Faces in the Rain (11 page)

In desperation I rang Rachel, who was distraught. The police, Hewitt, Danielle Mernet and twenty others had rung. Lloyd Vickers had threatened to fire Rachel unless she allowed him to speak with me. My stockbroker, Oliver Slack, was on the line as I spoke with Rachel. She hooked us up.

‘More trouble than the early settlers, Dunc,' he said, managing to sound cheerful. ‘What notoriety! And when you do it you do it in style!'

‘What do you mean?'

‘She's a smasher, Dunc. What a face. And that body!!'

‘Have you seen a picture of Martine?'

‘Everyone in Melbourne has. The
Herald's
got her on the front page. Get the headline: “Princess of the Night's Tragic Life”.'

‘I must go, Ollie,' I said feeling worse than ever.

‘Sorry, old mate,' he said, ‘must be nasty for you. I rang for another reason. Someone abroad is buying heavily into Benepharm. They're already close to the foreign control limit.'

‘Who?!'

‘Don't know. It's the usual front merchant bank. Paris-based. They're small, but I've heard of them before. And they're aggressive. Hamot & Associates.'

‘Any activity here?'

‘Forty thou changed hands first thing this morning.
Somebody on the inside is in the know.'

‘Somebody at Benepharm, or where?'

‘At the company, yes, but also somebody who's aware that the overseas lot, whoever they are, are eating in.'

‘Can you keep on it? I want to know who it is here and abroad.'

‘Righto, Dunc.'

‘Have you told Lloyd?'

‘No. Thought you should know first.'

‘Thanks. Just keep Rachel informed. I'll phone in to check.'

‘I was wondering where you planned to lie low.'

‘I have a temporary place.'

‘If you ever need a hideout,' Oliver said, ‘I have a super “bunker”. It's a place I go for duotude, as opposed to solitude. Nudge nudge, wink wink.'

Dear Oliver was a known player, even in the 1990s era of cautious sex. He always had an inventory of playgirls, whether he was married or unmarried.

I got off the phone and rammed a fist into the back of a sofa. It hurt me more than the furniture, but I was frustrated. Ifs began staring me in the face, taunting me. If I had been at the office I could have tracked down the insider. If I hadn't been drunk at the reunion, I wouldn't be in this mess. If that meteorite passing annually closer to the Earth would only hit Melbourne, the police would forget about me.

Relying on Farrar was not enough. I had to take the initiative. I now had another clue as to why someone wanted me out of the way, whether by imprisonment on a murder charge or by shooting. But was a company takeover enough of a reason for murdering Martine? – so that I could be nailed? Somehow that explanation didn't satisfy. Danielle Mernet loomed large in my
thoughts because I'd always felt that striking French-woman held keys to the Martine Villon affair. She had known Martine as much as anyone; it was she who had found the body; she had tabs on almost everyone at the funeral.

Danielle had called the office after hanging up in my face at the tea rooms. I dialled her number. It rang a long time. Then her husky voice came on. Like Rachel, my broker and everyone else alive, she knew I was in trouble.

‘I want to meet you,' I said, ‘we must talk.'

‘It's dangerous for you, is it not?'

‘I've got a disguise.'

‘Oh, but I'm not sure I can help.'

‘Then why did you phone?'

‘To apologise for hanging up.'

‘I accept. Now, can we meet?'

The length of her deliberation worried me.

‘I can suggest an out-of-the-way place,' I prompted, ‘somewhere safe.'

I told her to meet me at ‘The Angry Pheasant', an isolated restaurant in a converted farmhouse barn in the Dandenongs, an hour's drive south-west of the city. She agreed. We set the rendezvous time for eight p.m.

‘Will you be alone?' she asked. I was about to say yes, but changed my mind, on the small chance that she was linked to my assailants. The meeting could be turned into a trap.

‘There will be just you and me at dinner,' I said, ‘but I have hired protection. They'll watch the restaurant.'

‘That sounds sensible.'

‘I'm also licensed to carry a weapon.'

‘I suppose you should.'

