Prophets and Loss (A Johnny Ravine Mystery)
Page 28
Chapter Twenty
Some people would find sleeping alone in a church unnervingly spooky. Not me. In East Timor the resistance fighters often hid in them, sometimes for days or weeks at a time. They were places of sanctuary. Unfortunately they were also often the first places the enemy would search when they were tracking us.
I had made a rough bed in the church hall, next to the main chapel, and lay there reflecting on the events of the past few days. Briony had led me into that trap, and was clearly right at the heart of whatever was happening. She had presumably led Grant into a trap too. But why? I still could not work out his connection to all these events. Papa Guzman had said that the Prophets and La Rue were the key. But how? And the key to what?
I had phoned Rohan for a long chat, but he had nothing new to offer. It seemed Melissa wasn’t going to tell me any more. Whether she knew more or not, I couldn’t be sure. Anyway, I couldn’t force it out of her. So who might talk? Where was the weak link?
I grabbed my cell phone and made a call. A familiar soft voice answered.
“Hi Matt,” I said. “Johnny Ravine. Remember me.”
“Yeah. You’re the private cop, aren’t you? Trying to find out about Grant.”
“Right. Matt, where are you now? At the stock exchange?”
“Yeah, market’s opening soon.”
“Up or down?”
“Up I reckon. New York’s strong. Economy’s on the improve. Nothing to hold it down.”
“Maybe I should put in a few dollars myself. Time I got rich.”
“A few dollars won’t help you get rich.”
“Good point. Listen, Matt, the police are having real problems finding who killed Grant. I’d really like to have another word with you. And I reckon a visit to your office might help me. The Prophetic Edge. Are you there today? Late afternoon?”
“I don’t spend such a lot of time there any more. With my BlackBerry I can work anywhere.”
“Matt. I’m pretty busy today. When does the market close?”
“Which market?”
“Whatever market you’re trading in.”
“I’m in them all.”
“Here. The Australian market.”
“The ASX closes at four. But there are markets everywhere.”
“Can I meet you this evening, then? Around seven? I’ll buy you some dinner near the office.”
There was a silence. I held my breath, though I needn’t have bothered with a fellow as amiable as Matt. “Yeah. I guess so. Sure.” We arranged to meet at Napoli, which he said was a popular trattoria in Camberwell.
I put down the phone and thought hard about Matt. If I’d been asked - before meeting him - to describe a day trader I would have pictured an intense and cynical young man eager to extract every last cent from the markets. But Matt was so relaxed. Like a cocker spaniel puppy he was bouncy and hairy and eager to please. If anyone was going to help me it had to be Matt.
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