The sight made Troy uneasy. In his life he’d had almost no dealings with wealthy people. He mistrusted them, but knew they were probably no better or worse than most. But the way the man was weaving his way across the room made his skin crawl. He looked at Randall and saw he was staring at Wu. The Irishman was slightly flushed, maybe from all the wine they’d drunk.
Wu cleared a nearby table and walked over to theirs, as if he’d been heading for them all along. As Randall stood up, Troy caught a glimpse of his face just before he composed himself. He looked nervous, not himself. Then he was beaming, introducing his client to Troy, who got up and extended his hand. Keeping his hands by his side, Wu bowed slightly, showing no sign that they had met before.
‘You’re enjoying your meal?’ Wu smiled at Troy, bestowing his amiability as though it was precious.
Troy pushed hard against his resentment, wondering what it meant that Wu had allowed them to stand up.
‘Please, sit down and enjoy your meal in peace. I thank you for your work in the Morning Star Tower.’
Then he was gone, and Troy noticed people at nearby tables staring at Randall and himself.
‘The royal progress,’ he said.
‘Something like that,’ Randall agreed. There was sweat on his brow. ‘He’s an important man in a big company. Morning Star has done very well ever since the PRC got Hong Kong back. A lot of joint ventures on the mainland with the army people, huge expansion throughout Asia, Africa.’
‘They’re in business with the Red Army?’ Troy said.
‘Half the big companies in China involve the army,’ Randall said. ‘You should go there one day. It’s a wild place.’
A slender waitress clad from ankle to wrist in silver lamé arrived with a tray and placed a bottle of Möet and two frosted glasses on the table, explaining they were a gift from Mr Wu. She opened the bottle with a pop and a big smile, while Randall regarded the performance appreciatively. Troy kept his eyes off the woman. The way he was feeling tonight, he might leap up and hurl himself on her. Not really, but he was feeling strange. It was a long time since he’d drunk so much, and it was affecting him differently from how he remembered. But then, the emotions the alcohol was working on were new: the shooting on Sunday night had hit him harder than he’d been prepared to acknowledge. Certain things had been brought to the surface.
He told himself he shouldn’t have any more to drink, and then he was picking up the champagne glass and the thought disappeared.
‘It looks like your job’s safe,’ he said after his first mouthful. ‘They can’t be going to sack you if they’re giving you the good stuff.’
‘The champagne’s for you,’ Randall said, pinching his little beard. ‘You’re the one in the papers. To be honest, it won’t do me any harm to be seen here with you.’
Randall was using him but at least he was open about it. Part of his charm.
‘I have to pay for this,’ Troy said. ‘I can’t accept gifts from people involved in an investigation.’
‘You might not be able to afford it.’
‘I can’t afford not to pay. So, your travel plans are back on hold?’
‘I want to stay on.’ Randall leaned across the table, full of energy. ‘They’re terrified someone will use the opening of The Tower next year for a terrorist attack. The tallest building in the West. Every TV network in the world will be there. It’d be quite a coup for al-Qaeda or their Asian franchise. Coordinating security for that would look very good on the CV.’
As long as nothing happened, Troy thought. ‘You’re basically a happy man, aren’t you?’
Randall smiled. ‘In China right now, Australians and Irishmen are building cities from scratch in paddy fields. And making their fortunes in the process.’ He gestured around the restaurant with the hand holding his champagne glass, so vigorously that some of it spilled. ‘We pass this way but once. I want to be part of it.’
Randall put his glass down and excused himself. Troy watched as he made his way across the room, a big, confident man, stopping at one point to say hello to someone, straightening up when a waitress interrupted them with some hot plates, putting a hand briefly on her shoulder as he said goodbye to the diners and moved on. The performance reminded him a little of Henry Wu, men at sea on the oceans of the new world, in search of adventure. And I am just a cop, he thought, still in the city where I was born.
So, be a cop. He thought about what he should ask Randall when he came back. Take advantage of the opportunity to learn some more about The Tower. Part of him didn’t care, he was having such a pleasant evening, but there was work to be done. Facts to be checked.
When Randall returned, he told him about Jenny Finch, and the big metal box she’d claimed to have seen at the top of The Tower. ‘Could she have imagined it?’
Randall shook his head. ‘It’s a tuned mass damper. Six hundred tonnes of steel right at the top of the building. It can be made to rock slowly using an oil hydraulic system. It stops the building from swaying.’ Troy raised his eyebrows. ‘Tall buildings are slightly flexible and they sway; even ones a lot smaller can move several metres each way in a strong wind. In The Tower, once we get all the windows on and the wind resistance increases, that would be a big problem. People inside would notice, on the top floors they might even get seasick. A damper stops that.’
‘My God.’
So Jenny Finch had been there after all.
‘Skyscrapers are wonderful things,’ Randall said. His eyes lit up and Troy realised this was one of the things he dreamed about at night. ‘My favourite part is actually the other end, the substructure. Once we finish digging the big hole into that beautiful Sydney sandstone, we lay concrete pads on it and then construct something called a grillage. Are you with me, Nicholas?’ They were well into the Moet by now, and Troy nodded, leaving Jenny Finch behind. ‘Layers of horizontal steel beams. On top of that there’s a cast-iron plate, and the columns rest on that. Some of them go up five hundred and eighty metres.’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘It’s all to do with mathematics.’
And lack of imagination, Troy thought. No matter what the maths told him, he knew he could never have the confidence to design something like that, and believe it would stay up. It just wasn’t in his nature. He worried about things. He liked worrying about things.
‘Burj Dubai is over two and a half thousand feet. Then there’s us. The next biggest is the Taipei 101 in Taiwan,’ Randall said. ‘That’s sixteen-seventy feet. The Twin Towers were one thousand, three hundred and sixty feet.’
‘You’re not a worrier, are you, Sean?’
Randall laughed and lifted his glass to admire the tiny bubbles. He looked around the room. ‘So, do you like it here?’
‘I could die happy now.’
‘We’ll stay a bit longer. No rush to get home?’
Troy didn’t want to go home at all. ‘No,’ he said. ‘What about you? Have you got somewhere to go, a girlfriend?’
Randall leaned back in his chair and shook his head. Then he leaned forward again. ‘Can I tell you a secret? In confidence between ourselves.’
‘You surely can.’
‘At the moment, I pay for it.’
‘For sex?’
Troy was aware of the occasional colleague who went to brothels, mainly when they were away on a job. But he’d never talked about it with anyone, not like this. He liked the way Randall was perfectly open about it.
‘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 complimen
t. 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
After 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.
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