‘He’s a military man,’ said Arthur Rebus, ‘which doesn’t endear him to the ordinary race of coppers or politicians. He’s got a ramrod for a backbone and you can use his shoes for a mirror and he addresses his staff, men and women, as if they were all, and always, on ceremonial parade. He hates slackers and despises fools and a bent copper goes straight to the guillotine. But he’s bright, make no mistake. He got his intelligence training in London and the US and did his fieldwork in Vietnam and Laos… If he trusts you, he’ll go through fire, water and the rages of God to protect you… If you let him down he’ll hound you to extinction…’
We were bucketing through a summer storm on the forty-minute milk run from Sydney to Canberra, which is the Federal Capital of Australia. Rebus seemed concerned about possible friction between the Commissioner and myself. I couldn’t see why he was making such a mouthful of it.
‘I’ll tell you why,’ said Rebus. ‘This Commissioner has been pressing for legislation enabling the State to distrain all proceeds of criminal activities, especially those arising out of the drug traffic. He’s been dealing with Mafia “families” up and down Australia. He’ll have his own dossier as thick as your arm on Cassidy and his associates in New South Wales. So he’s not going to take you at face value. Even if he did, your face value isn’t so great.’
‘Why not, for Christ’s sake?’
‘First, you’re the executor of a very suspect estate. Your wife and family are big beneficiaries. You yourself are the legal possessor of documents on which there’s a standing offer of five million – and you’ve already discovered they may be the key to half a billion… So, first up, the Commissioner’s going to treat you with very healthy suspicion. You could be rich enough to buy and sell a small empire. You might even be bidding for him.’
‘My God, you’ve got a dirty mind, Mr. Rebus!’
‘It gets dirtier, Mr. Gregory. Your wife and family are lodged with one Marius Melville. You’re supposed to be paymaster to one Erhardt Möller. You’re certainly holding heroin, diamonds and money. You’ve got a yen for Melville’s daughter and a link with Cassidy’s Thai mistress… The Commissioner’s not your run-of-the-mill copper. He’s an intelligence man. He’s trained to think of connections and consequences beyond his own bailiwick. He’s going to take you apart and put you together again like a watchmaker before he’s prepared to trust you. So listen up like a good fellow… We’ve got to cope with a natural antagonism between the species. We’re lawyers. The Commissioner is a policeman. He’s plagued to death by people like us. He’s the custodian of the law. We make our money by exploiting its defects. He makes a watertight case, we punch a hole in it. He arrests the criminal, we spring him. So let’s have a little loving kindness! Put a bridle on that tongue of yours and think before you speak. Better still, let me speak for you. That’s what you’re paying me for, after all!’
So, it was small wonder that by the time I walked into the Commissioner’s office, I was as nervous as a schoolboy at his first encounter with the headmaster. The man who greeted me was as slim, trim and dapper as regular exercise and a good military tailor could make him. His hands were manicured, his cheeks freshly barbered. His grip was firm and welcoming. His smile was open and his eyes lively with curiosity. He announced cheerfully: ‘You’ve made my week, gentlemen. Until this morning it’s been a series of disasters. We bungled a big bust in Queensland. We lost our extradition case in Eire. One of our star informers was roasted in the trunk of his car in Frenchs Forest last night. And the press has just announced what we’ve been telling the Minister for months – that Australian airports are wide open to terrorist attack, because we have neither the manpower nor the weapons to protect them. Now, would you like to bring a little cheer into my life? Mr. Gregory… ?’
‘My learned friend Mr. Rebus has given me a warning. He tells me I might be a suspect witness and that I’ve got a short fuse which could put you and me at odds. So I’m going to let him lead for me. Then I’ll answer any questions you like to put to me.’
‘Then you have the floor, Mr. Rebus.’
I had to dip my hat to the man. He delivered the whole story in twenty minutes flat – from Cassidy’s last night in London to my upcoming appointment with Marius Melville in Bangkok.
