The Tower (30 page)

‘The thing with my secretary ended last month,' Randall said. ‘I just haven't had time to find anyone else, and then, with this business on Sunday at The Tower . . . I've got strong needs. If they're not fulfilled, my work suffers.'

Like he was talking about going to the gym.

‘You should get married again.'

‘You're not a walking endorsement for that advice. I saw the way you looked at Angela.'

Troy laughed uncertainly.

‘Don't worry, she took it as a compliment. Asked if she should ring you. A hero like you, you deserve the best.'

Troy counted to three slowly and shook his head. ‘The thing is,' he began, not sure if he wanted to say any more. But he did, of course. ‘There's a woman at work.' He thought about Ruth. There was something there, but he hadn't let himself think about it before. And he wasn't going to think about her now. ‘I'm not up for any complications at the moment.'

‘My point exactly,' Randall said enthusiastically. ‘I've found this great company, they employ students, immigrants, in their own flats. Attractive girls. I pay a bit more but they're pleasant, they make an effort. So I pay my three hundred, and an hour later I'm a happy man and my IQ has returned to its usual level and I can do my job again.'

‘I'm not sure if affects me so badly,' Troy said.

But you had to wonder.

‘Well, abstinence affects me,' Randall said with feeling, examining one of the dessert menus that had just been placed on the table. ‘If you don't do anything about it, you start giving off that air of desperation, and no woman will look at you. It becomes self-perpetuating.'

Troy wondered if what Randall had said about Angela was right, and if other women had noticed too. He'd never felt particularly needy before he met Anna.

‘You've given this a bit of thought,' he said.

‘My philosophy is, you get the basics right, satisfy your physical urges, and then you can soar. For me, sex is like going to the toilet. I plan to go places. You can't go places if you're always busting for a leak.' He looked at Troy, saw the disbelief on his face, and laughed. ‘Have you ever paid for it?'

Troy shook his head, too far into the conversation now to pull out. Not that he wanted to. ‘I've thought of it sometimes, there's sense in what you've said. I'm just not sure . . .'

Randall nodded, as though this was all clear.

Troy said, ‘I wouldn't know how to arrange it. I mean, not properly.'

‘But you've thought about it.'

‘Well, the way things are . . .'

He stopped. He wanted to talk about it, but he still didn't know Randall all that well. Maybe that was why he felt he could talk about it. But things seemed to be moving too quickly. Jesus, he was no good at this. And he'd had far too much to drink. Best to stop here.

Randall seemed to sense that he'd gone too far.

‘How's the investigation going?' he asked.

Troy gave him a brief summary. He said more than he normally would, but he was glad of the change of subject.

‘Two Immigration investigators came by today,' Randall said. ‘They wanted information about every worker on site. Seemed disappointed when I gave them a list of a hundred contractors and wished them good luck. They also asked about Sidorov and his workers. Seems they're after the people smuggler, but Sidorov isn't giving them anything.'

Troy nodded. Liaison with Immigration had thrown up a few problems. It had taken Stone almost two days to sort out the necessary arrangements, and the flow of information between the two organisations was still poor. Troy told Randall this, and explained a few of his problems with Stone. He didn't say much, but Randall seemed to get the picture, and asked about the sergeant's background.

‘He's a transfer from interstate,' Troy said vaguely.

There was only so much he should say, and anyway he was still thinking about what they'd been discussing before.

‘He doesn't seem to know much.'

‘He's okay.'

Randall looked at him, held his eyes. ‘You're really running this investigation, aren't you?'

‘I guess.'

He half regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth. Normally he was not boastful. He was about to withdraw what he'd said, but it was too late. Anyway, it was a dinner, not a press conference. And Randall was not a modest man himself: he would understand. To a point, you had to enter into the way other people saw the world.

He said, ‘I'm not sure I can keep him away from the union.'

‘You've talked to your boss?' While Troy was wondering what he could say, Randall went on, ‘I'll raise it with Siegert in the morning. We get on.'

Troy was relieved. ‘That'd be good.'

‘Leave it to me.'

Problem solved.

Randall looked at his watch. ‘Time I was going. I have urges that demand satisfaction, even if you don't.'

