shoot at?’
‘Beaters.’
‘Right, beaters.’
‘Your dad did just that, a couple of times, and he didn’t regret it.’
‘Are you saying he owes you and so I owe you?’
‘No. I messed things up once big-time and we’re square.’
Gunnarson laughed. ‘How have you stayed alive so long?’
‘I sometimes ask myself that.’
‘I bet you do. I’ll send someone and you’ll get an edited report.’
‘Edited?’
‘I’ve bent over, but I’m not going to let you fuck me.’
Megan had been very busy. She was compiling a list of quarries in an area stretching from Nowra in the south to Newcastle in the north and west to the Blue Mountains. She refused to tell me how many she had so far and I didn’t press her. I was more interested in what she’d turned up about Hugh Richards.
‘He’s a nasty bit of work,’ she said. ‘A God-botherer, as you’d expect given the party he belongs to. Very narrowly escaped prosecution for tax evasion and fraud back before he got into parliament. He’s rich, with interests in a string of companies, all that at arm’s length now, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘The word is that he’s still actively involved in some of those companies and that he’s a busy share trader.’
‘How does he get away with that?’
‘There’s a theory, and I got this from your mate Harry Tickener, that he’s got something on the bosses in his party and maybe on one or two in the government.’
‘Great. Just what we need, a political angle.’
Nothing happened for almost a week as Megan kept googling. I went to the gym, took my meds, checked that a flyer about McKinley was posted on the web and in the usual places, and that reports about his disappearance appeared in the press. Nothing on TV. Then Hank got a call.
‘From Chief Superintendent Ian Dickersen of Serious Crimes,’ Hank said. ‘He wants me and you and any materials we have on McKinley to come in to Surry Hills this afternoon. I guess I’m free. You?’
‘Yes. Any more information?’
‘About zip, except that I think he mentioned the word conference, and I gather your pal Gunnarson’s going to be there.’
‘I wonder if we should take a lawyer with us?’
Hank tapped his mobile. ‘I’ve got my guy briefed and ready to spring into action.’
We rolled up at the appropriate time and were escorted to a conference room with a large table and comfortable chairs-for a police station, that is.
Dickersen was forty-plus, polished, part of the new breed. Not scruffy, not flash, not fat, not thin-a man for all occasions. He introduced himself, introduced Gunnarson to Hank and introduced the woman present, Detective Sergeant Angela Roberts, to both of us. She was black, part of an even newer breed.
When we were seated Dickersen said, ‘DS Roberts interviewed a person named Guy at Tarelton Explorations. I thought it might be useful for you to compare notes with her.’
Hank and I nodded in her direction. They’d have to be mental notes-neither of us had brought a single sheet of paper. If Dickersen noticed he didn’t comment.
‘Well, to business,’ he said. ‘We’ve found Henry McKinley. I’m sorry to have to tell you that he’s dead. He appears to have died violently.’
It wasn’t unexpected, but you always hold out hope. It’d hit Margaret hard.
‘That’s not all,’ Dickersen said. ‘I understand you and McKinley’s daughter are close, Mr Hardy.’
‘In a way,’ I said.
‘We’ll leave it up to you then whether to tell her the rest or not.’
‘That is?’
‘Seems he was held for some time-ligature marks.’
‘Tortured?’
‘Possibly, hard to say.’
8
Henry McKinley’s body had been found near a fire trail in the Royal National Park. An attempt had been made to torch his car but it had been only partly successful, and the condition of the body allowed the pathologist to make several conclusions. McKinley had died of cardiac arrest. There were ligature marks on his wrists and ankles and bruises to his chest and legs.
‘The. . injuries were extensive,’ Dickersen said, ‘but the pathologist said his heart was dodgy-a couple of blockages. It’s possible the beating, or a number of beatings, could have triggered the heart attack. Or just stress from the. . circumstances he was in. He’d been gagged. I’d be stressed, from the sound of it.’
There was an eerie quiet in the room as Dickersen went into the details. When you hear of a thing like that you can’t help mentally putting yourself in the victim’s place and feeling the chill of fear-me particularly, after my recent experience. You don’t say anything; you just wait for the feeling to pass.
Gunnarson broke the silence. ‘Some firemen found the car and got straight onto the police. Luckily, no media came to hear of it and we kept it that way.’
I said, ‘You’re sure it was McKinley?’
‘Everything the pathologist documented about the body fitted the description the daughter gave us and the more detailed one that Mr Bachelor provided.’
Hank said, ‘I didn’t tell you, Cliff. Our client said that her father had broken his right arm and his left shoulder in different falls from his bike.’
‘That checked out,’ Gunnarson said. ‘We found that McKinley was a blood donor. His DNA’s on record and that’s being matched, but I don’t think there’s any doubt.’
Hank took a notebook from his pocket. ‘When was the body found?’
Gunnarson looked at his watch. ‘Close to seventy-two hours ago.’
‘And how long since he was killed?’
‘Not long. That rainstorm we had last Friday probably contributed to dousing the fire.’
I felt the weight of that. McKinley was alive when our investigation began. Another thing that’d be hard to convey to Margaret, but that wasn’t my only problem.
‘I have to ask,’ I said, ‘why are you giving us all this protected information? And, with respect, why is DS Roberts here?’
Dickersen tapped the file in front of him. ‘Mr Bachelor and you have the inside track on this matter. As an apparent case of murder this is particularly serious in its. . execution. We’ve decided that we have an advantage in keeping it under wraps. We assume the perpetrators expect us to find the body and for the media to go to town on it. When that doesn’t happen they may become anxious.’
Hank said, ‘You’re going to keep an eye on the spot in case someone comes to check?’
‘That, too, but we want your cooperation in giving us every scrap of information you have and maintaining the security blanket.’
Hank glanced at me. ‘I’d say we could guarantee that, Chief Super, but, again with respect, as you say, how good is
‘Very good,’ Dickersen said.
Hank nodded. ‘But not absolute.’
Dickersen shrugged. ‘What is?’
This was new territory for Hank and me-total cooperation with the police. The same question occurred to us both-was this sharing of information mutual? Hank asked for a few minutes for us to confer and we went into a
