Follow the Money Read Online Free

voice message. I asked him to call me as soon as possible. Then I phoned Standish’s office and got May Ling.
    ‘It’s Cliff Hardy. Mr Standish, please.’
    ‘I’m afraid Mr Standish isn’t available, Mr Hardy.’
    She made it sound as if she was doing me a favour giving me this information.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘He’s away on business.’
    ‘Where? For how long?’
    ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
    ‘It’s important. How can I reach him?’
    ‘I can’t help you. I’m sorry. I’ll tell him you called.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘When he returns.’
    ‘I hope you can keep everything running smoothly until then.’
    ‘I think so. Goodbye.’
    I just bet you can , I thought.
    A frustrating morning, requiring a relaxation of a rule. I went to the pub Sabatini had nominated, the John Curtin, and ordered a middy of Pure Blonde—low carb, nothing you couldn’t work off in a gym session. Sabatini’s photograph, postage stamp-size, had appeared at the top of his articles and I had no trouble recognising him when he strolled into the pub. The surprise was that he seemed to recognise me. We shook hands.
    ‘We’ve met, sort of,’ he said.
    He was short-medium, neatly put together, with dark hair and a beard. He wore the clothes favoured by some in his profession—suit, dark shirt, dark tie loosely knotted. I couldn’t place him.
    ‘I worked with Lily Truscott on a few things a while back. I was at the wake.’
    I nodded. ‘It’s a bit of a blur to me now. What’re you drinking?’
    He ordered red wine and I had one as well to go with the pasta. We ate at an outside table in Liverpool Street. I told Sabatini more or less the truth—that I’d been hired by someone who believed that Richard Malouf was still alive and wanted redress. No name, of course. I said that the person who’d claimed to have seen Malouf after his reported death was also dead. I said I’d read his articles and thought he’d be interested if any of this turned out to be true.
    ‘You bet I’d be interested.’
    ‘Did you have any reason to think the death might’ve been faked?’
    ‘No, he was a notorious gambler and womaniser. Any number of people could’ve been out to get him.’
    ‘But an execution seems a bit . . . extreme.’
    ‘I did think that at the time, and I did wonder why he hadn’t taken the Qantas option when he’d got hold of the money. You can gamble and fuck in comfort just about anywhere.’
    ‘If you were at the wake you must know about me. They took away my PEA licence. I’ve got no standing. Malouf stripped me of a fair bit of money, but here’s something in your line—he left me with a bunch of shares that have a big call on them. I’m facing bankruptcy. That’s my interest, plus it was Lily’s money, really. I was trying to do a bit of good with it here and there. I’m angry.’
    That was coming it a bit strong, but I needed his help and I can be manipulative when I have to be. We both worked on the pasta and the wine for a few minutes while the foot traffic drifted past us.
    I said, ‘If this thing takes shape you’ll get whatever I have to give.’
    He scooped up the last of his ravioli and took a sip of the wine. ‘Thanks. I can understand where you’re coming from. But how can I help now?’
    ‘We’ve got two dead people connected to this—possibly. I’ve got the feeling that there’s much more to the Malouf thing than meets the eye.’
    He drained his glass. ‘You’re right there, Cliff. Much more.’

Sabatini stretched, easing a back that spent too long rigid in front of a computer screen. ‘What happened at Hassan and Associates isn’t an isolated incident. The Malouf case has . . . tentacles. I get whispers that quite a lot of small and medium range businesses are in trouble. There’s been a lot of borrowing and shoring up, which is expensive in the current climate. There’s also been a fair bit of apparent cyber fraud. Disappearing money. Mostly, it’s kept quiet and insurance