The Tower (48 page)

‘Did they sound surprised?'

‘More upset, but their voices were low.'

‘Could you see their faces?'

After a pause, Ferguson said quickly, ‘They were the men whose pictures you gave out. I saw them on the internet. So, Margot started to walk back towards them, they would have been about a hundred metres away.'

‘Why'd she do that? Did she know them?'

‘I don't know. She seemed surprised at first, then interested, something about them engaged her interest.'

‘But she didn't tell you what?'

‘No. I got nervous, we weren't supposed to be there, we were almost at the stairs. I told Margot I was going and she said, ‘That's fine.' Then I thought maybe she knew them, maybe they had something to do with the security guards. She seemed completely confident about going over to talk to them. And being found there would have had different implications for her and me. So I just opened the door and left.'

‘What happened when you got to the ground floor?'

‘The security guard who'd shown us down was there, but no one else was about. I told him Margot had stopped to talk to some men, and then I left.'

‘How did he react to what you told him?'

‘I can't say. He was a very impassive person.'

Troy asked Ferguson if he'd seen Margot Teresi again.

After a pause, he said, ‘I did, actually.' His voice changed. Suddenly it was hoarse. ‘I walked down to the intersection of Norfolk and Castlereagh streets and crossed over. Then I stood for a bit under an awning, just thinking about the timber and the invoices she'd shown me, working through the implications. They were pretty heavy. After a while I realised I had to go. I remember seeing a police car coming up the street slowly, and a female police officer looking out at me through the rain. She probably wondered what I was doing just standing there. I took once last look up at The Tower and . . . I saw a body falling. It was Margot.'

My God, Troy thought. ‘How could you be sure?'

‘I just knew. Those men . . . I'd put them out of my mind. But there was something about them. I think I was really worried about her, and that was why I'd stopped on the corner. That sounds stupid. But it was one of those things you realise only after something happens.'

‘Do you know where she fell from?'

‘I saw her for only a few seconds. Then she, ah . . . she hit the police car.'

After the conversation with Ferguson finished, Troy couldn't get to sleep. He stood in the lounge room with the lights out, remembering the shooting, staring at the front yard. It was pitch-black but he watched it for so long that finally dawn came.

Ferguson had said he'd assumed the men he and Margot had seen were associated with Morning Star, and Margot had been killed because of her inquiries into the money laundering. As he'd seen the timber too, he feared for his own life, which was why he'd left the country with his wife the next day. They'd been planning a holiday anyway; they usually visited their daughter in New York once a year.

But he'd had a change of heart. Following the story on the internet, he'd realised that Margot's death probably had nothing to do with the money laundering: it was about the illegal workers. He'd agreed to give a formal interview to a member of the Australian Federal Police as soon as Troy could arrange for one to fly from the embassy in Washington to Chicago. Later that day, they'd have a copy of his formal signed statement. Like so much else the investigation had uncovered, it might do nothing to help identify the men who'd killed Margot. But it would end Henry Wu's career. He saw that it was after six and called McIver, arranging to meet him for breakfast.

They ate at a cafe around the corner from the station. McIver liked the big breakfast they served, and there were tables down the back where the two men could talk without being overheard. There was music playing and Troy recognised ‘Water and Wine'. In the past few days he'd heard it several times.

‘Would you turn it down, love?' McIver said to the waitress. ‘I admire your taste, but I've got a bit of a head. Mr Bailey would understand.'

She smiled and went away to adjust the music.

‘Mr Bailey?' said Troy.

McIver winced. ‘I really need to lend you some CDs, don't I?'

Troy thought the sergeant seemed a little wired, his eyes bright and one foot tapping the floor as he looked around for another waitress. There was a slight smell of sour alcohol about him, but he was lively.

‘Have you seen the papers?' he said. Coverage of yesterday's find at Waterloo had been extensive. ‘Shocking picture of you. Lucky they didn't catch us coming out of the Iron Duke.'

‘Good celebration last night?'

‘You bet. Went on for a bit.'

