by Peter Corris
‘What about Jack?’
She stared out the window and didn’t answer. The traffic was heavy the way it is everywhere in Sydney these days and pretty well at all times. It was stop/start through the Harbour Tunnel and slow progress through Redfern. I waited for her to stop thinking and start talking but it took a while. The bus got into a long queue at the lights waiting to turn onto the Princes Highway. Probably not at this lights cycle, maybe the next.
‘If you’re thinking suspects,’ Pen said at last, ‘you should put Jack Buchanan at the top of your list, or near the top.’
‘How so? He’s got a big investment in this tour. Paid for it mostly, he said.’
‘He said.’
‘Not true?’
‘I don’t know. He’s supposed to have sent me the breakdown of the figures but it hasn’t come through yet. I’ll be pressing for it as we go.’
‘Still . . .’
‘Buchanan’s big investment is in the film and the book and the international interest in both. He’s got the rights sewn up. Rory’s supposed to be going to reveal stuff about a big political shake-up.’
‘I haven’t heard that before. What sort of stuff?’
‘Wait and see. But I’ll tell you this—at a certain point in this tour, at the end, say, Jack Buchanan stands to make more from Rory dead, as a kind of martyr, than alive.’
‘I don’t think Jack’s that subtle.’
‘Suit yourself. I shouldn’t have said anything. You have a way of making people want to talk. How do you do it?’
‘No idea,’ I said, and I didn’t even know if it was true.
4
As the bus picked up speed on the highway I heard movement behind me. Kelly was using a video camera to film the office where Rory sat at a desk with his crutch beside him. The chair was bolted to the floor and he had a seatbelt fastened.
‘Kelly’s doing the filming?’ I asked Pen.
‘Among other things.’
‘Bit amateurish for a movie, surely?’
‘Oh, she’s an expert, apparently. But Jack’s arranged for proper film crews at the venues. Kelly’s stuff is just for handheld authenticity.’
The bus was heated and most of the people had removed their coats and jackets, including Kelly. She moved sinuously down the centre of the bus, filming to either side.
‘She’s got a problem,’ Pen said.
‘What’s that?’
‘How to get herself in shot. Her natural film genre is film moi.’
I moved across to the seat next to Clive Long. ‘What’s your role in this show, Clive?’
‘What’s yours?’
I told him what I’d told Pen.
‘Rules me out. I’m on the skids, alcoholic, prostate problems, emphysema. I need this gig to last as long as possible. I can’t even tweet and twitter. That’s why Bright’s along.’
‘Any ideas about who might think differently?’
‘Cherchez la femme.’
‘You mean the nurse?’
He laughed. ‘You know who I mean.’
‘Which one?’
‘Take your pick. Scott’s a gold-digger if ever I saw one. Out for herself a hundred per cent. In a way she’s a bit like me, sort of washed up but scrubbing up better. God, did I say that? She’ll play it to her own advantage all the way.’
‘What about Pen?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t know much about her although she’s been around a bit longer than me. Sharp tongue at times. Who knows what her agenda is? Hates Scott, that’s for sure. Probably has the hots for Rory, but I dunno. There’s something about her. Seems too good to be true. Might pay you to . . . look into her, if you know what I mean. You seem to be well on the way in that regard.’
He hadn’t answered my question about his job but I let it ride. I moved up to where Dr Chandry and the nurse were sitting and asked the doctor if I could speak to him for a moment. He was working on a laptop, which he closed before I could see what was on the screen. There were two vacant seats opposite. I slid across and the doctor joined me. Nurse Kim was doing something with her mobile phone. She looked up at me briefly. She was pretty but could have been much more so. Her dark hair was scraggly; she wore no makeup and her dress, under an unbecoming green cardigan, was drab.
This time I just said that I was there in a security capacity and I asked him about the state of O’Hara’s health.
‘It is not good.’
‘What were his injuries, precisely?’
‘He suffered a broken leg and pelvis.’
‘But he’s recovering?’