The Commissioner listened in silence, making an occasional cryptic notation on a yellow pad. When Rebus had finished, he said simply, ‘So, in the five days – four really – before you leave for Bangkok, you have to finish your study of the microfiches and decide whether you want to sell them to Marius Melville.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you also have to determine who really controls that half-billion offshore trust fund.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you have to make some decisions about yourself: like every man has his price and what’s yours, or money has no smell and it buys an awful lot of service. That sort of thing.’
‘That sort of thing. Yes, Commissioner. And I’d like your help to reach the right decision.’
‘I’m a policeman, Mr. Gregory, not a Father Confessor.’
‘Then, as a policeman, you’ll understand the importance of the information in my possession. You’ll be able to explain to me the strange behaviour of certain State officials – and how Charles Parnell Cassidy, as Premier of the State, could have built up a worldwide connection with criminal elements. If you can’t, we’re wasting each other’s time.’
The Commissioner grinned and turned to Arthur Rebus.
‘He does have a short fuse, doesn’t he?’
‘Mark of an honest man, Commissioner,’ said Arthur Rebus cheerfully. ‘What you see is what you get. If you don’t like it you lump it…’ He turned to me. ‘Cool down, Martin. There’s a long march ahead of us all. Why don’t you try to answer Martin’s question, Commissioner?’
‘About Charlie Cassidy…’ The Commissioner took time to compose his thoughts. ‘I had a number of meetings with him during his term as Premier. Most of them were in the presence of his Minister of Police and other members of his Cabinet, but two or three times we were alone. The last one was about a month before he left Australia. He sat where you are now and we talked more frankly than we’d ever done before. The subject – for the record at least – was the creation of a National Crimes Authority which could co-ordinate the efforts both of the Federal Police and the law enforcement agencies in each State… Charlie Cassidy hated the idea, root and branch. I thought I understood the reason: he himself was up to his neck in illegalities; but I have to say his reasoning surprised me. He said, “Listen, Commissioner! Every time we pass a new piece of legislation, we create a new class of criminals. It’s automatic, like a curfew in wartime. Anyone who misses the last bus home is liable to be shot. My father made a fortune out of legislation that closed the pubs at six. He did a back-door trade with anyone who had a thirst after that time. Prostitution? The same thing. Drugs? We’ve criminalised the addiction and let the traders have a field day. Do you know how many respectable lawyers – friends of mine among ’em – are financing, out of their trust funds, syndicates for heroin purchase? It’s the best investment there is, because the security is a courier’s life. The interest rates for the client are the highest, because the increase in product value from source to consumer is exponential. Gambling? The same thing. The Government collects a tax on every gaming transaction, so every bet with a corner bookie is an illegal act. And, talking of taxation, we’ve criminalised that too: notional assessments, retrospective legislation, onus of proof on the taxpayer and not on the Department. It’s a long list, Commissioner; but if you like to think about it, part of your job is to enforce injustice…”’
The Commissioner picked up a paper knife, a miniature Gurkha kukri, and began toying with it. After a while he went on.
‘…I didn’t try to argue the proposition. Charlie had a taste for paradox and he could dazzle you with heady rhetoric. I wanted to hear the point he was trying to make. He took a little time to get to it. “…Symbiosis, Commissioner. Living together from a shared resource. The mistletoe on the tree trunk, the bee that pollinates the flower, the predators who cull the forest animals. Without criminals, you have no reason for existence. Your men can’t function without informants. They have to have allies and friends in the criminal community. They offer protection, they make deals… You agree to shut your eyes to a lot of indictable offences in the hope of making one big bust. It’s normal. It’s the human compromise. Without it, you get the police state: order in the streets and a blackshirt on every corner and presumption of guilt and no habeas corpus. After that, of course, you get bloody revolution; which is the way the terror game develops… Do you see where I’m walking you, Commissioner?”’
