Crocodile tears, p.28
Crocodile Tears, page 28
‘And this fearsome marketplace stranger isn’t your mate, what’s his name?’
‘Mason. No. And I zapped Filomena a pic of José en route when I heard what happened to you. Not him either.’
‘Guthrie?’
‘Nah. He was never up in Timor best of my knowledge. It was before his time with the agency. We’re talking at least twenty years here, Guthrie would have still been at college.’
‘Do we then assume that Guthrie and José, maybe even Mason too, were all working for somebody else, our mystery man?’
‘If so, this bloke’s got a lot of clout.’
‘And perhaps more to lose if his secret gets out?’
‘A public figure.’ Driscoll thought about Aunty and her PR consultancy; taking in other people’s dirty laundry. ‘Only people in the public eye worry that much about secrets.’
Kwong was looking weary. ‘If the reason you, this Mason guy, and perhaps Mira, were in the crosshairs was nothing to do with oil, then that leaves your fourth man as the odd one out.’
‘Brian Simmonds?’ The suburban lawyer.
‘I’ll take your word for it. You haven’t mentioned him much.’ A foil of pills on the bedside table. Kwong popped two and took them with a swig of water. ‘Headache,’ he said, slipping the foil into his drawer.
‘I should leave you in peace.’
‘I’ll be out of here in the morning.’ A weak smile. ‘Ding, ding, round two.’
Driscoll took his leave, musing about Kwong’s medication and why he felt the need to pass it off as paracetamol.
Ella was asleep in the hotel-provided cot. Phil was staying in hospital but was going to be okay, so Sharon made the call. Half an hour later there was a knock at the door – one she was expecting this time. She invited Mick Hutchens over the threshold and offered him a hotel teabag and UHT milk.
‘Great,’ he said, settling in. ‘Cheers.’
‘You’re looking well. Retirement agrees with you.’
‘Thanks.’ He took the mug offered to him. ‘Cato okay?’
She nodded. ‘Face like a dropped pie but he’ll live.’
‘And the woman?’
‘Her too. More serious, but all good.’
He took a sip. ‘So what’s this about, Shaz?’
She gave him the story then pushed the phone across the table towards him, along with the separate battery and SIM. ‘Guthrie’s. I hid it before the techs arrived.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t trust the usual channels. Somebody out there has influence and reach. It could disappear.’
Hutchens took a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and prodded the phone with it. ‘You haven’t tried turning it on yet?’
‘No.’
‘I thought all these Get Smart people spoke into their shoes.’ He picked up the SIM and squinted at it, held it to the light as if it might give up its secrets there and then. ‘And you want me to do something about it?’
‘Can you?’
‘You really don’t trust your own mob? Or Chris, or Deb?’
‘I want to; just playing safe I guess.’
‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘Marj won’t like it if I get spirited away to Guantanamo. She’s got this holiday booked in Aix-en-Provence. Still …’ he grinned. ‘Might get my exegesis finished if they put me in solitary. Leave it with me.’ He pushed his cup to one side. ‘You okay, after … everything?’
‘Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t be. It might hit later but, you know.’
‘Fair enough. Don’t bottle it up if it begins to show.’
‘Not my style.’ He had a look on his face. ‘Spit it out.’
Hutchens leaned back in his chair. ‘Has Cato … Phil been okay these last few months?’
‘Seems to be. Why?’ This time the look was on her face, she couldn’t hide it.
‘The meds the docs put him on. Take them for too long, become dependent, and they do funny things. Had some myself after the bashing with the cricket bat. Threw them away after a few months.’
‘Phil said he was gradually reducing the dosage. Weaning himself off.’
‘When was this?’
‘Six months ago, maybe.’
Hutchens smiled sadly. ‘Believe him, Shaz?’
No, she realised. She didn’t. She never had, but was content to live with the denial and focus on Ella and on her job.
