‘I’m very nervous about this, officer,’ said the voice at the other end of the line. He sounded nervous. ‘But I was going to call the police anyway.’
‘Why don’t you tell me what happened that night?’ Troy said, as calmly as he could.
The way Ferguson sounded, he might hang up at any moment.
‘It’s not just me, it’s my family.’
Troy turned on a lamp and sat down in an armchair. A pad and two pens were on the small table next to it. He said, ‘I propose keeping anything you tell me confidential between ourselves and my senior officer until we can guarantee your safety. You have my word on that. Does that make things better?’
There was silence and Troy prayed the line had not dropped out. He should have asked for Ferguson’s number.
‘Yes,’ said the other man at last. ‘I’m basically a decent middle-class citizen. Keeping things from the police hasn’t been easy for me. I’m just scared.’
‘You’ll feel better afterwards.’
‘You think so?’
Troy wondered if he was a religious man. Let us therefore cast off the works of darkness and let us put on the armour of light.
He said, ‘In case the line drops out, would you give me your number?’
Ignoring this, Ferguson began to tell his story.
The first part Troy knew: how Ferguson had been contacted by Margot, who believed Morning Star had robbed her father and then destroyed his reputation. The company had even hired a public relations firm to plant derogatory stories about Tony Teresi in the media after he died.
Troy frowned. ‘What was the point of all this?’
‘I can’t explain it on the phone, it’s very complicated, but basically when I went into it I found it’s all about money laundering. Morning Star have used the purchase and now the construction of The Tower to produce a lot of fake invoices and receipts for goods and services that either don’t exist or are worth a fraction of what’s being claimed.’
Troy had still been a little sleepy, but not anymore.
‘That’s an extraordinary claim,’ he said. ‘Morning Star are a major corporation, in Hong Kong anyway.’
‘I know,’ said Ferguson unhappily.
‘How much are you talking about?’
‘I’ve found evidence of three million but it could be more. I don’t know why Morning Star are bothering. They’re making a lot of money as it is, quite legitimately. And the benefit here is going to the contractors they’re using, in any case.’
Ferguson must be unaware of Wu’s personal business interests. The CEO would have links with the contracting companies.
Troy said, ‘Wouldn’t Warton Constructions know about this?’
‘There’s an unusual accounting arrangement,’ Ferguson said. ‘Morning Star is handling all the fi nancials. Apparently, Warton went along with it because it was the price of getting the work, even though it’s a right pain in the bum. Morning Star has a tame quantity surveyor who approves the payment of the dodgy invoices, says the goods or services have been provided in full when often they haven’t been. From a fraud point of view, he’s the key man. Margot was pretty sharp; she suspected this and hired me to prove it.’
‘Why were you there the night she died?’
‘One of the timbers they’re using around the lifts on each floor, and through the sky lobbies, is called New Guinea Rosewood. It’s a beautiful wood and the shipment was valued at three and a half million dollars. Margot took me down to where it was stacked in one of the car parks—I have particular expertise in fine timbers. It was the real thing, had stickers on it from an NGO called East Green. They’re an environmental group which certifies that the timber has been sustainably logged, so the Australian government allows it to be imported. But next month the United Nations is going to proscribe East Green, because it’s really a front for Asian timber interests. The rosewood I saw was cut in forests in West Irian that are controlled by the Indonesian military; it was logged illegally by Malaysian companies. Once the proscription comes in, countries like Australia will refuse to accept any timber certified by East Green.’
‘But Morning Star have already got theirs.’
‘The industry has known for months what the UN was going to do. There’s a huge glut of New Guinea Rosewood. The unofficial price has plunged as they try to offload it before the bans come in. The point is that, according to documents Margot obtained, Morning Star says it paid the old price, even though it didn’t have to.’
Troy, who was trying to record all this in his notebook, said, ‘It’s very complicated.’
‘This is all about the receipts,’ said Ferguson. ‘It means the company that sold the timber to Morning Star, a broker based in Australia, ended up with a receipt for over a million dollars they hadn’t actually received. That receipt could be used to justify the equivalent amount of income from illegal activities.’
‘Who owns the broker?’
‘I don’t know.’
Troy could guess. ‘And there were other examples?’
‘Suppliers here and in Asia. Margot had some documents and she was getting more. I think she knew someone who was providing her with information. The money involved must be enormous.’ He paused. ‘It’s actually a brilliant concept in a perverse way. The Tower is like a giant washing machine for illegal money.’
‘Where does Tony Teresi come into this?’ Troy said. ‘Why was it necessary to smear his reputation?’
‘That’s completely separate, mainly to do with taxation. The sale of The Tower was rushed. For various reasons, it became important later to know just what the state of the project was at the time of the sale, if certain major deliveries and transactions occurred before or after. Basically, Morning Star argue that Tony Teresi did a lot of foolish things, some of them fraudulent, before the sale. Some of those who used to work for him don’t accept that, they say these transactions occurred after the sale.’
‘Surely accountants can sort that kind of thing out objectively?’