‘Slowly. There was infection following the surgery, which set him back. He reacted badly to the antibiotics. He has had a very difficult time. He was immobilised for some weeks and the muscles have atrophied. He requires extensive physiotherapy.’
‘Which he’s not getting.’
‘Regrettably, no.’
‘What medications is he on?’
‘I am not at liberty to tell you that.’
‘Can you tell me who engaged your services?’
He hesitated. Unlike others on the bus, who’d shed layers, he was still wearing his suit coat over a sweater. Beads of sweat had broken out at his hairline. ‘Mr Buchanan . . . it is not always easy to . . . yes, Mr Buchanan. He has been kind.’ He shot an anxious look at the nurse. He didn’t seem like a candidate for anything, except writing prescriptions and telling people what they wanted to hear.
By late morning we were in Wollongong and booked into a city hotel where O’Hara was scheduled to give a press conference in the afternoon. Our rooms were all on the same floor with O’Hara and Kelly sharing. The two IT guys and, interestingly, the doctor and the nurse also shared double rooms, with Pen, Long and me in singles. Tracey apparently had family in the town and was staying with them.
I dropped in on Sean Bright and Gordon Glassop, the IT guys, gave them a vague account of my role and asked them what they were doing. Neither seemed very interested. Glassop was a weedy type in his late twenties, a bit stooped from hours at a desk and with a lip-licking habit. Bright was older and physically more imposing. He barely glanced at me, but I had an impression of clean-cut, slightly fleshy features and a full head of mid-brown hair. Both men were working at their laptops and were annoyed at having been interrupted. I noticed that Bright used his left hand to move the cursor.
‘I’m checking Rory’s speech for tonight,’ Glassop said.
They’d ordered room service and had steak sandwiches and soft drinks at hand. Bright ignored my question until I asked it again.
‘Research,’ he said.
‘Into?’
‘Everything.’
I left them to it and found Pen and Long talking in the hallway. I listened.
‘I’ve got two radio stations and the local rag coming to the conference,’ Long said. ‘A freelance who blogs prolifically, the local Greens candidate for the next election and someone from Get Up. Working on the TV. We’re competing with a few local stories.’
‘Like what?’ Pen said.
‘Drive-by shooting and a footballer’s groin injury. I need something grabby.’
‘Talk to Kelly. Knock softly. The doctor’s given Rory a sedative but he mightn’t be under yet.’
Long nodded and moved off towards O’Hara’s room. Melanie Kim poked her head out of the room she shared with Chandry and looked up and down the corridor before ducking back inside. Just for a moment she seemed more animated and purposeful in her movements than I’d seen her before. Suspicious to the max, I wondered if she and the doctor were sharing substances as well as the room.
‘Lunch?’ I said to Pen.
She glanced at her watch and ticked something off on the top sheet on her clipboard. ‘Why not?’
We ate at a café in the mall—fish, chips, salad and white wine by the glass. I asked her why Chandry seemed nervous.
She took a solid belt of her second glass. ‘Have you decided to trust me, Cliff?’
&nb
sp; I hadn’t, but I liked her and wanted to. ‘Provisionally,’ I said.
She laughed. ‘Good answer, must try to keep you guessing.’
With no sign of the appetite she’d displayed the day before—she’d only pushed her food around the plate and the wine had got to her—I wondered if she might’ve started drinking earlier. The rooms had mini-bars. ‘He’s very newly qualified to work in Australia. He doesn’t want to make a mistake. Buchanan’s said he’ll help him establish a practice if he keeps Rory up to the mark.’
‘He says O’Hara’s not too good.’
‘He would say that, wouldn’t he? Has to look indispensable. Oops!’
She’d almost knocked her glass over, reaching for it. I pretended not to notice.
‘I think I’m in love with him,’ she said.
It wasn’t what you wanted to hear from someone you were attracted to. ‘The doctor?’ I said.
She laughed loudly and kept on laughing quietly. She reached across and put her hand on mine. ‘I’m glad you’re along. You’re a breath of fresh air.’