Her calm manner puzzled me. She didn't appear
concerned that I might have been Martine's killer, which implied that she knew I wasn't. Anyone who had doubts wouldn't bother ringing up to apologise for hanging up on me. They would keep well away.

I booked the restaurant under the name Brown and rang Farrar. ‘Morten-Saunders here,' I said, putting on an English accent.

‘I'm busy at the moment,' Farrar said, ‘can I call you back?'

Five minutes later he called on a public phone.

‘Tony, I want you to play bodyguard tonight.' I told him of my appointment with Danielle.

‘Madame Mer . . . net,' he said stumbling on the name, ‘I'd watch her.'

‘Why?'

‘She's French. What if she knows Cochard and Maniguet?'

‘I'm Australian. I don't know Paul Hogan.'

‘Point taken. It's just a hunch. I'm meeting mates from ASIO tomorrow. Expect to learn more then.'

‘Good. I want you at the restaurant round six.'

‘Do I get to eat?'

‘Sure, Tony.'

If ever a way to a man's heart was via his stomach, it was with big Tony. Gorging his lumpy frame took precedence over protecting mine.

‘I checked out Vital again,' Farrar said, ‘they say Maniguet and Cochard have left the company. Gone back to France.'

‘Do you think that's true?'

‘Maybe. I found the offices in Prahran. No sign of a red Fiat or them. They just may have skipped town.'

I didn't believe it. Nor did I want to give myself the luxury of believing it.

I still had several hours to kill so I rang Peggy in Queensland. She hadn't seen the papers or heard anything in the media. I told her the painful saga and it distressed her.

‘The children will hear about it,' I said, ‘I must tell them everything.'

‘They're out at the beach with the guards. They're expected back round five.'

‘I may not have time to call,' I said, ‘give them my love and explain it all as best you can.'

More frustration and heartache. The kids would be shaken to learn that their dad could be accused of murder, and I hated to think of the reaction they would get at school. Alistair could look after himself, but my little girl was fragile material.

I began imagining all kinds of conspiracies. For some reason I was worried about Lloyd. Could he cope with running Benepharm? I had to ring him.

‘Are you out of your mind, Duncan?' he said. ‘You must go to the police!'

‘No way,' I said, ‘I just want you to know I'll be back in there very soon.'

There was silence. Then Lloyd's hand went over the mouthpiece. I could hear frenzied whispering. There was a click on the line. Somebody had picked up another extension.

‘Who have you got with you?' I asked.

‘No one.'

‘I heard you speaking with someone else!'

‘It was just Rachel. She bloody well barges in here giving
me
orders. She thinks she runs the place.'

‘Just be fair with her. She's in charge of my office.'

‘She doesn't control mine.'

‘I run yours and she takes orders from me.'

I was seething. This was typical self-centred, ambitious Lloyd, who had always wanted to run Benepharm. I counted to ten and held my temper. Just.

‘I'm indispensable to this organisation,' Lloyd said.

‘Lloyd, put your forefinger in a glass of water. Then withdraw it. If there's still a space there, then you're indispensable.'

‘Very funny.'

‘Did you know the corporation was under siege?' I asked.

‘Of course.' His tone was smug.

‘How did you know?'

‘My broker rang this morning.'

‘Any idea who the buyer might be?'

‘No.'

‘The overseas bit is worrying, isn't it?'

‘Probably just a big institution getting into a good investment. We are that, you know. Thanks to my skills.'

‘Keep Rachel informed, will you, and try to be harmonious until I get back.'

He made a sceptical sound and we said our cold goodbyes.

T
HE EVENING
peak-hour traffic into the Dandenongs was slow as thousands of motorists made their way to leafy, sprawling suburbia and it gave me plenty of time to think. Lloyd Vickers kept dive-bombing into my thoughts, like a mosquito determined to buzz you through the night.

How dare he act so arrogantly as de facto head of the corporation! I began to wonder if I should arrange a coup to fire him. My corporate lawyers could do it, but it would need my supervision, and I wasn't in a position to supervise a chook raffle.

I raked over my eight-year association with Lloyd who had returned after a decade in corporate finance in Europe. He had often wanted to leave to take over a company of his own, and I had dangled carrots to keep him there. Now the vegetable patch was empty.

