Peter Temple - Shooting Star

Barry nodded, sighed. ‘Her mother will come back and kill me if you upset Alice.’ Pause. ‘There’s something we should’ve said. Tom didn’t raise it and his presence made me reluctant. In his relentless pursuit of the deal, Mark’s been involved with some extremely dodgy people.’

I waited, nodded.

‘About three weeks ago, Tom had a call from Poland. A man with an American-accented voice, but not an American. He said Mark owed his syndicate two million dollars American and if he didn’t come up with the money, they would hold his family responsible for the debt.’

‘Responsible? What did Tom understand that to mean?’

‘Financially responsible. They expected us to pay Mark’s debt.’

‘What did Tom say?’

‘He says he told the man to take it up with our lawyers.’

‘And?’

‘The man said they didn’t deal with lawyers and the family should ensure that Mark paid up. He said a polite goodbye.’

‘What’s Mark say about that?’

‘We should’ve been more open about that too. Can’t get hold of Mark. That’s not unusual, let me say quickly. He’s got a secrecy mania, everything’s terribly hush-hush, he talks behind his hand.’

‘But not to you. I gather you won’t be in the same room with him.’

Barry put his right elbow on the desk, rested his chin on his palm, his index finger rubbing the side of his nose. ‘Where’d you hear that?’

‘From Christine.’

Barry closed his eyes. ‘Ah, from Christine.’ He opened them. ‘A singular woman, Christine, but not someone directly connected with reality.’ He was smiling without a trace of humour. ‘Or did you form a contrary view?’

‘Will you be in the same room with Mark?’

For a moment I thought I’d gone too far. Then Barry’s smile warmed and he laughed, the first time I’d heard him laugh, a pleasant sound.

‘Only if I have to,’ he said. ‘And then I keep as far away as possible. There’s something about Mark that chills me, always has.’

I smiled back. ‘And Tom’s heard nothing from the American-accented man since the phone call?’

He put his head to one side, smile gone, gave me a long look. ‘Not unless the Polish syndicate is using an electronic voice.’

The statement floated in the air between us as I sat there thinking that I was totally inadequate to the task I’d taken on. I gathered myself.

‘Does Tom think that?’

‘No. He thinks Mark would tell him about any threat to the family. Particularly to children.’

‘You could ask Interpol to look for Mark,’ I said. ‘There’s no need to mention Anne. Graham can go to the Chief Commissioner, tell him the family’s worried about Mark.’

Silence. Then Barry said, ‘I suppose we should. I’ll have to ask Tom. He won’t like the idea. Not with the float coming up. I can see it now: Interpol Hunt For Missing Carson Millionaire.’

‘Is he a millionaire?’

‘In reverse. Owes about that. Doesn’t have a cent more than Tom will give him. But to the media all Carsons are millionaires.’

‘Tell Graham to stress confidentiality. I think you’ve got the clout to have the inquiry kept secret.’

He snorted, a genteel snort. ‘Clout? I couldn’t keep my daughter’s kidnap out of the media. That’s clout.’

‘The police took the decision. This is just a person missing overseas. It’s different.’

‘I’ll see if I can get Tom to believe that. Leave your number with Belinda outside and she’ll call you about the video linkup arrangements. If Alice agrees, that is.’

I was getting up when he said, ‘You haven’t got anywhere, have you, Frank?’

‘All I’m doing is trying to rule out possibilities,’ I said. ‘For the real detectives to come.’

‘Tom seems to think I suggested you talk to Christine. Disabuse him of the notion if you get a chance, will you?’

‘Why would he think that?’

A shrug. ‘Tom’s got a paranoid streak. Not even his family are above suspicion. No, particularly his family.’

‘In the matter of my seeing Christine, what are you suspected of?’

‘Who knows? Encouraging you to go down fruitless avenues, I suppose.’

I didn’t understand. ‘What about Mark? Is he above suspicion?’

‘I think it’s crossed Tom’s mind that Anne’s kidnapping may be-how shall we put it-related to Mark’s activities.’

I wanted this spelled out. ‘Are you saying Tom thinks Anne’s kidnappers might be people Mark has had dealings with? But not the current deal?’

‘Not thinks that. Crossed his mind. And not the current deal, no.’

In the cold street, I hesitated, walked several blocks to the shoeshine stand and had my disreputable shoes polished. ‘Frank,’ said the Chilean, ‘you don have the right attitude to shoes. You got contempt for shoes.’

‘Contempt?’ I said. I was looking at four office workers out of their building for a smoke, all facing outwards, not dressed for the street, pulling at their cigarettes quickly, not talking, just addicts. ‘Contempt’s too strong, Ramon. I just don’t look down often enough.’

I got on at Museum Station, sat in the second row from the doors. Just before Flagstaff, Vella sat down opposite me. He put a Myer carrier bag between his feet, looked at his reflection in the train window, fiddled with his tie. I looked at his reflection too, examined his long-nosed face, eyes and hair and suit too black to show up against the underground darkness outside.

‘What the fuck’s this you’re doing?’ he said, barely audible.

‘Making ends meet, that kind of thing.’

‘Out of ten-year-old kidnaps? Someone’s paying?’

‘Not the kidnappers. I’ve taken a decision not to work for kidnappers.’

‘You should be inclusive,’ he said. ‘They’ve got their rights.’

We were cruising into Flagstaff, a soft hand on the brake. A young woman sitting opposite us got up and hung on the bar, hips canted. She was wearing high heels, a red suit with a short skirt, and pantyhose that gleamed like the skin of a fresh flesh-coloured fish. Vella looked at her, lechery betrayed only by long fingers stroking the hair on the back of his right hand. Her eyes flicked to him, held, she tossed her head, if a movement so minute could be a toss. Then she concentrated on the door.

The train stopped, the doors opened and she got out. But, on the platform, she turned her head and looked at Vella, lifted her chin, winked at him, a wink an audience would be able to see on a stage. It was an audacious wink, sexy. Then she was gone.

‘See that?’ said Vella.

I nodded.

‘What’s it mean? I jump off, go up to her, what?’

The doors closed, train shrugged and moved, gained speed. I said, ‘You tell her you’ve got a loving wife, two lovely kids, but, hey, what about a drink or something, we can just talk. That’s one possibility. Or…’

‘One’s enough,’ Vella said. He looked around. There was no one close, mid-morning lull, the commuter frenzy far away. He pushed the carrier bag over to my side with a foot, leaned forward, put his head down. His shoulders came up like a big black bird roosting.

‘Frank, getting this, offence number one, is taking my life in my fucking helpless hands. Giving it to you, number two. They will blow me away. There won’t be a foreskin to bury.’

I was grateful, but an unbeliever. ‘That bad? Shit, just the other day any prick could buy a file in a pub in St Kilda.’

He shook his head and pulled a face, looked around. ‘A file? A file? You think this is a file? There’s no file to get. There’s no paper. Files like this are history. I had to get you the whole SeineNet.’

‘The what?’