Follow the Money (10 page)

‘Freddy got me hooked,’ she said. ‘Really hooked. No one else can supply me—no one ever!’

May Ling got Gretchen steadied down and onto coffee rather than gin. She worked her way through a good many cigarettes as she told us that Freddy Wong had introduced her to heroin after she’d learned of Malouf’s death. She’d been intensely involved with him for some time and she took the news hard. The death of her husband was a second, but minor, shock. When May Ling asked her how she’d become so involved with Freddy, Gretchen had recovered enough to read some signs.

‘Freddy’s got to you, too, hasn’t he? I can tell from the way you reacted to his name. So, you first.’

‘Debt. He lent me money,’ May Ling said. ‘You?’

‘Gambling.’

Gretchen said she knew Freddy was dangerous and had always avoided him, but when she took up with Malouf and was drawn into high stakes gambling, she’d caught the bug and got deep in debt to Freddy.

‘I’ve got an addictive personality,’ Gretchen said. ‘And other problems.’

May Ling bit back a response although her sympathy for her sister was ebbing fast. They were both smoking now, and a fug was building up in the room, something you don’t experience much these days. Gretchen lit another cigarette from the butt of her previous one and looked at me.

‘Freddy warned me to get in touch with him if anyone made any sort of enquiry about Richard. When you rang, that’s what I did. I’ve wondered ever since whether Freddy killed Stefan and if I’m responsible.’

So Freddy Wong had the same thing going as Houli—an early warning system for when Malouf’s name came up. And when the need arose one alerted the other. I was pretty sure Talat had killed Nordlung and presumably after he’d been told everything about the sighting of Malouf.

‘That’s all your husband told you, was it?’ I said. ‘That he’d seen Malouf somewhere on the harbour.’

Gretchen nodded. ‘It could’ve been around the harbour somewhere. Stefan liked to drink in various places.’

‘What places?’ May Ling asked.

Gretchen almost laughed. ‘Don’t ask me. I hate boats and everything to do with them.’

‘So you never went on Malouf’s boat?’

That brought another slight smile. ‘I didn’t say that. His boat was beautifully fitted out . . .’

May Ling said, ‘Somewhere to fuck.’

‘You should try it.’

I said, ‘When you say fitted out, what d’you mean? Apart from the bed?’

‘Oh, it had everything—computers, satellite dishes, GPS, television. He had a bunch of mobile phones and he used Skype. He talked fluently to people all over the world.’

‘What d’you mean?’ I said.

‘Well, I heard him speaking Chinese and what sounded like Arabic and Indonesian. I know a bit of Indonesian from going to Bali.’

‘What kind of a boat was it? Was it ocean-going?’

Gretchen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It was white.’

‘Great help,’ May Ling said. ‘So he had a floating office. Why?’

My thought was different. ‘Where did you meet up with him and get on the boat?’

‘Different places, different marinas, all around the harbour.’

‘At the Spit?’

She gave a lopsided grin, almost a grimace. ‘Yes, only when Stefan was away. May, I’m going to need . . .’

‘Jesus,’ May Ling said, ‘you have to get off that stuff, Sunny.’

Gretchen hugged herself and shivered, the classic junkie-in-need pose. ‘I don’t think I . . .’

‘I know a good detox place,’ I said.

May Ling nodded. There was a long silence as Gretchen looked at me and back at May Ling, whose face was set implacably. It was obviously a scene she’d played in before.

‘Oh yes,’ Gretchen whispered. ‘But I just need a small hit now.’

‘No way,’ May Ling said.

We got Gretchen to a clinic in Marrickville I’d had dealings with in the past. My doctor, Ian Sangster, signed the admission form and May Ling acted as guarantor for the fees, next of kin and contact. Gretchen was passive, resigned.

‘She’s in for a rough time,’ I said as we left the clinic. ‘Coming off one dependency’s bad enough, but three or four . . .’

‘Five,’ May Ling said. ‘She’s a sex addict as well. So where did that get us, Cliff?’

‘When did I become Cliff?’

‘Today. You handled all that very well. My confidence in you has grown.’

‘That’s nice and I guess you’ve shown your softer side with your sister, but I’m not sure we’re playing on the same team. You want to find Malouf so as to get Houli and Freddy off your back. You don’t care what they were up to with Malouf or who killed Stefan Nordlung and the mystery man. Right?’

We were walking along Marrickville Road towards where I’d parked the Peugeot in a side street. May Ling stopped, slumped into a chair outside a café.

‘I’m tired and hungry.’

