‘Let him,’ Harrigan replied savagely. ‘You can handle it. That’s what you’re paid for.’
He peeled off his gloves. Sweat prickled across his forehead. He felt a growing impatience needling at his self-control. ‘Let’s go talk to the minister. It’s time I introduced myself.’
They found Senator Allan Edwards at the front of the house, sitting at a garden table and stroking a pedigree Rottweiler that sat with its head on his knees. Not far from his feet, a flock of tiny fairy wrens, their feathers satin-purple and bright powder-blue in the sunlight, picked their quick, indifferent way through the garden beds. Parked on the gravel, Harrigan saw the minister’s white government car, his driver standing beside it, smoking a cigarette and staring at the ground. The high walls surrounding the house and garden had turned this space near the garages into an artificial oasis, creating a sense not so much of calm as of stretched and tense inaction.
‘Senator Edwards? I’m Commander Paul Harrigan. New South Wales Police. I’m in charge of the Homicide and Violent Crime Command. My people are running this investigation. You’ve met my inspector, Trevor Gabriel. I’d like to give you our deepest sympathy for what’s happened here. I want to assure you we’ll do everything we possibly can to find whoever is responsible for this outrage and put them away.’
Harrigan’s professional etiquette, his passionless voice, were doing the talking for him. In this job, detachment was his protection. While he spoke, he watched the politician watch him. Edwards must have been close to sixty. His cheeks were a mat of broken veins while his eyes had an aged, liquid white glaze to them. He might have accumulated an extra ten years in the last few hours. He didn’t offer his hand. Harrigan could see that it was trembling. The dog looked up with innocent eyes and then sat at the senator’s feet.
‘This is Matilda,’ Edwards said. ‘She was Julian’s dog. She was locked in his room. You’re going to solve this, are you? Are you going to bring my son back to life as well?’
If only we could, Harrigan thought.
‘Did you come here to see him, Minister?’
‘No, I came to see Nattie. Julian wasn’t supposed to be back until tonight. She was expecting me, we’d organised this appointment a week ago. Check her diary, it’ll be there. Someone else must have checked it because they knew I was going to be here today. You can keep this. It’s not an official phone, it’s my personal one.’
Edwards gave Harrigan his mobile phone. An SMS message was on display, a string of numbers and letters with the words: This will get you in the gate.
‘I received that message while I was on my way here,’ Edwards said. ‘When we arrived, no one answered the intercom. I told my driver to try the numbers like the message said. They opened the gate so we drove in. I could hear Matilda barking from somewhere inside. I didn’t know why she’d be here. I heard flies. I went through to the patio-’ He stopped. ‘I’ll never forget that sight. Not until the day I die.’
After this, he couldn’t speak. Harrigan gave the phone to Trevor and waited for the senator to become calm.
‘We’ll trace that call, Minister, wherever it might have come from,’ he said. ‘Who would have the number for that phone?’
‘A dozen people at the most. Julian was one. There are things I need to tell you about this. They’re important but I can’t get a grip on the facts-’
Again, he was about to break down. Harrigan signalled to a uniformed police officer.
‘I think you should go home now, Minister. My people will be in touch and arrange to see you at another time. This is my card. You can call me on any of those numbers any time you need to. This officer will help you to your car.’
Edwards dumbly pushed the card into his pocket and stood up. The dog got to her feet as well.
‘I’m taking Matilda with me. She needs a home now. I’m not usually like this, I can assure you.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ Harrigan replied. ‘I have a son myself.’
‘Is he your only child?’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘How old is he?’
‘He turned eighteen today,’ Harrigan said, restraining his usual reluctance at voicing anything personal.
‘Maybe you do know. I’ll never understand how anyone could do this.’
After seventeen years on the job, Harrigan was forced to admit, if only to himself, that he didn’t always understand either. Even after he’d joined the dots of how and why, some fundamental motivation continued to escape him. They watched the senator being driven away, caught a glimpse of the waiting media on the other side of the high metal gates, the cameras flashing and the TV crews running in pursuit of the white car after it had turned into the street.
‘Our killers wanted him to see that,’ Trevor said. ‘Why would you do that? It’s fucking cruel.’
‘Our killers believe in shock value,’ Harrigan replied, dispassionate as always. ‘All right, I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got it under control. But from now on, you forget I’m on leave. If the Ice Cream Man’s involved in this, I need to know where it’s going. At all times, I want you to keep me briefed.’
‘I can do that, boss, but there’s one other thing before you disappear. Ambrosine. Is she alive? And where is she? If the Ice Cream Man’s dead in there, we should be talking to her.’
‘You want to know where Ambro is?’ Harrigan said. ‘Walls have ears, mate. Is that information going to travel?’
‘I would have thought you’d know you could trust me by now,’ Trevor replied, with a quiet touch of anger.
‘I told you she was alive. I must trust you.’ Harrigan gathered his thoughts. ‘Yes, I know where she is. I spoke to her when we upgraded Cassatt’s disappearance to murder but she was freaked over something. She wouldn’t talk to me. She said she hadn’t seen him for months.’
‘Did you believe her?’
‘No, but she wasn’t going to tell me any different.’
‘Can’t she come out of hiding now?’ Trevor asked. ‘Tell me where she is and I’ll send a team to talk to her.’
‘No. There’s still one very angry bikie out there waiting to blow her away. I’ll have to talk to her myself. I need time for that to happen. As soon as I get anything out of her, I’ll talk to you. Right now, I’ve got places I should be.’
‘Okay, boss. Thanks for coming all the way up here. Say hello to Gracie for me when you see her. I haven’t caught up with her much since she started working for that joint agencies task force, whatever it is.’
‘I’ll pass it on,’ he said. If she’s still talking to me.
Harrigan had given his spiel to the media scrum on the front street not long after he’d first arrived, as usual stonewalling them before he’d gone to take in the murder scene in more detail. Tonight his image would be broadcast on the evening news bulletins whether he liked it or not. Avoiding a second encounter, he made his escape through a rear gate out to the laneway where he’d parked his car. He stopped to look back at the house, a flamboyant architectural vision of curved sandstone walls and wide windows offering panoramic views. As a mausoleum, it was more ornate than most he visited in his line of work. Harrigan let himself out, hoping he would never have to come back here.
2
Outside on the street, under the hard blue sky, the trees shivered in the extreme heat. A hot wind gusted around Harrigan with a low roar. It carried the promise of bushfire, a warning to watch for thick plumes of smoke above the expensive houses built onto these steep, forested hillsides. He had left his car deeply shaded by the laneway’s trees. When he walked towards it, he saw a Harley-Davidson parked in front, blocking his exit. A woman dressed in a white T-shirt and motorbike leathers was sitting on the hog side on, seemingly waiting for him.