by Tim Ayliffe
But the pain was still raw. The pain of letting her down. He remembered how his daughter had refused to speak to him on the telephone when he called from whatever country or conflict he had chosen over her. She had even stopped calling him Dad for a while. Like her mother, Miranda had simply called him John.
But Bailey was back to being Dad again, and they were both desperate to keep it that way.
‘We’re past all that, aren’t we?’ she said.
‘Yeah, yeah, we are.’
‘G’day groovers!’ A tanned bloke with skin-tight jeans and dreadlocked hair appeared alongside their table with a notepad in his hand. ‘What can I get you guys?’
He was way too happy for Bailey. Cocky too.
Miranda let go of her father’s hand and looked up at the waiter. ‘Poached eggs and a skinny flat white for me. Dad?’
Bailey was desperate for caffeine. ‘Long black, mate. And make my eggs fried with bacon.’
‘Sweet as!’
Bailey watched the bloke with the knotted hair walk away before turning to his daughter. ‘Please don’t date a bloke like that.’
‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’m into grown-ups.’
‘Good.’ Bailey hadn’t met many of her boyfriends. ‘You sure we’re okay?’
‘Seriously, Dad, we’re all good. Mum, on the other hand . . . Well, I know her. She’ll always love you.’ Miranda paused for the truth. ‘But it won’t stop her being pissed at you from time to time.’
‘We’re lucky to have her.’
Anthea may have moved on from Bailey but she had never cut the cord.
‘You should drop her a line.’ Bailey knew Miranda had given up fantasising about her parents getting back together years ago but she knew they still had a connection, not just because they shared a daughter. ‘She’d like seeing you getting back on your feet.’
‘Yeah. We talk.’
‘Glad to hear that.’ Miranda held out her hand again and he took it. ‘Although, Dad, I hate to say it but you look exhausted.’
‘I’m working on a story that has required a few late nights.’
‘The one about Catherine Chamberlain? I read your article.’
‘Really?’
‘I read The Journal every day. I’m just not used to seeing your byline these days.’
Anthea had once told Bailey that Miranda used to search for his stories in The Journal when she was a child. It was often the only place she found him. Another painful reminder from his daughter.
‘Not a pleasant story.’
‘What happened to her?’
Bailey wasn’t sure whether his daughter had read the update from Gerald about the fact that police thought Catherine Chamberlain was murdered, with a federal government employee the chief suspect.
‘It’s complicated, Miranda. There’s a lot more to that poor girl’s death.’
‘Like what?’
‘She was murdered, for a start.’
‘Oh my God! I actually knew her. Not well, but I knew her. I was going to tell you yesterday, but I thought I’d leave it till we caught up this morning.’
Bailey shifted in his chair.
‘You knew her? How on earth did you get to know a prostitute?’
‘Dad, you make it sound like she was a criminal. She wasn’t,’ Miranda said. ‘It’s the oldest occupation in the world, right? Or so they say.’
‘I suppose –’
‘Anyway.’ Miranda kept talking. ‘Catherine was studying law at Sydney Uni. She’s in . . . or, bloody hell, she was in . . . the tutorial that I run on Wednesday nights.’
‘How well did –’
‘It’s not that uncommon, you know.’
‘What’s not uncommon?’ The caffeine hadn’t quite kicked in and Bailey was struggling to keep up.
‘A girl paying her way through university by doing that type of work.’
Bailey still didn’t like it. ‘How’d you find out that she was working as a prostitute?’
‘Quite random actually. I bumped into her in a bar in the city. She was with a much older man and looked uncomfortable seeing me, so I left her to it.’
Bailey wanted to gauge whether Miranda might be in danger. ‘How well did you know her? Were you friends?’
‘I didn’t see her socially, if that’s what you’re getting at. She was a nice person and she always handed in her assignments on time.’
Miranda paused for a moment. ‘I saw you quoted Sharon Dexter in the article. That’s the woman you were living with before you went back to Iraq, right?’
There was an awkward pause.