I was, too. We ordered coffee and sandwiches and we drank and ate steadily without speaking. She finished first, wiped her hands and sniffed at her fingers.

‘I haven’t smoked for years. Bugger Sunny. I’ve hauled her out of trouble since she was thirteen and had her first abortion, but she is my sister and I do care about her.’

I nodded. ‘Parents?’

‘Both dead from overwork. They built up a restaurant and import business from nothing. When they died Freddy managed to take it over—I never found out how. That’s why I studied law, to see if I could get it back, but I got sidetracked and Freddy grew too big and nasty to go up against.’

‘I can believe that,’ I said. ‘But you stayed in touch with him, borrowed money.’

‘Yes. But getting Sunny hooked, that’s just too much. I’ll do whatever I can to screw him. So I do want to know why people got killed and why Freddy and Houli are so worked up about Malouf. It’s almost as if they’re afraid of anyone catching up with him before they do, don’t you think? As if they’re scared. What was he doing? He obviously wasn’t just a smartarse screen jockey who ripped off people like you, too lazy to look after their own investments.’

I laughed. She was clear-headed and unrelenting. That was the moment I decided to trust May Ling sufficiently to share some information with her and Standish and try jointly to get below the surface into what was really going on.

When I got home I phoned Sabatini at his paper and was told he’d gone on leave. I called the Bondi Junction travel agency and spoke to Troy. He told me Rosemary had gone on leave.

‘Anyone else asking for her?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You remember the man of Middle Eastern appearance who came in a few days ago? Snappy dresser?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has he asked about her?’

He hung up. My guess the answer was yes, and that Houli or Talat had frightened him. I phoned Standish and told him Houli was likely to be applying pressure and so was Freddy Wong.

‘Why?’

‘We’ve taken two women they were dealing with out of circulation. Safely.’

‘Who’s
we
?’

‘Me and the police, me and May Ling. Is she there?’

‘No. I don’t understand any of this, Hardy. It sounds as if you’ve just made things worse.’

‘Before they get better, let’s hope. Have you still got that place at Darling Harbour?’

‘Yes, I took it for a month.’

‘I suggest you get hold of May Ling and meet me there tonight. We need to have a sort of conference to try to figure out what’s going on and what to do. There’s more information, but it’s hard to interpret. Three heads needed.’

‘God, you’re a bastard. First you tell me to get back to work and now you want me back in hiding. And what’s all this about you and May Ling?’

‘Tonight,’ I said. ‘About eight.’

I phoned Chang and asked if he’d had any luck tracking down Malouf’s boat.

‘There’s no such vessel registered in New South Wales,’ he said. ‘We’re widening the search but I’m not optimistic. I think your informant, to put it politely, was full of shit. I tried to contact her but what d’you know? She and the journo have skipped out and I haven’t heard a word about it from you. Not happy, Hardy.’

I couldn’t blame him and tossed up whether to add Gretchen Nordlung’s confirmation that the boat existed, sketchy though the evidence was. What was the point? May Ling wasn’t going to allow him to interview her sister in the clinic and he wasn’t likely to take much notice of junkie evidence anyway. I needed more solid information on what Malouf was doing before I could make use of the police again. Chang hung up on me—two in a row.

I chanced my luck and rang Perry Hassan. I asked him if Malouf had dealt with overseas clients and institutions while in his employ. Perry let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Not on my behalf,’ he said, ‘but from what the auditors have turned up he did.’

‘Why did you let him?’

‘You can’t control them. Smart operators like him can play any game they please.’

‘Did he handle the business of Lebanese and Chinese clients in Sydney?’

‘Of course.’

‘D’you know who he dealt with offshore?’

‘No, and I don’t want to know. Give it a rest, Cliff. I’m struggling to keep my head above water here. Give it a rest.’

At least he didn’t hang up.

The apartment had been cleaned and tidied since the last time I was there and Standish himself was looking in better shape. Not quite his old self, but getting there. May Ling had changed her casual outfit for a blouse and a long, dark skirt that set off her slim figure. There was a smell of Asian takeaway in the air and they were drinking coffee laced with French cognac. Standish offered me the same and I accepted.

‘May Ling says you were pretty useful today, Hardy,’ Standish said. ‘Thank you, but I’m still in the dark about your plans now.’

‘I don’t have any plans. I just want to lay things out to see if we can make any sense of it. Maybe make some guesses?’

May Ling raised an eyebrow. ‘Guesses?’

‘Some of the best moves have been made on the basis of guesses.’

‘And some of the worst,’ she said.

‘True.’

Standish was impatient. ‘This is going nowhere. We know that Houli and Wong are in cahoots. We know that Malouf had dealings with both . . .’