‘I was telling Cato. I don’t miss the Job at all. Thought it would kill me being out of it.’ Hutchens shook his head. ‘Never looked back.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I know a downward spiral when I see one. Ultimatum time. He won’t take the initiative so you’ll have to. The only thing that will break the circuit is fear of losing you and the bub. He needs a sabbatical for all your sakes.’
‘That’s pretty full-on marriage guidance advice, Mick.’
‘I don’t do subtlety, love. But I mean well.’
25
Saturday 12th May
Driscoll started the day by turning over Geoff Guthrie’s home. It was a nondescript unit by the railway line at West Leederville, more suited to a student or somebody on welfare benefits than a bloke on a hundred-plus grand a year, not including the extra he was making from moonlighting. But it made for a good cover story. On the wall was a sun-faded poster of Anna Kournikova returning serve and revealing plenty of flesh and underwear. Furniture stained and unloved like its owner, the fug of loneliness and failure permeated the place and clung to the walls like condensation. This was a guy you’d avoid in the street and forget as soon as you met him. That would have suited Guthrie perfectly. According to the bills on the fridge and the spare ID in the bedside drawer, he was living there under the name of Owen Marshall, and he had an appointment with a social worker that coming Monday. Aunty had supplied Driscoll with the safe-house address and arranged for a key to be left under the plant pot.
‘ASIO are putting some distance between themselves and him,’ she’d said. ‘He’s gone off-piste.’
There was no laptop or tablet. Missing or never existed? His phone was missing too, although Driscoll suspected Sharon might have something to do with that. As soon as it was switched on, she’d have goons at her door, either from ASIO or from Guthrie’s second job. So who else was he working for? On the fridge a photo of him, in character as Owen Marshall, in happier times with a wife and small child – a daughter. No sign of them living in this hovel. Were they part of his legend or did they really exist? Even if they did, what would they know of his secret life? He’d shown up at police HQ openly in an official capacity to tell Kwong to back off. That must have been sanctioned. But what was the undercover nature of his work, this assumed identity and safe house? It was clearly sanctioned and resourced officially from Canberra – otherwise Aunty would not have been able to find out about it.
The phone he was carrying when he died would have been his moonlight burner. He probably had another for his official ASIO work. Maybe yet another for personal or other matters. Driscoll began a search through cupboards, drawers, air vents, loose skirting panels, toilet cistern, freezer – the usual. Nothing. The grouting in the shower cubicle was black, and the once-white tiles had turned a yellowy-grey. Down in the bottom corner, with some scraping, the tile came loose. In the recess, more false ID and cash in a plastic bag, along with a spare phone. The ID was a driving licence in yet another name, the cash amounted to five grand in fifties and twenties. Driscoll dismantled the phone and pocketed the components for further examination, along with the cash which could come in handy if he had to go rogue. He locked up, replaced the key under the plant pot and hopped on the next city-bound train out of West Leederville. En route he belled Aunty again.
‘Found a spare phone and some ID. Nothing much else of interest.’ He asked about the wife and daughter.
‘Estranged. She took the kid back to Ireland and is now remarried to a boyhood sweetheart in the Garda.’
So the atmosphere of failure and loneliness in Guthrie’s home wasn’t all confected. ‘Still no whispers as to who he was moonlighting for?’
‘Maybe the phone will tell us.’
Driscoll kept to himself his suspicions that Sharon Wang might have the most useful one in her possession. He kept the cash stash to himself too. Why? Maybe he wasn’t so sure about Aunty anymore.
After another head scan and a check on his blood pressure and other vital signs, Cato was discharged from the hospital and lowered himself gingerly into the passenger seat while Sharon strapped Ella into the back.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ Sharon started the car and backed out of the parking space.
‘So the doc says, and she’s the expert.’
‘We’re in the hotel for the rest of the weekend. They’re not far off finishing the forensics on our place and then the cleaners come in Monday morning. Hopefully we’ll be back in there by the end of the day or early Tuesday.’
‘That’d be good.’
‘So what do you want to do today?’
