Peter Corris - Deep Water

‘We’re going to need it, unless we can learn something useful from Dr O’Neil. Megan and I can try to contact her tomorrow morning, but I think all three of us should go to

the meeting with Holland. My guess is he’ll have others

along.’

‘That’s better,’ Megan said. ‘I want to go.’

‘It’s going to be a chess game,’ I said.

Hank groaned. ‘I’m lousy at chess.’

‘Me, too,’ I said.

‘I’m pretty good,’ Megan said.

I gave her one of my winning grins. ‘Thought you might be. Your mother was.’

The Four Bays Cycling Club clubhouse turned out to be a garage, one of a set cut into a cliff on a street a block back from New South Head Road in Rose Bay. A roller door had the club name, only partly disfigured by graffiti, stencilled on it. Megan and I gathered there at seven twenty on a brisk morning with a sharp wind coming off the water.

‘They ride for an hour,’ Megan said, ‘rain, hail or shine, and they cover a bloody lot of clicks.’

‘Admirable. I wouldn’t fancy the hills.’

‘They thrive on them. Think of the Tour de France.’

‘That’s for money. More understandable. Here they come.’

A group of riders swept around a bend and headed towards us, pedalling fast on the flat stretch. At about a hundred metres out, they slowed and coasted the rest of the way. We could hear their voices carrying clearly on the morning air above the sounds of traffic and the stiff breeze. There were ten people in the group, including two women.

‘She’s the thin one with the red helmet,’ Megan said.

‘I recognise her. She put in a brief appearance at the funeral.’

The riders bunched up, shook hands, chatted and inspected their bikes. We walked over to where the woman Megan had singled out was making an adjustment to the strap on one of her pedals.

‘Excuse me,’ Megan said, ‘Dr O’Neil?’

The woman pulled off her helmet and shook out her long, dark hair. She was good looking-thin-faced with large dark eyes. In her lycra outfit, she displayed a body without a gram of extra fat.

‘Yes, I’m Susan O’Neil. Who-?’

Megan spoke quickly but quietly. ‘Sorry to grab hold of you like this, but it’s important that we talk with you. We’ve been hired by Margaret McKinley, Dr Henry McKinley’s daughter, to investigate his death.’

She was still half occupied by the strap, still probably considering how she’d done on the ride, but now she stopped what she was doing and studied us closely. The other riders were filing into the garage and I could see the racks waiting for their bikes. They must have showers and changing rooms inside. Nice set-up.

‘How do I know that’s true?’

Greenacre had faxed a copy of the power of attorney document Margaret had signed. I produced it and my long-cancelled PEA licence. Megan had a Bachelor Enquiries card with her name on it.

I said, ‘We know something of Dr McKinley’s concern about the integrity or otherwise of Tarelton Explorations and other interested parties. We thought it safer to approach you away from your place of work.’

‘Thank God for that.’ Her dark, evaluating eyes shifted between us. ‘You’re father and daughter.’

‘We are,’ Megan said.

‘I don’t know why, but that helps me to believe you. Please wait until I rack the bike and get changed and then I’ll be willing to talk to you.’

‘Thank you,’ Megan said.

‘I should say I’ll expect you to talk to me before I talk to you.’

She wheeled the bike away and was the last rider into the garage. The roller door came down.

‘Game of chess,’ Megan said.

Dr O’Neil came down a set of steps above the garage. She was wearing a dark blue pants suit like the one she’d worn at Rookwood, heels, grey blouse, carrying a smart leather drawstring bag. She used the remote to unlock a silver-grey Subaru parked in the street, and gestured for us to follow. The car had a device for securing a bicycle on the roof.

‘Probably goes on hundred kilometre rides up and down mountains somewhere out bush,’ I said as Megan started the engine. We were in her old VW 1500, a car she refused to part with-like me with my Falcon.

‘I thought you liked athletic women.’

‘I did, now I feel a bit outclassed.’

We followed the Subaru to Double Bay where it swung into a parking spot outside a coffee shop. Megan had to drive further to find a space. We walked back and Dr O’Neil was waiting for us at an outside table. She was nervous, fiddling with the packets of sugar, as we sat down.

‘I’m betting you’d have a long black,’ I said.

She smiled. ‘You lose-super-strength cap and I sugar it. Those rides burn up the calories.’

‘Would you go in and order, Cliff?’ Megan said. ‘We’re on expenses, Dr O’Neil. Mine’s a flat white.’

I did as directed. Bringing Megan was the right move. When I got back the two women were on first name terms and the earlier tension had dissipated.

‘I’ve told Susan about Dr McKinley’s DVD and his suspicions,’ Megan said. ‘And that you saw her at Dr McKinley’s funeral.’

She smiled. ‘Come to think of it, I saw you, too.’

‘We’ve got a meeting lined up with a representative of Global Resources,’ I said. ‘Not sure what he’s going to say, but. .’

The coffee came and Susan O’Neil did as she said she would-shovelled sugar into her mug. ‘I know what he’ll say. He’ll offer the world for information about the aquifer and how to get to it.’

I sipped at my long black; it was very good, and so it should have been at the price. ‘What about the others- Lachlan and Tarelton?’

Susan shrugged. ‘Don’t know anything about Lachlan. All I know is that the bigwigs at Tarelton are going spare. Apparently the company borrowed a hell of a lot of money on the expectation that Henry would deliver and now they’re caught in a debt trap. They’re cutting staff. I’m going to save them the bother by handing in my notice when I can be sure I’ll get what’s due to me.’

‘It’d be useful if we had more cards to put on the table when we meet the man from Global,’ Megan said. ‘Our only interest is finding out who killed Dr McKinley, but I’m sure his daughter would hold to his idea of not exploiting his work. Is there anything else you can tell us?’

‘I don’t think so.’

I decided to be blunt. ‘Do you know the site and the technique?’

‘No, I don’t, thank God.’

She’d almost finished her coffee and was preparing to leave.

‘Could it be a quarry?’ Megan said.

Susan burst into laughter. ‘A quarry? Don’t be ridiculous. Did Henry leave a clue about a quarry?’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

She gathered up her bag. ‘Would have been a red herring then. Didn’t Henry say anything about his research procedure on the DVD?’

‘Nothing,’ Megan said.

Susan sat down again and went back to fiddling with the sugar. ‘I wonder why not.’

‘We should have told you,’ Megan said. ‘Cliff and Margaret found ashes in the fireplace in the cottage. He said he’d burnt all his notes. We weren’t holding back, we just. .’

Susan nodded. ‘It’s OK. He wiped his computer clean of the serious data and mine too before he went missing. I’ve had to cover up, pretend to be analysing his results. It’s been a strain.’

‘There is something else you can tell us, isn’t there?’ I said.

She nodded. ‘I just don’t know why. .’

Megan’s tone was sympathetic. ‘We should have shown you the DVD. We still can. He mentions you in the best possible terms. We think his reticence was out of a wish to protect his daughter, and you, Susan.’

Susan was almost tearful. ‘He was a lovely man. Great fun. I knew he liked me, but there was never the slightest word or gesture out of line.’