‘You’ve got a good memory.’ His daughter was forensic – no wonder she was such a good lawyer.
‘She’s the only woman you ever introduced me to after Mum. I figured she was important.’
‘She is. I mean, she was.’
‘What does that mean? Are you seeing her again?’
Bailey and Dexter had shared a lunch that had ended up being professional and personal. But there was nothing to it.
‘No. I don’t think she’d put up with me a second time round.’
‘A little hesitation there –’
‘We’re not seeing each other. Haven’t been on the dating circuit for a while. Do old guys even do that any more?’ Bailey was caught offguard. He was rambling.
‘You should think about it,’ she said. ‘You’re not that old. It’s about time you had a nice woman in your life again. Better than the divorcees of Paddington!’
Bailey’s face slumped. ‘What?’
‘I bumped into Gerald in the city the other day. He made a joke about your dating habits. Secretly, I think he’s jealous.’
‘Bloody Gerald!’ This wasn’t a topic of conversation he was keen to explore with his daughter. ‘How’s work? Got any news?’
‘I’m working on a big merger at the moment. I can’t talk to you about it, of course. This one would be of great interest to your readers.’
Bailey couldn’t believe his daughter was a corporate lawyer. ‘Have I told you how proud I am?’
‘Every time we see each other, Dad.’ She blushed. ‘You need a new line.’
It had taken a long time for Bailey to reach this point with Miranda after the months, sometimes years, he had spent working in the Middle East. She had a forgiving heart, like her mother.
They finished their breakfast and a second – third for Bailey – round of coffees.
‘Dad, I have a question for you,’ Miranda said.
‘Sure – shoot.’ The caffeine had finally kicked in.
‘Years ago, when you came over to Mum’s house for dinner, you said something that I just can’t get out of my head. It worries me and I wanted to ask you what you meant.’
‘Okay, sounds cryptic. Remember, I was probably loaded up on whisky back then, you made me so nervous.’
‘I asked you about the Middle East and you said it was like living on beautiful sands littered with scorpions and, no matter how hard you tried, you could never get the sting out.’
Bailey knew exactly what he’d meant. But sharing pain didn’t make it go away, despite what the shrinks told him. There were some things his daughter never needed to know.
‘I don’t know, Miranda,’ he said. ‘As I said, I was probably drunk. I carry a bit of baggage from those days. I’m trying to move on. And, honestly, it’s one of those things that talking about doesn’t help.’
‘I don’t believe that, Dad.’ She looked disappointed. ‘Talking always helps.’
Bailey didn’t know where to go next so he said nothing.
Miranda wasn’t the type of person who needed to fill the silence. She let the sound of the waves enter their moment and followed her father’s eyes out the window to the sea.
The minutes passed until Miranda finally said something. ‘Is that guy ever going to light that thing?’ She was pointing at a man standing across the road sucking on a cigar. ‘I’ll never understand how much people pay for cigars.’
Ronnie Johnson
was standing by the edge of the road admiring the ocean, while disrupting the view of the father and daughter sitting in the window.
Bailey pushed his empty coffee cup away. ‘Filthy habit indeed.’
‘Anyway, Dad.’ Miranda looked down at her watch, missing her father’s change in mood. ‘I’ve got a meeting. Better go.’
She leaned over the table and kissed his cheek. ‘I love you – and one day you’re going to tell me about those scorpions.’
‘I love you too, sweetheart.’
Bailey waited for Miranda to leave before he paid the bill and walked outside towards Ronnie.
‘What’re you doing here? I can’t see the ambassador’s car anywhere . . . you got the day off?’ Bailey was annoyed about his breakfast being interrupted.
‘Trendy place, bubba.’ Ronnie pointed back across the street at Ralph’s Espresso Bar.
‘Don’t ask.’ Seventy dollars for two serves of eggs, bacon and a few rounds of coffees. Bailey couldn’t believe it. He’d felt like asking the kid with the dreadlocks if breakfast came with one of the pictures on the wall.