While they waited for their food, Troy described his conversation with Des Ferguson. Their breakfast came and McIver began to eat his eggs, speaking between mouthfuls.

‘We'd be thinking the two men were carrying something for the illegals—food, clean washing, whatever?'

‘Yes.'

‘Margot sees them, suspects something's wrong, thinks this might be a chance to get some dirt on Morning Star. She's a feisty girl so she approaches them for a chat, they panic and kill her. Apart from being involved in the labour racket, they might be illegal immigrants themselves. Then they panic some more and think it's really clever to make it look like a suicide. Maybe they talk to Bazzi about disposing of the body some other way and he tells them it's not on. Margot lands on a cop car, Bazzi shoots through, and they're stuck up there without a pass to the lift. So they start to walk down, blunder into us, and the rest is history. The shooter got out of the building through the tunnel.'

‘So Wu had nothing to do with it,' said Troy.

‘No, though he'd be glad Margot was dead. But the big thing is, from what Des told you, we know Wu would have been desperate to avoid any sort of inquiry at The Tower. So he wanted to get a hold over someone in the investigation, to get any influence he could, and you fell into his lap. You can see the thing had become toxic as far as he was concerned.'

‘What about killing Asaad? And the bloke we found yesterday?'

‘Someone is covering his trail. Maybe Sidorov—he's still a man of mystery.'

‘Perhaps Wu and Sidorov are connected.'

‘This is true.'

McIver called out to the waitress and ordered another mug of black coffee. He went on: ‘Last night I talked to some mates and found something interesting. Wu has protection because someone tried to top him last year. Chinese bloke whose girlfriend disappeared, reckons she was having an affair with Wu.'

‘Did we look into it?'

‘The girl's gone, but there's absolutely no evidence. The complainant's very upset, made threats. Wu's had his own guard since then, at least one big bloke with him everywhere he goes. So any idea of pulling him off the street's a no-go.'

‘We can't get to him?'

McIver scratched his chin. ‘You still don't want to go to Kelly?'

‘No.'

‘Then we have to get creative. And it has to be soon.'

Troy nodded.

‘I've got a mate.' McIver looked around the empty cafe and lowered his voice. ‘He's going to send Wu a present by courier. Wu works on his boat most mornings, so it'll be delivered to the marina. It's a small inactive bomb, in a sort of shoebox.'

Troy stared at him.

‘I stress the inactive part of that.'

‘No.'

He couldn't believe it. A bomb.

McIver's eyes were gleaming. ‘Three reasons this is a brilliant idea.

One, it's easy to arrange the courier pickup so no one gets seen. Two, Wu'll get to see it, even if someone else opens it. And three, once he's seen it, he'll start thinking about bombs, under his car, on his boat. I defy any man not to.' He paused and smiled. ‘I'd be pretty scared myself.'

‘We can't do this.'

‘The thing is to get inside his mind,' McIver said, as though he hadn't heard. ‘The bloke might be a nutter, but he's still human.'

Troy leaned back in his chair. He was going to protest again, but realised the impulse came from habit only. He re-examined his feelings. A flash of anger shot through his head, and when it cleared he thought of his family. Why shouldn't Wu get a shock? You put together all the things the man had done, to himself and others, and something unusual was needed. Something extreme.

And so, he nodded. Couldn't quite believe he was agreeing with what McIver had proposed, but he was. He said, ‘And then I get in touch somehow, let him know.'

‘I wouldn't think that'll be necessary,' McIver said as the coffee came. ‘By all accounts, he's an intelligent man.'

Troy said, ‘What happens if he ignores it?'

‘You're thinking too much—a great danger in your situation, if you don't mind me saying so. He will get the message. At the moment he's waiting to see how you react. With this, he'll know you're going to make trouble. Good chance he'll back off.'

Troy licked his lips and thought about it. Much could go wrong. But even if it did, he didn't see what he had to lose. He was desperate. The need to act, to do something, was intense. If this didn't happen, something else might. He had to manage his emotions here.

