Alex Palmer - The Labyrinth of Drowning

Then Harrigan looked past them all to the entrance to the room and saw Tony Ponticelli senior walking towards him, his grandson, Joe, by his side. Without even seeming to notice them, Ponticelli pushed between Harrigan’s two friends and threw a copy of the book down on the table. Toby, his head leaning back against his chair’s headrest, was watching the scene. He was a sharp observer, Harrigan knew; years of sitting watching, often enough ignored, had left him with the skill of reading people shrewdly.

It had been years since Harrigan had seen Tony senior. He had aged to a skeleton of himself, thin and stooped, shockingly old. His eyes were too bright; they ranged over everything without seeming to take much in.

‘Tony,’ Harrigan said in a neutral voice. ‘How are you? I haven’t heard much about you for a while now. You brought your grandson with you, young Joe.’

The old man stared at him. Both the journalist and the SC stepped back.

‘He’s a better son to me than my real one,’ he said. ‘Paul Harrigan. I’ve come to buy your book.’

His grandson had supplied him with a chair. He sat down as if he were planning on staying for a while.

‘Is that your partner over there?’ he said, looking across at Grace. ‘Is that your daughter?’

‘Why do you want to know, mate?’

‘I hear she doesn’t stay home. She goes out to work. I wouldn’t let any wife of mine do that. Is this any good?’ He pushed the book forward.

‘You’ll have to read it to find out.’

‘I’m here to tell you something. When you leave tonight, you think about Bee. You think about what she looked like when they found her. You think back to when you were all so fucking useless you never found out who did that to her. You write this fancy new book and you can’t protect a twenty-five-year-old girl. You didn’t want to. Don’t think I’m ever going to forget that. That’s what I wanted to tell you.’ He looked around for his grandson. ‘Joe. Home.’

Joe helped him to his feet.

‘Paul Harrigan.’ Tony senior smiled. ‘You never got me in a courtroom.’

He looked around as if trying to make sure he knew where he was. He was about to head for the door, his grandson guiding him, when he almost walked into Joel Griffin who had come up behind him out of the crowd. Griffin stopped, excused himself and walked around him. The old man turned to stare after him. Surprised, Harrigan waited to see if any word or sign of recognition would pass between them. The old man’s mouth was working without speaking. Joe took him by the arm and steered him around, back towards the door. Tony senior saw Grace again and stared at her, seemingly half-comprehending, angry and resentful.

‘I do things my way,’ he said. ‘I don’t fucking let anyone tell me what to do. You’ll find out.’

Then, to the obvious relief of the bystanders, he walked out, leaning on his minder’s arm.

Griffin didn’t seem to see anyone much except Harrigan. He was carrying a copy of his book. ‘I’ve come for something of yours,’ he said. ‘Can I get your signature on this?’

Harrigan scrawled his usual sprawling signature across the title page of the book. ‘Enjoy,’ he said, a slight edge in his voice.

‘I will,’ Griffin replied. ‘Because this is you. A signature is personal however often you give it out.’

As Griffin turned to leave, he saw Grace. He stared at her for a few seconds, then walked the short distance over to her.

‘Is this your little girl?’ he said, without otherwise greeting her. ‘Does she look anything like you? Show me. I can’t see.’

Grace held Ellie a little closer.

‘You don’t need to see. You’ll wake her up and then she could start to cry. It’s better that doesn’t happen.’

‘I’ve never seen you look like this. Even your make-up’s different. You didn’t dress like that for me today.’

He reached out and touched Grace’s hair. She jerked her head out of the way. Then Harrigan was standing in front of him.

‘It’s time you left, mate.’

Griffin turned, his blue eyes looking directly into Harrigan’s own, meeting his gaze without embarrassment. It was a detached stare. As a police officer, Harrigan had interviewed people with that look in their eyes; they were invulnerable to anything you said, to any emotion expressed. What are you seeing? he wondered. Me? As what? Whatever it was, Griffin didn’t answer him.

‘I said you should go,’ Harrigan repeated to his silence. ‘You’ve got your book.’

Griffin looked at Grace and Ellie, then at Harrigan again, and turned and walked out without a glance at anyone else.

Suddenly Harrigan’s publisher was there, smiling and professional. ‘The editor of the New South Wales Law Journal wants to talk to you,’ she said. ‘Do you have the time?’

‘Just give me a few moments,’ Harrigan replied. He spoke to Grace. ‘Are you okay?’

‘We’re okay. He’s gone. That’s all that matters.’

Later, when almost everyone else had gone, Harrigan went up to Toby, who was about to leave as well.

‘Sorry, mate. I didn’t get much time to talk to you.’

You were busy. Those two men, the old man knew the other one. I don’t think he liked him .

‘I don’t think Tony cares for anyone much except himself.’

What’s going on, Dad? Why are they interested in Grace ?

Harrigan glanced back at Grace who was getting to her feet, still holding a sleeping Ellie in her arms. He saw her look in their direction.

‘I don’t know what’s going on. But I know something is. I can’t say more than that.’

You’ve got to take care. I don’t want anything to happen to Grace .

By then, she was with them. ‘What are you two talking about?’ she asked.

‘It’s a pity those two arseholes turned up and had to bother you the way they did.’

‘They’re gone now. Let’s forget about them. That’s all they deserve.’

They saw Toby into the Cotswold House van, waved goodbye to his friends and left. Harrigan had declined the publisher’s offer of dinner, wanting to take his daughter home. It was with some relief that he was finally able to pour himself a whisky and sit down to talk to Grace over something to eat.

‘Griffin knows you,’ he said. ‘Is he your target? He’s a dangerous man. You do know that.’

For once she answered directly. ‘Yes, we know that. I’m not treating him lightly.’

‘Have you got him under surveillance?’

‘What do you think?’

‘What are you doing?’ he asked after a short silence. ‘Stinging him in some way? I hope your backup’s out there.’

‘They are.’

‘You’re not going to tell me what you know about him or who he is.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Babe, does he believe you’re genuine? Can you just tell me that?’

‘Yes, he does. He’s responding to me in that way.’

‘I don’t like the way he looked at you. Have any of your inquiries turned over the Ponticellis?’ Harrigan asked. ‘Are they involved?’

‘I can’t answer that question. I can only say everything’s under control.’

‘When’s this going to be over?’

‘This time tomorrow night, I hope. I’m going to be late but I will be here.’

‘Jesus, I hope so,’ Harrigan said.

There was silence.

‘Clive fired Borghini today,’ she said.

‘What did he do? Stand up to him?’

‘All the time. There was no need for it. You don’t chase people like Borghini away. You work out how to handle them.’

‘It was a stupid thing to do,’ Harrigan said. ‘Mark’s very smart. Who’s going to take his place?’

‘Knowing Clive, a lapdog.’

‘And you’re telling me everything’s under control?’