Find José Carrascalao maybe. Dig the bullet out of Mira Soares’ chest and make her well again. Undo the knife wound in Rosa Domingo’s gut. Turn back time. He became aware that Sharon was looking at him out the corner of her eye while negotiating the Saturday morning traffic on South Street. ‘Hmmm?’
‘You’re miles away.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I was talking to Mick Hutchens last night.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Work stuff. He mentioned that medication you were on, said he’d been on it himself a while back. I told him I thought you were in the process of giving it up.’ Another sideways glance. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘I’m on the slow-release weekly dose.’
She detected a “but” and articulated it.
‘I have an emergency stash, a mini-stockpile. Now and then I still use them.’
‘You didn’t feel the need to tell me.’
‘Do I need to?’
‘If it affects all of us, yes.’
‘Does it?’
Sharon signalled left into the forecourt of a petrol station and found a spot outside the shop. She turned off the ignition and turned to face him. ‘What do you think?’
Cato didn’t need this right now. ‘I’m easing off. Sometimes they take the edge away. Lately it’s been …’
She grasped his hand. ‘They’re not the answer.’
He stared bleakly out at the sunshine and the passing traffic. ‘What is?’
‘This job is going to kill you, directly or indirectly.’
‘I can handle it.’
‘No, obviously you can’t. What’s your biggest fear?’
‘Losing you and Ella.’
‘And what would you do to prevent that?’
‘Anything. Everything.’
‘Prove it.’
Driscoll needed to find José but he also needed Guthrie’s phone. Aunty was on the case with the techs looking for any evidence of communication between the two. They were also on alert for José using any known phones, credit cards, social media and email accounts, but no doubt he would be too well-trained for that. He wouldn’t be found until or unless he wanted to be, or purely by chance. The priority may as well be Guthrie’s missing burner phone. He rang Sharon.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Nothing much. We’re on the way home from hospital.’
‘Hubby keeping well?’
A pause. ‘Well as.’
‘I’ll get to the point. Do you have Geoff Guthrie’s phone?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Not my problem. Hang on,’ said Sharon. ‘I’ll just put you on speaker so I don’t cop a ticket.’
‘How’s the head, Phil?’
‘All good. Found José yet?’
‘No. Thought Guthrie’s phone might give us some clues.’ Was it Driscoll’s imagination or was there friction at the other end of the line? Anything he could use to his advantage? ‘You guys’ll be needing some quality time I expect. Lot of pressure at the moment. Can’t be good.’
‘Appreciate your understanding, Rory.’ Sharon had that steel in her voice he recalled from their time working together in Shanghai. ‘Keep us in the loop, eh?’
‘If you do come across Guthrie’s phone back at your place, I’d advise you not to turn it on. Might bring a whole heap of grief back to your doorstep.’ In the background a child’s voice, miserable at being woken up.
‘Good advice, mate. Cheers for that.’
Sharon had it, definitely, but didn’t want to play ball. ‘Phil? You still with us?’ Affirmative. ‘I still owe you for saving me in that cellar in Dili. It’s a debt I take seriously, mate. Together we can crack this.’
‘No worries,’ said Kwong. ‘All good.’
‘What cellar?’ said Sharon.
‘What phone?’ said Cato.
‘You first,’ she insisted.
So he briefly outlined the scene in Ximenes’ cellar and the machete threat to Driscoll’s extremities.
‘Jesus, no wonder you feel the need to reach for the extra pills now and then. Bloody Driscoll! You should have let Ximenes follow through.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘No,’ she conceded. ‘I probably don’t.’
They were nearly back at the Esplanade. Across the road was the Carriage Cafe where, just the previous year, Cato had been called to investigate the third in a series of murders of Fremantle’s homeless. This one an ex-soldier stomped to death. ‘Do you have Guthrie’s phone?’
‘Mick Hutchens has it.’
They pulled into the angle parking in Essex Street and Cato unstrapped Ella while Sharon grabbed bags from the boot. ‘I never saw Hutchens as a “Q” type figure.’
‘He was the only person I could think of.’
‘You suspect bad apples in the AFP?’
