'Useful,' I said as Megan drove us back to Newtown.

'Mmm.'

'What's the matter?'

'I was just thinking what a s.h.i.tty world it is.'

'Only parts of it.'

'Here's the possibility of a solution to the city's water crisis and the only people with any integrity, the only ones not trying to make money out of it, get screwed.'

'Yeah, but at least the greedy ones haven't made the money yet and maybe they never will.'

'You don't think Dr McKinley's site and other information'll ever be known?'

'He did a good job of wiping it off the record.'

Megan was quiet for a while, coping with the heavy traffic along Broadway. At a long traffic light stop she said, 'I was thinking there's a job for Hank here. Did you know he has a pilot's licence?'

'I didn't.'

'He knows the drill. He could go to Bankstown airport and perhaps locate the pilot McKinley hired and then find out the area he was interested in. Who knows? The pilot might even have copies of the photographs. It'd depend on what equipment was used.'

'You're keen to discover McKinley's secret are you, love? That's not our brief.'

'I care about the city. So should you and everybody else. No one's ever going to do anything about saving all the water that just runs into the sea, and the desalination plant's a crock of s.h.i.t.'

'Wouldn't hurt for Hank to have a go,' I said.

Margaret emailed that she'd arrived safely, had her daughter with her, and had more or less sorted out the problems with her ex. She told me about the power of attorney and hoped I didn't find it too great a responsibility. I replied that I appreciated her trust in me and that we were making progress, but were still well short of a resolution.

She replied, confessing that she'd taken a photo of me with her cell phone without me knowing and had shown it to her daughter. Lucinda said I looked like an older, rougher version of Russell Crowe. I could live with that. Bit taller, though.

I phoned Global Resources and was put through to William Holland very speedily.

'Mr Hardy-very good to hear from you. How do things stand?'

'It's time for a meeting. Could you propose a venue?'

'Well, we have a well-equipped boardroom and-'

'I bet you do. We don't. We have a few cubbyholes. I like the idea of Horace Greenacre's place. He seemed to have a bit of s.p.a.ce. Perhaps you could arrange that.'

'I'm sure I could. When do you suggest?'

'This evening.'

'That's very short notice.'

'You said it was urgent.'

'You're right, I did. Okay. I'll phone Horace. Shall we say seven o'clock?'

'Seven thirty,' I said, just to be annoying.

'Very well.'

'That's 19.30 hours.'

'You are a very irritating man, for someone who has been stripped of his private detective's licence.'

He hung up.

'The lawyer's place,' I said to Megan, 'at seven thirty. We get there about forty minutes late.'

'Why?'

'So we can watch the news-see how the water crisis is going.'

I spent the afternoon swimming slow laps in the Victoria Park pool and at the Marrickville gym where Tony Truscott was training. He looked sharp, and he told me the contracts for his t.i.tle fight were being drawn up.

'I hope you'll be there, Cliff.'

'I will. Did I see you stumble just a fraction when you weren't quite sure where the ropes were?'

He grinned. 'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Yeah, have to get that right. Know the ring like your living room. He will. Did you?'

I laughed. 'Mate, in my last fight I saw the ropes looking up from the canvas. An old-time fighter told me he could smell where they were. Didn't have to look.'

'They moved slower back then.'

'You're right. Have you got a firm date?'

'These Yanks try to screw with your head. It's maybe this and maybe that. I don't take any notice. I'm fighting for Lily. That's all the focus I need.'

I nodded and threw a left lead at him that he picked off as if I was in slow motion.

Hank and I arrived at Double Bay separately, within a few minutes of each other. He was alone.

'Where's Megan?' I said.

He shrugged. 'She got a call just as we were leaving. Don't know what about. She said she'd take a cab and probably be a bit late.'

'That's OK,' I said. 'I'll tell them someone else is coming-keep them on their toes.'

We went up the stairs to Greenacre's suite. He wasn't there, but his secretary was.

'The other gentlemen are in the conference room,' she said. 'This way, please.'

We entered a room with a long table and high-backed chairs. There were paintings on the walls and a wet bar and coffee-making gear discreetly tucked behind some greenery. Soft, concealed lighting. Two men stood by a tall window looking out at the evening sky. Both wore dark suits. One had silver hair and the other, who was vaguely familiar, had no hair at all. Silver-hair turned around as we came in and moved towards us, his hand extended.

'I'm William Holland and this is my a.s.sociate, Clive Dimarco.'

Hank shook the hand. 'Hank Bachelor, this is Cliff Hardy.'

I exchanged nods with both men. 'We have an a.s.sociate of ours coming. She'll be along soon.'

Holland didn't like it but what could he do? 'Excellent,' he said. 'Let's get started here. Do either of you want anything to drink?'

Hank shook his head.

'Scotch,' I said. 'Ice only.'

