Pride’s Harvest

‘I own the local paper, the Chronicle. You don’t have to worry about it.’

That would explain why no reporter had tried to by-pass Baldock to get to him or Clements. ‘What about the radio station?’

‘Chess Hardstaff owns that.’

I might have guessed it. ‘I wasn’t thinking so much of the local media as those down in Sydney.’ He usually tried to keep the media at his own arm’s length; but they were always useful as a weapon, especially with politicians. ‘How much interest do you have in South Cloud? Or how much is in your wife’s name?’

‘Twenty per cent.’ The answer sounded a reluctant one.

‘Any other local shareholders?’

Dircks hesitated, looking at his front to see if he had spotted it with any more gravy. ‘Well, I guess you’ll look it up in the company register. Yes, there are two others. Max Nothling, Chess Hardstaff’s son-in-law, and one of the town’s solicitors, Trevor Waring.’

Malone didn’t mention that he had already met Waring; but he wondered why Sean Carmody’s son-in-law had said nothing about his interest in the cotton farm. ‘How much do they hold?’

‘Ten per cent each. The Japanese own sixty per cent.’

The waitress brought Malone his bread-and-butter pudding; it looked and tasted as good as Dircks had claimed. Dircks watched him eat, seemed undecided whether to say anything further, then went ahead, ‘If you have to arrest someone for the murder, ring me first.’

Malone stopped with a mouthful of pudding halfway to his mouth; his mouth was open, as if in surprise, a reaction he never showed. ‘Why?’