Blood Redemption

18

The morning’s newspaper was just one of a number of things on Harrigan’s desk which convinced him that today was going to be an even better day than yesterday. The Daily Telegraph’s headline, MEET THE FIREWALL — MURDERER’S WEBSITE REVEALED, would give his murdering girl all the publicity she had ever dreamed about, something he was obliged to admit was necessary however much he disliked the idea. There were pages on the story, it included every picture and description they’d ever released. Some fool in the publicity department had thoughtfully sent out the latest photograph of him while at the same time announcing that he was in charge of the investigation.

Information which the paper had then printed with a breathless biography he would not otherwise have recognised as his own. The only thing he read which cheered him was the announcement of a reward of $25,000 for any information leading to the arrest of the killer. He should feel happier about it. In all the fuss, no one was yet publicly reviling them for managing to lose their sole witness.

He looked at his other papers, including Louise’s print-out of Toby’s latest communication with the Firewall. Love you, Turtle, loveyou always, he read. This miasma of declared personal love, as he saw it, reverberated angrily in Harrigan’s mind. She can come and wash and feed you if she really loves you, Toby. She can massage your back.

She can clean you. I’ll supervise her. And is she still going to feel that way about you when she reads the newspaper? U got 2 believe me I’myour friend I am 4 ever I love u always 2 U go 2 the police beforesomething really bad happens, Toby had written in reply. This particular time bomb was due to go off sometime today, it had to.

Toby, why have you done this to yourself?

Without giving himself the chance for a second thought, Harrigan sent out an email to his son. Check the paper today, Toby, I’m in thereand she has to see it sometime. I don’t want this to rebound on you.

Get in touch with me if you want me. I’m here. He could deal with any rebuff or accusation from Toby better than the memory of neglect.

He did not need this convergence of his work into his personal sphere; it asked too much of him, it made it too delicate to balance. He felt this all the more as he flicked open an urgent memo from the Tooth.

Under current staffing levels, insufficient police personnel were available to guard Whole Life Women’s Health Centre clinics on a twenty-four-hour basis. The application of risk management principles indicated that the clinics would be better off employing a private security firm, to which end Marvin recommended a highly reliable agency.

While Harrigan mused over the possible financial incentives the Tooth might have for this recommendation (personal investment, favours owed, the promise of a future directorship), he thought of the warnings he might send out to the extensive crew of health workers now left unprotected. Be alert for strange individuals approaching your door carrying timed incendiary devices — they may not be there to discuss their personal medical problems. Yes, be alert, the country needs lerts like never before and so do I. He rubbed his eyes. The absurdity gelled nicely with a telephone call he then received from the duty sergeant at the front desk. A Preacher Graeme Fredericksen had asked to see him, did he want them to show him up? The man was insistent on seeing him and him only. Harrigan did not say that he’d had every available officer out searching for the man for some eighteen hours or so now, and a fair few others for quite some time before that.

When the man appeared, he made what could only be described as a smooth entrance. Somehow he managed to slip into the room unnoticed, his uniformed escort notwithstanding. Harrigan was collecting a small folder of papers when the preacher was suddenly there at the desk talking to Dea. Not a tall man. Clothes which were nondescript and looked like they had possibly been slept in. A young-old face, squarish features, frank and open-looking, dark hair without any grey tint. Once, he would have been very good-looking.

Not any more; that beauty was damaged and fading away.

‘It’s okay, Dea,’ Harrigan said. ‘Preacher Graeme Fredericksen?

You wanted to see me — Paul Harrigan. How do you do?’

Harrigan offered his hand; the preacher shook it without any apparent trace of self-consciousness. He had a weak and sliding touch.

He looked directly at Harrigan with an unembarrassed gaze. He had clear eyes and gave the disturbing impression that he did not blink.

‘Paul,’ he said, as though meeting an old friend, ‘it’s most kind of you to give me your time. I saw your picture in the paper today and I thought, yes, you will be the best person for me to approach. I hope that you will be able to help me. I am afraid I’m very much in need of your help at this time.’

‘Yes, you can call me Paul, Graeme,’ Harrigan replied after a slight pause, assuming his usual neutrality of tone. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here. There’s a room down here where we’ll be comfortable.

Dea, a couple of coffees?’

‘No, please, don’t take the trouble. I know time is important to you, Paul. I will try to use as little of it as possible.’

If the clothes were nondescript, the voice was not. It was pleasant to hear and invited familiarity. It seemed to assure you that he was your friend, that he had known you for years. People would listen to him and be comforted because they would know from his voice that they could surely rely on his goodwill.

‘We’re here to help, Graeme. Let’s see what we can do for you. Just in here — this is one of our interview rooms. The decor’s nothing to write home about, I’m afraid.’

In the drab and perfunctory room, he pulled back a chair for the preacher. He placed the manila folder on the table and saw the man glance at it as he seated himself opposite.

‘Now, I’m sure you’re aware that we’ve been trying to get hold of you for some time now, and particularly since last night. What can we do for each other?’

‘No, I must assure you, I wasn’t aware that you were. My work takes me out into the community so often that there are times when I simply cannot be reached.’

He spoke without giving the slightest sense that he was lying.

‘Take it from me, we have been,’ Harrigan replied. ‘We need to talk to a boy who’s in your care. Greg Smith.’

‘But he’s exactly who I’ve come to see you about.’

The man rested his hands on the table. His fingertips brushed at the edge of the folder Harrigan had brought with him, and he fought the urge to move the papers out of Fredericksen’s reach. The preacher appeared wholly unconcerned by his surroundings; the sight of the blank window, the tape recorders and the lockable door did not seem to affect him.

‘This is fortuitous. I had some hesitation whether I should approach you or not, but now I am most relieved that I have come here. Can you tell me why you are looking for him?’ The preacher smiled as he asked the question.

‘Why don’t you tell me why you’ve come here first, Graeme? Then I’ll be only too happy to answer your question.’

Let the man talk. Who knew what he might say.

‘Of course. Obviously, you know that Greg is in my care. Of course you do — there is the matter of this unfortunate business in which he seems to have been implicated, I am very certain, quite wrongly.

Besides that, you know that I’m a preacher? That I have a church in Camperdown, a congregation. That I run a refuge.’

Harrigan nodded.

‘Then you know my concern is for the dispossessed. Addicts, alcoholics, thieves, dealers, the destitute, the violent, those without hope. All those souls that no one else in this world wants. To them, my door is never locked. I am always there to take them in. You see, I have all the strength I need for my vocation from God. Nothing can prevent you from doing what the Lord expects of you. And of course, I am fortunate in that he has given me the