Five-Ring Circus

by Jon Cleary

  North Sydney lies at the northern approach to the Bridge, no more than a couple of kilometres from the main city. It is a post-World War Two development, an inner suburb of terraced houses and a few mansions that was now a jumble of office high-rises. The jumble had sprouted before town planners had grown to have influence. Houses and small shops had been pulled down, high-rise buildings had gone up like controlled explosions. Belatedly there had been efforts to control planning and development, but the damage was done thirty or forty years ago. The largest open space is its busiest cross-intersection.

  Gail parked the car in the Optus building underground car park and the two detectives rode up to a middle-level floor where the Sun family company had its offices. It was a modest establishment behind two large glass doors: an outer office and two inner offices. The gold letters on the glass doors said no more than Sun Limited, like a cautious weather forecast.

  There were two girls at separate desks in the outer office, a bottle-blonde Caucasian and a blue-black Chinese. They had almost identical hairstyles and looked like a positive and negative image of the same girl.

  Malone produced his badge. “We’d like to see Mr. Sun.”

  “Certainly, sir. Mr. Darren or Mr. Troy?”

  I don’t believe this: Chinese Rugby league players? “Both.”

  Both Sun sons were in the same inner office, at desks on opposite sides of the room. Through an open door there was a glimpse of a large corner office with a view down to the Bridge and across the water to the main city. Evidently it had not yet been decided which heir would move in there.

  Darren was the taller and older of the two brothers, Troy the plumper. Both were without their jackets, wore uncrumpled white shirts with plain black ties, were stiff and formal: starched either with grief or at this intrusion on their grief.

  “Has your father been buried yet?” Malone asked.

  “Not yet. He is being cremated tomorrow.” Darren appeared to be the spokesman: Troy stood to one side, on the bench as it were. “I hope you have not been worrying our mother?”

  “We try not to worry anyone, Mr. Sun, but we do have to ask questions if you want us to find the man who murdered your father.” It was an explanation cops had to make time and time again. It was extraordinary the number of people who seemed to believe that a murder could be investigated without any input from them, no matter how close they might be to the victim. “I’ll be as brief as possible. Did your father confide much in you?”

  The brothers glanced at each other; then Darren said, “Yes. We’re partners—junior partners—in the family company.”

  “The sign on the door,” said Gail Lee, “says Sun Limited. You’re not a proprietary company?”

  “We’re a public company, but not a listed one. It was my father’s whim—he wanted people to think the family company was publicly listed on the stock exchange.”

  “Quite a whim,” said Gail. “Not Chinese at all.”

  I’m glad you said it, thought Malone.

  “It’s the Australian in us,” said Darren. “Everything out in the open.”

  “If you are partners,” said Malone, stepping into what looked like the beginning of a civil war, “you’ll have some idea of what was going on at Olympic Tower?”

  “In what way?”

  Uh-uh, we’re suddenly Chinese now. “Did your father know Mr. Shan’s true identity? Did you?”

  Again a glance between the brothers; then: “Our father knew who he was. He didn’t tell us till about a month ago.”

  “Why then?”

  It suddenly appeared to dawn on the brothers that this questioning might go on; up till now they had remained on their feet and had not invited the two detectives to sit down. Now Troy said, “Perhaps we should go into the other room—it’s more comfortable there.”

  He led the way, waved Malone and Gail to two chairs, sat down beside the large carved teak table that served as a desk. Darren followed, sat down behind the desk. The heir had been decided.

  “About a month ago,” said Darren, “Mr. Shan—General Huang, if you like—looked to be having money problems. The Bund Corporations progress payments on the construction weren’t coming through on time. That was when our father explained General Huang’s connections, when he suspected that the Bund set-up wasn’t kosher.”

  “Kosher?” Malone grinned.

  The grin seemed to take some of the starch out of the brothers. “We have a Jewish accountant.”

  “Chinese and Jewish?” said Gail. “You must be unbeatable.”

  The brothers said nothing and the joke fell flat. Back off, Gail: Malone said, “Did the money situation improve?”

  Both brothers had their eyes on Gail, as if trying to place why a half-Chinese woman detective should be here. Then Darren looked back at Malone. “Not immediately, no.”

  “Was the Bund Corporation still behind on its payments when General Huang was killed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Madame Tzu? She’s a director of Bund.”

  “Madame Tzu came good, yes.” Darren looked at his brother: “How much?”

  Troy felt obliged to explain himself: “I’m the finance officer. Madame Tzu came up with thirty per cent of the progress payment.”

  “How much?” said Gail.

  “Five million.”

  “That leaves quite a lot short,” said Malone. “Did you know General Huang’s son and daughter?”

  The brothers seemed surprised at how much the detectives knew.

  “We thought that had been kept very quiet,” said Troy. “We met them for the first time about two or three weeks ago. General Huang brought them to our parents’ house.”

  “Did you get to know them?”

  “We took them out to dinner,” said Darren. “To the Golden Gate, as it happened. Just the once. They were not easy to know.”

  “In what way?”

  Another glance between the brothers, then Troy said, “We thought they were scared.”

