Torvald Spry—media magnate, billionaire
Fenella Tomlinson—Melbourne Liberal and charity queen
Michael Ogden—Clarion T&S arms manufacturer
Patrick Dougall—Bishop of Albury
Jeremy Plankten—state attorney-general
Atticus Pons—partner Phipps Allenby Lockhart, board member Mollisons, Diamond Square and Large Sky
Roger Macatelli—NSW deputy police commissioner
Joe ‘Viagra Joe’ Vigaro—NSW lobbyist and public relations
Ronald ‘Banjo’ Patterson—CEO Diamond Square Property Trust, board member Mollisons, Diamond Square and Large Sky
‘Holy shit,’ says Martin. Then scans it for the second time. ‘The attorney-general, a bishop, a couple of billionaires. What a network.’
‘Your next story,’ says Goffing. ‘Get it out before that publisher of yours is buried beneath litigation.’
‘He’s started publishing offshore.’
‘So I see,’ says Goffing, pulling into a suburban driveway.
Martin looks around him: his attention has been on the membership list, his eyes on the paper, his imagination linking events with people. ‘Where are we?’
‘It’s what’s known in the business as a safe house. So not for publication.’
‘Right.’
Inside, the curtains are drawn and the lights are on. Sitting on a couch, watching rugby league on television, eating peanuts and drinking Coke, is Griff, as if it’s any ordinary Sunday afternoon. She stands as Martin and Goffing enter, switching off the TV. She nods at Martin, as if in acknowledgement, as if in appreciation. ‘Top show, son. Top show.’ She turns to Goffing. ‘We’re good?’
‘Yep.’
‘Through here, mate.’
She leads the way into the kitchen, into the harsh light of an old-fashioned strip fluorescent. A man is sitting there, slumped forward onto the kitchen table, one arm extended to where it’s handcuffed to a pipe on the wall.
‘Wake up, sunshine,’ orders Griff, before turning to Martin. ‘Meet Kenneth Steadman, better known as the Turtle.’
The man raises his head. Martin takes a sharp breath. The captive’s face is a mess, beaten to a pulp, his right eye swollen closed. Martin turns to Goffing. ‘You did this?’
‘Not us. Take a closer look.’
Martin does as he’s told, seeing what he missed at first: there are stitches, scabbing wounds, bruises turning yellow and blue as they age, a brutal rainbow.
‘Henry Livingstone,’ states Goffing. ‘Three days ago. Lucky we found this bloke before his face turned septic.’
‘Is this legal? Holding him like this?’
‘Close enough,’ says Goffing. ‘I’m ASIO, remember.’
‘Who are you?’ demands the Turtle, before answering his own question. ‘More fucking filth.’ His one good eye is baleful, contemptuous, staring at Martin.
‘This is Martin Scarsden,’ says Jack Goffing. ‘The de facto husband of Mandalay Blonde.’ The Turtle flinches, cowers, as if expecting another beating. Martin frowns at the reaction, not understanding it. Goffing continues. ‘Kenneth, I need you to tell Martin what you told us, then we’ll take you to the police.’
The Turtle’s voice is plaintive, insistent. ‘I’ll get protection.’
‘You sure will, Kenneth. You’ll be the most protected man in Australia.’
‘Immunity?’
‘That’s for the police to decide. But you tell us what you know, and I’ll put in a good word for you.’
The Turtle smiles at that, turning his swollen face and manic eye to Martin. ‘I’ll get it. Immunity. You watch.’ To Martin he sounds unbalanced.
‘You want a cup of tea, Kenneth? Cigarette?’ asks Griff, her voice almost gentle. ‘A doughnut?’
‘No,’ says the Turtle, cowering as if trying to draw back into his shell. ‘I’m good.’
Griff smiles. She pulls up a chair, indicates for Martin to do the same. Jack Goffing remains standing. Griff speaks to the Turtle. ‘Tell Martin how Tarquin Molloy died.’
The Turtle smiles, a glint in his eye. ‘It was Vandenbruk. He shot him.’
‘I know,’ says Martin. ‘Tell me how it happened. And why.’
The Turtle glances up at Jack Goffing.
‘Protection, Kenneth. Immunity,’ says Goffing. ‘Talk.’
The Turtle turns to Martin. ‘Molloy. He was good. Fuck, he was good.’
Griff shakes her head. ‘That wasn’t the question, Kenneth.’
The prisoner nods, understanding. ‘Clarity Sparkes. She started it. She suspected Molloy, got IT to track him, the ISP on his laptop. A red flag went up when he used Mandalay Blonde’s passwords. Clarity thought she had him. Alerted her boss, Harry Sweetwater.’ He stops, as if remembering something, looks up at Goffing. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? Sweetwater’s dead, isn’t he?’
It’s Martin who answers. ‘He’s dead. I was there. I saw it. He’s dead, Titus Torbett is dead, Henry Livingstone is dead. Claus Vandenbruk is in custody. None of them can hurt you now. It’s safe to talk.’
But the Turtle laughs, even though the pain is evident on his face. ‘I was always safe from them, don’t you understand that?’
‘No, Kenneth, I don’t,’ replies Martin, unsure where this is heading.
The Turtle puffs up, as if with pride, head jolting forward again at the end of his long neck. ‘They all underestimated me. They thought I was just the Turtle, sitting in my shell, watching the world on my monitors, as if I wasn’t part of the world. Just there to do their bidding. Well, fuck that. By the end I had them all where I wanted them. I knew everything.’
‘Like what?’ says Martin, his voice falling to a whisper, enthralled by this spectacle of a man.
‘I knew Vandenbruk killed Molloy. I knew Sweetwater killed Clarity Sparkes. I knew Titus Torbett killed his sister and the newspaper man. I knew it all. I was untouchable.’ And he turns again to Goffing. ‘And that’s why they’ll give me immunity. I guarantee it. I know everything.’
‘So you say,’ says Goffing, his voice noncommittal.
‘You know who I am, don’t you, Kenneth?’ asks Martin.
‘I know everything,’ says the Turtle again, not boastful now but matter-of-fact.
‘If I put all that information in my articles, then no one would have any reason to hurt you. Understand?’
The Turtle thinks that through, taking his time, staring into space. When he looks back at Martin, there is cunning in his manner. ‘Will you mention me in your stories?’
‘Would you like me to?’
‘Yes. Yes, I would.’
‘I’ll tell them you knew everything. You understood everything. That you outsmarted all of them, Harry Sweetwater and Titus Torbett and the rest of them. That you survived them all. The world will know.’
The Turtle’s one good eye glows with satisfaction. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Molloy. You said Clarity
