by Peter Corris
'Is that a crime?' she said.
'I'm sure it is,' Chang said. 'But I wouldn't worry about it. Now, Mrs Malouf, you told Mr Hardy there was something you'd forgotten.. . held back from Houli. I need to know what that was.'
Rosemary didn't milk it, or not very much. She put down her coffee cup and spoke directly into the microphone.
'Richard had a boat,' she said. part two
PART TWO
15
'I hate boats,' Rosemary said. 'Nasty, smelly things that crash into each other and sink.'
Sabatini smiled; he'd have smiled at anything she said.
Chang said, 'The name of the boat?'
'Something to do with sport… High Fives, that's it!'
'High Fives or High Five?' the technician said.
'I don't know. I didn't even know it existed until I found a certificate of some kind in his study. It had fallen down behind a slightly warped skirting board, or maybe it was hidden there. I don't know. But it was insured in his name for a lot of money.'
'And you never mentioned this to Houli?' Chang said.
'No. I didn't find the certificate until a while after he did his rampage and I sort of forgot about it. I was so pissed off at Richard, and so frightened that I probably would have told him if I'd thought about it, but I didn't.'
'Where's this certificate now?' Ali asked.
Rosemary looked defiant. 'The boat was insured for three-quarters of a million dollars and I didn't even know he had it. I was so angry I burned the certificate.'
Chang pressed for more and Ali became almost aggressive, but the interview petered out after that. Rosemary went to work with a policewoman as escort and guard for the day. The technician packed up and left and Sabatini got ready to go to work.
'I've got some leave coming,' Sabatini said as we left the building. 'Rosemary's got a lot of frequent flyer points. We're thinking of going away for a while. To the US maybe.'
'That'd be a very good idea,' Chang said. 'I can't keep up this level of protection for very long and Houli's bound to hear that she's talking to us.'
Sabatini looked alarmed. 'How?'
Ali smiled. 'We'll tell him. When were you thinking of going?'
'Jesus,' Sabatini said. 'Sounds as if it should be now.'
'Make it soon,' Chang said. 'And stay in touch with Hardy.'
Ali looked as though he wanted to protest against that but he didn't.
Sabatini headed for a bus stop, leaving Chang, Ali and me standing by our cars.
'That was a bit rough,' I said, 'letting her know you'll leak to Houli.'
Ali shrugged. 'I'm not impressed. That wasn't worth much. With a boat he could be anywhere.'
'Or still floating around in the harbour,' I said. 'How're your relations with the water police?'
The glances they exchanged suggested that such relations were non-existent.
'Try to stay out of trouble, Hardy,' Chang said. 'Take your pills and watch your back.'
'I don't rate any protection?'
Chang had turned away; Ali said something presumably abusive, in a language I didn't understand. Annoyed by some small leaves drifting from a street tree and clinging to his suit, he brushed them off and swore at the mark they left behind. From the look he gave me I was to blame.
16
Boats. I pretty much shared Rosemary Malouf's feelings about them. I quite liked watching the start of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race from somewhere comfortable with a drink in my hand, but that's about as far as my interest went. I'd been invited aboard a small yacht once for a race on the harbour and found it a mixture of utter boredom and frantic activity. Not my scene. Big toys.
Chang and Ali's team had the resources to track down the details of Malouf's boat, although I suspected it would be a painstaking and slow business, and locating it even more so. I had another tack to try-Gretchen Nordlung.
Nordlung was a yachtsman and he was the one who'd allegedly spotted Richard Malouf. Aboard a yacht? At some yachtie hangout? Maybe the widow would know and sufficient time had elapsed to take the hard edge off her grieving. I had the address and phone number but
I needed a way to approach her. I Googled Nordlung and found that several obituaries had been published, one in an online yachting magazine. I called it up: the item was accompanied by a photographic spread of people attending Nordlung's funeral.