‘That’s me,’ I said. ‘You reckoned Jack has a motive to see O’Hara as a martyr. The doctor or the nurse could kill him. Clive could pinpoint his movements. Help them out.’
‘So could I.’
‘How about Bright and Glassop?’
She shook her head. ‘They live in a different world, especially Gordon.’
‘Is Bright like that, too? He looks more . . .’
‘Only recently on board. Seems to know his job. He turns the charm on and off. Real live people don’t mean anything to them.’
‘That leaves Kelly.’
She drained her glass and got up unsteadily. ‘I’m a bit pissed. Have to get back for some coffee and a sleep. Watch her, Cliff. Kelly’ll come on to you if she thinks she should.’
I gave a waiter my credit card and we moved to the counter, then to the door.
‘You haven’t said much about Rory, Cliff. You think he could be a cipher, don’t you?’
That wasn’t my only impression. It was one of the things I’d thought about him but I knew that could be class prejudice. I had other more positive thoughts and I admired the way she’d picked up my uncertainty in our brief acquaintance. ‘Too soon to tell.’
‘Just wait till this afternoon and tonight. He’ll light up the place. I don’t want him to say what he’s going to say but he will.’
‘I don’t follow. Is that why you’re so jumpy?’
‘Me, jumpy? That can’t be right. I’m Ms Cool.’
5
Pen was right about O’Hara’s impact. Leaning heavily on his stick, in a smart suit and open-necked tailored shirt, he was brilliant in the press conference. He handled every question thrown at him, was charming in answering the friendly ones and forceful with those less friendly. The event was held in a sort of meeting room in the hotel and I arrived early and took a very close look at everyone who came in. Clive Long was visibly nervous until a crew from the local TV station turned up. His job done, he went out for a smoke.
I wondered what they’d come up with to convince the TV crew to attend and it became clear near the end of the conference. In his answer to one question O’Hara revealed that he was forming a new political party to operate at the federal level. The big news was that he claimed to have pledges from members of all four existing major parties, Labor, Liberal, National and Greens, to defect to his party when it was up and running. With federal politics constantly in a knife-edge balancing act, that was enough to set rumour mills churning and journalists and bloggers tapping. O’Hara refused to name the potential defectors.
Pen had dressed up for the conference. In a white suit with a short, tight skirt and high heels, she orchestrated things skilfully, nominating the questioners and cutting the long-winded ones off. No sign of her earlier unsteadiness.
Kelly wore what she’d had on in the bus. She sat behind O’Hara and to one side, handed him water when he needed it and took charge of his crutch. Supportive, dignified, but overshadowed by Pen’s sheen and control.
I caught up with Long outside the room as the meeting broke up and the mob dispersed.
‘Disappointed in you, Hardy. You never once fingered an earpiece to show you were connected with SWAT team snipers.’
‘Is that fair dinkum, about the new party?’
He shrugged. ‘First I heard of it, but it set the bees buzzing. Made my job easier. How’re you getting along with the hyphen? Shit, I almost said hymen, but I doubt that applies.’ I ignored the quip. ‘What’s it cost to attend the bash tonight?’
‘Sixty bucks, but don’t worry, you’re—’ He was annoying me and I cut him off. ‘How many expected?’
‘Around eight thousand.’
‘That’s a fair chunk of money.’
He shrugged. ‘Venue hire’s high, insurance, ushers, band.’
‘Band?’
‘It’s a show, Hardy. It’s all a show. No more questions, please, I have to get outside for a smoke.’
I took a long walk around the city, testing my wind and legs on the hills. The place had a reasonably prosperous air, the way bay and seaside cities can, whatever the underlying problems. I went back to my room, drank instant coffee and kept away from the mini-bar. There was an email from Marisha telling me that she’d settled into an apartment and that the job was ‘cool’. She asked me what I was doing and I gave her an outline. One of O’Hara’s protests was at the stationing of American marines in the north and I asked her if that matter had attracted any attention in the US. She had signed off with love and I did the same.
