Autumn Maze (36 page)

“He exists. Jack Aldwych has just been on to me. Last night he was at the Congress Hotel, he saw the young bloke who took him for the ride. He was with two other Japs. They went somewhere in a stretch limousine, number—” He handed over the scrap of paper on which he had noted the number. “Get Andy on to it. I want to know where the limo driver took the three Japs.”

Clements took the piece of paper. “While Andy's working on this, I'll get on to the Congress. There's a girl on the reception desk I took out a coupla times. She'll let me know what Japs are staying there.”

“I wish I had your contacts. What're you going to do when you're married? Girls don't give information to married men, not nice girls.”

Clements was back in five minutes, no light of hope in his big face. “There are seventy-eight Japanese staying at the Congress. I'd forgotten—they own forty-nine per cent of it. But—” He seemed to be trying to lift the bags in his face. “Fourteen Japanese booked in yesterday. Four married couples, four businessmen in a party, and two businessmen who came in as a pair. Mr.—” He glanced at his notebook. “Mr. Kushida and Mr. Isogai. They were booked in from Tokyo by their firm, the Kunishima Bank.”

“Bankers? Who do bankers usually come to see?”

“Other bankers? I think we're gunna find out that that limo took those three Japs to see someone at Shahriver International. Maybe Kunishima owns part of Shahriver.” He was suddenly revived; he put his head out of the door and yelled, “Andy! How's it coming?”

Andy Graham appeared in a moment. “No problems, mate. The limo belongs to Sundance Hire Cars, out in Rosebery. The driver was a guy named Barker, it was booked to the Hotel Congress, to the account of a Mr. Kushida and he took Mr. Kushida and two other Japs to The Wharf apartments.”

II

Malone and Clements looked at each other. “Sweden or Casement?” said Clements.

“
Casement. Another bank. Thanks, Andy.”

“No worries.” Graham galloped away.

Malone rose to his feet. “I don't think we'll report this one to Zanuch or the Minister till we've checked it out.”

All the way down to Circular Quay he wondered if he really wanted to find a connection between Cormac Casement and the Japanese, especially if the latter were
yakuza
. He liked the older man, respected him. Though Malone was a gentle radical, he had some conservative traits; he admired some of the older ways and standards. If Casement had gone against the grain of generations, Malone knew he would not feel any satisfaction from confronting the older man with it.

The doorman at The Wharf told them that Mr. Casement was across the road at his office. “He's back at work, he says he's much better. I spoke to him this morning. You got the two young bastards who tried to burn him, that right?”

“No,” said Clements. “Someone got to them first.”

“Same difference, so long's you got „em.” He went back behind his desk, secure in his judgements.

Across in the Casement building Mrs. Pallister, on the phone to Malone downstairs at the security desk, was quite adamant that Mr. Casement couldn't see them. “He has someone with him right now and he has a board meeting in half an hour. It's out of the question, Inspector. Call me this afternoon and I'll see if I can fit you in around five.”

She hung up and Malone grinned at the security man. “The Wicked Witch says for us to go right on up.”

“You must have a way with you,” said the security man. “She gave me specific instructions the Old Man was seeing no one today.”

“It's the police charm school. We're both graduates.”

He and Clements rode to the fiftieth floor, stepped out of the lift and tried their charm on the girl on the outer desk. She looked at them dubiously. “He has someone with him.”

“
Japanese?”

The question seemed to puzzle her. “Japanese. No. No—it's
Mrs
. Casement.”

Malone wondered if that was a bonus; but it was too late to back out now. “Tell Mrs. Pallister we're here. It'll make her day.”

The receptionist smiled at that, but said nothing. She went through into the inner office and was back a moment later with Mrs. Pallister, the latter ready for battle: “I told you Inspector—”

“I know what you told us, Mrs. Pallister, but that's not the way we work, being told when we can and cannot see customers. Now let Mr. Casement know we're here and we'll stay here till he sees us.”