The Commissioner slashed the air with the miniature kukri. ‘I could see it all right, like a big black hole in the ground, but I wasn’t going to give Cassidy the satisfaction of admitting it. He sat there with that crooked Irish grin, enjoying my discomfiture. Then he went on: “…The old-fashioned anarchists weren’t too far wrong. They wanted the minimum of law, the freest possible play for the natural forces in society. Our problem is that we’ve inherited the British tradition: great respect for property, small regard for human life or the quality of it. There’s no room for compassion in case-law… So what I’m telling you is that we’re not British any more. We’re a polyglot country; Italians, Greeks, Croats, Turks, Viets, Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese – you name it! And if we try to put that society into a strait-jacket we’ll have a whole sack of troubles… I know you don’t like me, Commissioner. You think I’m a rogue Irishman who’d sell his sister for a dram of whiskey. Maybe you’re right. But I’m a lot more than that. I’m the fellow who slips through the lines and parleys with both sides. I’m the deal-maker, the man they trust because he holds the purse and pays out fairly on the bets. I take a fat percentage for the house, but that’s known and accepted, because I keep the peace. The problem is, Commissioner, I’m a temporary phenomenon. I’m mortal. I’m not going to be around too long… and so far there’s no successor in sight. So I’m giving you fair notice; though I don’t know what you can do about it either. The country’s too big, the population’s too small, the ethnic mix is too complex… Never forget it was the Irish who civilised the Germanic barbarians – at least we like to think we did! But hell, who was the last great Irishman you could put a name to – except Jack Kennedy and Charlie Cassidy… !”’ He put down the kukri, joined his fingertips as if in prayer and quizzed me over the top of them. ‘Would you say, Mr. Gregory, that was an authentic rendering of your father-in-law?’
‘Right down to the grace-notes, Commissioner. My compliments.’
‘If you were sitting where I am, would you have believed it?’
‘Up to a point, yes. Before I stole his daughter, Charlie used to talk to me about the Kennedy clan, whom he’d known quite well. He used to say that, apart from the dates, he could have written their biographies without a note or a reference, they ran so close to primal pattern. He used to say politics was a power game, no more, no less – but you had to know where the wild pieces were on the board.’
‘Did he always have criminal associations?’
‘Depending on what you mean by the word, yes. You can’t be in the liquor business, or the law business, or the tax business and expect to consort with virgins twenty-four hours a day.’
‘Interesting you should say that, Mr. Gregory. What do you think Cassidy expected of you?’
There was a barb under the question and I wanted the Commissioner to know I’d seen it. I told him: ‘Cassidy used to call me Martin the Righteous – and he didn’t mean it as a compliment. He knew he’d get an efficient administrator of his daughter’s estate. For the rest, he had put a burr under my tail and died laughing at my discomfort.’
‘As you see, Commissioner,’ said Arthur Rebus drily, ‘there was a real bond of Christian charity between ’em!’
‘Question time, Mr. Gregory.’ The Commissioner was suddenly brusque.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Why did you refuse access to Cassidy’s documents to the Attorney-General of New South Wales?’
‘Because Cassidy had warned me they could be dissipated or conjured into confusion. Besides, I did not refuse access, I deferred it until I, as executor, had examined them.’
‘Will you offer access to my people?’
‘Yes. In situ and under my supervision or Arthur Rebus’.’
‘Who is Marius Melville?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never met him. Clearly a friend and associate of Cassidy. Indications are that he is Mafia-connected.’
‘What do you propose to do about Cassidy’s offshore trusts?’
‘Since I don’t know either the trustees or the beneficiaries, I can’t answer that question yet. I’m making it my first business to find out.’
‘However,’ said Arthur Rebus, ‘the man has problems. He’s been away too long. He doesn’t know how the system works any more.’
‘Example, Mr. Gregory?’
‘When I opened Cassidy’s safe, I found, among other things, a kilo of heroin, several packets of very fancy stones and a mixed bag of high-value currencies. Loomis the Attorney-General obviously knew of, or guessed at, their existence, but he didn’t want to touch them with a ten-foot pole. Then, out of the blue, some goon called Erhardt Möller telephones from Manila and says he’ll be down to collect… Over to you, Commissioner.’
‘Erhardt Möller. Heavy muscle in the Painters and Dockers Union – which, in case you don’t read the reports of our Royal Commissions, controls every tonne of container traffic passing through Australian ports. The organisation has a history of violence, intimidation and murder. Some of its members left the country and went to the Philippines, where they dug themselves into the girl traffic, gambling, low-class terrorism, high-class piracy, gun-running and go-go bars… You should go up there some time and take a look. You can get a bet on any race in Australia or the US. You can marry a local girl, turn her automatically into an Australian citizen, bring her home to Sydney and put her on the game, which is what some of our likely lads have been doing. You can buy a container-load of small arms, with an end-user certificate, and have the container re-routed to anywhere in the world. That, more or less, is Erhardt Möller.’
