‘Your reputation is more important than your life?’ Harrigan called after him.
‘You’re talking rubbish. I’m not in any danger.’
He opened the fire door and began to walk down the fire stairs at speed. Harrigan followed.
‘I’ll do it myself,’ he called. ‘I’m not having you on my conscience.’
‘You will not!’
‘Watch me. I’m going to talk to the commissioner as soon as I can. I’ll tell him everything you told me, everything I said to you. And I mean everything.’
Marvin had reached the landing of the next floor down. Harrigan pushed behind him to get past and be in front of him. When he did, Marvin charged him, ramming him into the corner of the stairwell, smacking his shoulder against the concrete wall. They wrestled, almost tumbling down the stairs, forcing each other to a standstill. Harrigan’s feet gripped the floor as he swayed dangerously.
‘For God’s sake, stop it!’ White-faced, Sharon stood a step above them. ‘People will see, people will hear.’
Marvin let Harrigan go and drew back. ‘I am not going to the commissioner. Nothing will make me do that.’
‘Go away,’ Harrigan said to Sharon, who ran past them down the stairs. Then to Marvin: ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘Yes, I do. If you tell the commissioner, then it’ll be on your head. I’ll deny everything. I’ll tell them you’re a liar. I’ll say I’ve never seen any of those pictures before, I’ve never spoken to du Plessis, I’ve never heard of him before today. It’s your word against mine. You can’t prove anything.’
‘Sharon was outside the door the whole time.’
‘She won’t support you over me.’
‘Marvin, you’ll be dead. As soon as he thinks you’re a danger to him, you’ll be dead.’
Marvin had turned to go down the stairs. He spun round. Harrigan couldn’t have described the intensity of emotion in his eyes at that moment.
‘I’d rather be dead!’
He ran down the stairs. Harrigan went after him.
‘You’re going to have to lie, Marvin,’ he shouted. ‘I’m still going to the commissioner.’
‘You can find me at home. Then you can die in hell!’
They had reached the ground floor. Marvin moved with quick, long strides towards the emergency evacuation point. Fire wardens gestured for them both to hurry. Harrigan followed Marvin outside, through the crowds that were hurrying across the street to get clear of the building. Marvin continued to walk quickly, turning a corner of the building and heading down a side street, towards the nearest railway station. He began to cross the road.
‘Marvin, stop,’ Harrigan shouted, going after him.
Marvin turned, standing halfway across the street. They were at a distance from the crowd. The expression on his face brought Harrigan to a halt. It was the look of a man you’ve hurt so badly he’ll never be able to forgive you.
‘For God’s sake, Harrigan, what do you want from me? You’ve forced me out. What can I do for you now? I can’t tell you anything that will pin du Plessis down. I don’t know where to find him.’
‘You can sting him for us. That could be a way back for you.’
‘He won’t meet with me after today. Not with his name and photo out there everywhere. Now leave me alone! You can wait to get my resignation.’
Suddenly Marvin’s head was punched sideways and he staggered forward. Simultaneously dark, wet red lines poured down his face and neck. ‘Marvin!’ Harrigan shouted. Marvin’s body jerked and he crumpled to the ground, his briefcase still clutched in his hand. Another bullet cracked on the pavement beside Harrigan. Instantaneously, he hit the road behind a parked car. He stayed rigidly still but there was silence. The shooting had stopped.
He found himself staring under the car into Marvin’s vacant eyes. There was no expression, just the terrible emptiness of death. There was silence in his own head, before he was engulfed by the shock, the high whine of sirens at a distance, and then of other people screaming and shouting for help.
24
Grace’s taxi pulled up outside the parking station, a converted warehouse several streets away from Redfern station.
‘Do you want me to wait?’ the driver asked.
‘No,’ she said.
It was peak hour, the traffic was busy. She was standing on the footpath sizing up the building and the parking station’s operations when her phone rang.
‘Grace,’ Brinsmead said. ‘Can you talk to me?’
‘What is it?’
‘I have some information on the Commander’s son but I can only give it to you if you give me your word that you won’t tell the police where you got it.’
‘I can do my best,’ she replied. ‘But that isn’t going to be easy.’
‘You have to give me your word or I’ll have to hang up. If I do, that’ll be the end of it.’
‘All right. You’ve got my word.’
‘It’s vital you keep it. Check a car park called Prestige Car Parking near Redfern station for a white Toyota HiAce with this registration number.’ Daniel read out a New South Wales plate number. ‘Do you have that?’
‘Yes, I do.’
He cut the call immediately.
Grace had thought through everything she’d overheard that afternoon and had decided that Sam Jonas and Daniel Brinsmead were very possibly deep-cover operatives working for a secret service agency. Sam’s attitude, her professionalism, together with the setup-one career agent and one civilian cover with the advantage of an army background-was a situation Grace had come across in the past. If, as it seemed, Sam was the controlling agent in the duo, then Brinsmead had gone against her direct orders.
The sign on the parking station entrance said 24-hour Parking, Cash Only. Secure weekly and monthly parking was also available. All payments for long stay in advance, drivers granted individual keycard access. At this time of day, the station was at its busiest with cars queuing to pay for their day’s parking and get out onto Elizabeth Street.
Grace thought about the warrant card she used for her work. It carried the legal power to get her into almost anywhere; a piece of plastic that gave her more powers of entry than the police had. If she used it here for a purpose unrelated to her work, she would be in serious breach of her organisation’s regulations. She went inside the parking station.
‘Where do you keep your long-stay vehicles?’ she asked the attendant.
‘Top floor.’
‘All of them?’
‘Top floor!’
He was busy giving change to a driver. Grace was standing on a dangerously narrow walkway. The driver honked his horn at her when he drove out. She looked around at the inside of the parking station. It was a wide area, separated into sections by pillars. She would waste time searching for a white van in that broad space.
‘Is it full?’
‘Jesus!’ the attendant said, and tapped into a computer. ‘You shouldn’t be standing there, it’s dangerous. No. There are eleven spaces left. If you want to leave your car in long stay, you’ve got pay cash upfront.’
‘I need to find a white Toyota HiAce with this registration number,’ she said.
‘Why?’
He was a young man, no more than eighteen, nervous and overweight with a pencil-thin beard. Quickly, she flashed her warrant card.
‘Police,’ she said. ‘This may be a lead in a kidnapping. We’re looking for a white van and we have a tipoff that it may be here on a long-stay rental.’
Another vehicle pulled up. The driver handed in his ticket. Confused, the attendant fluffed the change, then after a sharp reprimand from the driver gave the correct money.
‘Yeah, I heard about that on TV. I don’t know if I should. I’ll get Ray. He’s the boss.’
‘Check my warrant card again and give me the information.’
‘It doesn’t say police.’
‘This card comes with powers of entry. If you don’t believe me, ring the number on it.’