Yesterday’s Shadow

Avery held out his hand. ‘I’ll give that back to the Ambassador.’

Malone looked at Random, who said, ‘It’s our turf, Mr Avery. It’s a New South Wales Police Service job, I’m afraid. I wish it weren’t, but that’s the fact of the matter.’

‘Does it have to be?’ Avery was not belligerent. He just had the look of a quarterback seeing tackles coming at him from either side.

‘I’m afraid so. We’ll co-operate with anyone you bring in, but it’s our case. We’ll be as discreet as possible, but it won’t be too long before the media has a field day.’

‘Did your security people check yesterday when she didn’t turn up?’ asked Malone.

‘We-ll, no-o.’ Avery looked abruptly tentative. ‘We didn’t send anyone out there after the driver came back and reported he hadn’t found her. We phoned Canberra and they said to leave it to them. They’re very secure about security down there,’ he added and sounded undiplomatic.

‘What do they have down there? CIA, FBI, what?’ asked Random.

Avery closed up: ‘I think you better ask them.’

‘How long has the Ambassador been out here?’ asked Malone.

‘Two months. He’s still finding his feet. Don’t quote me,’ he added and almost managed a smile.

‘Is he a career diplomat?’

Foreign ambassadors made little or no impact on the country outside the limited circle of Canberra. They were wraiths that occasionally materialized. Like now.

‘No. I should imagine half the State Department had never heard of him till the President submitted his name. I’d never heard of him …’

‘You’re being very frank, Mr Avery,’ said Random.

‘I’m getting on side,’ said Avery, and this time his smile widened. ‘Look, you want the facts. I’m the one who’s gonna be closest to you in this, so I’ll fill you in all I can. Mr Pavane was a big supporter of the President in the last campaign, raising enough money to wrap up Missouri and Kansas for the President. He comes from Kansas City, his family has been there for years. He was president of one of our biggest agrobusinesses and he was picked to come out here because we always seem to be at odds with you on meat and agricultural tariffs and subsidies. Again, don’t quote me.’ He went round behind his desk, sat down, looked glad to have a chair beneath him. ‘I’ll call our embassy now. They’ll have someone down here this afternoon. I’ll tell them it’s your turf, as you call it, but you may have to explain it to them yourselves.’

‘We’ll do that,’ said Random. ‘You might tell them while you’re on the phone that Inspector Malone and I have the backing of our own Assistant Commissioner and our Commissioner himself. Inspector Malone will be doing the leg-work, I’ll be running the investigation. But behind me –’

‘I get your point, Mr Random,’ said Avery. ‘Does your Premier and your state government know yet?’

‘They will by now. The Commissioner will have told the Premier and the Police Minister.’

Avery looked at Malone. ‘You look worried, Inspector. Clouds are gathering?’

‘I think so. Where were you before your posting to Sydney?’

‘Belgrade.’ Another smile, but this time a wry one. ‘I see your point. Okay, I’ll do all I can to help you. But I hope you understand – consular men are down the totem pole compared to embassy staff.’

‘I feel the same way about Police Headquarters.’

‘You survive,’ said Random, then looked at Avery. ‘We’ll wait till you’ve talked to the embassy. Just so’s we know, right from the start, where we’ll be going.’

‘I think I better get my two senior staff in here first.’ Avery spoke into the intercom on his desk: ‘Jane, will you ask Mr Goodbody and Miz Caporetto to come in? Now.’ He switched off and sat back. But he was not relaxed. ‘You’re right. What was Mrs Pavane doing in a cheap hotel under an assumed name? She didn’t strike me as like that – I mean the cheap hotel.’

‘What do you know about her?’ asked Malone.

‘Nothing. Except that she was a charming, good-looking woman who always looked a million dollars, as they say. I gather she had made quite an impression down there in Canberra on the cocktail circuit. I met her twice and she looked to me as if she was going to be a great help to the Ambassador.’

‘And what’s he like?’

But then the door opened and Mr Goodbody and Miz Caporetto 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.