‘And with other members of both communities,’ May Ling said. ‘Finance matters, I suppose; trying to make use of them in their bloody criminal activities—drugs, girls . . .’

Standish nodded and ran with it. ‘Getting them into financial difficulties with loans or investments that went sour and then putting pressure on them. But to do what?’

I said, ‘To do something that was worth killing two people for and makes it essential to find Malouf.’

We drank our coffee and thought. May Ling shrugged and got up to brew another pot. I wandered over to the window and looked down onto Darling Harbour where boats, moving and stationary, showed lights. There was a famous replica there, I seemed to recall. Captain Cook’s
Endeavour
or the
Bounty
? Couldn’t remember.

‘Is the replica of the
Endeavour
or the
Bounty
down there?’ I asked when May Ling had poured the coffee and we’d added cognac.

‘Who the hell cares?’ Standish said.

May Ling looked at me. ‘Why did you ask that?’

‘I was thinking about the
Bounty
and the mutiny. It looks as if Malouf mutinied, broke away from Houli and Wong, and set off on his own like Fletcher Christian. It’s a new thought—maybe Malouf faked his death to fool Houli and Wong but they had their suspicions.’

‘So they’re responsible for only one death and not two,’ Standish said. ‘How does that help us?’

Not much
, I thought, but it clarified something at least. May Ling was staring at me as if she could read my mind. It was an uncomfortable feeling but I made use of it.

‘May Ling, you know him and what he’s capable of. What would it take for you to go hard up against him?’

She shook her head. ‘Something big. Something very big.’

‘Satellite dishes, Skype, multiple mobiles,’ I said. ‘Something international.’

Standish groaned. ‘Like I said, he could be anywhere.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. I think he’s in the wind.’

May Ling looked tired all of a sudden. She leaned back in her chair.

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s an American expression I picked up from novels. It means hiding, but around.’

‘Novels,’ Standish said.

Life is full of surprises and I got one the next morning in the form of a phone call from Felicity Standish.

‘Mr Hardy,’ she said, ‘I think we have unfinished business.’

I’d heard that before—mostly from people who wanted to do me harm. Did Felicity want to do me harm? I was dealing with a mouthful of water trying to wash down one of my pills stuck in my throat and wasn’t my most gracious.

‘How’s that?’ I grunted.

‘Well, Miles has been in touch. In fact he’s been rather nice to me and the children. I’m wondering whether dealing with you has had a good effect on him.’

My throat wouldn’t clear and I barked something, away from the phone.

‘What was that?’ she said, alarmed.

‘It’s all right, Mrs Standish, I . . .’

‘I use my maiden name, Pargetter, now.’

‘Ms Pargetter, I’ve been in touch with your husband. But thank you for the information. Is there anything else?’

‘Yes. I think you’re right about Richard Malouf and I believe I can help you find him.’

That was a lot to accept in one bite and my response must have sounded sceptical.

‘You don’t believe me,’ she said.

‘I want to, but a lot’s happened since we last spoke.’

‘I should hope so. You were at square one back then.’

‘Can you give me some idea . . .’

‘No. I want to meet with you and lay down some ground rules. I’ve arranged for the children to be collected by Miles’s mother. I’ve got a free day. Will I come to you or do you want to come here?’

She was holding the cards but I didn’t want to let her run the whole game. I told her that I’d prefer her to come to me and she agreed. I gave her the address.

‘Good old Glebe,’ she said. ‘I had some good times there in my uni days. I’ll be an hour or a bit less.’

It took her forty minutes. She bustled in, all designer jeans, high-heeled boots, red shirt and bomber jacket.

‘This is amazing,’ she said.

‘What is?’

‘We used to rent a house in this street when we were students. A bit further down, towards the water. I didn’t know we had a famous private detective for a neighbour.’

‘I keep a low profile, Mrs . . . Ms Pargetter. Coffee?’

‘Felicity, and yes, please.’

‘It won’t be up to your standard.’

‘I don’t care about standards, not anymore.’

I pondered that as I made the coffee. There was some- thing almost hectic about her, as if she was racing ahead and trying to catch up with herself. I brought the coffee into the sitting room, cleared the usual mess of papers and books and we sat opposite each other. She added milk to her coffee, sipped and didn’t make a face. Control. I make bitter coffee, can’t help it.

‘I no longer think Miles killed Richard Malouf,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve talked to him. He’s told me something of what you’ve been doing on his behalf and . . . other things. I’m convinced. I was jealous and irrational when I said that.’

‘And you’re not jealous now?’

