Read Online Deep Water by Peter Corris - Free Book Online

looked closely at the drawing, moved it a little, and then shook his head.
    â€˜It appears to be well-executed to my inexpert eye, but I’m afraid I have no idea what it means.’
    â€˜We’re in the same boat,’ Hank said, ‘but it certainly means something because someone paid out quite a few hundred dollars to gather up the ones that went with it.’
    Guy shrugged. ‘You’ve got me. Was there anything more?’
    Hank stood up and I followed suit. ‘Is there anything more, Mr Clifford?’ he said.
    I took the drawing and folded it. ‘I’d say there’s a good deal more, but that’ll do for now.’
    Hank executed a courtly half-bow, the way Americans do. ‘Thank you for your time, sir.’
    We went out quickly. In the corridor we could see our escort hurrying towards us but Hank held up his hand, shook his head and she stopped.
    â€˜We’re fine. Sure you’ve got better things to do.’
    The woman looked nonplussed, but we were on the move and to trot after us wouldn’t be her style. We strolled down the corridor, studying the blueprints as if they meant something to us. When we reached the waiting area for the lifts I touched Hank’s shoulder.
    â€˜Got your mobile?’
    â€˜Sure.’
    â€˜Snap a picture of that bloke there waiting for the up.’
    Hank did it with the speed and secrecy I’d known he’d be capable of. We rode the lift to the lobby, handed in our passes, and left the building.
    â€˜Thirsty work,’ I said. ‘Must be a pub around here somewhere.’
    We found one in Elizabeth Street and settled down over middies of Old.
    â€˜He wasn’t a personnel man,’ Hank said. ‘Someone higher up.’
    I nodded. We’d both noticed the same things: the ‘Ashley Guy’ nameplate had been slid in on top of another but not exactly, so that a centimetre of the previous one still showed, and Guy’s uncertainty about which side of the desk the drawers were on when he reached for the file.
    â€˜Means they’re worried,’ I said.
    â€˜Plus, I never trust a man wearing a three-piece suit.’
    Hank took out his mobile and studied the photograph. The man was big, florid, overweight, in an expensive suit and with an expensive haircut. ‘Who is he?’
    â€˜I don’t know, but he’s familiar. It’ll come to me.’
    Hank took a long drink and sighed. ‘That’s real beer. Are you cool about me and Megan, Cliff?’
    â€˜You’ve both been around long enough and had enough experience to know what you’re doing. I hope you’re good for each other. I’d say the chances are better than even.’
    â€˜I should’ve known not to expect a straight answer.’
    â€˜There aren’t any straight answers to real questions.’
    Back in the Newtown office, Hank plugged the phone into one of his computers and printed out the photograph. He laid the print on his desk and the three of us gathered round to look at it.
    â€˜Likes his lunch and dinner,’ Hank said.
    Megan looked at us both. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’
    I said, ‘I feel I should, but …’
    â€˜That’s Hugh Richards,’ she said, ‘shadow minister for minerals and energy in the state parliament.’
    â€˜I’m a bit out of touch,’ I said. ‘How solid’s this state government?’
    â€˜They’re on the nose,’ Megan said. ‘You must have seen the stuff in the papers—law and order, transport, water …’
    â€˜I thought that was standard state politics—shit on the last lot while they try to shit on you. And nothing gets done except calls and hand-wringing over the things people want to do—like gambling, watching porn, drinking and taking drugs.’
    â€˜Jesus,’ Hank said. ‘That’s fundamental cynicism.’
    â€˜He’s right,’ Megan