Part 17 (1/2)

'Cruise past,' I said. 'Stop as near as you can where you can't be seen and point it out to us.'

We met up in a street beside Ivanhoe Park. Megan pointed across to an office building that went up about as high as regulations allowed in the area.

'Pretty good taxi ride,' I said. 'Wonder if he'll put it on his expense sheet.'

'He better not,' Hank said grimly, 'the son of a b.i.t.c.h. That was great work, Meg, keeping the cab in sight all that way.'

'It's in the genes,' I said.

We stood, looking across at the building in the fading light. The breeze from the water did the things it always does in Sydney-lifted the spirits, whetted the appet.i.te and the thirst.

'They're up there chewing over the bogus information,' Megan said. 'So important that he had to do it in person, not with a phone call. The question is, who in the Lachlan mob is in the game?'

'The dirty work'd be contracted out,' I said, 'but someone inside Lachlan'd be handling the operation.'

'I can get a list of the princ.i.p.als,' Megan said.

Hank stretched to his full 195 centimetre height; the muscles in his back and shoulders pushed his jacket up and the sleeves were stretched tight by his biceps and triceps and other muscles most of us don't have or know about. 'f.u.c.k that,' he said. 'We need to have a meeting with Ross.'

I could feel tension building between the pair and didn't want it to go any higher. 'It's a nice night,' I said, 'and we're in magnificent Manly. I vote we talk about it over a few drinks and something to eat.'

'Your solution for just about everything,' Megan said.

Not a great start.

We found a fish restaurant near the water. If there's a better meal than grilled barramundi with chips and salad and dry white wine I don't know what it is. We all opted for the same thing-the beginning, I hoped, of restored harmony. The first few gla.s.ses would help, too.

'I'll be the mug,' Megan said when she'd demolished half of her meal. 'What say we a.s.semble everything we have and turn it over to the police. They grill Ross-baby, investigate Lachlan and like that.'

I shook my head. 'We haven't got enough on Crimond. A good lawyer'd give him protection and probably threaten Hank with a suit for something-slander, unfair dismissal.'

Hank nodded. 'The cops probably wouldn't touch it. It's all too ... loose.'

Megan speared a chip. 'So?'

Hank said, 'I vote we put the pressure on Ross to name names.'

Megan looked doubtful; she nibbled at an impaled chip. 'Threatening him with what? Violence?'

Hank shrugged.

I'd been digesting what we knew as well as the good food. I had a clean plate and an empty gla.s.s. I grabbed the wine bottle and poured the last of it-a small measure for each of us. It was the second bottle. We'd need coffee and a walk before taking to our cars.

'We've established the connection,' I said. 'Good first step. Now we have to hook them firmly and get them to show their hand.'

'How?' Megan said.

'By convincing them that we know, or are close to knowing, what McKinley discovered and that we've got a lead on who killed him.'

'You said that. I still say how?'

'I'm open to suggestions.'

'Don't be coy, Cliff,' Hank said. 'What've you got in mind?'

'We have to draw someone, anyone'll do, from Lachlan out into the open. We're pretty sure McKinley was picked up in Myall. We've got the evidence, the specs. What if we've discovered a witness?'

Hank and Megan exchanged looks. 'You cunning b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' Hank said.

I nodded. 'Thank you. I'm not saying it'll work, but we've identified what they believe to be a mole-sorry for the spook-talk-inside our operation. We've already fed him some disinformation. We can feed him some more-like a meeting we're arranging somewhere with a fict.i.tious witness.'

Hank signalled for the waiter and ordered three long black coffees. 'They'd want their hard guy, the contractor, there for a meeting like that.'

I drank the last of my wine. 'I would.'

'A fict.i.tious witness,' Megan said. 'Jesus, we'll need to be inventive.'

'Jesus could just be the key,' I said.

21.

I was introduced to Ross Crimond in Hank's office the next day. He'd come in, he said, to discuss the report and expense sheet he'd dropped in the night before, but it was clear he was looking to hang around, hoping to pick up additional bits of information. He was thirtyish, fair, freckled, stocky. He was one of those people that the loosening up of dress, language and manners that had started in the sixties seemed to have pa.s.sed by. He wore neat trousers, s.h.i.+rt and tie and a jacket. His shoes had been polished recently. Nerdy, you'd call him, until you saw the body language and heard him talk. He spoke in a deep confident voice and moved like a dancer. Hank had told me that he had a business and criminology degree from Bond University and had won medals as a fencer. He'd pa.s.sed the TAFE PEA course with flying colours and done a few yards as an insurance investigator.

His handshake was firm and I remembered his steadying hand on the stairs. 'Mr Hardy,' he said, 'heard a lot about you. Glad to meet you. Goodness, it was you on the stairs.'

'Cliff,' I said. 'No harm done.'

'You lectured at the Petersham TAFE a few years before I got there.'

'Hardly that,' I said. 'I gave a few talks-brought in a few cops and crims as props.'

'You were a legend.'

I shrugged. 'You seem to have all the right tickets, Ross. If you don't mind me asking, why're you slumming as a casual in this crummy outfit?'

A strike against him right there-no sense of humour. He took a beat or two to reply and said, 'I intended to make this my profession, but quite recently I received the Lord Jesus Christ into my life and now I'm in training to be a minister in the Soul Saviour Church.'

'Good luck,' I said. 'Costs money does it, the training?'

'Not that much, but the more one can contribute to the congregation the better one prays, and performs at everything.'

'That's what's wanted, performance,' I said. 'Hey, Hank, how was the joy flight? Did you find McKinley's pilot?'

Hank looked up from his computer. 'Working on it.'

Crimond smiled. 'Joy flight. That sounds nice. Business or pleasure?'