The Easy Sin (23 page)

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“You mean, did I go to bed with him? Relax, Kylie, I had someone better at the time.”

“But not now. Is that why you've come home?”

Caroline smiled. “Don't start asking questions. You'd better get used to answering them. We all want to know where you've been.”

Out in the kitchen Monica was saying, “Will you look at this! It's like those incredible kitchens you see in magazines, never a grease spot, nothing out of place! Oh, I'd love to show this to Clarrie! He'd be baking more cakes than Sara Lee.” Then she smiled at Paula. “Do I sound bitchy? Envious?”

“Envious, yes. But not bitchy. What woman wouldn't be envious of a kitchen like this?”

“Not Kylie. She ever built a house of her own, that'd be the last bit added. From the time she was about ten she thought KFC and Pizza Hut made kitchens out of date. At school she thought cookery classes were a punishment. She thinks TV cookery shows should only be on at three o'clock in the morning.”

Paula watched as Monica set out cups and saucers on a tray, looked for biscuits. “Monica, who's the happy one?”

Monica paused with a cupboard open, looked sideways at Paula. “Me or Kylie? I am. Kylie will never be happy because she's never gunna get what she wants.”

“What's that?”

“I dunno. And I don't think she does, either. Trouble is, I've got two daughters who are starting to think like her. Nobody's satisfied any more.”

When they went back into the living room Caroline, oblivious of their entry, was saying, “Did you love him?”

Kylie thought a while, then said, “No-o. But I
liked
him.”

“Not enough,” said Monica. “Coffee. And you could afford better biscuits, for God's sake. Iced
Vo-
Vos!”

“Heritage stuff,” said Paula and smiled round one of the biscuits.

Malone and Sheryl Dallen arrived twenty-five minutes later. Sheryl had driven with the blue light on the roof and the siren wailing, grinning at the look on Malone's face.

“Keep your eye on the road,” Malone had said, feet ankle-deep in the floor.

“You want me to slow down?”

“No, I just want to get there and belt Miss Doolan about the head.”

But he knew as soon as he entered the apartment that he was on ground as thin as a salt-pan crust. Some men: fashion designers, hairdressers, psychiatrists: some men flourish in female territory. Other more prosaic but wise men tread carefully. Malone looked around at the five women and decided, even though two of them were working for him, to take a light step, at least to begin with.

“Miss Doolan, you've been missing. Have you told anyone where you've been?” He looked at Paula Decker, who shook her head. “Care to tell me?”

“I don't know it's any of your business,” said Kylie.

“Oh, I'm getting tired of that one. Till we find out who killed your maid Juanita, anything you and anyone connected with you, anything you do is our business. If you don't tell me where you've been, I think we'll take you in—” Sheryl Dallen and Paula Decker were standing behind Kylie; nothing showed on their faces, but they knew he was bluffing. “It's called helping us with our enquiries. We might let the media know. Now would you like to pack a bag or be sensible and open up?”

“Be sensible, Kylie,” said Monica and put down the cup she had been holding. “Don't be so bloody stubborn!”

“What would you advise her to do?” Malone looked at Caroline Magee.

“Miss Doolan would never accept advice from me,” said Caroline and sounded as if she wouldn't offer Miss Doolan a rope if she were drowning.

“Miss Doolan,” said Malone, “did you spend the night with Mr. Tajiri?”

She stared at him, puzzled. “Who?”

“
He works for Kunishima Bank. A medium-sized bloke, slim, with wavy hair—a bit unusual for a Japanese.”

She hesitated, then said, “He said his name was Ikura.”

“And you spent the night with him?”

“Spent the night with him? What are you talking about?”

“Righto. Where did he take you?”

“I dunno.” Her voice was unsteady, flattened; she was suddenly unsettled again. She sat in a chair, her hands gripping the arms as if the chair was charged. “Some warehouse—it was empty. There were two other guys—Australians. They wore ski-masks. But he didn't.”

Monica, about to tidy up cups on a tray, housekeeping to keep her nerves under control, stopped and looked at her. “Why did you go with him, for Crissakes?”