‘Walk with me.’ Ronnie kept his eyes fixed on the water and started towards the children’s playground by the esplanade.
They were past the greased-up body builders doing chin-ups at the outdoor exercise area before Ronnie reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph and handed it to Bailey.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Victor Ho, taken two years ago for his student ID card.’
‘And?’
‘He’s been studying economics at Sydney University.’
‘Why’re you showing me?’
Ronnie handed Bailey a second photograph.
‘He was studying economics.’
‘What the . . .’ Bailey flinched at the sight of Victor Ho, his face beaten so badly that it was almost unrecognisable.
‘That’s what young Victor looks like now,’ Ronnie said.
‘Why’re you showing me these?’
Ronnie took back the photograph of dead Victor. ‘You can keep the other one – you might need it.’
‘What happened to him?’ Bailey folded the picture and put it in his pocket.
‘Body was found in an alley down by the casino at Darling Harbour two days ago. Bashed, wallet stolen. Cops said it was a robbery.’
‘Okay. Again, why’re you showing me?’
Ronnie’s eyes were skirting the area.
‘We’ve been watching young Victor for a few months – suspect he’s been working for Chinese intelligence.’
‘Does this have something to do with Catherine Chamberlain?’
Ronnie nodded. ‘This has everything to do with Catherine Chamberlain.’
‘So, you’ve made a connection?’
‘No.’
‘What does it mean then?’
‘Nothing.’ Ronnie paused. ‘Yet.’
‘I still don’t understand why you’re showing me, unless you want something.’ Ronnie always wanted something.
‘C’mon, bubba!’ Ronnie put his cigar in the corner of his mouth, leaving it there. ‘Don’t be like that!’
‘Don’t play me. What do you think I can give you?’
‘Anderson.’
‘What about him?’
‘You met him up at Palm Beach. Lovely spot, but a hell of a drive at three o’clock in the –’
‘You were following me?’
‘Not quite, bubba. I was sound asleep. I attached a little tracking device to that shitbox car of yours, which told me you went for a long drive when you should have been sleeping.’
‘You’ve been tracking me? You’re unbelievable!’
‘Keep your voice down.’ Ronnie grabbed Bailey by the forearm and looked around. ‘It was for your own good.’
‘How’d you know I met Anderson?’ Bailey didn’t care that he was speaking loudly. ‘Were you listening in too? Bugging me?’
‘Listen here, bubba. You don’t know what you’re putting yourself in the middle of with this.’
Bailey pushed Ronnie’s hand away. ‘Answer the question.’
‘I didn’t put a listening device in your car, I just guessed it was Anderson. The stupid fool should have spoken to the police. I’m hoping you can tell me why he’s chosen you.’
‘He said he read my story in The Journal. Other than that, I’ve got no idea.’
Bailey wasn’t even sure that Anderson would get in touch again. What was stopping him from disappearing? He wasn’t stupid. He just had trust issues. And so did Bailey.
‘So, what did he say?’
Bailey looked at him without answering.
‘Answer the question.’
Bailey wasn’t going to be pushed around. ‘We go back, Ronnie. There’s a raging river under our bridge, at least that’s how that saying goes for me. And don’t get me wrong,’ he lowered his voice. ‘I’m forever grateful for the day you pulled me out of that hellhole. But I’m not going to be played by you. I’m not going to be dangled on some line so you can catch whatever fish it is you’re after.’
‘I’m not playing you, bubba,’ Ronnie said. ‘This is some serious shit you’ve stepped in. I’ve shown you my aces, now give me something.’
They may have been working different angles, each with their own way of doing things, but Bailey knew Ronnie was one of the good guys.
‘The police commissioner,’ Bailey said.
‘What about him?’
‘Don’t know, except that he made a discreet visit to Gerald last night, told him he’s preparing to make a play into federal politics.’
‘Interesting, but I can’t see how it’s connected.’
‘Gerald said he’s been showing an unusual interest in the case. That was confirmed by my contact in the police.’
‘Sharon Dexter? Your ex-girlfriend?’