  “So they should’ve been,” said Malone. “They were sitting on the money that should’ve been going into Olympic Tower.”

  A moment, then Troy said, “We know. Investigators from the government were here—they told us they were investigating infractions of the Cash Transactions Reporting Act.” He recited the title as if he were familiar with it and Malone wondered if Sun Limited had occasionally been guilty of an infraction or two. “There was money here in certain accounts that they thought might have been meant for Chinese investment in Sydney. We were on the list as possible targets. They didn’t tell us how much money was involved, but they did tell us it was in two students’ bank accounts. Dad and us, we put two and two together. We guessed who the students were.”

  “The investigators didn’t tell you how much was involved?” said Gail.

  The Sun brothers shook their heads.

  “Fifty-one million. US dollars.”

  If Gail had expected any reaction from the brothers, she was disappointed; they were suddenly inscrutable. “Well!” said Darren, and that was the only reaction from either of them.

  “Why were the two of them scared?” asked Malone.

  “We don’t know,” said Darren. He had a habit of wiping one hand across the other, as if washing his hands of something; now it looked to be more a hint of panicky nerves. “Maybe they were unused to such large amounts of money—”

  “People do get afraid of large amounts of money,” said Troy, who looked as if it would take the national debt to frighten him. “That’s why so many lottery and casino winners blow the lot, soon’s they get it. They’re scared of it.”

  Malone, who never bought a lottery ticket or paid a bet, said nothing, just nodded to Darren to go on. Who did: “The other thing that may have scared them was because they suspected someone other than the government investigators knew about it.”

  “Such as someone from China?” said Malone.

  Both brothers nodded, Darren wiped his hands furiously, and Malone w
ent on: “Are you scared?”

  Darren looked down at the arms of the heavy teak chair in which he sat, as if he half-expected to see the ghostly hands of his father clutching at them. He’s not sure he wants to sit in that chair, thought Malone.

  Then Darren said, “Wouldn’t you be scared?”

  “Yes, I think I would be. It might be an idea if you hired a coupla security guards. You know that the son is dead. Li Ping, the daughter, is missing—she may be dead, too. The two Chinese engineers who were working on Olympic Tower—they’re missing, too. Did you know them?”

  Troy nodded. “Madame Tzu brought them to our house once. Nice guys, very clued up.”

  “Clued up about what?”

  Troy raised his shoulders, spread his hands. “Everything. These guys weren’t peasants.”

  “Were they Communists?” asked Gail.

  “I doubt it. I don’t think any young people in China today are Communists, not the old-fashioned sort. These guys were into fashion—” He unexpectedly laughed, a pleasant sound. “Darren and I were square compared to them. They were into all the Italian gear. I didn’t get any idea that they believed in spreading the wealth.”

  “But well-dressed as they were,” said Malone, “you still got the idea they were scared?”

  “Not them, no,” said Darren. “They acted as if they had the world made.”

  “Till Friday night,” said Malone. “They were gone Saturday morning.”

  The phone on the desk rang and Darren picked it up. He frowned, then said, “Tell her to come back later.”

  Malone was on his feet ready to leave. Something in Darren’s face made him pause; the young Chinese this time was not inscrutable or had not practised enough. “Madame Tzu?” Malone said.

  Darren frowned again. “No.”

  Malone turned swiftly, crossed to the door that led to the outer office and opened it. “Miss Feng?”

  Camilla Feng turned back from the main doors. “Inspector Malone! Why, what a nice surprise.”

  I’ll bet. “Care to come in and join us? Better than coming back later, as Mr. Sun advised.”

  She went past him into the corner office. She was dressed in a black suit with a single strand of pearls and matching ear-rings; she wore black crocodile shoes and carried a matching bag. She looked most elegant, but if animal welfare activists had fired on her Malone was sure she would have fired back.

  Both Sun brothers came forward to kiss her on the cheek; it was obvious all three were old friends. Then she turned to the two detectives and did her best to look on them as friends. She certainly looked more at ease than the Suns.

  “Were you expecting me?” she asked.

  “No,” said Malone. “To be honest, you weren’t on my mind at all—someone else was. But now you’re here . . .” He recounted the conversation he and Gail Lee had had with the Sun brothers. “Did you know all this?”

  The hesitation was almost imperceptible; but Malone caught it. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us when we came to see you at your home?”

  “I didn’t know it then.”

  If she was lying, it was difficult to tell. Malone sighed, an act he was good at. “Seems that everyone around here arrived at a lot of information pretty late in the piece. Wouldn’t you say so, Constable Lee?”

  Gail nodded; she hadn’t yet learned the change-the-bowler act that Malone had developed with Clements. But she wasn’t entirely clueless: “Exactly why are you here, Miss Feng?”

  “Ms. Feng,” Camilla corrected her; it was the first time Malone had heard one woman correct another on the title. “For the moment I am running my father’s company. And he was in partnership with Darren and Troy’s father on a number of other things besides Olympic Tower.”

  “Good,” said Malone, deciding for the moment to leave out what the number of other things might be. “We’re starting to get some focus here. So what are you planning to do? The three of you?”

  The three of them looked at each other; then Darren said, “Continue with Olympic Tower.”