“He told me Errol wanted to see me. Then they—” Her hands tightened their grip on the arms of the chair; the last eighteen hours were spilling out of her, weakening her. “They put a pad over my face—I passed out—”

“You're lucky you're still with us,” Malone told her. “Tajiri, or Ikura, whatever he called himself, he's
yakuza
. A Japanese gangster, like the Mafia. Did you know that, Kylie?”

“Of course not!” She shivered, her hands scratched at the chair-arms, then clutched each other in her lap. “He threatened to kill me—he was going to bash me—”

Monica dropped the tray; a cup smashed. Malone said, “And he would have, Kylie. Why didn't he?”

She put her hands back on the arms of the chair, as if she had to hold to something solid. She didn't look around her, but straight at Malone, who had sat down opposite her. She had suddenly changed, the police were here to help her: “Somehow, I dunno how, somehow I convinced him I didn't know anything about Errol's kidnapping. It was almost as if—as if he decided I wasn't worth killing. But he's gunna kill Errol when—when they find him.” She could hardly believe what she was saying. “If they do—”

“
Not if we find him first. When we pick up Mr. Tajiri, will you testify against him?”

Kylie said nothing; it was Monica who said, “For God's sake, Kylie, do something to help them! It's not always gunna go away because you're ignoring it!”

“It's easy for you to say—”

“I know it is and I know it isn't easy for you. But Jesus wept—for once in your life stop thinking about yourself!”

This was
family
. The others were just tableau: silent judgement. At last Kylie looked back at Malone: “I think I could take you to where he held me.”

“Good!” Malone stood up, turned to Paula Decker: “Get on to the strike force, tell ‘em to pick up Tajiri, either at Kunishima or at his flat. You stay here, keep an eye on Kylie when Sheryl and I bring her back.”

“I'll stay, too,” said Monica, and all at once looked as at home as she might at Minto; she was big sister playing parent again. “Don't argue, Kylie. I'll call Clarrie—he can bring pizza and one of his apple pies. I looked in your fridge—there's nothing there but milk and orange juice. All this—” she waved an arm about her “—and an empty fridge!”

Somehow Kylie managed a smile. “You're on your own, Monny.”

Monica put out a hand, touched her sister's shoulder. Malone and the other women turned away. Paula Decker went into a bedroom to phone Police Central and the strike force. Caroline Magee picked up her handbag and followed Malone and Sheryl to the front door as Kylie, excusing herself, went into a bathroom.

“You're not staying, Mrs. Magee?” said Malone.

“I don't think Miss Doolan and I will ever be mates. She's just lucky she has a sister like Monica.”

“You have no family?”

“I told you, I have a brother, but I've lost touch with him.” She smiled at him as Sheryl held open the front door for her. “Why the interrogation, Inspector?”

“
It's habit. Police work is all questions.”

“What about answers?”

“Oh, they come. But answers always start with questions. An old Welsh philosopher said that.”

“You read philosophy?”

“No, he's my boss. Why were you here?”

They were out on the landing opposite the lift. Sheryl had pressed the lift-button and they stood waiting. Caroline, in the green suit she had been wearing yesterday, leaned back against the dull gold wallpaper of the landing. It was as if she knew the right background for her: she looked elegant.

“I was looking for that forty million that is supposed to be missing.”

“Looking for it
here
?”

“Inspector, what do you know of money?”

“I know how to hold on to it, so my kids tell me. Go on, educate me.”

“When money was coin they used to take the loot away in sacks. When they invented paper money, there was still physical evidence, it was
there
. Then came cheques and then came electronics. I work in a stockbroker's in London, I
know
.”

“Go on.” The lift had arrived, but they ignored it.

“Errol has got that money of his salted away somewhere in a bank, the sort of bank that has secret accounts. I've been going through all Errol's computers, because he would have sent it electronically. Five out of every six dollars or pounds or whatever that go through the economy on any given day goes through computers. There's a clearing house in New York, it's called the Clearing House Inter-Bank Payments System, CHIPS for short. It pushes through just on two trillion,
trillion
, dollars a day. Errol's forty million, say a million at a time, wouldn't be noticed.”

