Geoffrey Cousins - The Butcherbird

Renton appeared dazed as he looked around the room for help. He noticed Louise taking notes. Why was she taking notes? Red wine was no longer a factor in his addled brain. His ability to brush aside alcohol was legendary. He just needed to fix on a point, as if gaining balance on a rolling deck, and then outwit the lesser intellect.

‘Yes, of course, but I can’t have people removing files at will.

I’m responsible to APRA for the integrity of these documents and if you wanted something you should have come to me, through Janet.’

‘Janet gave me the file. And I assure you it’s completely safe. I’ve already copied it, so you can have the original back.’ Jack placed a thick folder on the desk. ‘But let’s move on, Renton. I want to ask you a few questions about some of this material.’

Renton Healey stared at the papers in Jack’s hands. They were covered with highlighter colours and post-it notes, signs of extensive, diligent reading. These two must have arrived the minute he left the building. There was a great deal of complex material in that file. Just how complex, Renton couldn’t remember. Was the side letter in there or in a separate file? He needed Janet. He would deal with her indiscretions another day.

‘I’d like to help, Jack, but I think I’m pretty booked up this afternoon.’ He commenced the standing-up process. ‘I’ll just check with Janet and see how soon I can give you the time this deserves.’

‘Janet won’t be back for a while. She’s helping me out with an urgent project, hope you don’t mind. I asked her to clear your diary for this afternoon, so we’re in good shape. Let’s get going, shall we?’

When they were together later that night, the times were old, but new also. They were all knitted together again. They’d made love as soon as the kids were asleep and they were now propped up in bed with papers strewn about and wine on the bedside table.

‘How did we do, lover boy?’ Jack was bemused. She never asked questions like that. ‘Very beautiful, my love, as always.’

She snorted. ‘Not the sex, you idiot. I’m talking about the old team, on the job. Did we get the goods or not?’

He laughed and picked up her notebook, filled with pages of immaculate script. ‘I doubt Hedley Stimson has ever seen a court reporter produce as accurate a record. It was wonderful watching Renton’s face as you took all that down. Now and again he was so caught off guard by some of my questions he had to take his eyes away, but most of the time they were fixed on your flying pen. How many times did he ask for your surname? Was it two or three?’

‘Only two, I think, but no doubt he’s scouring the records of every Louise among your thousands of employees as we speak. I wonder how many there are.’

He looked at her with deep affection. There would have been no meeting without her, he knew that. He would have been planning another picnic or figuring out how to fit three spa baths and a sauna into one apartment. Had he only taken the job in the first place to impress her? Maybe. Louise and a few friends. Now he needed to impress himself.

‘Did we do the business, lover boy? Will they all hang by the neck until dead, that’s what I want to know? They’ll need a strong rope for Mr Healey, that’s for sure.’

Jack selected a page from the litter on the bed. ‘I think this is it. The smoking gun. It’s just a one-page letter written in completely obtuse language, but I reckon it’s the one. Renton nearly threw up his lunch when I referred to it and he’d hate to part with that. What was his response again?’

She took the notebook and flipped to another page. ‘I don’t recall seeing that letter before. It’s not addressed to me. The addressee is no longer with the company. Its meaning is not immediately clear. Its terms may not have been implemented. He handled it like a poisonous spider.’

‘Exactly. Only Hedley Stimson can confirm if it’s the missing piece, but I think we’ve got them.’

She wrapped herself around him and buried her hands deep into his hair. ‘You were unrelenting and ruthless in your pursuit. I didn’t know you understood all that complex jargon. Very sexy in an odd way. The thinking warrior is quite a turn-on.’ She scratched his scalp and his eyes closed as they always did. ‘What will you do when they’re all pinned on the wall? Will you try to clean up the whole company or go back to property and lead a quiet life? Or just make love to me and live off our fat?’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I actually like the insurance business and I want to make sure our policyholders don’t suffer. The shareholders will, for a while anyway, because the share price will take a big hit when all this comes out. So I’d have to stay and hold the company together for some time. But let’s not count our chickens.’

She bounced up and down on the bed like a child. ‘I want to count them. Can’t you go and see old Hedley tomorrow? I want to come.’

He laughed and put a hand on her shoulder to stop the bouncing. ‘I’ll go on Sunday, as we agreed, and I’ll go alone. I’d love for you to meet him one day when it’s all out in the open.

I don’t think it’ll be long. But we’ll wait till Sunday.’ chapter thirteen

The knocking started Mac on a long journey. He was floating over the rocky outcrops of the Kimberley, drifting above the lapis lazuli of coral reefs, darkened here and there by the black shapes of Spanish mackerel or queen fish or barramundi closer to the shore, and then, suddenly, was staring down at the white sails of the Opera House, a train snaking its way over the Harbour Bridge, a massive container vessel squeezing beneath the span. His was the deep sleep of physical contentment and mental peace. Knocking, whatever its origin, couldn’t disturb it. Besides, there could be no such knocking here. The only way to reach Bonny’s penthouse on the twenty-fifth floor was via the concierge, who would buzz. And he wouldn’t buzz, ever, before seven-thirty. Mac pulled himself back to consciousness and looked at the bedside clock through half-closed lids. Six a.m.

What the hell was going on? He eased quietly out of bed and reached for his kimono, cherry blossoms winding their way through the patterned silk. It was a present from Bonny. At first he’d thought it too feminine and pretty, but now he loved the slippery softness on his bare skin. Pushing his knobbly feet into a pair of kangaroo-skin slippers he headed for the door. There must be some problem with the security system, but why they couldn’t leave it till later was beyond him. If that concierge expected a big tip at Christmas, he’d better plan on buying his own cherries.

When he opened the door, expecting the obsequious, smiling face of James in the blue uniform, his mouth fell slightly open. There were three figures confronting him, all in drab grey, none of whom appeared obsequious or anything near it, none of whom were smiling. One stepped forward and spoke, holding something in an outstretched hand.

‘Mr Biddulph, we represent the Australian Securities and Investments Commission. We hold a duly executed warrant to search these premises. We also wish to ask you questions pertaining to a current investigation. We will now enter the premises.’

As he spoke the other two moved from behind him, past Mac, into the apartment’s foyer. Mac was still staring at the document in the man’s hand without seeing it, partly because he was stunned, partly because his glasses were on the bedside table. He was suddenly aware that he must present a slightly ridiculous, even pathetic, figure-an old man with a face creased by rumpled sheets, swaddled in a Japanese prostitute’s gown, standing with legs apart and mouth open, not quite dribbling but damn close to it. He struggled to regain composure and control.