Peter Corris - Follow the Money

Big talk, and probably rehearsed, but the trouble was he sounded as if he knew what he was talking about and I had just enough information to put flesh on the bones of what he was saying. I needed more, though.

I said, 'You've set up something big, got the ducks in a line, why not just run with it?'

No answer. I waited. 'Malouf?'

'Ah, good, you believe I'm who I say I am.'

'Fuck you. From everything I've heard, you're a lying, egotistical arsehole, so, yes, you've convinced me.'

I heard a sigh. 'Run with it, you say. I've been running with it. You can't imagine how hard I've worked. I'm tired.'

'You've done the dirty on Wong and Houli. You thought you could get away with that but now you have your doubts. I'm inclined to let you stew in your own juice.'

'That won't help you get your money back or stop your city from turning… cancerous.'

'What d'you mean?'

'That's the point-what do I mean? Talk to your principals. Talk to Inspector Chang and Sergeant Ali, talk to May Ling, but I'll tell you this-if Wong and Houli don't get a result soon they're going to feel some pressure and they'll destroy everyone in sight. I mean you, Standish, May Ling, Gretchen, Rosemary, Felicity, everyone! I'll be in touch.'

I didn't have the equipment set up to record phone calls any longer-I'd dismantled it some time after losing my PEA licence. I missed it now. I scribbled down as much as I could remember of what Malouf had said and wished I'd put some more questions to him. One would have been-how do you know so much about what I and others've been doing? There are ways of course, electronic methods, and it looked as though Malouf would be well up to speed on those, but the best method is to have someone on the inside keeping you informed.

I made a list of all the people Malouf had called my principals and scribbled notes beside the names-dates, brief details of character, attributes, meetings, likely motives. I had a lot of questions: were Chang and Ali all they appeared to be? Were Standish and May Ling consummate actors, playing both sides against the middle? What about Yusef Talat and Lester Wong? Could they be double-crossing their bosses? I didn't feel confident of these suspicions-too many gaps, too many breaks in the traffic. I looked at the list again and realised that I'd left one name off it-Richard Malouf. Maybe he wasn't sequestered on his high-tech boat; maybe he was out and about, monitoring all our activities. It was a thought, but I couldn't decide whether it was alarming or encouraging.

I needed an ally, someone to bounce ideas off and suggest strategies; someone to help. In the old days I would've turned to Frank Parker but I'd got him into trouble too many times before. Hank Bachelor was out; Megan had made it clear I wasn't to involve him in anything sticky. I looked at my list again-Sabatini. Why not?

I emailed Sabatini, setting out most of what I'd learned recently and telling him that Malouf had spoken to me. I knew that would hook him; no journalist can resist a Lazarus story. I implied that there was more to be said, and that I needed his expertise and possibly his hands-on help. A rock climber is a risk taker by definition, and Sabatini struck me as an ambitious type who probably had his mind on bigger things. Rosemary was definitely not a widow now, but there was a question as to whether she'd been legitimately married at all. I hinted at this. If their relationship was going full steam, what was more natural than that he'd want to be involved in dealing with the man who'd put her in danger?

I got an answer just an hour later. Sabatini didn't say where they were, but he'd been thinking about the Malouf business all the time and when he'd told Rosemary about my email she'd encouraged him to go back and help. I was reading the message when my mobile rang.

'Hardy, it's-'

I cut in. 'Be careful, there's a chance someone we know could be listening.'

'Shit, all right. She's safe with friends. I'm coming back. I'll be-'

'You'll be where you say you are when you get there.' 'OK.'

'Thanks. Think hard, we need ideas.'

'Can you give me anything more now? More to think about?'

'Yes, what is it that you most worry about?'

'Jesus, that's no help.'

'I know,' I said. 'Hurry back.'

I suppose I had some idea about Sabatini publishing something, maybe in his blog, and that drawing Malouf out into a meeting. Then we could hold him and either deal with the police or deal with Houli or Wong, whatever seemed to give the best result. It would depend on what he meant by 'cancerous', how serious the business they had set up really was.

It was a plan of sorts, an attempt to take the initiative. I didn't like the idea of just sitting around waiting for Dick Malouf to get in touch. When I'd mentioned the fact of the so far unknown dead man, he'd described it as an unimportant detail. Intelligence he undoubtedly had, and charm, to judge from the way he'd made himself appealing to women. That indifference to the life of another human being, though, also exhibited self-absorption. Just like Miles Standish, but worse. It was a serious weakness.

Most of the time I was comfortable in the house I'd lived in for many years, but occasionally the memories, good and bad, got to me and I needed to be somewhere else, preferably in company. I went down Glebe Point Road to the pub where I sometimes play pool but none of the people I play with was there. I had a drink and waited but no one I knew came in. I wandered off to an Italian restaurant where I could at least exchange pleasantries with the waiters and the owner. I was still down a few kilos and kept up the good work by ordering a salad, entree-size lasagne and a small carafe of wine rather than a bottle. When eating alone I read. I had another Shipway title, Free Lance, with me; not as good as Knight in Anarchy, but interesting enough.

The restaurant had benches rather than chairs and as it filled up it was usual to have to share the space. I was enjoying the food and wine and interested in the book and didn't look as a man slid into the seat beside me.

'Good book?'

The last thing you want. I nodded, keeping my eyes on the page. I felt a sharp prick below my rib cage on the left side and my head swung round until I was looking into the eyes of Lester Wong.

'I can slip this into your heart in a fraction of a second, Hardy,' he said quietly. 'It'll kill you instantly and there wouldn't be much blood. I'd jump up in alarm as you slumped forward and that would be that. What do you think?'

There was blood already; I could feel it trickling down my side. Lester wasn't looking at me now-just another customer waiting to order.

'Can I finish my dinner?'

'Of course. Take your time up to a point. We don't want to create a disturbance. Then you pay and we leave together.'

'You won't be able to keep the knife on me, Lester. I beat the shit out of you easily a while back and I could do it again.'

'Don't worry, I remember,' he said. 'But things are a bit different now. You see, we have May Ling in a car outside and if you cause any trouble we'll spoil her pretty face forever. Would you like to be responsible for that?'

I had weapons to hand: a knife, a fork, a glass and a carafe, usually enough to work with in a situation like this. But Wong's threat had that edge of menace that cut off all options. I put down the book and had a solid swig of the wine.

He took the knife away, leaving a small snick. The blood trickled a little harder. 'OK,' he said. 'That'll do. Let's go.'

It went smoothly. I was wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and a longish jacket; the blood was well concealed. Lester stayed close but managed to look as if he'd just changed his mind about eating there. We went out; Lester gestured at a people-mover parked close by and I saw May Ling through a window. Nobody took any notice as Lester escorted me towards the vehicle. A door slid open.