She smiled. ‘That’s a sly question. Oh, it’s warm in here.’

The room warms up, even in winter, when the sun shines in through two corner windows. She slipped out of her silk-lined jacket. The action, lifting her breasts and opening her shirt, was unconscious or provocative—hard to tell.

‘You mean May Ling,’ she said. ‘Who can blame him? She’s very attractive and I was a bitch. I can see that now. It won’t last.’

‘You think you’ll get him back?’

‘Who knows?’ She sipped again. ‘This coffee’s bitter.’

I grinned. ‘Okay, I believe you’re not jealous and now I know you’re rational. I make lousy coffee. That’s enough fencing—how do I find Malouf?’

‘We.’

‘You’d better explain.’

She pushed the coffee cup aside and drew in a breath. As at our first meeting, her hair was perfectly groomed and her makeup was expert. Her features in repose were unremarkable, but when she smiled or spoke the move- ment animated them and made her interesting to look at. Standish wouldn’t have objected to her money, but it was easy to see why he would have been attracted to her even without it.

Her voice had a hard, determined edge. ‘I’m not jealous about Miles anymore as I said, and it’s not exactly jealousy I feel about Richard. I knew about the wife, of course, and I imagined there were other women, but May Ling’s sister? Something sticks in my gullet about that—the way he used people.’

She waved her hand at the bookshelves. ‘You read about people like that, but you don’t expect to actually meet them. You don’t expect to be one of the people who get used.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ I said. ‘You’re from a privileged background, Felicity. I think you’ll find that people from more ordinary circumstances get used all the time.’

She shook her head emphatically. ‘No, they get exploited, sure. They’re ill-treated, overlooked and ignored. But not
used
in the way Richard Malouf used me.’

She went on to tell me that in the full throes of her love affair with Malouf he’d asked her for a favour. He’d said he was negotiating an important business deal that involved convincing an investor that he knew about and understood the needs of children.

‘It was something to do with persuading someone to sell a property for development on the understanding that there was to be recreation space for children. Richard told this man that he had two children, a boy and a girl. You can guess the rest.’

I said, ‘I’ve been told about his charm, but . . .’

‘Charm doesn’t come anywhere near it. I allowed him to have a photograph taken of himself with my two. At that point I’d have done just about anything for him, short of harming the children, of course.’

I nodded.

‘But I feel now as if I did harm them. I lied to them about who “that man” was and I came so close to saying “don’t tell Daddy” it wasn’t funny. Can you understand?’

‘The level of deception? I think so. I’ve been told that Malouf may not even be his real name.’

She shrugged. ‘Nothing’d surprise me. Well, when I was told that he’d died I sort of saw it as just part of a tragic love affair. Dramatised it for myself, I suppose.’

‘But now?’

She laughed. ‘The other day I walked past the development and guess what? No recreation area. I want to see Richard Malouf squirm.’

Malouf had a genius for leaving enemies in his wake. Easy to see, at least on a personal level, why he would’ve needed to fake his death. I couldn’t be sure how many of the affairs he’d conducted with women overlapped, but one thing’s for sure—you can’t keep that many balls in the air forever. Felicity Pargetter was serious and had to be taken seriously.

‘Where is he then?’ I said.

‘Oh no, we have to lay down the ground rules. I have to be there when you tackle him.’

I wasn’t sure that I wanted to tackle him. Malouf was more than twenty years younger than me and soccer, sailing and golf had no doubt kept him fit, but I knew what she meant.

I drank the rest of my coffee, cold and bitter though it was, and pointed to the bookshelves. ‘I’ve got a few of the same books as you—novels and true crime stuff. It’s all very interesting but only some of it relates to what really happens. If you’re thinking of barging in on this guy, forget it. He could be very dangerous. He might be very frightened.’

‘I doubt that, but go on.’

‘OK, you know him better than me. I only met him a couple of times. The point is, we’d have to establish for certain where he is and who might be with him. He might or might not be dangerous or frightened, but he’s associated with some people who are very dangerous and not at all frightened. I bear the scars.’

‘I see. Miles told me you’d been roughed up.’

I laughed. ‘Is that what he called it? OK, he’s paying, he can call it what he likes, but I plan to go very cautiously on the basis of your information. That’s if I think it’s credible. If he’s there I’ll think hard about what to do next and who with. And I’ll have the say about how far along the road you travel.’

She threw back her head and laughed. ‘You sound like John Howard—“we will say who comes to this county . . .” ’

I groaned. ‘Don’t say that. Where d’you think he is?’

‘You’ve shaken my confidence, but . . . Watsons Bay.’