“So how do you hope to find it?” The lift doors had closed and the lift had gone.

“Somewhere in the computer world there's a hard disk with Errol's secret account name and number on it. IT made his fortune, but now it's going to bite him in the arse.”

“You have to find the password?” said Sheryl, who knew more about computers than her boss
ever
would.

“Yes,” said Caroline. “That's all I have to find.”

“How about
Greed
?” said Malone.

She smiled, not letting him get away with it. “The first word I tried.”

The lift doors opened again and Caroline leaned away from the wall and stepped into the lift. Malone said, “We'll be in touch, Caroline. Take care.”

“I always do,” she said as the doors closed on her and her smile.

“I wish I had that sort of class,” said Sheryl.

“No, you don't. If you did, I'd have you transferred to Tibooburra.”

“A class place, if ever I've heard of one.”

“Have Immigration check when Mrs. Magee arrived back in Sydney. Then bring Daniela Bonicelli and Louise Cobcroft to the office. I want to talk to them about computers . . . Ready, Kylie?”

“Yes.” She had come out of the apartment. “I guess so.”

“Righto, let's go and see what we come up with.”

IV

But they came up with nothing. Kylie, with some hesitation, at times not sure of direction, led them to the warehouse. A big sign said the place was for sale or lease; the agents were in Redfern, a bullet's flight away. Sheryl rang them, said she was looking at the warehouse for a client. The agent, with that hunting dog's nose for a sale that they have, arrived ten minutes later. Business must be slow: he arrived with a screech of tyres.

He was a gangly young man with a large mouth and teeth that would have brought a gasp of admiration from a horse. He displayed all the teeth, not in a smile, when Malone told him they were police.

“Police? What's going on? There been a break-in?”

“Who owns the place?”

The
agent was fumbling with the locks on the main door.

“It's been repossessed. A bank has it now. The Kunishima Bank.”

“We've heard of it,” said Malone. “What are they like to deal with?”

“Oh, fine. Very meticulous. But what's the problem here?”

“We got some information that some stolen goods might be stored here.”

The teeth came out again, still no smile. “You got no idea what goes on, these empty warehouses. We had one place, they took it over for a rave party—no permission, how's about it, nothing. The local coppers came to us next morning wanting to charge us—” They were inside the building now. “There. Empty.”

It was, indeed, empty; but for the two chairs still standing in the middle of the big expanse like props in an existentialist drama with no actors. On the floor there was a solitary paper cup.

Sheryl walked down to the office at the end of the building, while Kylie said, “The two men who wore the ski-masks, they brought me a cup of water—I was pretty shaky—”

“Guys with ski-masks?” said the agent; he seemed unable to keep his teeth hidden, they were there like his words, “What's going on?”

“You'll get a report,” said Malone in a tone that implied there would be no report. Then as Sheryl came back: “What've you got?”

She held up a pizza carton and two paper cups. “There'll be dabs on these—”

“Good,” said Malone. Thanks, Mr.—?”

“Brown. Bill Brown.” He handed Malone a card. There it was:
Bill Brown
. Not even William. Malone felt kinder towards him. “Let me know what's going on. I'll have to let our clients know.”

“Kunishima? Never mind, Mr. Brown. We'll let ‘em know. Thanks for your time and trouble.”

Once back in the police car Malone said, “Kylie, I don't want you to move out of your flat—” He grinned; she looked wan and afraid. “Apartment. I want someone there with you all the time. Your sister, if you like, but also a policewoman. Understand?”

“I'm still trying to get my mind around all this—”

Sheryl,
at the wheel, said, “You're safe now. That's all you've got to keep in mind. You're safe.”

“I hope so,” said Kylie, but didn't sound convinced. “But what about Errol?”

V

Strike Force RLS didn't find Tajiri at the Kunishima Bank nor at his apartment in Kirribilli.

“I went with them to the bank,” Clements told Malone. “That guy Okada, he never turned a hair. Sure, Mr. Tajiri had worked at the bank, but they had terminated—that was the word he used,
terminated
—his contract only yesterday.”