‘It doesn’t explain why Charlie Cassidy was his paymaster.’
‘Put it this way, Mr. Gregory. If you want peace and free trade on the waterfront, someone has to pay for it. Otherwise you’ve got a million tons of container shipping anchored off the Continental Shelf. If, on the other hand, you’re buying and selling, someone has to put up the working capital. Charlie was the boss, in politics and in trade. Charlie paid the score. Simple.’
‘Maybe not so simple,’ said Arthur Rebus mildly. ‘The whole question of the contents of Charlie’s safe bothers the hell out of me. Look! He knew before he left Australia he was gravely ill and probably dying. Why would he leave a load of dynamite in his private safe, in his private house? Didn’t that thought occur to you, Martin?’
‘I confess it didn’t. The sheer size of the damn thing distracted me. It was installed, on specially laid girders, when the house was built. You’d have to pull the place down to remove it – and you’d need a thermic lance to get into it… On balance, with Cubeddu and the State police as watchdogs, I’d have said Cassidy could have felt fairly secure. Besides, once he knew that he was dying, what did he care? Still… let’s leave the possibility open. I’ve got another, more urgent question. What do I do when Mr. Erhardt Möller knocks on my door?’
‘He won’t, because he doesn’t dare set foot in Australia,’ said the Commissioner. ‘He’ll send a couple of his collectors.’
‘And what am I supposed to do?’
‘Nothing. You’re giving me access to Cassidy’s records. I’m giving you a day and night minder. Agreed?’
‘Agreed – and thank you. Now tell me about Marius Melville. My wife and family are his guests. I’m friendly with his daughter. I’m meeting him in Bangkok – and I know damn-all about him.’
‘Ah! Well…’ The Commissioner warmed to this subject, like a don delivering his favourite discourse. ‘Marius Melville,… formerly Mario Melitense. Old Palermo family with connections in Malta, small but ancient nobility, men of trust for generations. Melville himself is a phenomenon. He has degrees in architecture, structural engineering and business administration. He has also studied hotel administration in Switzerland. He has no criminal convictions. F.B.I. files record that he has connections with all the big Mafia families but that he does not belong exclusively to any. It’s the historic pattern again. The noble is a man of trust to all but exclusive to none. He seems to have established himself as chief laundry-man, washing hot money and investing it in legitimate enterprises, of which the Melmar hotel chain is the principal one. It’s a brilliant conception. Melville holds twenty per cent of the shares. He farms the rest out among the families in equal shares, while he remains the arbiter of policy. He has no direct association with low-life activities, gambling, drugs or prostitution, but he supplies lodging, facilitates travel and moves funds for mobsters. That’s what he offers, you see – facilitation – and there’s nothing criminal in the service per se. Allied with the travel business there’s transport, trucking, materials supply, international transmission of monies, you name it. No country excludes him, because he’s a big developer and investor. Also he’s a very good diplomat. So he keeps the peace between the racial groups. He understands that everyone needs a slice of the pie. When he’s here, for instance, I monitor his movements and his contacts, but none of our villains get near enough to taint him. Everything’s done at arm’s length. He even snubbed Gerry Downs because of his gambling connections with Harry Yip Soong… That, in brief, is the man you’ll be dealing with in Bangkok. You won’t be able to bluff him. You’ll have to treat with him eyeball to eyeball. So you’d better be fully briefed before you leave.’
‘Can you help with that, Commissioner?’
‘I can give you my best man: between him, you and Arthur here, you should be able to make sense of the documents. After that, of course, you have to make your own decisions, which will have longer consequences than you imagine at this moment.’
‘Pay me a courtesy, Commissioner. Concede I may be an honest man. Say, straight out, what’s on your mind!’
He hesitated a moment, obviously reluctant to show his hand. Finally, he consented.