Troy was surprised, it was only just after ten. He felt a sense of panic at the thought he would soon be alone again. The alcohol had put him into a good place, and he didn't want to leave it. Did not want to be sent back into the cold world.

‘One more drink?'

‘Afraid not,' Randall said. ‘Things to do.'

Troy was almost angry. ‘Needs to fill?'

‘I'm only human. Not like some people.'

Realised the anger was for himself. He was no good with surprises, with change. Always he had this need to try to keep control of things. It was a weakness.

A waitress delivered the bill, in response to some signal from Randall that Troy had missed. Troy pulled out his wallet and Randall put up his hand.

‘This is on me,' said the engineer.

‘How much is it?'

‘I'm not going to let you pay.'

‘You don't understand.'

Troy pulled out a hundred dollars and threw it on the table. He looked at the notes sadly, but if he didn't pay for his share of the meal he'd have to enter it in the police gift register. And there was no way he wanted to have a conversation with McIver about why he'd had dinner with Randall. He tore off a corner and gave it to Troy.

‘Here's the number of the people I use. Very discreet, you should pay in cash.' He put up a hand as Troy opened his mouth. ‘Just take it, I don't care what you do with it. But you've got to do something. You can't go on like this. It'll drive you mad.'

Twenty-four

A
fter he'd left Troy and been to see Gregor, Randall met Jamal in a hotel in Double Bay. He'd already divided the stuff into two small packages and passed one to Jamal. It was a good deal for Randall; Gregor gave him such a good price that the extra he charged Jamal almost covered his own half too. He'd upped the order a while back and Gregor hadn't said anything. One of the advantages of being in with Henry Wu.

‘It's just coke,' he said softly, leaning over and talking right next to Jamal's ear. ‘I mean, Jesus, it's not like we're taking the serious stuff. Crack or ice. People who do that, they've got real problems.'

Jamal giggled, ordered two more Stellas. The man was toasted, could hardly sit on his chair. It's what I do when I run out of the powder, he'd said to Randall on the phone earlier. I start to drink, and that's not good for me. He giggled some more and Randall smiled fondly. A man with appetites like this you could work with. That was something he'd learned from Henry.

‘Man you buy from,' Jamal said. ‘Heard something about him. Gregor, right?'

‘Russian dude.'

‘A guy was killed the other day—in Westmead?'

‘I read about it.'

‘They're saying, what they're saying is, he owed Gregor and couldn't pay up.'

Randall's head jerked up. He said, ‘I always pay cash up front.'

Jamal examined Randall carefully. ‘All I'm saying is—this guy's with Wu, right?'

Randall must have boasted about it to Jamal. He couldn't remember, but it was the sort of thing he did. He moved a hand. ‘He's just a fellow Wu knows.'

Jamal spoke slowly, trying to keep the drink out of his voice. ‘Henry Wu. The chief fucking executive officer of one of the biggest insurance companies in Asia.'

‘Only the Australian branch.'

‘Man knows a drug dealer.' More of the steady gaze.

Randall looked away, not knowing where to start. If you knew Henry like I know Henry.

‘He's, um . . .' It was only flashes. The deaths in Shanghai, what was going down with Troy, he could never speak of those. But he wanted to share something with Jamal, his old buddy who'd got into bed with Henry yesterday, cutting out Randall to give him Asaad's location. The prick. Now he wanted to share something of who Henry Wu was, give Eman Jamal a little fright. He thought about the DVDs he provided for Henry, but that was too much. Information like that, you let it out and it might come back one day to hurt you.

Then an incident appeared from the clutter of his memory. He was not sure at first if it was something he'd dreamed, but as he started to speak it came together and he knew it was true. It had really happened.

‘Henry rings me one day,' he said, ‘six months ago, asks if I'd do a favour for a friend, inspect a factory this fellow's thinking of buying. Tempe, Arncliffe, we go down and there's a few German motors and Chinese in suits, we do a walk-through. They ask me about structure, I tell them it looks good.'

