'Miles Standish, right?'
'Let's say you're right. How did you get there?'
'I'm not sure I can trust you. You're economical with the facts.'
I laughed. 'Nice one. Aren't we all? OK, well I'll give you something that might interest you. Two cops came to see me when I got home. Like you, they'd seen the news coverage and they warned me off. Obviously Nordlung meant something to them or why would they bother?'
There was a long pause and I thought I knew what was going through his head. I'd discussed this sort of thing with Lily a few times. Names, information, connections are the lifeblood of investigative journalism and private investigation alike. They're also the currency, to be hoarded or traded. Sabatini thought I'd hoarded a bit. He had something to trade, but was it worth his while? The other thing about information is that its value drops the more people share it. It has a use-by date. Sabatini made his decision.
'OK, you'd find out something about it sooner or later so you're getting it from me now: the real stuff. I'm investing in you, Hardy.'
I smiled. I'd read him correctly and he was even using the appropriate language. I didn't say anything.
'Nordlung and Standish were hand in glove. Standish brokered the deal that enabled Nordlung to buy the Southern Star. Are you with me?'
I was. The Southern Star was a cruise ship that was being fitted out for luxury voyages to the Antarctic. The work was being done in Hobart. The ship had exploded and was a total loss.
'Nordlung had it insured to the hilt and beyond,' Sabatini said. 'Massive premium. Standish raised the money and arranged the terms for that as well. Nordlung got a whacking great payout. If Nordlung's the one who's supposed to have seen Malouf you could be chasing shadows. Nordlung'd do anything Standish wanted him to.'
'So it wouldn't be in Standish's interest to kill him.'
'No; but there'd be plenty of candidates. Nordlung was a specialist in marine fraud of one kind or another. He started small and had some trouble, got bigger and honed his act. So are you investigating an alleged death or a real one, or both?'
'I wish I knew. Maybe nothing. Standish has made himself unavailable.'
'I could be wasting my time talking to you.'
'You could be.'
'I'm glad I did anyway. Know why?'
'Tell me.'
'Lily,' he said and hung up.
5
Common sense said to give it up as a bad job-too little substance, too many uncertainties, no focus. But common sense wouldn't pay the bills or help me out of the fix I was in with the option shares. That's if I really was in a fix. I'd been reading lately about fake emails, so I paid a call on Perry Hassan to make sure he had sent Standish the email I'd seen. We'd got together a few times since the Malouf scam and he'd been apologetic. He still was.
'I'm sorry, Cliff,' he said, 'but that's right. Dick Malouf had the management of the portfolio and that's what he did to you with those shares, probably just because he could. I know I was out of line telling Standish but he said he was thinking of employing you. I thought I was putting work your way.'
We were in his office in Five Dock, a large suite of rooms above a sprawling DVD rental joint. It used to be a relatively pleasant place to go the few times I went there-young, energetic accountants of both sexes working away in apparent open-plan harmony. Perry was a cynic who'd worked for the tax office in earlier days and was thought to know all the angles. He'd complained about executive lunches and desk-sitting piling on the kilos and I'd suggested he join my gym. He did and became an enthusiast. Now there was an air of despondency about the office and many fewer bodies.
'Well, you have, I think,' I said. 'What d'you make of Standish?'
'An operator. He put some people my way and then leaned on me to do certain favours. He says he's going to help me with the insurance people and I'm going to need all the help I can get. That's another reason why I gave him the details of your situation when he asked. Sorry.'
'It's all right. Is there any way to head off the margin call?'
Perry shrugged. 'A very good lawyer might be able to stall it for a while.'
'What about a conviction of Malouf for fraud?'
'He's dead.'
'Say he isn't.'
'Cliff, I'm up to my neck in lawyers, aggrieved clients and auditors. I can't sleep for worry. I can't find the will to go to the gym. I can't play games.'
'OK. One question: can Standish be trusted?'
He threw back his head and laughed. Then he looked astonished and pleased that he was still able to laugh. So I'd done him some good.
Like Perry, I hadn't been to the gym for a while. I decided to have a workout and see if a spell on the treadmill gave me any ideas. It's been known to happen. Late afternoon and not many about. I stripped, stretched less thoroughly than I should have, and started the treadmill at a brisk walk. If I felt good I'd increase it to a trot. I was warmed up, considering increasing the rate, when I heard a door crash and a shrill voice cut through the doof doof musical fug.
'Where is that bastard? I'll kill him.'
I heard a crash of metal on metal and hit the off button. A large man in a suit had picked up a short bar and slammed it against one of the machines. A couple of people were doing floor exercises on the mezzanine level. A man and a woman leaned over the rail to look down. The intruder saw them and rushed towards the stairs.
'You bastard, you cunt. I'll kill you both.'
He threw the short bar away. It clattered against a wall and he picked up a longer, heavier one. That slowed him down long enough for me to get between him and the stairs.
'Take it easy, mate.'
'Fuck you!'
He was big and strong and swung the bar with one hand, but it wasn't made for swinging-too long, too heavy. The movement put him off-balance. I grabbed the bar with both hands and twisted it out of his grasp. He roared and made a grab at me but I re-gripped and prodded him in the chest with the end of the bar and he stumbled and fell. I pinned him with the bar across his chest while Wesley, the gym manager and instructor, and two others came in to help. The would-be attacker glared up at us, swearing and spitting, but the fight went out of him.
We got him calmed down and convinced him that the two people he was after had left by the back exit.
'Just as well for you Cliff here stopped you,' Wesley said. 'You were on the way to assault with a deadly weapon grief.'
The man shrugged and brushed down his clothes. 'Who cares?'
He pushed us aside and made his way to the door.
'Cliff, my man, you've still got some moves,' Wesley said.
'He'd have done better with the short bar.'
'Don't even think it. I need a murder in here like I need swine flu. Haven't seen you for a while, man.'
'I've had some bad luck money-wise and other worries. In fact I'm probably going to be late paying my membership.'
Wesley laid his big dark hand on my shoulder. 'After what you did for me a while back, you've got a free pass as far as I'm concerned.'
I got back on the treadmill but my heart wasn't in it and I did the minimum amount of work on the machines and with the free weights. Although it was kind of Wesley to make the gesture (I'd got his son out of trouble a few years before), the idea of being a charity case didn't sit well with me. The Standish job, if it could be firmed up,