Holland inclined his head. 'Clive, if you'll be so good, mineral water for me.'

'Sure.' Dimarco's New York accent was strong, unlike Hank's, which had been eroded by his time in Australia. He prepared the drinks, making a scotch for himself as least as solid as mine.

We were all on our feet and uncertain how to arrange ourselves. Eventually, Holland took a chair near the top of the table but not at its head, and we all sat.

Dimarco drank, took a miniature tape recorder from his pocket and put it on the table. 'I reckon we ought to have a record of this meeting.'

Hank had a similar device in the pocket of his denim jacket and he produced it with a flourish. 'I agree,' he said.

'I'll start the ball rolling,' Holland said after sipping his drink. 'We entered into an agreement with Tarelton Explorations to share the fruits of Dr Henry McKinley's research into ...'

'Tapping the Sydney basin aquifer,' Hank said.

'Exactly. Unhappily, relations between us and Tarelton deteriorated over time and we feared that our interest, and I might say our investment-'

'You invested money in Tarelton itself or directly into McKinley's research?' The whisky was smooth, the sort of stuff I'd buy myself if I ever got used to being affluent.

'The former, with a clear understanding that Dr McKinley's work would be fully supported.'

'I think maybe Tarelton was playing you for a sucker,' Hank said. 'Our information is that they were borrowing money from other sources. Could be from this Lachlan Enterprises outfit.'

Holland and Dimarco exchanged concerned looks. 'We certainly weren't aware of that,' Holland said.

I said, 'OK, so we've each given the other some information. Our brief is to discover who killed McKinley-nothing more, nothing less. Any information on that?'

'Of course not,' Dimarco said. 'We at Global were completely shocked by his death.'

I was wondering why Megan hadn't showed up, but I had a flash and snapped my fingers. 'Now I've placed you. You were at the funeral.'

'Right. Paying our respects.'

'Only trouble with that is,' Hank said, 'we have a statement on DVD from Dr McKinley that he had no knowledge of any ... subsidiary arrangements made by Tarelton.'

I drank the rest of the scotch. 'Yeah, and when he found out about them, he became worried. Didn't want to reveal what he'd discovered because he suspected that these commercial arrangements were designed to exploit the aquifer to the detriment, shall we say, of the public interest.'

Dimarco shook his head, pale, lumpy and glowing under the soft light. 'We knew nothing at all ...'

'You're lying,' Hank said. 'We know from Dr McKinley's statement that Global offered him a substantial bribe for the information.'

Holland couldn't contain himself. 'This statement, this DVD-does he ...?'

'Do you deny you offered him money?' I said.

Again, Dimarco and Holland exchanged looks. 'These are intricate commercial arrangements,' Dimarco said.

'We're negotiating, here,' Holland said, leaning forward. 'It's a rough and tumble world. If your ... client is prepared to consider an offer ...'

He'd missed the point, and I was ready to give him the sort of reply he wouldn't want to hear when the window behind him and Dimarco exploded. Gla.s.s flew around as a volley of shots poured in, hitting some electrical fitting and plunging the room into darkness.

Instinctively, Hank and I dived for the floor, but I could feel blood running down my face from where the flying gla.s.s had nicked it. Dimarco had dived sideways, knocking Holland from his chair.

'Hank,' I said, 'you OK?'

'Yeah. Untouched.'

'Dimarco?'

'I'm all right, but I think William's been hit.'

A light fitting was sputtering, sending out sparks. The heat triggered the smoke alarm and the sprinkler system. The room became a wet, howling mess as sirens sounded outside, drawing closer. A choking smoke filled the room and we started coughing and wiping at our eyes. Hank and I lifted Holland bodily and, with Dimarco kicking chairs out of the way and us crunching gla.s.s under our feet, we scrambled out of the room, down the corridor and reached the stairs.

The woman who'd let us in was standing on the stairs screaming and Dimarco yelled at her to shut up and get out of the way. She stumbled to the bottom, still screaming. Hank was supporting Holland's upper body and his clothes were getting soaked with blood. We got Holland out onto the footpath and my knees were about ready to give way when two paramedics took over.

part three.

18.

The next few hours were a s.h.i.t storm of cops, firemen, paramedics and TV crews. William Holland had been hit, not by a bullet, but by a shard of gla.s.s that had taken a chunk from the side of his head, causing ma.s.sive bleeding. Working under a rigged-up emergency light, the paramedics had stemmed the flow, loaded him onto a stretcher and rushed him to hospital.

Dimarco, Hank and I were soaked by the sprinklers, and Dimarco had a lot of blood on his Armani suit. A second batch of paramedics escorted us across the street, away from the blaze of flashing lights. Police were holding back reporters as the fire crew withdrew after making sure that the place wasn't going to burn.

A paramedic crouched by the bench where Dimarco, Hank and I were sitting and looked us over closely. He stood up, puzzled.