings, five hundred to the boss. He saves the two grand you get, he’s up two-and-a-half on the deal.’
‘If he wanted to save two grand, he’d always do it himself. He doesn’t like going out there. That’s why he pays me.’
‘A thousand.’
‘This is Carson money you’re spending. You’re acting as if it’s yours.’
I shook my head at him. ‘The concept of honest stewardship of other people’s money means nothing to you, does it?’
Orlovsky smiled, stroked a patch of stubble. ‘Nothing that I can think of, no.’
We drove back to the Carson compound. No one was waiting in the underground carpark, no messages.
Walking though the garden, I listened to the voice in my head saying: It’s not too late, it’s not too late. Call Noyce now. Tell him you think you were wrong. They must call in the cops now. But I knew I couldn’t, wouldn’t.
27
From the Garden House, with nothing else to do, in deep dread, unable to simply wait, I rang Graham Noyce.
‘Two things. First, if and when they ring, I want proof that she’s alive. I’m giving them a deadline to produce it. I’ve got a bad feeling.’
‘I’ll clear it with Tom,’ he said. ‘I think he’ll agree. What else?’
‘I’d like to ask Mark’s old firm some questions. Ross, Archer amp; Stegley.’
A moment’s silence. ‘Why’s that?’
I gave him a moment’s silence back. ‘Idle curiosity.’
A sniff. ‘It’s a reasonable question, Frank.’
‘You didn’t tell me about Mark and the Poles. The Polish Russians.’
‘Jesus, what else haven’t I told you about? Let’s set aside a week or two, I’ll give you a background briefing on the Carson family, close and extended, near and far. In the meantime, I don’t think these shonks Mark gets mixed up with would actually get around to abducting his daughter, cutting off her finger. Do you?’
I gave him another measured silence.
‘For Christ’s sake, Frank,’ he said wearily, ‘Mark is the one who gets ripped off in these insane deals.’
‘Is Mark out of bounds? Just say the word.’
‘Fuck. I’d like to kick the cunt out of bounds. Listen, the reason it’s not a good time to be asking around about Mark is simply that the float’s two weeks off. People are sniffing around. Journos, the fucking stockbrokers’ analysts. And someone’s putting out the word that the institutions think Tom should stand down as chief executive, that he’s too old, lacks vision, he’s a drag on the company’s future. With me?’
‘Just vaguely.’
‘So this is a really tense time. Anything can have a spin put on it, we can see five years’ work, fifty years’ work you might say, all go down the tubes.’ Pause. ‘Anyway, who told you about Mark and the Poles?’
‘Pat. And Martie Harmon.’
‘Who put you onto Martie Harmon?’
‘Barry.’
‘To what end, may I ask?’
‘He thought I should have been told about the phone call from the person with the American accent. Should I have been, do you think? And another question: who do you work for?’
‘I work for the company. I’m a servant of the company.’
‘You work for Tom?’
‘It’s not that clear-cut.’ Another sniff. ‘I work for the Carsons. All the Carsons. I steer my frail craft among the Carson shoals and reefs. Tom is now formally the head of the company but until recently I reported directly to the old man, to Pat. And I was hired by Barry.’
Only the questions are simple. Who said that? I felt sand in my eyes, grit, and I blinked and blinked.
‘Tom was at the first meeting,’ said Noyce. ‘He had ample opportunity to tell you about Mark and the threat from the Poles, whoever. He didn’t. I took my cue from that.’
A moment’s silence. Then he said, ‘Is Barry suggesting Mark’s Poles are relevant?’
‘No. I mentioned Mark and he told me about the phone call.’
Now Noyce sighed, a sigh felt deeply. ‘Frank, a month ago a newspaper wanted to do a two-part feature on the Carsons. On the family. Life and times and empire. I cannot tell you what I had to do to get that project shelved. Things that make me shudder now, in the clear light of day. And I am not a shudderer. And the reason was Mark. All we need is the media getting onto the story of the family fucking idiot and his loony deals and his scummy associates. Not to mention his totally crazed wife.’
‘It’s his daughter I’m worried about.’
Breath expelled loudly. ‘Obviously. We have to do whatever we can to get Anne back. But essentially we are waiting for instructions on how to ransom her. Not so?’
Two people were coming down the brick path beside the cutting garden, a tall woman and a man, shoulder-height to her. They were smiling at each other.
‘Tom’s wife,’ I said. ‘Is she around?’
‘Carol? Sometimes. She travels a lot. Shopping trips. Why?’
‘There’s a woman in the garden with a much younger man. Tall blonde woman.’
‘That’s her. He’s probably the latest plaything.’
‘She’d be concerned about her granddaughter.’
‘Carol’s not exactly your doting grandmother. I gather she can’t stand Anne. About Mark…’ ‘Yes.’ Outside, Carol Carson raised her right hand and brushed her fingertips across the young man’s full mouth.
‘Poking around Mark’s life, that’s not going to help. All you’ll do is create a danger of someone tipping off the media that the Carsons are paying an ex-cop to dig into Mark’s life. Frank, we can’t run that risk. Not now. Are you with me?’
I said I was. Carol Carson and her friend were walking back the way they had come, close together, touching. Clearly, the man had no fear of meeting an angry spouse.
I went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea, had to choose from five teas, imported from France. France? What did the French know about tea? I chose one at random, looked out of the window while I waited for the kettle to boil. The day had turned fine, weak lemon sunlight bathing the garden, turning the rain lying on the evergreen leaves into drops of mercury.
He was Mr Hotshot Young Lawyer. And compassionate, night a week at the Altona Legal Centre. Out there in the chemical smog.
Compassionate Mark, Mark drooling over violent porn films. Incompatible emotions? Perhaps not. Humans were dealt all the cards. Life and a bit of choice decided which ones they’d play.
Mark’s wife had said something, something about him being the sick one. But not a reliable informant was Christine.
I made a pot of tea, in a bone china pot, kept in a cupboard with teacups thin as parchment, and left it to draw.
Mark would have been a volunteer at the Altona Community Legal Centre around 1988. I rang inquiries, got the number, was put through to the centre’s solicitor, told her a lie.
‘In 1988? Wow. I’ve only been here since 1998. Hold on, I’ll ask someone.’