‘Does everyone feel the need to keep reminding me about that? Sharon said Davis has been trying to control this one from his office.’
‘That all?’
‘He asked specifically about Anderson, whether I’d been in contact with him.’
Ronnie stepped closer, towering over Bailey. ‘Think he’s listening in on your calls?’
‘A tap . . . on me?’
‘Anderson, more likely.’
‘He called me about a dozen times before I finally picked up.’ Bailey thumbed through his phone so that he could see the call times. ‘First one came through around nine o’clock last night – that’s a few hours before Gerald says Davis dropped by his place.’
‘What did Anderson tell you?’
What didn’t he tell me? thought Bailey. ‘He thinks Page’s spying for the Chinese.’
‘That’s quite an accusation against the Defence Minister of Australia.’
‘I didn’t say I believed him.’
‘You should.’
‘You think he’s telling the truth?’
‘Yes, bubba, I do.’
No wonder Anderson feared for his life.
‘What else did he say?’ Ronnie said.
‘That Page had half a dozen meetings in the past few months with China’s Ambassador, Li Chen.’
‘Half a dozen? That’s more than we thought.’
‘So you knew about the meetings?’
‘Some of them.’ He looked at Bailey. ‘Bailey, we’ve shared an awful lot of information here. I know we have trust issues but you may need to get over them. This has the potential to be very dangerous for you.’
‘I’ve been around the block a few times.’ And Bailey had the scars to prove it. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘It’s different, bubba, not like before.’ Ronnie was talking about Fallujah. ‘You won’t see these guys coming.’
Bailey hadn’t seen the last guys coming, either. ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve got to go.’
‘Where?’
‘Petals – it’s time I met Ruby Chambers’ boss.’
‘Hard-hitting journalism.’ Ronnie shoved his cigar back in his
mouth. ‘Readers will like that angle – law student doubling as a prostitute to pay the bills. Murdered.’
‘Maybe you should write it?’
Ronnie’s big grin put a dent in his cheeks. ‘I’ll leave the poetry for the poets.’
‘One more thing before I go,’ Bailey said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Take that bloody tracking device off my car!’
Ronnie reached into his pocket and picked out a tiny black square that looked like a fridge magnet. ‘Already done, bubba.’
‘Good. Don’t do it again.’
‘Sure, bubba, promise.’
Bailey sighed and shook his head. ‘Whatever that means.’
CHAPTER 10
Dexter
‘The guy’s hammered, so I shine the torch right in his eyes and I’m saying, “Look at me! It’s not that hard. Here . . . no . . . here!”’
Constable Rob Lucas was recounting a story to three rookie cops as Detective Sharon Dexter walked past his desk. She was carrying a mug of instant black coffee on her way back from the station’s crummy kitchenette.
Lucas hadn’t noticed her and he continued with his story, growing more animated by the second.
‘I can’t see, officer, you’re shining it right in my eyes!’ Lucas was pointing a torch at one of the other cops and raising the pitch of his voice, mimicking the drunken man.
‘I grab the breatho, tell him to blow into it, while I’m still shining the torch in his face the whole time, blinding him!’
Lucas was holding a breathalyser in his other hand and waving it from side to side. The three rookies listening to the story stopped laughing when they noticed Detective Dexter standing beside them.
Lucas kept going. ‘Sad prick couldn’t see a thing. I keep moving the breatho around, his head’s going from side to side out the window of his Porsche, his lips open like he’s trying to give someone a blow job, still chasing the breatho!’
Dexter had heard enough. ‘Sorry to interrupt your story about some obviously fine police work, Constable Lucas.’
‘Seriously, Sharon? I’m just having a laugh with our new recruits here.’
‘And setting a fine example, no doubt. You can call me Detective Dexter in front of the first years.’ She nodded to the young graduates, who sheepishly returned the gesture.
‘We’ve got more important things on our plate, don’t we, Constable Lucas?’ Dexter knew that he had never liked taking orders from a woman so she made a point of letting everyone know who was in charge.