‘There’s more subjectivity than you’d imagine, once you get to a certain level. It comes down to preparedness to grapple with an immensely complicated situation, sometimes going back years. Reputation becomes important, it can shape decisions on whether to pursue stories in the financial press, major tax audits, investigations by government watchdogs. Morning Star had a lot to gain by getting people to see things their way.’
Ferguson said he needed a glass of water. While he was away from the phone, Troy shook his hand, which was sore from all the writing. He hoped his notes would make sense when he reread them later in the morning. When Ferguson came back on the line, he asked him to describe what had happened on the night Margot died, after they had inspected the timber in the car park.
‘I said I had to go. I had a dinner engagement that evening, and to be honest I was nervous about being on the site.’
Margot had said she wanted to go to an upper floor to check on something, but would show Ferguson back up to the ground floor first.
‘We were by ourselves down there on the retail level, and we were going towards a stairwell when there was a noise from the end of this corridor, quite a long way from where we were, and two men appeared. We stopped and looked back. Margot wanted to talk to them.’
Troy was tempted to stop taking notes and just listen. At last they had a witness to the events of that night. At last.
‘What did they look like?’ he said.
‘There wasn’t a lot of light down there, but I could see two men, maybe Pakistani. I suppose they were the ones you and your sergeant encountered later on. They were carrying big bags but they put them down when they saw us, and I could hear them talking to each other in some other language.’
A memory of that night came back to Troy, the memory of his cold hand clasping the gun. He rubbed his forehead until it went away.
‘Did they sound surprised?’
‘More upset, but their voices were low.’
‘Coul
d you see their faces?’
After a pause, Ferguson said quickly, ‘They were the men whose pictures you gave out. I saw them on the internet. So, Margot started to walk back towards them, they would have been about a hundred metres away.’
‘Why’d she do that? Did she know them?’
‘I don’t know. She seemed surprised at first, then interested, something about them engaged her interest.’
‘But she didn’t tell you what?’
‘No. I got nervous, we weren’t supposed to be there, we were almost at the stairs. I told Margot I was going and she said, ‘That’s fine.’ Then I thought maybe she knew them, maybe they had something to do with the security guards. She seemed completely confident about going over to talk to them. And being found there would have had different implications for her and me. So I just opened the door and left.’
‘What happened when you got to the ground floor?’
‘The security guard who’d shown us down was there, but no one else was about. I told him Margot had stopped to talk to some men, and then I left.’
‘How did he react to what you told him?’
‘I can’t say. He was a very impassive person.’
Troy asked Ferguson if he’d seen Margot Teresi again.
After a pause, he said, ‘I did, actually.’ His voice changed. Suddenly it was hoarse. ‘I walked down to the intersection of Norfolk and Castlereagh streets and crossed over. Then I stood for a bit under an awning, just thinking about the timber and the invoices she’d shown me, working through the implications. They were pretty heavy. After a while I realised I had to go. I remember seeing a police car coming up the street slowly, and a female police officer looking out at me through the rain. She probably wondered what I was doing just standing there. I took once last look up at The Tower and . . . I saw a body falling. It was Margot.’
My God, Troy thought. ‘How could you be sure?’
‘I just knew. Those men . . . I’d put them out of my mind. But there was something about them. I think I was really worried about her, and that was why I’d stopped on the corner. That sounds stupid. But it was one of those things you realise only after something happens.’
‘Do you know where she fell from?’
‘I saw her for only a few seconds. Then she, ah . . . she hit the police car.’
After the conversation with Ferguson finished, Troy couldn’t get to sleep. He stood in the lounge room with the lights out, remembering the shooting, staring at the front yard. It was pitch-black but he watched it for so long that finally dawn came.
Ferguson had said he’d assumed the men he and Margot had seen were associated with Morning Star, and Margot had been killed because of her inquiries into the money laundering. As he’d seen the timber too, he feared for his own life, which was why he’d left the country with his wife the next day. They’d been planning a holiday anyway; they usually visited their daughter in New York once a year.
But he’d had a change of heart. Following the story on the internet, he’d realised that Margot’s death probably had nothing to do with the money laundering: it was about the illegal workers. He’d agreed to give a formal interview to a member of the Australian Federal Police as soon as Troy could arrange for one to fly from the embassy in Washington to Chicago. Later that day, they’d have a copy of his formal signed statement. Like so much else the investigation had uncovered, it might do nothing to help identify the men who’d killed Margot. But it would end Henry Wu’s career. He saw that it was after six and called McIver, arranging to meet him for breakfast.
They ate at a cafe around the corner from the station. McIver liked the big breakfast they served, and there were tables down the back where the two men could talk without being overheard. There was music playing and Troy recognised ‘Water and Wine’. In the past few days he’d heard it several times.
‘Would you turn it down, love?’ McIver said to the waitress. ‘I admire your taste, but I’ve got a bit of a head. Mr Bailey would understand.’
She smiled and went away to adjust the music.
‘Mr Bailey?’ said Troy.
McIver winced. ‘I really need to lend you some CDs, don’t I?’