It's not true that all Asians look alike, or that Anglos can't tell one from another. Over the years I've had dealings with Chinese, Vietnamese and Koreans and the faces of individuals vary as much as with other races. You just have to learn to recognise the features, hair and head shapes in their own right. But one of the magazine photographs, in colour and in sharp focus, was of Gretchen Nordlung. She was slim and elegant in black, and she was the spitting image of May Ling, perhaps even a shade more beautiful.
Standish was back at work, doing whatever it was he did. I phoned and arranged to meet him and May Ling there after office hours. I didn't say why and he didn't ask. Speaking to him reminded me that I hadn't spent any of his money. I took Megan to lunch at Thai Pothong in Newtown. She ordered up a solid meal and tucked into it enthusiastically. No wine, though.
'No morning sickness?' I asked.
'Not a trace, touch wood.'
'What about cravings?'
She waved her fork over her plate. 'Just for food in general. I'm hungry from morning to night. Are you still doing whatever it is you were doing?'
'Yeah, but in a hands-off sort of way. I'm cooperating with the New South Wales Police Service.'
'Bullshit.'
We went for a walk in Camperdown Park. Megan gazed fondly at the infants in strollers and the children playing on the grass. I've never prayed in my life, but if I could I'd have prayed that everything would turn out well for her.
Standish and May Ling were waiting for me in the empty office. Standish seemed to have regained some composure and was nattily dressed again. May Ling wore an olive green pants suit and a strained, almost hostile, expression. Her makeup and hair were perfect and when she moved there was a faint waft of perfume. No one shook hands.
'Drink, Hardy?'
'Sure.'
Standish and I had scotch; May Ling had white wine. We sat around the table in the recess of Standish's office.
'It won't be a surprise to you,' I said, 'that Selim Houli and Freddy Wong have formed some sort of partnership with finding Richard Malouf as a focus.'
They nodded.
Any further contact from either of them?'
'No,' Standish said.
'I wonder why they've backed off.'
'Who knows? We're just glad they have. What more can you tell us?'
'Malouf's wife made a false identification of the body.'
'Why?' May Ling said.
'Houli terrorised her.'
Standish took a sip of his drink. May Ling watched him. He was pacing himself. 'I can believe that. So Malouf is alive.'
'Maybe. At least we know he wasn't the corpse in the car.'
May Ling said, 'Why is he so important?'
'Your cousin Freddy didn't tell you?'
Her sculpted lips tightened. She didn't like me putting it that way but she simply shook her head.
I took a slug of Standish's very good scotch. 'It's the big question. It's what led Freddy and Houli to scare the shit out of you and Houli and his mate to work me over. That's the easy part. Stefan Nordlung was murdered and the man Rosemary Malouf identified was killed as well. It's all connected but we don't know how. The police are working on it.'
Standish almost spilled his drink. 'You didn't…'
'Your name hasn't come up so far. I know you've got something to hide, perhaps lots of things. I know you were involved in some dodgy stuff with Nordlung, but unless you actually know where Malouf is-'
'I don't!'
I looked at May Ling. She shook her head, again.
'Are you sure?'
Her fists clenched, the lacquered nails
biting into her palms. 'Yes. Yes!'
'Then I don't much care about what you might have been up to. The thing is to find Malouf if it can be done.'
I'd printed out the photograph of Gretchen Nordlung. I put it on the table and leaned back. 'Sister?' I said. Another cousin, perhaps?'
The look May Ling gave me would've scaled fish. She put her glass down as if it offended her to be drinking with me. 'I worked for another solicitor before coming to Miles,' she said. 'He had frequent dealings with people in your line of work. Detestable probers into people's lives. Nasty turners-over of rocks.'
'Some rocks need to be disturbed. You haven't answered my question.'
For a moment I thought she was going to turn to Standish for support, but a glance at him showed her that he was interested in her answer too. She came as close to being flustered as I imagine she ever got. The private school accent even slipped a bit. 'Yes, she's my sister. So what?'
'Gretchen.'
'Yes, she's ashamed of being Chinese. I'm surprised she hasn't had her eyes straightened and her hair bleached.'
'I want to talk to her and I want you to pave the way.'
Standish evidently thought it time for him to play a part. 'Why, Hardy?'
