Alex Palmer - The Labyrinth of Drowning

‘Twenty-four hours and it’ll be over. I promise. After that I’m bailing out. I’ve made up my mind on that.’

‘I’ll be glad, babe. It’ll almost be back to normal.’ As much as Grace’s life could be described as normal, given the nature of her work. ‘But I wish Mark was still there.’

That night when Harrigan lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he tossed around the question of Griffin being under Orion’s surveillance. So far in his work he had turned over a trail of shadows, ghosts and missing people, something he’d made sense of only through constant speculation. Plenty of personal tragedy, any number of possible scenarios, but few facts. Joel Griffin was connected to his investigation through the Shillingworth Trust, if only because he was acting for the trust in the sale of two of their properties. But what if Orion had found other connections, ones Harrigan knew nothing about or had only guessed at? They had means of surveillance and investigation far beyond his capacities. Had he managed to walk into their surveillance? If he had, what would they do? Gaol him? No one had stopped him yet. He would keep going. The end was almost in sight.

He turned over to go to sleep, thinking that at least no one seemed to be stalking them any more. The last he’d heard from his tormentors was the SMS they’d sent. The thought stopped him there. People stop doing things when they’ve got what they want. Harrigan didn’t believe their stalkers had just gone away. Had they got what they wanted? Which was what?

He suddenly felt they were closer than they should be, that somehow they’d found a way into his house. It was a jolt of paranoia unlike any he’d felt. He pulled himself together but his thoughts returned to Griffin, how he’d acted tonight. As if he were the organiser, the one with a mission.

If you let them panic you, then they’ve won. Don’t lose your nerve. Take the next step. See what it tells you.

He willed himself to sleep. Tomorrow he would need all the strength he had.

Harrigan just had time to check his email before he left the house the next morning. His retainer had found Loretta Griffin’s husband, one Elliot Griffin. Both had been English migrants who had arrived here in the late 1960s and seemed to have failed to make a go of it. A drunk Elliot Griffin, just fired from his job, had attacked his wife with an iron bar in 1977 and been charged with attempted murder. In the end, he had served nine years for what the judge had described as a brutal crime. If alive today, he would be close to seventy. They’d had one child, Joel, as Harrigan had expected. Did Harrigan want her to keep searching for father and son? He sent her a message to start with missing persons.

He still arrived early at the Royal Exchange in Tempe. Eddie was already in the back room, nervously working his way through a beer. The room was near the entrance to both the beer garden and the toilets and on a quiet day it was possible to get in and out without being seen. Harrigan, who came in through the beer garden via an alleyway, found it as empty as he’d hoped it would be. He wondered why anyone would want to sit out there in the first place. It smelled of the toilets, which were old and hardly ever cleaned, and the ashtrays on the tables were always full.

The hotel opened early and the regular drinkers would be in the bar, in all likelihood smoking in there even if it was illegal. This was a pub where people came to drink seriously all day and no one was much interested in government regulations. The Royal Exchange dated back to the nineteenth century. The back room was a small closed-in space with stale carpet on the floor and a fireplace. Probably it had once been the ladies’ lounge or, as people had used to call it, the sows’ parlour. Harrigan had an arrangement with the licensee, also the barman, who would set it aside for him for meetings like this.

When Harrigan walked in, Eddie almost jumped out of his skin.

‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘You got here fucking soon enough. Don’t do that to me. Does that barman out there know how to keep his mouth shut?’

‘Just stay calm. With him, it’s see nothing, hear nothing. Now, Joel Griffin. What work does he do for the family?’

Eddie looked around, as if expecting someone to be standing behind him.

‘I think he shifts money,’ he said very quietly. ‘Been doing it for years. For both Tonys.’

‘What do they give him?’

‘Well, he gets his cut. Other than that, muscle. If he wants something done, Mick’ll front up. Apparently there’s a couple of things that went down not too long ago.’

‘Does Griffin often need things done?’

‘Now and again. No, not that often.’

‘What about you?’ Harrigan asked. ‘Do you do things for him?’

Eddie shrugged. ‘It was work. Years ago. Not since before I was in the slammer.’

‘He’s managed to stay off everyone’s radar.’

‘He comes and goes. Spends a lot of time out of the country. Keeps himself quiet. Just real careful, you know. No one hardly ever sees him.’

‘What did you do for him way back when?’

‘A bit of snatching now and again. That’s all really.’

‘Where did these people end up?’

‘In the boot of his car. Still alive. What he did after that I don’t know. Don’t know any names either. Never asked.’

Eight years ago Eddie was in gaol. Ten years ago he wasn’t.

‘This doesn’t go past me,’ Harrigan said. ‘Do you remember an older woman, maybe seventy? Just before you went away.’

Eddie worked his mouth a bit, swallowing the beer. ‘Just between you and me?’ Harrigan nodded. ‘Picked her up at Wahroonga station. She was expecting a lift. Thought she was going to hospital.’

Finally, Harrigan had testimony to tie Griffin to at least one of the missing persons. Where was Jennifer Shillingworth now? If he found her, would he find Ian Blackmore?

‘Where’d you take her?’ he asked.

‘Ku-ring-gai National Park. We met Griffin there. I don’t know where he went after that. There’s something else about him.’ Eddie spoke like he was making his run. ‘He sells information.’

‘What information?’

‘He’s a fucking barrister, isn’t he. He talks to the people he’s defending. Like he talked to Chris Newell.’

‘Did he?’

‘Yeah, mate. And everything Newell told him, he sold to the family.’

‘What did he tell them?’

Eddie was thinking. There was something else besides fear at work. Cunning was sliding into his face. Searching for an advantage, whatever that might be.

‘Harrigan, you fucking told me to be here, even though if I’m seen with you, I’m dead. I don’t want to have to drop everything every time you want something. I know you’ve quit. But you still know everyone. You can pull strings.’

‘What do you want?’

‘It’s what you said, isn’t it? I reckon when Tony senior carks it-and that’s not going to be too long-I’m out on the street. Tony junior won’t give a shit. What am I going to do then?’

‘You tell me, mate,’ Harrigan said. ‘What are you going to do?’

Eddie took a long drink. His beer was almost finished.

‘I want protection,’ he said. ‘Twenty-four fucking hours a day so I can sleep at night.’

‘It’s not me that makes those decisions any more.’

‘Come on. You can still fucking ring people. I know you can.’

‘It depends on what else you’ve got. It had better be good.’

‘I reckon what I’ve given you is pretty good, but I’ve got even better than that. Something you’d know a bit about. Bianca. You’d remember her.’ Eddie grinned dirtily.

Harrigan, expecting to be told that Griffin had sold Newell’s information about Grace, was surprised to hear her name.