Yesterday's Shadow Read Online Free

with the same laconic regard as he offered to other, lesser crims. He would not be bending the knee to any Hierarchy from Canberra. For him, anyone down there, whether politician, diplomat or bureaucrat, was a foreigner. “I want you to let them know that from the start—”
    â€œGreg, relax—” Hassett made a downward motion with two large hands. He had started on the beat thirty-five years ago, when doubt had never entered his still developing mind; his powers of persuasion had consisted of a sledgehammer for closed doors and a bunched fist for closed faces. He occasionally dreamed of the simplicity of those days, but these days there was no sharper mind in the Police Service. He wore his reputation as a hard case as some men, and women, wore their power suits. The sledgehammer had been put away and in its place was a perception as sharp as a professional woodchopper's axe. “I'll talk to the Commissioner and we'll get the barricades up. We're not gunna be over-run by outsiders. But we've got to get this news down to Canberra—how're you gunna do it?”
    â€œWe'll start out with the proper channels, just to show we're not obstructive,” said Random. “I've talked it over with Scobie. When we leave here we're going down to the US Consul-General. We'll give him the news, tell him we've already got the investigation under way and he can let Canberra know. We'll let them know—in a nice way, of course—that the case is ours.”
    Hassett looked at Malone. “You're not jumping for joy, Scobie.”
    â€œWould you be, sir?”
    The Assistant Commissioner grinned. “You want a loan of my sledgehammer? It's over there in the closet. I've had it gold-plated.” He stood up. He was of what had once been the medium height for police officers, five feet ten inches, and he had thickened; he still suggested the battering-ram he had once been. “Now I'm gunna give the Commissioner the bad news. Good luck. My regards to the Consul-General. He's a nice bloke and he's gunna hate this as much as you.”
    Random and Malone drove down to Martin Place, in the business heart of the city, parked the car in the basement of the MLC building and rode up to the fifty-ninth floor. Money rustled like a breeze in all the floors beneath, but here on the fifty-ninth diplomacy, at citizen level, was the order of business. Passports, trade and general enquiries: nothing that made waves. The two detectives, when they produced their badges, were checked through security as if they were close relatives of the US President and were shown into the Consul-General's office before they could comment on their welcome.
    â€œYou've got news of her?”
    Consul-General Bradley Avery had been an All-American quarterback before he had given up throwing passes and taken to receiving blasts from Washington. He was as tall as Random and Malone and had shoulders that looked as if he still wore the pads that Malone always found ridiculous on gridiron players. He had dark curly hair and a broad black face just the pleasant side of plain.
    â€œOur embassy called me this morning—got me at home before I was out of bed—”
    â€œWe're talking about Mrs. Pavane, the Ambassador's wife?” said Random.
    â€œYes. Yes, of course—” Then Avery waved the two detectives to chairs, came round his desk and sat his haunches on it. “She's been missing since yesterday morning. She caught a nine o'clock plane out of Canberra for Sydney and she hasn't been seen since she got off it—”
    â€œYou didn't have a consulate car out at the airport to meet her?”
    â€œYes, there was one. The embassy called after she had left and ordered the car. But she didn't meet it—” Then he stopped, reading the atmosphere for the first time. “You've got bad news?”
    Random nodded, looked at Malone. “Tell him, Scobie. It's your case.” Planting the territorial