McIver stood up. ‘When will you have Ferguson's statement from the feds?'

‘Midday.'

He'd talked to someone in Washington and they'd sounded excited, happy to hop on a plane and work through the night.

‘I'll arrange for us to meet Kelly at one, and brief her on the money laundering. It'll be out of our hands from there, over to the Fraud Squad. They might pick Wu up then, but I suspect they'll watch him for a few weeks, listen to his phones.' He put his good arm on the table and leaned forward, his eyes burning into Troy's. ‘Which means we lose any chance of access, so it's got to be done now. Agree?'

There were no choices, not anymore. Troy nodded.

‘Good,' McIver said, looking at his watch. ‘The courier pickup was five minutes ago.'

Forty-three

R
andall came down the last flight of stairs tentatively. On the whole he was feeling better than he should, at least in the physical sense, despite what he'd drunk yesterday, but he was beset by a familiar melancholy he knew would not lift until later in the day. He'd decided to walk up to Military Road to get some of the toxins out of his system. He'd catch a bus from there into the city. In his bag he had the DVD he'd started to watch on Sunday night, the one with Henry and the girl. He didn't know what to do with it, but he didn't want Kristin finding it if she made another raid on his apartment.

He looked around the corner, making sure the lobby was empty. The hotel had kicked him out, of course, and by the time the cops had released him the previous evening all he'd wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a long time in a familiar bed. A taxi had brought him home and he'd made it to the flat without seeing any of his neighbours.

The police charge was minor and with luck no one would hear about it. His email and mobile showed no messages from Taylor, so the excuse he'd given for being away yesterday afternoon seemed to have held. Have to give Angela a little something for her trouble. Things, he thought, were going all right. Another chapter in the saga of an interesting life. He opened the glass door and slipped outside, into the sunlight. As he paused the alcohol hit him, as though the hangover had been hiding in wait. Christ Almighty, he thought, as his mind clouded over and the pain went to work inside his skull.

At the bottom of the stairs he found himself face to face with two Chinese guys in suits standing in the sunshine. They must have been behind the sandstone wall, both of them had cigarettes in their hands. He'd seen one of them before, the one with the blue mac over his suit, fellow with the unlikely name.

‘Mr Wu would like to see you now.'

The other one opened the door of a Lexus standing at the kerb. Randall tried to think about things but it was no good. No thoughts came.

‘I've got to go to work,' he mumbled. ‘I'll call him. Mr Smith, isn't it?'

‘He say you not return his calls. Has urgent business.'

The fellows were on either side of him now, hustling him towards the car. But they hadn't actually touched him, it was possible he could just walk away. Of course he could, here on the street in Cremorne Point. People all around. He looked more carefully and there weren't any people, not right now.

Randall gazed up the street undecidedly. There was risk here, but to panic and walk away from Wu if there was no need would be the foolish end of everything. He needed to control his cowardice, and behave rationally. The men were standing still, watching him. They didn't seem to care what he did. Maybe . . . he was about to make a move when he heard the noise of the front door up the stairs opening. Mrs Crawley and her daughter were coming out. He so much did not want to talk to them. Bending his head, he slid into the back of the car. The door closed after him and he raised his hand to cover the side of his face, breathed in the nice smell of leather. Another lucky escape.

It was the thing about life, you had to keep moving. Otherwise you'd fall over.

It was not a long drive, and it took place entirely in silence. As they cruised through the familiar streets down to Mosman Bay, passing queues of schoolchildren and adults waiting at bus stops, Randall relaxed. Henry might have heard something, be annoyed at him for getting busted, but so what? The detective McIver, man who looked like an extra from a 1970s cop movie, had handled the whole thing nicely. Randall had been bad, and he'd been punished. He'd do the normal confession with Henry if necessary, have some coffee, maybe get a lift into town. The only problem was if Henry had something for him to do. He'd need to think about that. Henry's requests were starting to affect him emotionally. Which wasn't good for anyone.