Lester, that was it. It was all coming back to me. The Wong brothers weren't refugees or asylum seekers. The family had been here since the gold rushes, and members had prospered as merchants and professionals-but they'd formed links with the criminal element in the more recent arrivals and had their fingers in all the pies. Freddy had been to Fort Street High School and Sydney University for a medical degree. He'd never worked as a doctor. Lester had never worked at anything except as Freddy's muscle. The two men bore no physical resemblance: Freddy was squat and fat, verging on obese; Lester was medium tall and lean. He'd been a speed addict and his couple of brief gaol terms-for assault and wounding-were unlikely to have rehabilitated or detoxified him.
Things weren't going well at the table. Freddy Wong was shaking his head emphatically while Lester tucked in to the food. Then a man who fitted the generic description 'of Middle Eastern appearance' joined them and the discussion got heated. May Ling looked anxious as she tried to soothe all the players. Standish had completely lost his appetite.
It wasn't the time to intrude, especially in those surroundings where the Wongs were likely to have useful supporters. I finished my drink and moved away from the bar.
'Sir,' the head waiter said, 'a table is being cleared for you.'
'I've been stood up.'
'What a shame. Perhaps you'll come again.'
I drove home thinking that the evening hadn't been a complete waste of time; it had thrown up a lot of questions.
What exactly was the relationship between Standish and May Ling? Why had he dropped out of sight, and what was he doing playing chopsticks with the Wong brothers? May Ling had to be the go-between, but what kind of deal was she brokering? And what of the Middle Eastern wild card?
I called in on Megan and Hank and ate their leftover shepherd's pie. They were still feeling the glow of approaching parenthood and I didn't want to dim it by talking about my concerns. Hank said his parents would be coming out for the birth. Megan's mother, my ex-wife Cyn, was dead. The kid would be down one grandparent and it'd be up to me to do a good job in the solo role.
'Have you ever actually held a baby in your arms, Cliff?' Megan asked.
'Sure, my sister's kids.'
'Boys or girls?' 'Um…'
Hank laughed. 'We've all gotta lot to learn. What're you doing with yourself, Cliff?'
I hadn't told them about my financial reverses. 'Managing my financial affairs,' I said, which was true in a way.
I left them still happy, and some of that rubbed off on me as it had before and as I hoped it would again. As I drove home I had to search my memory again for the name of the Chinese policeman I'd worked with on the matter of Freddy Wong's sex slaves. It didn't come to me until I was half asleep after five pages of a recent Miles Franklin Award-winning novel I'd bought as a remainder-Stephen Chang.
Frank Parker was a long-time friend who'd retired as a deputy police commissioner but remained on their books as a consultant. He had access to police databases closed to civilians. With the previous night's damp clothes in the dryer, I rang him early, knowing that he'd soon be off cycling or playing squash or swimming laps. I'd put on some weight recently, and Frank's trim figure was a constant reproach.
'Frank, it's Cliff.'
'Gidday, Cliff, feel like a swim?'
'Ask me round about December. No, I need some help locating a member of the New South Wales police service.'
'Oh, Jesus, you're not working, are you? You've got no standing, mate, no protection. One bad move and they'll chop you off at the knees. You know that.'
'Yeah, I know, but this is a personal matter.'
'It's always personal with you. I'm not going to help you talk your way into court and gaol… again.'
'Hey, did I tell you I'm going to be a grandfather?'
'No. What? When? Hey, Hilde, Megan's pregnant.'
He was talking to his wife, Hilde Stoner, who'd been a tenant of mine when I was battling to meet the mortgage after Cyn had flown the coop. I'd introduced them. I could hear a squeal from Hilde (the Parkers had grandchildren, twins, they were devoted to). Then Frank came back on the line.
'You're working me, you bastard. OK, what is it?'
'I need to get in touch with Stephen Chang, you remember, we-'
'I remember. Shit, the Wong brothers. Don't tell me you're going down that road again.'
'Obliquely,' I said. 'Can you get me a number?'
I could hear Hilde asking for more details about the prospective Hardy grandchild and Frank fending her off. His voice when he came back was full of resignation.
'Hilde says congratulations. Me too. I'll put you on to Steve Chang only because I know he's sensible enough not to have anything to do with you. When're we going to see you?'
'Soon.'
'Yeah. I'll text you, Cliff.'
The text came through soon after I took the clothes out of the dryer. The jeans were tight around the waist. I had to get back to the gym more often, charity case or not. Sucking in the love handles, zipping up, I rang the number Frank had given me.
'Chang.'
Like the Wongs, Stephen Chang's forebears had been in Australia longer than some of mine. His accent was pure Sydney.
'This is Cliff Hardy. I don't know what to call you these days. I'm betting you're not just a senior constable anymore.'
'Detective Inspector. It's been a long time. What can I do for you, Mr Hardy?'
It used to be Cliff, but he'd gone up and I'd gone down and he was being careful.
'I'm dealing with something involving our old friends the Wong brothers. I thought you might be able to help me.'
'How do you mean dealing? I understood you were retired.'
'It's a long story. Could we meet? What's your role these days?'
'I'm heading up a unit looking into Asian crime and certain links.'
There'd been a spate of home invasions recently. One had resulted in the death of an elderly couple and in another, a policeman called to the scene had been left in a coma by the attackers. He wasn't expected to recover and the affair had caused a lot of law and order activity among the politicians. It didn't surprise me that a task force had been appointed.
'Home invasion, you mean? Drugs? Freddy Wong was into home invasion ten years back,' I said.
'So he was-a sideline of his. It's a bit broader than that. I suppose we could have a talk. Are you still in Glebe?'
I said I was and we arranged to meet in the coffee bar next to the old Valhalla theatre, now defunct and awaiting its fate. It was a few minutes walk away for me. I knew that the number I'd rung was the Surry Hills police centre. Chang gave himself an hour to get there. Friday traffic.
Anti-discrimination laws put an end to the police imposing a minimum height requirement for recruits. This allowed quite a few Asians to join who were previously excluded. Didn't apply to Stephen Chang; he stood 190 centimetres and had played basketball at university. He'd made pretty good time and I was only hanging around briefly before he showed up. Smart suit, overcoat, no tie. A lot of grey in his hair, although he couldn't have been more than thirty-five. We shook hands and took seats at an outside table. I turned the collar of my jacket up against the cold.
'So,' Chang said, 'you don't look so bad for someone who's lost his licence and had a heart attack.'
'I'm OK. You look… authoritative. Coffee?'
We ordered and I gave him an outline of how the man who'd hired me to investigate an alleged death had named as a witness someone who'd been murdered the very next day, gone into hiding and emerged to meet with Freddy and Lester Wong and hadn't looked happy. His level of interest lifted sharply when I mentioned the man