  “What are you going to do about the shortage of capital?” said Gail.

  Good on you, thought Malone. A Chinese woman counting the money.

  Camilla turned to the Sun brothers. “Haven’t you told them?”

  “Not yet,” said Darren, anything but inscrutable this time.

  “Told us what?” said Malone.

  The brothers were distinctly uncomfortable; then Troy said, “We are trying to negotiate something with General Wang-Te.”

  “And who the hell is General Wang-Te?” Malone’s patience was now paper thin. Even Gail Lee looked exasperated.

  The three Chinese were silent a moment; then Camilla, the most composed, said, “He arrived yesterday from Shanghai. He is the financial comptroller of the Southern Command army. He is here to try and have the money in those frozen bank accounts returned to China.”

  “And you think he might be seduced into putting the money into Olympic Tower?”

  Camilla smiled, still more at ease than the Sun brothers. “Seduced is hardly the word, Inspector—I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Malone returned her smile, keeping her in good humour. “Not for fifty-one million?”

  “If it was for myself . . .” She gave her smile this time to the Sun brothers, who both looked even more uncomfortable. “No, Inspector, we are trying to talk to General Wang purely on commercial terms.”

  “Does the Chinese army go in for commercial deals?” asked Gail.

  “That’s what we are hoping to find out.”

  “Where is General Wang now?”

  “Staying with Madame Tzu.”

  II

  “Gail, you stay here with these gentlemen, see they don’t make any phone calls to Madame Tzu or General Wang.”

  Darren was highly offended. “Don’t you trust us?”

  “Absolutely,” said Malone. “It’s just that we cops are so damned suspicious. May I use your phone?”

  “Have we any choice?”

  “No, but we always like to ask.” He picked up the phone, dialled Homicide. “Russ? Meet me down at the Vanderbilt, wait for me in the lobby.”

  “When?” said Clements. “I’m up to my navel in paperwork—”

  “Now.” He hung up. “Do you have a car, Ms. Feng?”

  “It’s down in the garage. Are you going to borrow it?”

  “No, I’m asking you to drive me in to see Madame Tzu and General Wang.”

  “As Darren asked, do I have any choice?”

  Malone grinned. “Of course you do. But you wouldn’t like to be suspected of complicity in theft, fifty-one million dollars, would you? That money General Wang is trying to retrieve was stolen, wasn’t it?”

  “Put like that—”

  “There’s no other way to put it.” He turned to Gail: “Think up some more questions for the gentlemen, Gail.” He looked back at the brothers: “Who knows who Mr. Shan really was?”

  “Only us and Camilla,” said Darren. “And of course our fathers knew.”

  “And Madame Tzu. Keep it that way. Anyone comes to talk to you. General Huang is still Mr. Shan.”

  Going down in the lift Camilla said, “Are you any closer to finding out who murdered my father?”

  “A little closer,” was all Malone would tell her.

  Then two girls got into the lift, discussing some male yahoo who made Bruce Willis look like Prince Charming, and Camilla and Malone rode the rest of the way in silence. When they got out in the garage she led him to a blue Mercedes.

  “I thought you’d be a BMW girl.”

  She slid in behind the wheel. “This was my father’s car. I do have a BMW, but not for business. This is a fringe benefit.”

  She drove out of the garage, handling the heavy car expertly, found her way on to the approach to the Bridge. “Do you have the toll?”

  He glanced sideways at her. “You mean a car like this doesn’t have a piggy-bank?”

  “It d
oes, but I’m not here by choice. Two dollars, please.”

  He fished in his pocket, gave her two dollars. “You’d have paid two bucks to get home to Drummoyne.”

  “I go home by way of Gladesville Bridge—there’s no toll.”

  “My family think I’m tight-fisted. I think you’d give me a run for the money.”

  Her gaze was intent on her driving. “My father began life mixing and selling herbs in the old Paddy’s Markets. He built his fortune by saving pennies.”

  “You’re going to do the same?”

  She turned her head for a moment. “No, I’m saving bigger denominations than that.”

  “Do you and Madame Tzu have much in common?”

  “What sort of question is that?” But she gave him an answer after driving some distance in silence: “Yes, we possibly do. Does that worry you?”

  “It might—some time,” he said.

  She turned her head again. “That’s an enigmatic answer.”

  “It’s the Irish in me,” he said, and she threw back her head and gave a full-throated laugh. She looked all at once a different girl. How many sides are there to her?

  “Are you married, Inspector?”

  “With three kids.”

  “What a pity.”

  When they achieved a parking space in Macquarie Street right opposite the Vanderbilt Malone felt his luck might be in. General Wang might prove more co-operative than anyone else involved in Olympic Tower. But he made no immediate attempt to get out of the car.

  “Last Saturday you said Madame Tzu was your mother’s cousin.”

  “Second cousin, actually.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  She appeared co-operative, almost too friendly. She had turned in her seat, leaning back against the car door, facing him squarely. “She just turned up out of the blue about a year ago. She sort of adopted us.”

  “How did your father get on with her?”

  “Dad would fall over like a puppy if a good-looking woman looked at him.”