‘Well, it’s rather curious. Ms McKinley was in a considerable hurry as she left and she almost knocked over another client of mine who was just arriving. She was polite, of course. He commented on her haste, her accent and good manners and asked who she was. I told him and he suddenly showed great interest. He said he knew her father and was very anxious to meet her. I told him she was leaving the country almost immediately and he was very put out. I asked if it was a business meeting he had in mind and he said it was. I said I might be able to help. That’s why I’m calling you now-to see if you’re willing to meet him.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s William Holland; he’s the CEO of a company called Global Resources.’
I drew in a breath that must have sounded odd to Greenacre because his voice was suddenly full of concern.
‘Mr Hardy, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. Please give Mr Holland my mobile number and ask him to call me in, say, an hour.’
Greenacre said he would and I put the phone down to find Hank and Megan looking at me. I realised that I had a grin on my face of a kind they probably hadn’t seen for a while. I glanced at my watch.
‘What?’ Hank said.
I explained what had happened and the implications and possibilities were obvious. If Global Resources was responsible for McKinley’s death a meeting with Holland might make that clear. Or perhaps Holland knew who was responsible and had useful information.
‘Why didn’t you get him to call you straight away?’ Megan said.
I looked at my watch. ‘It’s one thirty. Let’s say he calls Holland straight off-said he will. I said an hour. Let’s see how keen the CEO of Global Resources really is. I’m slipping out for a drink. What d’you think?’
‘Cute,’ Hank said.
Megan said, ‘Try not to sound as smug as you look.’
16
At two thirty-three the phone rang.
‘On the dot,’ I said to Megan.
I answered. ‘Hardy.’
‘Mr Hardy, this is William Holland, I’m-’
‘I know who you are, Mr Holland. What can I do for you?’
‘I’d like for us to meet.’
‘Why?’
‘To discuss matters arising from the work the late Henry McKinley was engaged on.’
‘What work would that be?’
‘I think that’s commercially confidential.’
‘You mean you don’t know.’
‘I mean I only know a certain amount.’
‘Here’s something else you might not know. Margaret McKinley, Dr McKinley’s daughter and heir, has enlisted the services of Bachelor Private Enquiry Incorporated to investigate her father’s death. I’m an associate of Bachelor’s.’
There was a pause before Holland said, ‘No, I didn’t know that.’
So Greenacre was only giving out selective information.
That was good. I’d talked the thing over with Hank and Megan in what was left of the hour after my brief visit to the pub. We’d agreed it was unlikely that the actual kidnappers and probable torturers of Henry McKinley would make the approach Holland had: unlikely, but not impossible. Also, McKinley, on the DVD, said Global Resources had tried a soft approach-a bribe. Didn’t acquit them of responsibility, but it suggested they might be the ones to deal with. We had that one card to play-the bribe allegation. The trick would be to use it to find out more. Holland might know more about the focus of McKinley’s work than we did.
It was a juggling act and a chess game. We needed to talk to Dr O’Neil before we talked to Holland.
‘I’ll call Ms McKinley in the States,’ I said to Holland, ‘and get back to you if you give me your number. I gather it’s urgent?’
‘Fairly urgent. I’ll expect your call when?’
‘Within forty-eight hours.’
He gave me the number and cut the call.
We grouped in Hank’s office.
‘What does he sound like?’ Megan asked.
‘Smooth. What have you found out about the company?’
‘It’s biggish. International. Mining interests mostly, particularly in South Africa. Your Mr Holland is the CEO of the Australian division rather than the whole show.’
‘That’s interesting,’ Hank said. ‘Always good to deal with someone who’s answerable to someone else. Can give you an edge.’
‘We’re going to need it, unless we can learn something useful from Dr O’Neil. Megan and I can try to contact her tomorrow morning, but I think all three of us should go to
the meeting with Holland. My guess is he’ll have others
along.’
‘That’s better,’ Megan said. ‘I want to go.’
‘It’s going to be a chess game,’ I said.
Hank groaned. ‘I’m lousy at chess.’
‘Me, too,’ I said.
‘I’m pretty good,’ Megan said.
I gave her one of my winning grins. ‘Thought you might be. Your mother was.’
The Four Bays Cycling Club clubhouse turned out to be a garage, one of a set cut into a cliff on a street a block back from New South Head Road in Rose Bay. A roller door had the club name, only partly disfigured by graffiti, stencilled on it. Megan and I gathered there at seven twenty on a brisk morning with a sharp wind coming off the water.
‘They ride for an hour,’ Megan said, ‘rain, hail or shine, and they cover a bloody lot of clicks.’
‘Admirable. I wouldn’t fancy the hills.’
‘They thrive on them. Think of the Tour de France.’
‘That’s for money. More understandable. Here they come.’
A group of riders swept around a bend and headed towards us, pedalling fast on the flat stretch. At about a hundred metres out, they slowed and coasted the rest of the way. We could hear their voices carrying clearly on the morning air above the sounds of traffic and the stiff breeze. There were ten people in the group, including two women.
‘She’s the thin one with the red helmet,’ Megan said.
‘I recognise her. She put in a brief appearance at the funeral.’
The riders bunched up, shook hands, chatted and inspected their bikes. We walked over to where the woman Megan had singled out was making an adjustment to the strap on one of her pedals.
‘Excuse me,’ Megan said, ‘Dr O’Neil?’
The woman pulled off her helmet and shook out her long, dark hair. She was good looking-thin-faced with large dark eyes. In her lycra outfit, she displayed a body without a gram of extra fat.
‘Yes, I’m Susan O’Neil. Who-?’
Megan spoke quickly but quietly. ‘Sorry to grab hold of you like this, but it’s important that we talk with you. We’ve been hired by Margaret McKinley, Dr Henry McKinley’s daughter, to investigate his death.’
She was still half occupied by the strap, still probably considering how she’d done on the ride, but now she stopped what she was doing and studied us closely. The other riders were filing into the garage and I could see the racks waiting for their bikes. They must have showers and changing rooms inside. Nice set-up.