‘Very well. This is my opinion, for what it’s worth. Cassidy was a brilliant rogue who died before his villainies caught up with him. He saw you as his natural heir. In a strange way, your defection confirmed him in that idea. You challenged him and beat him at his own game. So now he’s put his empire – most of which is offshore – within your grasp… But first you have to want it enough, and then you have to be strong enough, to reach out and take it. It’s a classic psychodrama, part revenge and part amends. His Thai mistress is yours for the taking – though my guess is that if she’d borne him a son, you’d have been out of the picture altogether… Then there’s Marius Melville. He has no son, so his daughter’s on offer for a traditional family alliance. Your wife and children are rich enough now so that you won’t feel too guilty about leaving them… If you do, that settles another score for Cassidy. His daughter finally realises she left a good father for a faithless husband… How do you like my scenario so far, Mr. Gregory?’
I hated every line of it and said so. But I had to admit that it was vintage Cassidy. The old bastard knew me better than I knew myself, and I had already felt the prickling of the sexual temptation. The other had not touched me yet and I could not judge how potent it might be. It was then that the Commissioner showed what sort of an intelligence man he really was. He spelt out the rest of the scenario for me.
‘There’s a half-billion trust fund, already in place. There are company structures to feed it. But even if those structures are criminal, the fund is already laundered into respectability. So you could get rid of the criminal elements and function as a potent but respectable businessman. Of course, if you wanted to go further and actually reverse Cassidy’s villainies, you could retain everything, but make an alliance with us and with other enforcement agencies and literally put a large part of an enemy empire in our hands. It would be an intelligence coup of the first magnitude… and we wouldn’t grudge you a cent of what you made out of the operation. Think about it for a moment, Mr. Gregory.’
‘It sounds like a prescription for instant suicide.’
The Commissioner shrugged off the objection.
‘High risk, big profits. It’s the name of the game.’
‘Your game, Commissioner. Not mine.’
‘Not yet,’ said the Commissioner calmly, ‘and of course it may never be; but I’d be delinquent if I didn’t explain the opportunities it offers.’
‘I’d like you to explain something else. How come you can operate on this global scale and you can’t do anything about that little nest of vipers in Macquarie Street, Sydney, in the State of New South Wales?’
That touched a raw spot. He flushed, sat bolt upright in his chair and picked up the kukri again. Arthur Rebus became suddenly absorbed in a speck of lint on his lapel.
‘I am doing something – but it’s obviously not half enough. There are three reasons. First: I’m dealing with elected members of Government and high civil servants in a sovereign state. That state has its own police force. I cannot invade its jurisdiction. Second: I’m a public servant, limited by the policies and the funds given me by my masters here. Third: I was a soldier before I became a policeman. I learned very early that you don’t win a war simply by killing the enemy’s soldiers. You win it by cutting off his access to food, water, fuel and ammunition, by restricting his movements, blockading his forage routes – until you can starve him into surrender. I’ve learned the same lesson as a policeman. Our prisons are full to bursting – with petty recidivists, one-time felons, crazies, three-time losers. Things are so bad that it pays a State Government to wink at parole rackets, just to provide space in the cells. But the big boys – Arthur can list ’em for you – the big boys are still free and piling up the loot. I can’t touch ’em until I can cut off their supplies, break into their communications systems, access their bank accounts and distrain their criminal profits.’ He grinned and spread his hands in deprecation. ‘That’s why I’m being so nice to you, Mr. Gregory. You can key me into their system at a new point. So which is it to be, yes or no?’
‘Don’t rush the man, Commissioner.’ Arthur Rebus raised a warning hand. ‘Let’s take this very gently. Let’s look at worst and best cases. The worst is that Martin here has no access to the trust at all. The trustees are in place. It’s a watertight administration now and for ever more. Then my advice would be that he follow the implied intent of the testator and sell the microfiches to Marius Melville. You will have had all the access you need, so Martin will have done his duty as a citizen and earned his right to a legitimate profit… Are you reading me?’
‘Loud and clear,’ said the Commissioner. ‘Now I’d like to hear good news. What’s the best case?’
‘That Martin has access to and authority over the trust fund.’
