Peter Corris - Follow the Money

I phoned Chang and asked if he'd had any luck tracking down Malouf's boat.

'There's no such vessel registered in New South Wales,' he said. 'We're widening the search but I'm not optimistic. I think your informant, to put it politely, was full of shit. I tried to contact her but what d'you know? She and the journo have skipped out and I haven't heard a word about it from you. Not happy, Hardy.'

I couldn't blame him and tossed up whether to add Gretchen Nordlung's confirmation that the boat existed, sketchy though the evidence was. What was the point? May Ling wasn't going to allow him to interview her sister in the clinic and he wasn't likely to take much notice of junkie evidence anyway. I needed more solid information on what Malouf was doing before I could make use of the police again. Chang hung up on me-two in a row.

I chanced my luck and rang Perry Hassan. I asked him if Malouf had dealt with overseas clients and institutions while in his employ. Perry let out an exasperated sigh. 'Not on my behalf,' he said, 'but from what the auditors have turned up he did.'

'Why did you let him?'

'You can't control them. Smart operators like him can play any game they please.'

'Did he handle the business of Lebanese and Chinese clients in Sydney?'

'Of course.'

'D'you know who he dealt with offshore?'

'No, and I don't want to know. Give it a rest, Cliff. I'm struggling to keep my head above water here. Give it a rest.'

At least he didn't hang up.

The apartment had been cleaned and tidied since the last time I was there and Standish himself was looking in better shape. Not quite his old self, but getting there. May Ling had changed her casual outfit for a blouse and a long, dark skirt that set off her slim figure. There was a smell of Asian takeaway in the air and they were drinking coffee laced with French cognac. Standish offered me the same and I accepted.

'May Ling says you were pretty useful today, Hardy,' Standish said. 'Thank you, but I'm still in the dark about your plans now.'

'I don't have any plans. I just want to lay things out to see if we can make any sense of it. Maybe make some guesses?'

May Ling raised an eyebrow. 'Guesses?'

'Some of the best moves have been made on the basis of guesses.'

'And some of the worst,' she said.

'True.'

Standish was impatient. 'This is going nowhere. We know that Houli and Wong are in cahoots. We know that Malouf had dealings with both. ..'

'And with other members of both communities,' May Ling said. 'Finance matters, I suppose; trying to make use of them in their bloody criminal activities-drugs, girls…'

Standish nodded and ran with it. 'Getting them into financial difficulties with loans or investments that went sour and then putting pressure on them. But to do what?'

I said, 'To do something that was worth killing two people for and makes it essential to find Malouf.'

We drank our coffee and thought. May Ling shrugged and got up to brew another pot. I wandered over to the window and looked down onto Darling Harbour where boats, moving and stationary, showed lights. There was a famous replica there, I seemed to recall. Captain Cook's Endeavour or the Bounty? Couldn't remember.

'Is the replica of the Endeavour or the Bounty down there?' I asked when May Ling had poured the coffee and we'd added cognac.

'Who the hell cares?' Standish said.

May Ling looked at me. 'Why did you ask that?'

'I was thinking about the Bounty and the mutiny. It looks as if Malouf mutinied, broke away from Houli and Wong, and set off on his own like Fletcher Christian. It's a new thought-maybe Malouf faked his death to fool Houli and Wong but they had their suspicions.'

'So they're responsible for only one death and not two,' Standish said. 'How does that help us?'

Not much, I thought, but it clarified something at least. May Ling was staring at me as if she could read my mind. It was an uncomfortable feeling but I made use of it.

'May Ling, you know him and what he's capable of. What would it take for you to go hard up against him?'

She shook her head. 'Something big. Something very big.'

'Satellite dishes, Skype, multiple mobiles,' I said. 'Something international.'

Standish groaned. 'Like I said, he could be anywhere.'

I shook my head. 'I don't think so. I think he's in the wind.'

May Ling looked tired all of a sudden. She leaned back in her chair.

'What does that mean?'

'It's an American expression I picked up from novels. It means hiding, but around.'

'Novels,' Standish said.

Life is full of surprises and I got one the next morning in the form of a phone call from Felicity Standish.

'Mr Hardy,' she said, 'I think we have unfinished business.'

I'd heard that before-mostly from people who wanted to do me harm. Did Felicity want to do me harm? I was dealing with a mouthful of water trying to wash down one of my pills stuck in my throat and wasn't my most gracious.

'How's that?' I grunted.

'Well, Miles has been in touch. In fact he's been rather nice to me and the children. I'm wondering whether dealing with you has had a good effect on him.'

My throat wouldn't clear and I barked something, away from the phone.

'What was that?' she said, alarmed.

'It's all right, Mrs Standish, I…'

'I use my maiden name, Pargetter, now.'

'Ms Pargetter, I've been in touch with your husband. But thank you for the information. Is there anything else?'

'Yes. I think you're right about Richard Malouf and I believe I can help you find him.'

That was a lot to accept in one bite and my response must have sounded sceptical.

'You don't believe me,' she said.

'I want to, but a lot's happened since we last spoke.'

'I should hope so. You were at square one back then.'

'Can you give me some idea…'

'No. I want to meet with you and lay down some ground rules. I've arranged for the children to be collected by Miles's mother. I've got a free day. Will I come to you or do you want to come here?'

She was holding the cards but I didn't want to let her run the whole game. I told her that I'd prefer her to come to me and she agreed. I gave her the address.

'Good old Glebe,' she said. 'I had some good times there in my uni days. I'll be an hour or a bit less.'

It took her forty minutes. She bustled in, all designer jeans, high-heeled boots, red shirt and bomber jacket.

'This is amazing,' she said.

'What is?'

'We used to rent a house in this street when we were students. A bit further down, towards the water. I didn't know we had a famous private detective for a neighbour.'

'I keep a low profile, Mrs… Ms Pargetter. Coffee?'

'Felicity, and yes, please.'

'It won't be up to your standard.'

'I don't care about standards, not anymore.'

I pondered that as I made the coffee. There was something almost hectic about her, as if she was racing ahead and trying to catch up with herself. I brought the coffee into the sitting room, cleared the usual mess of papers and books and we sat opposite each other. She added milk to her coffee, sipped and didn't make a face. Control. I make bitter coffee, can't help it.

'I no longer think Miles killed Richard Malouf,' she said.

'Why not?'

'I've talked to him. He's told me something of what you've been doing on his behalf and… other things. I'm convinced. I was jealous and irrational when I said that.'

'And you're not jealous now?'

She smiled. 'That's a sly question. Oh, it's warm in here.'

The room warms up, even in winter, when the sun shines in through two corner windows. She slipped out of her silk-lined jacket. The action, lifting her breasts and opening her shirt, was unconscious or provocative-hard to tell.