‘And among WA’s finest.’
‘I guess that does make Hutchens the last resort.’
‘I heard that.’
Cato turned and there he was. For some reason that really cheered Ella up and she beamed in adoration. ‘Ganda!’
Hutchens tickled her under the chin and pulled a funny face. Looked at Cato. ‘Been fighting again?’ He waggled the phone. ‘Somebody want to buy me a cuppa?’
‘It’ll have to be another hotel teabag in our room.’ Sharon lifted her chin towards Ella. ‘I can’t see her lasting the distance in a cafe.’
‘Suits me.’ Hutchens unclipped his bike helmet and chained his machine to a rail. He pressed a few buttons on his wristband. ‘Eighteen point four k’s in fifty-five. A PB.’ He noticed Cato’s quizzical look. ‘Did a U3A course a few months ago. “Master Your Fitbit.” Never looked back.’
While Ella was distracted with a rice cracker, fruit segments and the Wiggles, Hutchens reported on Guthrie’s phone. ‘Three numbers he regularly rang or was called from.’ He passed over a sheet of paper with the numbers handwritten. Beside each a letter: A, B, and C. ‘That’s what was in the contacts address book.’ He handed over a second sheet, the log for the life of the phone. Just a week and totalling less than twenty calls made or received.
‘How did you get this without triggering the forces of darkness?’ Cato passed him a mug.
‘I didn’t. I went against Sharon’s wishes and just asked Chris Thornton to do it. He did so in the bowels of police HQ. If the forces of darkness want to pay a visit, they’ve got to get past the senior constable on the front door first.’ He turned to Sharon. ‘Sorry Shaz, but Chris is top notch. You really can trust him.’
‘Hope you’re right.’ She handed Ella a plate of chopped fruit. ‘Did he run the numbers?’
‘Prepaids, unregistered. Chris cloned the SIM and ran the phone for fingerprints and other traces before he gave it back to me. In the end though, he’d appreciate it being returned and entered into evidence.’
‘Sure,’ said Sharon, without conviction.
Cato scanned the log. ‘Most of the calls seem to be from “A” and primarily in the three days leading up to Guthrie’s death.’
‘You noticed that too.’ Hutchens drained his tea. ‘So what are you going to do with this?’
Cato turned the phone thoughtfully in his palm. ‘Call those numbers and see who comes running?’
‘We don’t want them running to here,’ said Sharon. ‘We need somewhere open, public, plenty of witnesses.’
Cato still looked like he’d just been hit by a bus. It wasn’t a good idea for him to be out in public. ‘How about we do it?’ Hutchens grinned. ‘Me and Shaz?’
‘No way,’ said Cato and Sharon together.
‘Why not?’
‘You’re a civilian,’ said Sharon.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ said Cato. ‘For both of you.’
‘But not you?’ Sharon snorted.
‘If those numbers are for spooks, maybe Driscoll should be doing this. It’s his world. He speaks their language, probably knows whoever is at the other end.’
‘Do you trust him?’ Sharon clearly didn’t.
‘Like he said, he owes me after the cellar.’
‘What cellar?’ said Hutchens.
‘Long story. I think somewhere deep inside, Driscoll’s a man of honour.’
‘He sidelined me because he knows you’re a soft touch.’ Sharon stole one of Ella’s apple slices while the kid was absorbed in Lachy the purple Wiggle. ‘I took the initiative to keep Guthrie’s phone, I should make the call.’
Hutchens frowned. ‘Cato’s right, Sharon. This is no time for any of us to be taking unnecessary risks. You both have a little kid to be worried about and I have to finish my thesis. Bring the spook in.’
‘If the phone has been activated in police HQ they’re going to know not to touch it with a barge pole.’ Sharon spun it on the coffee table. ‘It’s a waste of time anyway.’
‘Depends whether everybody is in the loop – A, B and C.’ Hutchens shrugged. ‘It only needs one of them not to be.’
Cato reached for his mobile. ‘So, shall I call Driscoll?’