I said I couldn’t for the life of me see how I could have such authority. The trustees were in place. The trust deed was a frozen document. Arthur Rebus chided me like a benevolent schoolmaster.
‘…You’re not thinking straight, Martin. Let’s get back to basics. What is a trustee?’
‘One to whom property is entrusted for the benefit of another.’
‘How is such property administered?’
‘With such due and proper care as the trustees would devote to their own interests and affairs.’
‘Next question. The trustees may choose to administer the property directly or… ?’
‘Or by delegation to fit and proper persons or institutions.’
‘Good man! Now, so far you’ve discovered from the microfiches that you have access to the accounts of the trust. My guess is that as we go further into Cassidy’s records, we’ll find that there’s a document of delegation to you from the trustees.’
“Why should there be?’
‘Because, if my guess is right, Charlie Cassidy himself held the original delegation, and you, as his executor, are the natural successor.’
‘You’ve lost me, I’m afraid.’ It was the first time I had heard the Commissioner admit to human frailty. ‘Charlie Cassidy set the whole thing up. How could he be a delegate in his own interest?’
‘My dear Commissioner…’ Arthur Rebus jumped at the chance to deliver a little homily. ‘Let me try to make amends for all the damage I’ve inflicted on a whole army of Crown prosecutors… The purpose of a trust is to protect the interests of the beneficiaries and especially to protect them against the gatherers of taxes. So someone, not Charlie Cassidy, settles a trust, not to Charlie’s benefit, but to the ultimate benefit of his grandchildren, or a home for delinquent women or destitute alcoholics. Charlie can swear on a stack of Bibles he doesn’t own or control the trust funds. He can’t be taxed on them. He can’t be called to account for them. The trustees are responsible… But there’s nothing to stop the trustees delegating Charlie to perform any act on behalf of the trustees. He’s using their authority, not his own. He’s subject to their direction, like any servant. If there are queries about his actions, he simply refers them to the trustees… Meantime, of course, he can milk the thing dry if he chooses, because the trustees have given him the key to the milking machine.’
‘Beautiful!’ said the Commissioner softly. ‘A sweet, sweet fiddle! Why didn’t someone tell me all this years ago?’
‘It’s never too late,’ said Arthur Rebus in his amiable fashion. ‘I’m sure Martin would cut you in for a share of the loot.’
The Commissioner was not amused.
‘I’m not sure that’s a very good joke, Mr. Rebus.’
I wasn’t amused either. These were two very bright fellows and they were working me, like a pair of sheepdogs, into a very tight corner. I decided it was time to do some manipulation of my own. I told them: ‘Let’s talk plain business, Arthur, and cut the jokes. The Commissioner wants his man to access Cassidy’s files, with us. I agree that. I agree to the copying of any and all relevant microfiche material. I make a point here: I have already been warned by Marius Melville that if, in his view, the value of the material is debased by premature circulation, the deal is off. So, by going this far, I am putting five million at risk.’
‘Point taken,’ said the Commissioner. ‘But why tell him?’
‘Because I don’t like dealing under false pretences.’
‘Very laudable,’ said the Commissioner drily.
‘What other help can you offer him?’ asked Arthur Rebus blandly. ‘He’s more at risk than I expected.’
The Commissioner thought for a moment before he answered.
‘I think he should be armed. I can get him a licence to carry a pistol, provided he knows how to use the weapon. I can give him contact numbers in Sydney, Bangkok and other places. I could, if a sufficient degree of mutual trust existed, swear him in as a special constable under the Act and endow him with limited police powers. That, however, would place him squarely under my jurisdiction and I’d have his head on a dish if he fouled up. I have to point out, however, that there’s no way I can cover him while he’s abroad. I can give him local contacts among our foreign staff. I can suggest a couple of reliable minders who do freelance work; but he pays ’em and briefs ’em himself.’
Arthur Rebus pursed his lips and shook his head slowly from side to side in theatrical disapproval.
‘It’s not really very much, is it, Commissioner? He’s got his own life and the lives of his family on the line now.’
‘What is he?’ asked the Commissioner curtly. ‘Honest John Citizen or a bounty hunter? We’re talking about international crime, not a dingo shoot on a sheep run. You have to tell me, Mr. Gregory, do you feel you have any entitlements other than those we’ve agreed?’
