The Tower (26 page)

Troy fast-forwarded the CCTV to 6.40 pm and slowed it down a bit. At 6.45 pm they saw Mr A exit the building. It was harder to make him out now, it was darker. You could see his face a little, as he walked down the footpath, but he kept his chin tucked down and the image was poor. Troy knew there was almost nothing to be done by way of enhancing the picture.

‘There goes the answer to our questions,' he said as Mr A walked out of sight.

Randall stood up. ‘Any news on Bazzi or Asaad?'

He seemed very interested in the details of the investigation. But then, he was a security manager.

‘Our inquiries are continuing.'

Randall smiled. ‘Feel like that drink I owe you tonight?'

Troy was tempted. He had the feeling Randall would be a good companion for a relaxing evening, which was something he could do with. These days, being at home was harder work than being at work. But there was no time. He needed to write up what he'd just learned, tell everyone who needed to know.

As they walked towards the front of the station, Randall said, ‘Do you like your job?'

Troy did, but he'd learned not to admit it. You told people you loved that kind of work and they avoided you. Or asked you why.

‘It's okay.'

‘Have you got any leads at the moment?'

‘Not really.' He wouldn't tell Randall anyway. Unfortunately there was nothing much to hide, from Randall or anyone else. ‘It would be sweet to have an identity for Mr A. Or even a clear picture. We'll show what we have to the rest of the guards who were there that night, then give it to the media.'

‘You don't sound full of optimism.'

Troy shrugged. If Mr A wanted to talk to the police, he would have done it by now.

Back in the office, he asked Conti if there was any word on Blake. The singer hadn't been at home when they'd gone back to his flat after the discovery at the Horizon. Troy had asked two of the plainclothes officers attached to the investigation to find him and bring him in. This time it would be a serious conversation.

Conti hadn't heard anything, but told him they'd had a call from Long Bay: Nawaz Khan, the man whose prints had been found on McIver's gun, wanted to talk. It was exciting news and she remained by his desk, moving from foot to foot. Troy looked around and saw that all the sergeants were out of the office. It was a perfect excuse to get away. Even Stone would agree this was urgent.

‘Let's go,' he said.

Half an hour later they took their seats in an interview room at the jail. Khan had a certain strength to him; he had none of Qzar's nervousness and despair.

Troy asked him what he wanted.

‘I am a computer programmer,' Khan said. ‘I do not shoot policemen.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You have charged me with possession of a gun.' He turned his hands palm-up and looked at them. They were calloused and cracked. ‘At home I have four servants. No one in my family has ever laid concrete before.'

Conti said, ‘You've refused to tell us anything about the gun, and we're now considering charging you with attempted murder.'

Khan didn't even look at her. Maybe he realised the idea was absurd. Or maybe he just didn't like dealing with women in positions of authority. He said, ‘How many days is it since you arrested me?'

‘We picked you up Sunday night. It's now late Wednesday morning. I'm sure you can work out how long that is.'

Ignoring her, Khan said to Troy, ‘I want a deal.'

‘What sort of deal?'

‘The sort where you give me what I want and I give you what you want.'

Here we go again, Troy thought. ‘What do you want?'

‘There was a one-day cricket match in Karachi yesterday. Pakistan against the West Indies. If you tell me the result, I will tell you about the gun.'

Troy scratched his head. Why now? he wondered. ‘That's the deal?'

Khan nodded gravely.

Troy said, ‘So tell me about the gun.'

‘No. I want to know the result first.'

Troy didn't know. With all the activity of the past days, he was out of touch. ‘We'll have to go and find out.'

‘No,' Conti said.

Khan was smiling now, enjoying the slight confusion among his captors.

She said, ‘Narrow victory to the Windies.'

Khan scowled and looked at her briefly. ‘You're sure?'

‘Yes. We can get the score for you later.'

Khan ran one of his hands along the edge of the table, looking at his fingers when he'd finished as though testing for dust. Maybe that's what you did when you had servants.