She glared at him for a moment; but she was too well-bred to give way to anger in front of her junior. She spun round and disappeared. The receptionist blew out a soft gasp. “You haven't made
my
day. She'll be in a terrible mood now.”

“Sorry. Join the police force. We're always in a good mood.”

Mrs. Pallister came back. “Mr. Casement will see you. But remember—he has a board meeting in half an hour.”

“He may have to miss it. Thanks, Mrs. Pallister. We're just like you, y'know, only doing our job.”

She was not appeased; her loyalty had only one direction. She opened the door to Casement's office and ushered them in. “The police,” she said and made it sound as if she were introducing the Gestapo.

Casement sat at his desk. Ophelia sat beside him, her chair close to his. Here we go, thought Malone, the battle lines drawn.

Ophelia said, “You seem to have a habit of barging—”

But Casement put a hand on her arm; the fingers, still brownish-yellow from the dressing, seemed to claw at her. “Let's hear what the Inspector has to say.”

“May we sit down? Sergeant Clements and I may be here for some time.”

“Of course.” Casement's glasses had been on his desk; he picked them up and put them on. He
had
looked aged without them; now he looked vulnerable, a man hiding behind clear glass. “Has something come up, something to clear up this whole damn mess?”

“We're not sure. You read about Kim Weetbix's murder? The girl you refused to lay charges against? Or anyway to identify.”

Casement nodded. There was silence for a moment, then with some asperity but quietly he said, “You're not blaming me for her death, are you?”

Malone, one eye on Ophelia, said, “If she were still in custody, she'd still be alive.”

“That's preposterous—” But again Ophelia had her arm pressed by her husband's yellow claw.

“You haven't come here just to accuse me of that, Inspector.”

“No. I just thought you might like to live with it.” All the sympathy Malone had felt on the way here for Casement had abruptly evaporated. “No, we're here to ask you about some Japanese visitors you had last night.”

“What Japanese?”

Malone left the details to Clements, who had them at his tongue's tip: “A Mr. Kushida and a Mr. Isogai, both from Kunishima Bank in Tokyo. The other Japanese, we think, was Mr. Tajiri.”

One hand was still clutching Ophelia's arm, a silencer; the other was toying with a silver paperweight. It was a yacht on a heavy base, and Malone wondered if it was a model of the boat Casement had once raced. A reminder of carefree days . . . “Have you had me under surveillance?”

“Why should we do that, Mr. Casement?” said Malone. “No, we just did our job. Detective work. Was the third man Mr. Tajiri?”

He was watching Ophelia, waiting for the enquiring look at her husband; but there was none. The indignation had gone, too; her face had closed in, the beautiful eyes wary and dark. He had a sudden moment of indecision: what if the Japanese had come to see
her
?”

“We think,” said Clements, the change bowler, “Mr. Tajiri had something to do with the murder of the two kids who tried to burn you. And that makes us think he might also have had something to do with the murders of Rob Sweden and Mr. Kornsey.”

Malone
remarked that Ophelia didn't ask who Mr. Kornsey was; her husband must have filled her in on all the
personae
in this mess. Maze. “If you can put us in touch with Mr. Tajiri, Mr. Casement, maybe we can clear up all the murders. Your brother-in-law is on our backs to do that.”

“You have a sharp tongue, Inspector.” But Casement made the comment almost as an aside, something to fill the void while he thought what he really wanted to say. Then he took his hand off his wife's arm, folded one hand gingerly within the other and said, “The other gentleman's name is Itani, not Tajiri. At least that's how he was introduced to me.”

“And Kushida and Isogai, you've met them before?”

A slight hesitation: “Yes.”

“Would they have anything to do with the missing twenty-five million?” The sum rolled off his tongue without effort; it was remarkable how other people's money was not as valuable as your own.

“Why should it concern them?”

He's fencing, thought Malone; who had fenced with the best of them. He turned to Ophelia. “Were you at the meeting, Mrs. Casement?”

“Only as a hostess,” she said coolly. “I wasn't privy to what was being discussed.”

Privy: she might have been coached by a lawyer. “So the murders weren't mentioned.”

