bombing in which a woman was killed. A good woman, a wife and a mother who will be very much missed by her family.’
The policeman’s face was suffused with angry blotches now. Jules had to take a deep breath to still a swirl of dizziness as an unwanted memory, vivid and gruesome, arose before her eyes. A man cradling the headless body of a woman, his wife, in a foul slick of blood at the marina … She shook herself ever so slightly in an effort to clear the image from her head.
‘Or might it be, Mr Shah,’ Palmer continued, oblivious to her reaction, ‘that bombs explode and people die around you so fucking frequently, it’s barely worth remarking on? I wonder if we shouldn’t be looking at the issue of your security licence. It might be that the background checks weren’t nearly thorough enough, and we’ve missed some unsavoury connections somewhere. The sort of connections we don’t need in this city.’
Julianne felt Downing tap her foot twice with his shoe:
‘That sounds remarkably like a ham-fisted attempt at intimidation, Detective,’ he said, making a great play of looking at the microcassette recorder rather than the police officer. ‘You do understand that my client is a member in good standing of the Chamber of Commerce, the city’s Business Roundtable, and the Free Port Development Authority’s Commercial Consultancy Board?’ He emphasised the last point by cocking an eyebrow at Palmer - a gesture that would go unrecorded on the audiotape, of course.
‘Mr Shah is not some barefoot coolie just off the boat, Detective Palmer. And, unlike some other contractors I could mention, his business is run in an exemplary fashion. I know that because I have oversight of the administrative requirements. Shah Security has never been breached for unauthorised lethality, collateral injury or property damage. You will find all his documentation is in order, including the quarterly reviews by the FPDA’s audit and risk management bureau. The Free Port Development Authority has no reason to find fault with Mr Shah or his operations and his licensing fees are fully paid up. In advance, I might add.’
Rather than reminding the cop of who paid his salary, it only served to enrage him still further.
‘What
As hard as it was to keep up with and write down the exchanges flying across the hardwood table, Jules persevered. She took a moment to glance up at Shah, however, to see how he was doing. The soldier-turned- businessman remained impassive. Palmer was making a concerted effort to break him down, but Downing was spoiling all of his attacks.
‘When last I checked, Detective, the licensing of military-grade security contractors in the Northern Territory was not the responsibility of the local police. Final authority rests with the federal government, and they act on advice from the Free Port Development Authority. I will stand corrected, of course, but I don’t think the development authority is even required to consult with you on such matters.’
Surely Downing had pushed it too far now. Palmer looked as angry as Julianne had ever seen a man look without reaching for a weapon. A vein throbbed dark and purple on the side of his neck and he jutted his chin at the Falklander like a gun turret. Shah pre-empted him before he could fire back a reply.
‘Is there any news of my friend, Detective?’
Palmer stared at him, uncomprehending, for a heartbeat.
‘Mr Ross … Rhino,’ Shah added. ‘We have had no word of him since the explosion. I understand he was evacuated to one of the American ships in port. I wonder if you might have any information about that or his condition.’
The big policeman gave his head a quick shake - not to answer the question in the negative, more to throw off his surprise at it. He patted his jacket pocket as if searching for something. ‘Sorry, I ah … Just give me a second, would you?’
Palmer pushed himself back from the table and stood up to leave, exiting via a door next to the one-way mirror.
‘What the fu -‘ Jules began.
Downing tapped the back of her hand with two fingers and shook his head, almost imperceptibly. He rolled his eyes around the room. They were, of course, still being observed.
Jules nodded and did her best to tidy up the appalling mess of notes she’d scribbled all over her legal pad. She circled a few questions she had written down for herself. Who had informed Palmer that Shah had been down at the marina? Was it significant that the cop didn’t seem to know who she was? Why had they been dragged into the station to answer a couple of questions that, as Downing had pointed out, could just as easily have been dealt with over the phone? The obvious threat to Shah’s business - was it credible? Did anyone stand behind it, or was Palmer overreaching?
‘I’m dreadfully sorry about all this, Mr Shah,’ Downing said, breaking the silence. ‘There really is no reason for you to have to put up with it. This is the lowest form of harassment and quite unacceptable. Give me the word and I will make a formal complaint.’
To Julianne, the lawyer seemed to be saying exactly what anyone watching and recording them would’ve expected him to say. Role playing, and he was good at it. Shah replied with an inaudible shrug, just as Palmer returned with a colleague.
‘Detective Constable Bill Dennis,’ the new man said, introducing himself. ‘My apologies, folks. I meant to be here earlier, but I got caught up in traffic getting back from the navy base. Went out to see your mate, Ross. He’s still with us, but a bit banged up.’
Jules had to exert a tremendous effort of will to keep herself quiet. Downing seemed to understand her frustration. She was quite desperate for news of the Rhino and found herself feeling guilty that she hadn’t done more to find out how he was. If he had never met her, he wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed right now.
‘How badly was Mr Ross injured, Detective Constable?’ the lawyer asked affably. ‘He’s a friend of my client, and we’ve had no word. If possible, I’m sure Mr Shah would like to visit him. But we don’t even know where he is being treated.’
One wouldn’t have known from the agreeable tone of Piers Downing’s voice that he had locked horns so seriously with Dennis’s partner just a few minutes ago. Jules couldn’t help thinking that if her father had had this chap in his corner when it all went pear-shaped, he might not have retired to the billiards room with his service revolver.
Both cops sat down, Palmer pushing back from the table a fraction, while Dennis pulled up a chair and opened a manila folder, from which he began to extract details.
‘Mr Ross has second-degree burns to thirty per cent of his body. A broken shoulder blade. Four broken ribs. And possible internal injuries. Sorry, I don’t have details on that yet. They’re still operating. He’s being treated on the American ship USS
Like Palmer, Bill Dennis was a tall, athletic-looking man, somewhere in his thirties. He was also very well dressed for a detective. The stitching and material of his suit spoke of the care and attention of an expert tailor: no sign of uneven weave or missing threads. There was no way this guy was wearing some glue-seamed piece of shit. As Detective Dennis hunched forward over the table to read from the file, the suit seemed to flow around him rather than bunching and wrinkling. When he moved back, it returned to its smooth and pristine state. It’d been a while since Julianne had bothered with such things, but she’d have wagered that between them, Detectives Dennis and Palmer were strutting about in eight or nine grand’s worth of tailoring. Were it not for the imposing mirror filling that far wall, the impression created would have been of two senior executives at the boardroom table of a wealthy mining company. Downing had been right. Everything about Bagot Road Police Station suggested an almost limitless source of funds.
‘Thank you for those details, Detective,’ said Shah. ‘It helps to have some information.’
‘Sure,’ Dennis replied, favouring both Downing and Shah with a sympathetic smile. ‘It does. And, you know, if there was anything, even the smallest thing, that came to mind about why anybody would want to hurt Mr Ross and you, Mr Shah, that’d be very useful information for us to have.’
The Australian sounded so reasonable, so friendly and eager to help out, that it was a moment before Jules realised that he and Palmer were running a good cop/bad cop routine. She almost blinked in disbelief. One, that they would even try. And two, that she hadn’t spotted it as soon as the amiable Detective Dennis had wandered in sporting such a disarming expression on his handsome face.