He could recall the day brightly now, how before long he'd realised it was about Henry. As they'd walked through the empty factory the other guys had watched Henry all the time. They'd been scared of him. After the inspection, he'd said he'd really need to spend some more time there and they'd thanked him and left, just one of them staying behind, some sort of employee named Chen, while Randall pulled on his overalls and spent another hour crawling around the foundations, scattering pigeons up in the roof. Big old machines, clutter everywhere, it was a place where they'd made cardboard boxes, printed them too; one room was stacked with large tins of ink.

It was a warm day and he'd been by himself, wandering around this factory. In the back he'd found a room with concrete walls and on one of them was a large red stain, splattering the wall, with drips down to the floor. It must be ink, he thought, someone must have spilled some red ink. Feeling dizzy—it was a hot concrete room with one of those old industrial windows with chicken wire embedded in its yellowish glass—Randall had walked across to the window, not that you could open it, of course, and then he'd seen the tooth. Lying on the concrete, maybe three metres from the stain.

He'd left the room then, not wanting Chen to find him in there. Not that Chen could give a shit; he was still leaning against the Merc in the sun, still smoking, when Randall finished his inspection.

‘We good to go?' he said.

Randall nodded, pulled off the overalls, found his clothes beneath were soaked in sweat. Wondered why they'd let him see the blood in the back room. Decided it was an oversight. Important never to mention it.

‘The factory burned down two weeks later,' he said to Jamal.

Henry had called and said his friends had intended to have a formal building inspection, as Randall had urged, but hadn't got around to it before the fire.

‘Oh well,' Randall had said politely.

‘They bought the building anyway, a quick decision had to be made. Based on your generous action in looking over it.'

‘Right.'

‘The insurance company might need to have a word. If you'd be so kind.'

An assessor had visited Randall the next day to confirm it had been a solid building.

‘What company was he from?' said Jamal.

‘Not Morning Star.'

Jamal finished the Stella and put the bottle carefully on the table. ‘So it didn't matter about the blood.'

‘The blood?' Randall was confused. ‘The blood was
there
, buddy.'

‘I know it was there. But it's not there anymore.'

‘This guy told me the building belonged to a company owned by Henry Wu. Nothing to do with Morning Star. His own corporate entity.'

‘The Chinese are like that. Business, personal. It's all mixed up.'

‘No kidding.'

Jamal shrugged, looked around the bar. ‘I'm just saying.'

So there it was. If it hadn't been for the blood, Randall would have forgotten the whole thing.

‘Did Wu get the payout?' Jamal said.

‘I have no idea.'

‘Why do you think he let you see it? The blood.'

‘He didn't.'

‘Come on!'

‘Seriously,' Randall said.

He'd thought about it a lot, and he was certain it had been an accident. It was one of the things that worried him about Henry, that he was not just crazy but sloppy too. Like all the stuff with the DVDs. As though at some level he didn't give a shit.

Still, it had worked for him so far.

‘He's a strange man,' he said.

‘You're not wrong,' Jamal said, standing up. ‘I've got to go. You good?'

Randall said he was just fine, and watched as Jamal crossed the room, a simple man lacking the complexity of spirit needed to understand Henry Wu. Like the cop, Troy—he was simple too. But Randall was complex, Henry respected that. He recalled a night at the casino with Henry, they'd spent an hour or two in the high-roller room Henry frequented. Afterwards, he told his driver to take them somewhere else. He'd asked Randall politely if he had some time to spare and Randall had said yes, thinking maybe they were off to a high-class brothel. He'd been wondering about Henry for a long time. If he actually did it.

They'd driven south towards the airport along Southern Cross Drive, not a promising direction but Randall had faith in Henry's resourcefulness. Before they reached the airport they swung left, though, and headed along the northern rim of Botany Bay, an empty freeway with abandoned container trailers along the side of the road. Randall had grown nervous, he didn't like quiet and lonely places, but then they turned down a road and into the port area, all bright lights and security guards and moving trucks. Henry had the man stop outside a chain-link fence and he'd just sat there and watched a ship being unloaded at one of the docks. Over the five-container stacks on the vast tarmac you could just see two big blue cranes, picking up containers and bringing them off the ship, replacing them with others from the wharf. The ship was called
Ocean Pearl
. In the foreground, enormous gantries were running silently up and down, moving containers around the storage area.