‘There’s one – straight answers to straight questions.’
‘You’ll get them, Mr. Gregory. Let’s hear the questions.’
‘Do you trust me, Commissioner?’
‘Not completely.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know how you’ll react when you know for certain you’re worth half a billion dollars. I don’t know either how far I can bet on your sexual morals. Straight enough for you?’
‘Yes, thank you. Next question: Cassidy had a pistol in his safe. What do I do with it?’
‘Give it to my man. He’ll arrange ballistic tests to see if the weapon is linked with any crimes. Then he’ll give it back to you.’
‘I’m staying at the Town House. Melville’s daughter has suggested I move to the Melmar Marquis. She says it’s more secure. What’s your advice?’
‘If you can stay out of her bed, by all means move to the Melmar. The Town House is harder to police. It caters to show business folk, so there’s a lot of coming and going. At the Melmar you’ll have house security as well as ours. But don’t leave any significant papers lying around; keep them at the bank. Next question?’
‘Cassidy’s mistress, Pornsri Rhana.’
‘Ah!’ The Commissioner beamed satisfaction across the table. ‘I was beginning to wonder why we hadn’t talked about her. Her father’s a general. She’s well connected to the Embassy here and obviously to high circles in Thailand. She runs a company called Chao Phraya Trading Company, in which she is a substantial shareholder. That company interests us, principally because, among its activities, is the manufacture and distribution of pharmaceutical products in South-East Asia. This means it is legally entitled to buy and process raw opium for medical use. More importantly, however, there is an increasing exploitation of synthetic substitutes, compounds quite legal in themselves, by illegal drug traders right around the world. The only way we can trace this kind of activity is when local agents for legitimate companies begin importing large quantities of certain products like barbiturates, psychotropic compounds and so on… Any increase in this traffic means that there’s a glut of raw opium in the producing countries, which is snapped up cheaply by the criminal trade. So Pornsri Rhana interests us… In this connection, does the name Red Dragon mean anything to you, Mr. Gregory?’
It gave me great satisfaction to spell out the connection for him.
‘Red Dragon, English translation of the German Rotdrache, which is the name of the trust we’ve been talking about. That trust holds one-third of the Chao Phraya shares. The other third is held by Marius Melville.’
‘How come you didn’t tell me that?’ Arthur Rebus sounded aggrieved. ‘We’ve been talking about the goddamned trust for half an hour.’
‘Sorry, Arthur, but that’s the silly thing that happens. We get so absorbed in the substance of an argument that we forget the significant details.’
‘Thank you, anyway,’ said the Commissioner. ‘Now things begin to make sense. Red Dragon has shown up in other areas too. We may be able to correlate these with the information in Cassidy’s files.’
‘Take note of something else, Commissioner. I’m meeting Pornsri Rhana in Bangkok. Apparently her interests in Chao Phraya are being threatened. She wants me to help her defend them.’
‘Which you’ve promised to do?’
‘Not yet. I’ve promised only to assess the situation and then make a decision.’
‘Chivalry is not yet dead,’ said Arthur Rebus. ‘But may I suggest that this is a very dry argument. I’m hungry and thirsty.’
‘I’ll lunch you at the Commonwealth Club,’ said the Commissioner.
‘Are you sure you want to risk your reputation by being seen with us?’
‘No problem at all.’ The Commissioner rose happily to the lure. ‘We’ve got a slush fund for the entertainment of likely informants. You two come in the category of supergrasses. I’m happy to lay out the money.’
Which seemed to me to make game, set and match for the Commissioner. I liked him; he had a solid, gritty granite feel about him. I resented the fact that he could not, or would not, express a full trust in me. It reminded me of the small but threatening shadow that, ever since the night of her father’s death, had lain across my relationship with Pat. I was Martin the Righteous. I would settle for nothing but the whole loaf and the best love and the completest trust. The thought that I mightn’t merit any of it was galling as a pebble in my shoe.
‘You’re sore,’ said Arthur Rebus, as we washed up in the men’s room at the Commonwealth Club. ‘I warned you he’d put you through the wringer.’
