THE HIDEAWAY in Lawson Grove was monastic. It was on the top floor of a building perched on a hill and the isolated atmosphere was enhanced by the three storeys of stone steps to Cassie’s front door.
There were leafy views from every side, and unless an intruder was a mountain climber he would find it hard scaling the walls. The front-door approach seemed the most vulnerable, but the wire door would take some crashing through.
I grew restless by one p.m. after having watched and listened to media broadcasts that covered the Duncan Hamilton story. The media loved it and old TV footage of me launching a new drug, lunching with the Prime Minister and making speeches was trotted out.
The inference was that I was guilty. Why else would the police be chasing me and why else would I hide? Journalists relished cutting down a tall poppy, a great Aussie pastime, and the whole story had a guilt-by-assocation whiff because so many other ‘successes’ had been found corrupt in recent times. Why not another? There was the Supreme Court judge who took bribes, the former Federal Minister with links to organised crime, the big businessman who did corrupt deals with Panama’s General Noriega, and the former Lord Mayor who ran an international drug racket, to name a small cross-section. Why not a pharmaceutical chief who had murdered?
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.