‘I'm disappointed, naturally,' Khan said. ‘Our national team has been improving lately. And then there was Jenkins' groin injury.' He shook his head theatrically.

Troy said, ‘The deal.'

Khan said nothing for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. Then he began to speak.

‘I sometimes went up to the retail level of the building and wandered around; I found it refreshing to be by myself for a change. I was up there on Sunday night, and I saw the gun on the ground in one of the shops. I thought such a thing might be useful to protect myself, so I took it.'

‘Did you see anyone else there?'

‘No.'

‘Why did you think you might need to protect yourself?'

‘It was just a precaution. The people who brought us here seemed to be treating us squarely. But I suspect they are men of violence, and I wondered what would happen when the time came for them to give us the false papers we had paid for.'

‘So you thought you'd arm yourself?' Conti said.

‘I thought having some protection would not be a bad thing.'

Troy said, ‘Didn't you wonder why the gun was just lying there?'

‘I thought one of the guards might have dropped it.' He shrugged. ‘I did not think about it much, to tell you the truth. In my country, there are many guns.'

They talked about it some more, Conti going in hard so that Khan was forced to look at her, Troy holding back and considering his story. He was consistent, and however strange it might be, his story of finding the gun fitted in with what else they knew.

Conti said, ‘Why are you only telling us this now?'

Troy could tell she was beaten, at least for the moment.

Khan said, ‘When you caught us it was a great blow. My future, my savings have all gone. I needed time to adjust to this change in my life at the psychological level.'

‘So you withheld information from a murder investigation?'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Did you see anyone else down there?'

‘I've told you before, I saw no one.'

Troy asked him about Bazzi and Asaad, and Khan said he knew both of them by sight.

‘You saw one of them that night, didn't you?'

Khan shook his head, almost with contempt. It was the wrong question.

Troy said, ‘You saw another man, the one with the gun. He killed a woman by throwing her off the building. You can help yourself by telling the truth.'

Khan closed his eyes. ‘I saw no one.' Pause. ‘Maybe I should have spoken to you earlier.'

There was something else there and Troy wondered how to get it. He said quietly, ‘Is there anything you can help us with?'

For a while the other man considered this. Then he said, ‘I can tell you how they gained access to the building. Would that be useful?'

Conti looked at Troy, who kept staring at Khan, not sure if he'd heard correctly. ‘That would be appreciated.'

Khan opened his eyes. ‘One night when I was on the retail level looking at the shops, I saw two men come in through a door in the wall.'

‘Did they see you?'

‘No. It was a long way, I couldn't see them clearly, but they were Pakistanis. The security guard Bazzi let them in. They were carrying big bags, and they took them over to the goods lift and put them down, and then they walked back to the door. Bazzi was talking to one of the men, and when they'd finished he shook his hand. The other man he ignored. When they'd gone through the doorway he closed it and locked it. Then he went back to the lift and I went back down the emergency stairs.'

‘Was Bazzi there when you got back?'

‘I ran down, I didn't want him to notice that I was gone. When I arrived, some of my friends were carrying the bags over to our kitchen. That was how the food always arrived—Bazzi would bring it down in the lift.'

‘Did you tell anyone what you'd seen?'

Khan shook his head. ‘If Bazzi had found out that I'd seen, I don't know what he would have done.'

Conti asked for more details, and Khan described the exact location of the door. It was the entrance to the tunnel that ran under Elizabeth Street to Hyde Park. They went over what he'd seen several times.

At last Khan said, ‘This has been helpful?'

‘When did this occur?' snapped Conti.

‘About a fortnight ago.'

‘I can't believe—'

‘Yes,' said Troy. ‘It is helpful.'

Twenty-one

R
andall left the police station and looked at his watch. Christ, his doctor's appointment was for five minutes ago. He ran through the streets, dodging other pedestrians. He felt so good today he wondered why he was bothering; he didn't need a doctor at all. He was there before long, hardly panting at all as he announced himself to the receptionist.

She consulted her book, and looked up at him with gloomy triumph. ‘You're a day early, Mr Randall.'

‘That can't be.'

