Yesterday’s Shadow. Jon Cleary
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came in. Avery waved a finger at the door and Goodbody turned and closed it. Avery stood up and introduced the newcomers; there was obvious rapport between the three of them. Then he said, ‘This is Chief Superintendent Random and Inspector Malone from the New South Wales Police Service. They have bad news. Really bad news. They have just found the Ambassador’s wife in a hotel up on Central Square. Murdered.’
Gina Caporetto sat down suddenly in a chair which, fortunately, was right behind her. Mitchell Goodbody stood stockstill, one foot in front of the other, as if caught in mid-stride. Then he said, ‘Murdered?’
Malone had heard the echo countless times. Violent death was beyond the immediate comprehension of most people: at least the violent death of those they knew. Consular officials, like police, must have experience of tragedy, but, he guessed, it was the tragedies of strangers. And they would not have expected personal – well, semi-personal – violence here on their doorstep in a friendly city.
‘How? Was she – murdered by some stranger?’ Goodbody had a soft Southern accent. He was short and thin and looked as if he might be perpetually worried. He had thick fair hair, cut very short as if he had just come out of boot camp, and a long thin face that would reach middle age before the rest of him. The sort of worker who would always see that the office wheels never stopped turning. ‘Which hotel was it? Central Square?’ He frowned, as if it was remote territory.
‘The Southern Savoy,’ said Random.
‘The what?’ Gina Caporetto was a blonde Italian-American, her birth roots north of Milan; it was an unfortunate name, a reminder of an Italian defeat in World War I; but the two Australians in the room had never heard of it. In any case men, and women, would hardly remark her name; instead they took note of her body and, eyes rising, her quite attractive face. She wore a beige knitted dress that looked as if she had put it on wet and it had shrunk. ‘I’ve never heard of it – no, wait a minute. Last year, during the Olympics, there was a big group from, I’ve forgotten where, New England somewhere, they were booked in there. I went up there once –’ She, too, frowned. ‘She was – there?’
‘It’s a hundred-dollar-a-night place,’ said Avery. ‘Superintendent Random tells me the circumstances aren’t – well, not the best. She was found naked in her room. She’d been strangled.’
‘You are sure it’s Mrs Pavane?’ Goodbody’s accent seemed to have thickened with shock.
‘Certain,’ said Malone and held up the plastic bag and the passport.
‘Do the media know?’ Gina Caporetto had recovered her poise, which was considerable.
‘Miss Caporetto is our press officer,’ said Avery.
‘They know there’s been a double murder –’
‘A double murder?’ Goodbody seemed to be making a habit of the echo.
‘We don’t think the other homicide – a hotel cleaner – is connected to that of Mrs Pavane. But we’ve only just started our investigation –’
Gina Caporetto looked at Avery. ‘Shouldn’t our people be handling this?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Random, getting in first. ‘This is our turf, Miz Caporetto. We’ll welcome co-operation, but that’s all. I don’t know the set-up at your embassy –’
‘I’ll explain the situation to Canberra,’ said Avery. ‘I’ll call them now. Maybe you could offer Mr Random and Mr Malone some coffee, Gina? Take them into your office while I call Canberra. You stay with me, Mitch. This is just between ourselves till I’ve talked to the embassy.’
Goodbody still looked shaken: the wheels had come off and he had found himself with no jack. ‘They’ll be all over us –’
‘No, they won’t, Mitch,’ said Avery warningly. ‘Go ahead, Gina, give the gentlemen some coffee.’
Gina Caporetto led the two detectives out of the big office into a smaller one on the other side of a lobby. The secretary at the desk outside Avery’s room looked up enquiringly, but Ms Caporetto just shook her head.
She closed the door to her office and went to an old-fashioned percolator on a hot-plate. ‘I make my own coffee. We Americans think we make the best coffee in the world. But –’
She smiled and Malone said, ‘Don’t quote you. Did you ever meet Mrs Pavane?’
‘Cream or black? Sugar?’ She brought them their cups, then took her own behind her desk and sat down. It was a neat, comfortable office; but Malone wondered how comfortable it would be for her in the coming days. Even the ubiquitous Stars and Stripes on a small standard in a corner looked limp.
‘Yes, I met her, once down in Canberra just after they had arrived and twice up here. I took her shopping one day and another day I took her to lunch. She was trying to get the feel of – well, Australians, I guess.’
‘But?’ said Malone.
‘But?’ She paused, with her cup held in front of her face like a mask.
Greg Random said, ‘Miz Caporetto, we cops read what is unsaid. It comes with experience – in other circumstances we might have made good diplomats.’ He looked sideways at Malone. ‘Except Inspector Malone, who is notoriously undiplomatic.’
‘Nice coffee,’ said Malone diplomatically, holding up his cup.
Her first smile had been forced, a muscular effort, but now she appeared a little more relaxed; she shook her head and smiled at both of them. She looked like a sex bomb, but she had a cool mind that could always control it.
‘Yes – but. I just, I don’t know, I felt she wasn’t entirely a stranger here.’
‘Did you query her on it?’
‘Yes. Diplomatically.’ Just a faint smile.
‘And what did she say?’
She took a memory pause; then she said, ‘I’m being mean, but it was like she was making up an answer. Then she said she had been out here eight or nine years ago on a quick business trip. She had stayed at the Regent.’
‘Five-star,’ said Malone. ‘So why did she choose the Southern Savoy this time? It’d be struggling to pick up three stars.’
‘Did she let her hair down when you took her to lunch?’ Random had finished his coffee.
She got up, took his cup and poured more coffee for him. ‘Not really. We weren’t exactly girls on an equal footing – she was the Ambassador’s wife.’ She came back, sat down, paused again as if she realized she had spoken in the past tense: was the Ambassador’s wife. ‘She seemed to have tightened up after that first shopping visit. She wasn’t rude, but she was – well, distant. As if suddenly she had taken a dislike to, I dunno, Sydney or Australia. It happened after this guy spoke to her.’
‘Which guy?’ Random had almost finished his second cup. Slow in almost everything else, he was a quick coffee drinker, not a sipper.
‘We hadn’t started lunch when this guy came up, said, “Aren’t you –” I didn’t catch the name, he sorta mumbled it the way –’
‘The way Australians do,’ said Malone. ‘My wife is always telling me to open my mouth. She’s Dutch.’
‘Well, yes,’ said Ms Caporetto, trying to sound polite. ‘Well, anyway, she just froze him. She just said a blunt “No” and he apologized and sorta limped away.’
‘Did you get a good look at the man?’ asked Malone.
‘Not really. I was looking at her. He was short and, I’m not sure, bald. He stopped by for just a few seconds. The place was crowded and he just sort of disappeared.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Even