“You have a blinkered view of business discussion,” said Casement.

“The Japs didn't even comment on the attack on you,” said Clements.

“Well, yes. But only in passing. The
Japanese
are very polite about other people's affairs.”

“So are we,” said Malone. “Except in a case of murder. Or five murders—no, six. There's one you probably don't know about, a girl who worked for one of the companies Mr. Tajiri was connected with.” Casement showed no reaction and Malone went on, “You're stonewalling. Do you want to send for your lawyer and we'll really get down to cases?”

“We might send for my brother-in-law,” said Ophelia, “and have you taken off this case.”

“That would suit me.” But it wouldn't; all at once he wanted to stay with this. Tibooburra receded into the dust-haze of the far north-west. “But it wouldn't look good if ever it got into the papers.
Let'
s stop threatening each other. Sergeant Clements and I might walk out of here with no satisfaction, but we'll come back. Again and again. That's the way we work.”

There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Pallister looked in. “Mr. Casement, there is the board meeting—”

Casement stared at her as if not recognizing her; then he collected his thoughts and his options. “Call them and tell them to start without me, Alice. I'm going to be delayed.”

Mrs. Pallister gave the two detectives a look that should have sent them to Tibooburra, had she known about it; then she closed the door. Ophelia said, “I think we should send for Henry Gower, darling.”

Gower was the senior partner in the city's most prestigious law firm; he would be a tank-trap. Malone was relieved when Casement, almost wearily, said, “No. We don't want any outsiders . . . Inspector, the Kunishima Bank owns twenty-five per cent of Casement Trust. Mr. Kushida and Mr. Isogai were here regarding the missing twenty-five million. They are understandably concerned.”

“And Mr.—what was his name? Mr. Itani? What's his role?”

“He is their local representative.”

“Does he have an office here in this building?”

“No-o. Kunishima has no office here in Sydney.”

“Mr. Casement, you are bull—you are stringing us along. Mr. Itani abducted Jack Aldwych two days ago, at gunpoint. He took him for a ride, as they used to say in gangster films, but didn't bump him off—as they also used to say.”

“Jack Aldwych? They kidnapped
him
?”

“Laughable, isn't it? We don't think Itani—or Tajiri, whatever his real name is—we don't think he quite knew what he might be starting. He knew who Jack was—I don't think he knew how much clout Jack still has. If Itani is Kunishima's rep in your bank, he's not doing much for the reputation of Casement Trust.”

There was silence for a long moment; now Ophelia reached for her husband's arm. “You'd
better
tell them, darling.”

Casement shook his head without looking at her. He took off his glasses again, was abruptly almost old enough to be her grandfather. Age had engulfed him. Beyond the window autumn, it seemed, had already succumbed to winter; the Harbour came and went behind gusts of cold rain, the arch of the Bridge was a mocking grey rainbow. He shook his head again, but this time in despair.

“Inspector—” He was having difficulty getting his words together. “How much of what I tell you goes into your report?”

“That depends.” Malone was as cautious as any banker approached for a loan; or as cautious as a banker should be. The city's banks were riddled with executives who had shown no judgement. But Casement Trust had never figured in the bad news of the boom time. “Tell us what you have to say. No notes, Russ,” he said to Clements, who had his biro at the ready. “Not yet.”

“The police make deals with criminals, I understand,” said Casement. “It's happening right now in ICAC.”

“Are you a criminal?”

“God, what a question!” Ophelia reached across the desk towards the silver paperweight; then thought better of whatever she had in mind. “My husband is trying to
help
you, for Christ's sake!”

“Go ahead, Mr. Casement. We could do with some help.”

Casement heaved a sigh; it seemed to come from his toes, it took so long. As chairman he had never had to deliver a report like this: “Kunishima bought into Casement Trust just over two years ago, when money was still flowing out of Japan. They had the necessary government approval, but we didn't make any public announcement—we're a privately owned bank. And two years ago there was so much going on in the headlines, the newspapers took no notice of us. We've always worked on the principle that what is our business is nobody else's business.”