She showed him the page. ‘It's written here. I talked to you myself. But if it's something urgent, maybe I can squeeze you in later today?'

‘It's nothing,' he said, turning to go.

Just memory loss.

Back on the street he walked more slowly, allowing people to pass him. When he'd lived in Sydney last time, he'd thought of it vaguely as one big leisure camp. But since he'd been back he'd been impressed, slightly appalled, by how hard everyone worked. It had got him down, the neat busyness of the place. Still, the whole world was going this way. He took a deep breath, trying to get up to speed again. Bite the bullet. Call the man. He pulled out his phone and dialled.

‘Mr Wu.' He increased his pace, the effort blunting the panic now expanding inside his chest. ‘I have some news. I talked to Troy at City Central—we're becoming great mates. An unknown man went into the building soon after Margot Teresi on Sunday night. Came out around the time she died. The police think he might be involved in her death.'

‘They have a photo?'

‘Not a good one. They're releasing it tonight.'

‘You have a copy for me?'

‘Ah, no.'

Why was Henry never happy? It was a fucking police station, you couldn't just take whatever you wanted.

‘So you're giving me a heads-up, as they say. Of what, seven hours?'

What, he wondered, was Henry's problem?

‘I've just been with Detective Troy. It's all they've got.'

‘You think he'd tell you everything?'

‘I believe I've won his confidence.'

Randall walked fifty metres while waiting for Henry to speak again. People passed by, brushing his coat, absurdly unaware of the importance of these seconds. After Jamal's call last night, Randall felt his future was in the balance. Again. The pain was back in his gut. Then a beep indicating a missed call. A quick look. Gregor. Thank God.

‘Nothing on Asaad?' said Wu at last.

‘Jamal told me he gave you the address last night.'

‘You knew nothing before that?' He didn't sound angry, but that didn't mean anything. ‘I need an answer, Sean.'

Tricky call. Jamal couldn't be trusted anymore. Time for the truth.

‘He told me earlier and I went out there myself—I was going to take care of it. But there were too many bikies at the house. I thought I'd go back today.'

‘I wouldn't do that.'

‘I want to help.'

‘I mean, I wouldn't do that because it's too late.'

Randall stopped walking and stood with his back to a shop window, letting all the other pedestrians pass. He wondered what Henry had done to Asaad. Probably got him to a safe place, somewhere he wouldn't talk. But why? Not his business. It would be difficult to deal with Henry if he allowed himself to dwell too much on what he might be capable of. And he had to stay friendly with Henry because the man was going to finance the business in Houston. This was the logic of the situation.

‘Are you still there, Sean?'

‘Always, Mr Wu. You know that.'

He was babbling.

‘You lied to me, Sean. I'm considering cutting all connections with you.' Pause. ‘Do you know what that signifies?'

Why did he do this to himself?

‘No, Mr Wu,' he begged. ‘Please.'

The pain was stabbing just behind his navel.

Wu said, ‘I told you this woman's death had changed everything. I think you've had trouble believing that.'

‘I believe it now.'

‘I'm going to tell you how you can redeem yourself. But I need an expression of faith before we can go on. I want you to promise to do whatever I ask you.'

It was a big ask. But of course, there was no alternative. So he told Henry he would do whatever he wanted.

He realised how bad this would look to an outsider, some third party eavesdropping on his life. The indignity and sorrow of this moment. But fuck them. You needed to know every step on the path he'd taken to understand how he had reached this place. He'd never wanted to be this vulnerable, but fate had brought him here.

‘Stay away from Stone,' said Wu. His voice had returned to its warm tone, the one that made Randall feel good. ‘Stone is no good for us. But I have another idea. Do you have a pen with you?'

After the phone call had finished Randall started to walk again, trying not to think about what Henry had said to him, concentrating on the street. On the city. He realised he hated the place. Sydney was a place stripped of history and uncertainty, pain and poetry. No one here gave a fuck about what had happened yesterday. In Dublin it was all around you. He used to find it stifling, but now, having experienced its opposite, he regretted that lost nourishment.