‘I’m not sore at him, for Christ’s sake! I’m sore at me for letting myself get embroiled in this whole lousy game. I should have shut my ears to everyone and gone about the straightforward business of being an executor according to the rules.’
‘No way you could have done that, sweetheart,’ said Arthur Rebus, as he ran a comb through his unruly hair. ‘This is war. Big men in white hats, big men in black hats, all the villains and suckers in between. They all want what you’ve got and if they can’t shill you into handing it over, they hang you up by the thumbs until you change your mind. By me, the Commissioner’s your best bet.’
‘I’d just like to hear that he trusted me.’
‘I’d like to hear it, too – just for the record.’ He patted an errant hair into place. ‘But it wouldn’t mean very much, would it? After all, you’re not sure you can trust yourself… Come on, little brother! Why be a supergrass if you can’t enjoy the goodies you get from the coppers!’
Be it marked to his credit, the Commissioner lunched us well, and relaxed enough to let us enjoy it. He also answered two questions I had forgotten to put to him earlier.
‘…Micky Gorman? You’ve probably forgotten – or it may have happened after you left – that he was handling the trust funds for the partnership. He felt Cassidy was sailing too close to the wind with certain investments. There were, and still are, strict guidelines. So he complained to Charlie. Charlie didn’t bat an eyelid. He said, in effect, “Good! Let’s have an audit and a guidelines check by the Bar Council.” They got it. Charlie came out smelling of roses. Micky Gorman got his knuckles rapped for sloppy record keeping! He never forgave Cassidy and from that day on he bent every effort towards breaking up the partnership and pulling Cassidy down… Gerry Downs? Well, he’s another kettle of fish altogether. He’s rich as Croesus. He runs a media empire. He loves to gamble. If you’re a gambler, on cards or horses or the tables, you rub shoulders with big-time crooks. That lays you open to guilt by association, but it doesn’t make you a criminal. Gerry’s slept with a lot of women, but that doesn’t make him a criminal either – though it has put some strain on his health! I’ve checked through a lot of information about him. He’s like a pointer, he tells you when there’s hot money around. But at the end of the day all I can prove is that he’s a larrikin who likes living in the fast lane… As to what was the quarrel between him and Cassidy, that’s a confused issue. They were at odds over newspaper lotteries – and I understand that was settled at a very high figure in Cassidy’s favour. There were other things, too. For a while, they were both competing for the same woman. Even as I say it, I wonder if Gerry shows up in any of your porno photographs?’
‘No way!’ said Arthur Rebus emphatically. ‘That’s not Gerry’s style. He likes the best of everything and he demands exclusive possession! I even doubt there’s too much malice in his campaign to blacken Cassidy’s memory. He wants Labor out and the Liberals in. This is one way to make it happen.’
‘Don’t let’s make it too simple.’ The Commissioner wiped a fleck of gravy from his lips. ‘Gambling means big money to be laundered. Gambling means loan-sharking and intimidation and occasionally murder. I still watch the players to lead me to the operators, especially now when the triads are moving into Chinatown and the local boys are getting ready for war… Which reminds me, Mr. Gregory…’
‘Yes, Commissioner?’
‘A word of advice for Thailand. I’ve got staff there working closely with the office of the Narcotics Control Board. I’ve got constant telex links and radio contact. But none of it is too secure, because the Palace insists on access to the communications system. In short, you’ll have friends, but you’ll be very vulnerable. My advice is not to go wandering the town, or accepting social invitations from Miss Rhana. Stay in the hotel compound and do your entertaining in your own suite or, better still, in the public areas.’
The lunch had mellowed me somewhat, so I challenged him with a laugh.
‘You still don’t trust me, eh Commissioner?’
He responded agreeably enough, but he still wouldn’t yield me an inch.
‘It’s not a matter of trust, Mr. Gregory. It’s common sense. You’re valuable to me now. I want to keep you alive as long as I can.’
And that, as Arthur Rebus aptly remarked, was pure cliché. It proved that the Federal Police Commissioner himself was not safe from the corruption of Gerry Downs’ television serials. It also gave us the first real laugh we had had all day.