Troy thought the sergeant seemed a little wired, his eyes bright and one foot tapping the floor as he looked around for another waitress. There was a slight smell of sour alcohol about him, but he was lively.
‘Have you seen the papers?’ he said. Coverage of yesterday’s find at Waterloo had been extensive. ‘Shocking picture of you. Lucky they didn’t catch us coming out of the Iron Duke.’
‘Good celebration last night?’
‘You bet. Went on for a bit.’
While they waited for their food, Troy described his conversation with Des Ferguson. Their breakfast came and McIver began to eat his eggs, speaking between mouthfuls.
‘We’d be thinking the two men were carrying something for the illegals—food, clean washing, whatever?’
‘Yes.’
‘Margot sees them, suspects something’s wrong, thinks this might be a chance to get some dirt on Morning Star. She’s a feisty girl so she approaches them for a chat, they panic and kill her. Apart from being involved in the labour racket, they might be illegal immigrants themselves. Then they panic some more and think it’s really clever to make it look like a suicide. Maybe they talk to Bazzi about disposing of the body some other way and he tells them it’s not on. Margot lands on a cop car, Bazzi shoots through, and they’re stuck up there without a pass to the lift. So they start to walk down, blunder into us, and the rest is history. The shooter got out of the building through the tunnel.’
‘So Wu had nothing to do with it,’ said Troy.
‘No, though he’d be glad Margot was dead. But the big thing is, from what Des told you, we know Wu would have been desperate to avoid any sort of inquiry at The Tower. So he wanted to get a hold over someone in the investigation, to get any influence he could, and you fell into his lap. You can see the thing had become toxic as far as he was concerned.’
‘What about killing Asaad? And the bloke we found yesterday?’
‘Someone is covering his trail. Maybe Sidorov—he’s still a man of mystery.’
‘Perhaps Wu and Sidorov are connected.’
‘This is true.’
McIver called out to the waitress and ordered another mug of black coffee. He went on: ‘Last night I talked to some mates and found something interesting. Wu has protection because someone tried to top him last year. Chinese bloke whose girlfriend disappeared, reckons she was having an affair with Wu.’
‘Did we look into it?’
‘The girl’s gone, but there’s absolutely no evidence. The complainant’s very upset, made threats. Wu’s had his own guard since then, at least one big bloke with him everywhere he goes. So any idea of pulling him off the street’s a no-go.’
‘We can’t get to him?’
McIver scratched his chin. ‘You still don’t want to go to Kelly?’
‘No.’
‘Then we have to get creative. And it has to be soon.’
Troy nodded.
‘I’ve got a mate.’ McIver looked around the empty cafe and lowered his voice. ‘He’s going to send Wu a present by courier. Wu works on his boat most mornings, so it’ll be delivered to the marina. It’s a small inactive bomb, in a sort of shoebox.’
Troy stared at him.
‘I stress the inactive part of that.’
‘No.’
He couldn’t believe it. A bomb.
McIver’s eyes were gleaming. ‘Three reasons this is a brilliant idea.
One, it’s easy to arrange the courier pickup so no one gets seen. Two, Wu’ll get to see it, even if someone else opens it. And three, once he’s seen it, he’ll start thinking about bombs, under his car, on his boat. I defy any man not to.’ He paused and smiled. ‘I’d be pretty scared myself.’
‘We can’t do this.’
‘The thing is to get inside his mind,’ McIver said,
as though he hadn’t heard. ‘The bloke might be a nutter, but he’s still human.’
Troy leaned back in his chair. He was going to protest again, but realised the impulse came from habit only. He re-examined his feelings. A flash of anger shot through his head, and when it cleared he thought of his family. Why shouldn’t Wu get a shock? You put together all the things the man had done, to himself and others, and something unusual was needed. Something extreme.
And so, he nodded. Couldn’t quite believe he was agreeing with what McIver had proposed, but he was. He said, ‘And then I get in touch somehow, let him know.’
‘I wouldn’t think that’ll be necessary,’ McIver said as the coffee came. ‘By all accounts, he’s an intelligent man.’
Troy said, ‘What happens if he ignores it?’
‘You’re thinking too much—a great danger in your situation, if you don’t mind me saying so. He will get the message. At the moment he’s waiting to see how you react. With this, he’ll know you’re going to make trouble. Good chance he’ll back off.’
Troy licked his lips and thought about it. Much could go wrong. But even if it did, he didn’t see what he had to lose. He was desperate. The need to act, to do something, was intense. If this didn’t happen, something else might. He had to manage his emotions here.
McIver stood up. ‘When will you have Ferguson’s statement from the feds?’
‘Midday.’
He’d talked to someone in Washington and they’d sounded excited, happy to hop on a plane and work through the night.
‘I’ll arrange for us to meet Kelly at one, and brief her on the money laundering. It’ll be out of our hands from there, over to the Fraud Squad. They might pick Wu up then, but I suspect they’ll watch him for a few weeks, listen to his phones.’ He put his good arm on the table and leaned forward, his eyes burning into Troy’s. ‘Which means we lose any chance of access, so it’s got to be done now. Agree?’
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