He had been so damned casual about the potential takeover. Could dear Lloyd be behind it? Perhaps as
soon as he knew I was in trouble he'd organised a takeover. No. He wouldn't have had time. Those things took big planning. Unless he had planned it some time ago and my trouble was a coincidence.

I nearly ran into the car in front as my brain rioted.

What if Lloyd had somehow set me up over Martine? After all, he had employed her. He had gone to the funeral. What if he had used Freddie May to
. . .
Oh no! That's just too ridiculous
. . .
And yet his behaviour was odd. He was acting as if he was already in charge
. . .

‘Lloyd, you low-life creep!' I said aloud. ‘You're a suspect. You are on the list!'

I glanced at the car next to me. A woman in the passenger seat was staring at the loon talking to himself. I moved my head about and pretended to be listening to the music. She kept staring. What the hell, I thought. She's looking at Morten-Saunders, not Hamilton. I poked my tongue out. She looked away.

The restaurant barn was about a kilometre down a side-track off the main road and well into the bush. A large stuffed pheasant, looking more dead than angry, dangled from wires attached to a billboard that proclaimed its name. You entered through a sliding barn door adorned with tapestries of mediaeval feasts circa Henry VIII. Inside were two dining areas, one at ground level and the other in a hay loft, complete with bales of hay on the sloping floor.

The tables were Dattner-designed oak trestles that seated from six to twenty, and the only incongruous part of the decor were the sofas and seats, which were of dark velvet, their lounging opulence offsetting the more rustic appearance of other furniture. A gilded mirror ran ten metres along and eight or so high on one wall, and in the half-light made it appear like another room. When
all patrons were there it would seem as big as an opera hall. Open-hearth fires were already burning at each level, and I made up my mind to get a table in the loft to give me an advantageous view of the door and everyone coming and going.

I found the manager, himself a portly Hungarian pheasant, in the kitchen and put in a bid for the loft. There was no problem. Forty patrons had been booked in, and he expected the place would be filled by last-minute diners.

I waited outside in the drizzle for Farrar. At six thirty he hadn't turned up. I sat in the car and turned on the news and was pleased that I didn't rate a mention. At seven I listened again and there was nothing. My morning of infamy was over, or so I thought.

I was just about to use the restaurant phone to find Farrar, when there was a tap on the passenger-door window. It startled me. I had my hand on the Heckler when I realised it was him.

‘I've checked out the whole area,' he said, getting in, ‘anyone coming after you would have to move down the track. They'd get nowhere in that bush. There are valleys and holes of all kinds. OK if you can see them in the daylight, but at this hour it's deadly.'

‘Thought you wanted to eat early.'

‘It would be better if I went in and sat at another table while you were inside.'

‘Where's your car?'

‘Hidden just off the track about three hundred metres away.'

‘Any more news?'

‘Yeah. Benns wants to haul the Libyans in.'

‘Then I'm not a key suspect?' I asked hopefully.

‘Mate, you are. You're top of the hit parade. But
Benns wants to pull the Libyans and in Karl Krogen for interrogation. Because of my expertise on terrorism in the Middle East I may be asked to help out.'

‘So you're back in favour with Benns?'

‘I don't trust the bastard, but I'll play along. He claims ASIO have had tips from French Intelligence about the Libyans.'

My mind was still on Lloyd. I asked Farrar what he thought.

‘He always intrigued against you when I was at Benepharm,' he replied, ‘but he never impressed me as being someone who would go that far. Not set you up for murder. Besides, the more I look at the case, the more I think you were an accident. You happened along. You unwittingly provided the poison – the drugs – used in the murder.'

‘Could you say all that to Benns?' I suggested ruefully.

‘I have. But I can't push it too much. He'll cotton on to our connection.'

I sat up straight when a Daimler wheeled up in front of the restaurant. Two couples got out and headed for the barn. The night's patrons were arriving. Farrar entered the barn at seven thirty and I waited another twenty minutes before taking my place in the loft, which was preferred by half the thirty or so diners who had arrived in the same hour as me. I was famished by eight thirty and ordered a pâté entree.