'Boats,' I said. 'Boats have a lot to do with all this somehow. I phoned Mrs Nordlung, she told me where her husband was and within an hour he was dead. It looked as though Houli's enforcer Yusef Talat killed him, perhaps scared him to death. Houli's technique seems to be to get people to alert him to what's going on. I want to know if there's a connection between Gretchen Nordlung and Houli, or with Freddy Wong for that matter.'
'I didn't know you had a sister,' Standish said. 'I gather you're not close? You didn't go to Stefan's funeral. He was your brother-in-law.'
May Ling flared, 'Neither did you and he was your client.' She picked up her glass and had another sip. 'I try not to be close, but it's hard in our community to cut yourself off. And she clings, when she needs to, and that can be at any time.'
'Can you arrange to meet her?' I said.
'With you along?'
'Absolutely.'
Standish swilled the dregs of his drink in his glass. He wanted another but he didn't want May Ling to see his need and he didn't want me to see his dependence on her. A tough choice. He reached for the bottle and topped himself up.
'Jesus, Hardy,' he said. 'If… Gretchen is under Houli or Freddy's control they're likely to turn up at this meeting.'
I nodded. 'That'd be interesting, wouldn't it?'
May Ling looked worried, a frown line disturbing the satin-smooth brow. 'What game are you playing?'
'The only one I know,' I said. 'Push the buttons and see what pops.'
17
The venue for the meeting, at lunch the following day, was a cafe at Circular Quay. Fine by me; plenty of people about and I like to see the ferries at work. A bit of didgeridoo goes down well, too. It wasn't quite May Ling's kind of place though, a touch too much of the common people, and she struck me as an indoors woman, the place where she did her best work. That complexion hadn't been subjected much to sun, wind and rain. A bit of a threat on this day. The winter sun was strong and she had mounted massive protection-a broad brimmed hat and sunglasses that seemed to cover most of her face.
She'd dressed down for the occasion in trousers, medium heels and a sweater and I wondered what this meant about her relationship with her sister. The scarf and gloves she wore added a touch of elegance, but she clearly wasn't trying to outshine another woman.
I watched her approach, cleaving through the tourists and lunchtimers, expecting them to part, which they mostly did.
'Mr Hardy,' she said as she deposited her bag on the table and took off her gloves.
'Ms Ling,' I said. 'Sydney at its best.'
'Which puts it way behind a lot of other places.'
'You think so? I don't agree.'
'You wouldn't. I hope you're ready for… Gretchen. She devours men.'
'Why here? She lives in Seaforth.'
'So she's a bit out of her comfort zone. Gretchen'll find this very tacky…'
'She'll have trouble parking her Beemer or Porsche or whatever.'
'Taxi. She's lost her licence at least twice. She's a maniac driver.'
Unlike you, I thought. 'Devours men, you say-is that why you never told Miles about her?'
She ignored that and glanced around for a waiter. 'I'm betting the service here is sub-standard.'
'I've got a carafe of the house white coming. What was her name before she changed it?'
'I forget. Why don't you ask her if you want to get off on the wrong foot. Here she comes.'
I could see why May Ling hadn't chosen to compete with her sister. There was no chance of winning. The photograph in the magazine hadn't done her any justice. There was no other way to describe her but as exquisitely beautiful. I caught an amused look on May Ling's face as I got to my feet. For her, I'd only made a sketchily polite gesture. This woman could pull the strings.
'Why, May, honey, how nice to see you in such rugged and polite company.'
'Cliff Hardy,' May Ling said, 'this is Gretchen Nordlung. Gretchen spent a little time in San Francisco and she likes to let it show.'
Gretchen smiled at me, showing perfect teeth, perfect eyes, perfect lips. The effect was overwhelming and, strangely, almost comic. 'Bitch,' she said. 'Where's your fancy lawyer, and who's this thug? I'll give you ten minutes.'
Like May Ling, as well as the fragile beauty there was a tough side to her. Thug might be the only way to play it, I thought. I remembered the loose, almost sloppy style of her speech on the phone. Nothing like that now. 'I rang you wanting to speak to your husband. You told me where he was. When I got to the marina they were fishing him out of the water.'
