Follow the Money

'And get myself targeted by the others?'

'Come on, what else are you going to do-just drop it?'

It was a good question. I hate loose ends and, as things stood, there were more loose ends than anything else. Quite apart from any duty to Standish there was the question of Richard Malouf. Was he alive or was he dead? I couldn't just let it go.

'I can give you phone numbers so that you can get me or Karim Ali, my number two, at any time twenty-four seven. And a number that can get you backup very, very quickly. As far as humanly possible, we'll see your guy right for as long as you want. What d'you say?'

I nodded agreement. Chang took out his mobile.

'What're you doing?' I said.

'Just hang on.' He made a call and spoke briefly before closing the phone. 'I've got a couple of people watching us just in case there's someone watching you.'

'I checked that for myself before you got here.'

'Glad to hear it. Just making sure. All clear, then. Thanks for the coffee. We'll keep in touch.'

He unwound his long frame and strolled away. Good exit line-I liked that 'we'.

Strange though the circumstances were, I decided to proceed as I would have in a normal investigation and that meant little more than following my instincts. I now knew where Standish was and, more or less, how to get in touch with him. There were only half a dozen flats in the McMahons Point block and I felt pretty sure I could bluff my way to the right one. Eventually I'd have to confront Standish and convince him he needed my help, but for the moment I was still intrigued by the initial question about Malouf. His wife had ID'd him: if he was still alive she'd lied.

The address I had for Rosemary Malouf was in Bondi Junction. I phoned and learned that it was a travel agency. The man I spoke to said she was on her morning tea break. I made an appointment to see Mrs Malouf straight after her lunch break at two pm. I still had the card Malouf had given me at one of our brief meetings and I thought I could use it to get her attention at least long enough for me to make an assessment of her. I fitted in a gym session before driving there and even had time to have a look at the beach. I skipped lunch.

The travel agency was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place with the usual array of glossy posters and advertisements for airlines and package tours. Tourism is down, they say, and this place certainly seemed to bear that out. I was the only person to go in and the smile on the face of the young man seated behind the desk faded when I told him why I was there.

'Rose'll be back any minute. Then I can get away for a job interview, thank God.'

'Things are slow?'

'Non-existent. Here she is.'

A woman stepped into the office, taking off her coat. She was thirtyish, small, and pretty in a fair, fragile sort of way. 'Off you go, Troy. Good luck. Good afternoon, Mr Hardy.'

Troy grabbed a coat and hurried out as I sat on the other side of Rosemary Malouf's desk. 'Now what can I do for you? Troy said you were a bit mysterious on the phone. Are you planning a trip?'

I shook my head and put Malouf's card down on the desk. Her neat little jaw tightened as she looked at it.

'What d'you want?' she said. 'I haven't got any money.'

'He has.'

'He gambled it all away and then he was killed. Please leave.'

'You identified him.'

'Yes.'

'Someone claims to have seen him alive.'

'Go away.' She reached into her bag for her mobile phone. 'I'm calling the police.'

'I'm working with the police.'

A look of sheer terror came into her face. She dropped the phone and buried her face in her hands. 'Go away. Go away, please.'

There was nothing else to do. She kept her face covered and her hands were shaking. I picked up Malouf's card and replaced it with one of my own. It was long out of date in describing me as a PEA, but at least it had my contact details minus the office number.

'I'm sorry to distress you,' I said. 'You can contact me if you need any help.'

She shook her head, keeping it low, and began punching numbers on her mobile. I left the shop and went to a coffee place on the other side of the street. I sat inside by the window and had a clear view of the travel agency as I worked on a watery flat white. Troy came back looking depressed. It was a miserable moment for everyone.

After about thirty minutes a car pulled up outside the travel agency. It parked illegally, but neither the driver nor the man who got out of the back seat seemed to care. He went into the shop. I paid for my coffee and took up a position where I could get a good view of whoever left the shop but couldn't be easily seen myself. I had a state of the art mobile phone Megan had bought me. I hadn't mastered all its functions but I knew enough to enable me to zoom and get a good set of pictures.

I had the camera to the ready when the man came out of the shop and I caught him as he moved towards the car. He stopped and lit a cigarette before he got in. He was stocky and dark, wearing a well-cut suit and an unbuttoned, double-breasted overcoat. I recognised him: he was the man who'd joined the Wong brothers, May Ling and Miles Standish in the North Sydney Chinese restaurant.

9

I downloaded the photographs onto my computer and sent them as an attachment in an email to Chang, asking him if he could identify the man. Chang phoned me almost immediately.

'I'm sending someone to see you,' he said.

'Really? Why?'

'He'll explain.'

'Come on, Stephen. Who are we talking about?'

'My 2IC, Karim Ali.'

'You know what I mean. Who's the bloke in the photos I sent?'

'It's not something to talk about over the phone.'

'Give me the name or I won't be here when your guy calls.'

'He's Selim Houli. You don't want to know him. Watch out for Karim, he'll be there soon.'

He hung up. I went to my notebook and saw the name I'd transcribed from Standish's list: Selim Houli was one of the gamblers who was said to have taken serious money from Malouf. According to Standish's notes, his club was the Tiberias in Darlinghurst Road. I Googled it while waiting for Chang's offsider.

The website for the Tiberias Club featured audio and video on its attractions. Its cocktail bar was a shimmering light show with barmaids in fishnets, g-strings and nipple pasties serving customers wearing expensive clothes and jewellery and having a wonderful time.

There was a small dance floor with no more than twenty tables arranged around it in front of a small stage. A button click brought the scene to life with jazzy music playing and three men and three women performing a routine that stopped just this side of actual sexual activity in all its many and varied forms. It was only a brief sound and movement bite, but it was skilfully shot with effective lighting and the performers were top class. An expert, expensive, erotic production.

Static again, the site provided details on provisional and actual membership, the club's privacy policy, restrictions on photographic and recording devices and strict rules about insobriety. The floor show must have been on a loop, because it came on again without me activating it just as I heard the doorbell ring downstairs.

I went to the door, looked through the peephole, and saw a dark-faced young man with a serious expression. I opened the door.

I've been hit quite a few times in quite a few places, but the blow that came at me then was faster and more surprising than anything I've experienced. It drove the wind out of me, collapsed me at the knees, and seemed to blind me, all in an instant. Then time slowed down. One second I was standing and conscious and the next I was floating towards the floor. I tried to throw out my arms to shield myself against the fall but I couldn't move them. I didn't even feel the bump.

When I came out of the fog I was sitting in a chair in what I sensed rather than saw was a darkened room, with plastic restraints around my wrists. I could hear something disturbing the air but couldn't make out what. It was as though my senses had all been diminished; I couldn't see, hear or smell properly.