I found a couple of clean glasses and a bottle of Dewar's. Ice cubes in the fridge. I prepared two solid drinks and brought them back to where Standish was sitting with his head bowed low. His wife had said how much he loved to win and hated to lose and he was acting the part now for all he was worth.
'Have a drink,' I said. 'Find Malouf and we're home free.'
He gulped at the drink and almost choked. 'How can you say that? What if he's dead?'
'Do you think he's dead?'
'I hope so. If you… we… can prove that then those vicious bastards should leave me alone.'
It was interesting to watch him coming out of his state of fear. As soon as he saw a possibility of personal safety his spirits rose. May Ling, I noticed, had dropped out of the equation; I had never been in it.
It was warm in the room and I slipped out of my jacket and reached to hang it over the back of the chair. It fell with a thud. Standish had finished his drink and was on the way to the kitchen for a refill. He picked up the jacket and the pistol dropped into his hand. He stared at it, looking more frightened than ever.
'You think you need this?'
I took it and put it back in the jacket. 'It's just for show. What you need to do is pull yourself together. Go back to work and your own place. If Wong or Houli gets in touch, play for time.'
'I thought you might… what will you be doing?'
'What you hired me for originally-trying to find Malouf. You said you'd get some money.'
He gave me a thousand dollars in hundreds. Strange to say it seemed to make him happier.
12
I scouted the area, no sign of anyone watching the apartments. There's a rule in investigation that holds true about half the time-like most rules: test the weakest link. As things stood that was Rosemary Malouf. She'd gone to water after a question or two and had summoned support. The more I thought about it the more it seemed as if this was the place to probe.
Houli was one of those who'd given weight to the theory that Richard Malouf had serious problems by claiming he'd won a lot of money from him. Rosemary Malouf had identified the body. What was the connection between those facts? It was hard to see them as collaborators. From what I'd experienced at Houli's hands it was more likely he'd intimidated her, was controlling her in some way.
A ride in a near-empty bus is good for contemplation and speculation. Suppose Malouf was alive and his apparent death had been contrived somehow. By whom? Houli or Wong, or both? Why, and how it went wrong, allowing that this supposition was correct, were the questions.
I looked through my notes and clippings again and rang Prospero Sabatini.
'Hardy, about time I heard from you. What's been going on?'
'Quite a few things, which I could tell you off the record. Nothing at all on the record.'
'Bloody hell. All right. At least you got in touch. Fill me in.'
I told him as much as I thought I should, still not mentioning Standish, but bringing Freddy Wong and Selim Houli into the picture as well as Chang and Ali.
'You might talk to Chang without telling him who put you on to him,' I said. 'You might get something interesting.'
'Might, might, might. Might doesn't write stories. You say you're still thinking Malouf could be alive. That's the crux. Anything solid there?'
'Not really, and that's where I need your help.'
'You haven't built up much credit.'
'Yes or no?'
'Go ahead, ask.'
I reminded him that in one of his articles he'd mentioned that Malouf's wife had left their home in Gladesville.
'That's right, she couldn't handle the media pressure. The time I talked to her I told her it wouldn't last much longer but she didn't listen.'
'Do you know where she went? That's what I'm asking.'
There was a silence at the end of the line and I could imagine what he was thinking. What's he up to and what's in it for me? When it came, his response surprised me.
'She's very vulnerable, Hardy.'
I almost said I knew, but remembered that I'd edited my meeting with her out of my story. 'She's had time to get over it,' I said, 'and I can be gentle when necessary.'
'I bet.'
'Look, she's either on the edge or in the middle of something very nasty. Maybe she knows nothing about it at all. If that's right I'll talk to her and say goodbye. If she's in danger I'll bring the cops in. That's a promise.'
'I can't help you.' He hung up.
I was losing my touch and running out of allies. I'd put the phone too close to my damaged ear and it was hurting. Sitting too long in one position stiffened me, and all the places where Yusef had hit me ached. I was angry. Time to play dirty. I called the Bondi Junction travel agency. Troy answered.
'Mrs Malouf, please.'
'Can I say who's calling?'
I got as close to Perry's soft voice as I could. 'Perry Hassan. Her late husband worked for me.'
She came on the line. 'Yes, Mr Hassan?'
'Sorry to trouble you, Mrs Malouf, but there are some papers I need you to sign. There's some money coming your way.'
'How? I don't understand.'
'I'll explain, but it's urgent. This needs to be handled today to cope with the time difference between here and the UK. I'm tied up now, but I could bring them to you after office hours if you give me your address.'
I was guessing money would be a problem for her. I couldn't see Malouf leaving her with a nest egg. After a very brief hesitation she gave me an address. I thanked her and said I'd see her around seven pm. I wasn't proud of myself when I put down the phone, but my ear and mid-section still hurt and she was the one who'd sicced Yusef on to me.
The address was in Dulwich Hill, a little cul-de-sac off Livingstone Road. I scouted it: a single-fronted cottage with a neat garden at the front and a laneway behind. Some of the houses had driveways and there were few cars in the street. Good lighting. I parked in a nearby street and let the minutes tick by. I was on the doorstep at seven pm precisely and rang the bell. Footsteps.
'Who is it?'
'Perry Hassan.'
The door opened and I pushed it in and bustled the little woman away. She squealed and I kicked the door closed. She raced down the hall, flung open a door, and snatched up her mobile from a table. I clamped her wrist and took it from her.
'I'm not going to hurt you,' I said.
'You are hurting me.'
I released her and pointed to my ear while lifting my windcheater up to show the yellow and blue bruise across my middle.
'My eardrum's broken and the ear is only held on by stitches. This is where they hit me-those people you sent after me. You owe me some explanation.'
She was still in her business clothes, minus the jacket and the heels. In slippers, she didn't come up to my shoulder. She slumped down into a chair and covered her face with her hands. I pulled the hands away roughly.
'Don't do that. You're in trouble, Mrs Malouf. Maybe I can help you, but first you have to tell me about your dealings with Selim Houli.'
She looked up at me, big grey eyes pleading in a small, terrified face. 'I can't. They'll kill me.'