'Did you? I've forgotten.'
'I wanted to ask him about his sighting of Richard Malouf. I particularly wanted to know where and when that might have been. Do you know anything about it?'
The carafe of wine arrived and I poured a glass.
'I'm not going to drink that piss,' Gretchen said. 'What's all this about?'
'Just answer the question, Sunny,' May Ling said.
Gretchen tensed, her eyes narrowed and suddenly she looked more dangerous than beautiful. 'Don't you call me that!'
'Sorry,' May Ling said. 'I'd forgotten about that chink in your armour.'
The two women glared at each other. A ferry hooted, a waiter hovered nearby, the Aboriginal band tuned up, but they were oblivious to everything except their mutual hostility. I shook my head at the waiter and leaned forward.
'Did your husband tell you he'd seen Richard Malouf?'
'Yes. Yes, but he must have been wrong. Richard's dead.' She picked up the bag she'd put on the floor. 'Is that all?'
'Saw him where?'
'Somewhere on the fucking harbour.'
She'd spoken more loudly than she'd intended, and a couple of heads turned towards us.
'I think your husband was right and Richard Malouf is still alive.'
I don't know what reaction I'd expected but it wasn't the one I got. Her face, a mask of anger and disdain, was suddenly transformed into a picture of confusion and distress. She fumbled in her bag.
'You can't smoke here,' May Ling said.
That left Gretchen reaching for the glass of wine I'd poured. She drank some and spilled some on her dress. 'What… what do you mean he's alive?'
It was no time for pussyfooting. 'His wife has admitted that she made a false identification. Under pressure.'
'My God!' Her voice was a whisper; she sat back in her chair and stared out over the quay. She gripped the glass in both hands. A number of rings on her fingers, but no wedding ring.
May Ling struck like a cobra. 'He was your lover, eh, Sunny? Just another one in a long, long line. He came on to me, too. He was slipping it to every willing woman in sight.'
Gretchen didn't respond to her use of the name. In fact, she didn't appear to
have heard what her sister said. She drank a little wine, retched, and for a minute it looked as if she'd vomit, but she collected herself. 'I was in love with him,' she said. 'I loved him so much and he promised me we would…'
Her head fell forward and she fainted, sliding down in her chair. May Ling was lightning fast and strong. She grabbed Gretchen's arm and supported her before moving to get a better grip. People around, already interested, murmured their concern but May Ling quelled them with a fierce stare.
'She'll be all right,' she said. 'She's a diabetic and the silly bitch doesn't eat enough. Her sugar's always low and a shock can trigger a hypo. Pour some sugar into that wine.'
I poured three sachets of sugar into the half-glass of wine and May Ling forced her sister, coming out of the hypoglycaemic faint, to drink it. A good deal of the liquid spilled on her clothes, but enough went down to bring her around. Her face was damp with sweat and there were wet patches showing under her armpits and spreading. I'd faced the same situation and done the same things for my diabetic mother many times when I was young and was always surprised at how quickly it worked. Gretchen's eyes opened and came back into focus.
'Bloody hypo,' she said. 'That fucking lying wog bastard.'
May Ling nodded. 'Right. Hardy, let's get out of here.'
I put money on the table to pay for the wine. May Ling collected her things and Gretchen's bag and we left the cafe, supporting her between us. Gretchen was still shaky and didn't protest. The Aboriginal band blasted out its first riffs.
'My car's not far off,' May Ling said. 'I'll take her home.'
'I'm with you all the way,' I said. 'She knows something and I'm not letting her out of my sight.'
We walked to where May Ling's Peugeot was parked and she handed me the keys she'd dug out of her bag.
'You drive. I'll look after her. It's 17 View Street, Seaforth. Use the GPS.'
We bundled Gretchen into the back seat and May Ling slid in beside her. I started the car, switched on the GPS and gave the destination. I familiarised myself with the controls before setting off-nothing makes you feel sillier than activating the wipers when you want to signal a turn.