O’Hara showed up well on the local six o’clock TV news. He looked damaged but vibrant and very appealing. Pen almost stole the show. The camera loved her and the small movements and gestures she made had that quality possessed by great actors—apparently unimportant but deeply significant by suggestion. The footage had been well edited and the new party bombshell went off just right.
The news was followed by a brief advertisement for the evening appearance with the information that a few tickets were still available. The conference had achieved exactly what it set out to do—having seen it, or having heard people talk about it, you’d want more.
There was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Pen looking worried.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said.
‘Kelly’s sick. She can’t go to the meeting. She’s staying back with the nurse. Cliff, take Dr C. with you and stick close to Rory.’
‘Okay. What’s wrong with her?’
‘Don’t know. I have to rush. Glassop and I have to supervise the set-up. Clive—’
‘Clive what?’ Long had appeared in the corridor.
‘You’ll have to explain Kelly’s non-appearance to the media.’
‘They’ll be disappointed. I imagine she was intending to look her very best.’ Long leered at her. ‘But I expect you can do likewise if you try.’
Pen was wearing an eye-catching red suit. She ignored Long’s remark and stormed off.
‘Easy enough to take a gun into the convention centre,’ Long said. ‘Sit in the front row and . . . pow!’
‘Hard to get away, though.’
‘You think of everything.’
He drifted off and joined a group of four or five men and women who were waiting outside his door. I went to the doctor’s room. He let me in and wiped sweat from his forehead. ‘Most unfortunate,’ he said.
‘What’s wrong with Kelly?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps food poisoning.’
‘How’s Rory?’
‘Mr O’Hara is most upset. I’ve given him something to relax him.’
‘I hope he won’t be too relaxed. He has to perform.’
‘No, no. He will be fine.’
We went into O’Hara’s suite without knocking. O’Hara came from the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. ‘She’s asleep.’
‘That is best,’ Chandry said. ‘Nurse Kim will stay wi
th her.’
O’Hara had scaled back to a walking stick. He was wearing a perfectly cut dark suit with a white shirt and no tie. He moved athletically, just slightly putting some of his weight on the stick. He grinned at me. ‘You packing, Cliff?’
His laugh had an edge to it and I wondered what Chandry had dosed him with. It certainly seemed to have invigorated him physically.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Kelly can strut her stuff another night.’
Tracey was waiting for us in a BMW at the hotel entrance. I took the basic precaution of having O’Hara ride in the back with me while Chandry travelled up front. It was only a short run to the venue which overlooked the city’s golf course with the bay just visible to the east. The car park was full and there were people milling around the entrance. Tracey drove around to the side of the building and used a remote control to open a grille gate. We went down into a car park, which held only a few vehicles.
I told the others to stay put while I looked the place over. Tracey backed and filled until he had the car turned around ready to drive out. He turned on the interior light and unfolded a newspaper. I gave them the all-clear and Chandry, O’Hara and I headed for the lift.
The auditorium was full with a buzzing crowd, youngish and oldish, mostly casually dressed, being kept happy by an MOR rock band. The lights dimmed and the drummer signed off with some neat brushwork. Pen and O’Hara moved onto the stage. The lights went up and she introduced him to rousing applause. Chandry and I hovered in the wings.
‘Thank you,’ O’Hara said. He put his walking stick crosswise on the lectern. It stuck out at either end and made a perfect prop, not obtrusive but impossible to miss. O’Hara’s voice was strong and resonant and he maintained a perfect distance from the microphone throughout the address, but varying his emphasis and volume like an expert.
By now I was familiar with his themes—corruption at the heart of governments local, state and federal and the need for a new kind of person to bring honesty back into public life and corporate management.
He cited examples, named names, told jokes and worked the audience up into enthusiastic responses like a master showman. He didn’t say much about his projected political party. He danced around the matter of the names of the defectors from the established parties, saying he wasn’t in a position to reveal them yet but promised he would in due course. He mentioned one major and much-admired and loved political figure, albeit a retired one, he’d had discussions with.