Harrigan and Grace - 01 - Blood Redemption (27 page)

‘Paul,’ he said, as though meeting an old friend, ‘it’s most kind of you to give me your time. I saw your picture in the paper today and I thought, yes, you will be the best person for me to approach. I hope that you will be able to help me. I am afraid I’m very much in need of your help at this time.’

‘Yes, you can call me Paul, Graeme,’ Harrigan replied after a slight pause, assuming his usual neutrality of tone. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here. There’s a room down here where we’ll be comfortable.

Dea, a couple of coffees?’

‘No, please, don’t take the trouble. I know time is important to you, Paul. I will try to use as little of it as possible.’

If the clothes were nondescript, the voice was not. It was pleasant to hear and invited familiarity. It seemed to assure you that he was your friend, that he had known you for years. People would listen to him and be comforted because they would know from his voice that they could surely rely on his goodwill.

‘We’re here to help, Graeme. Let’s see what we can do for you. Just in here — this is one of our interview rooms. The decor’s nothing to write home about, I’m afraid.’

In the drab and perfunctory room, he pulled back a chair for the preacher. He placed the manila folder on the table and saw the man glance at it as he seated himself opposite.

‘Now, I’m sure you’re aware that we’ve been trying to get hold of you for some time now, and particularly since last night. What can we do for each other?’

‘No, I must assure you, I wasn’t aware that you were. My work takes me out into the community so often that there are times when I simply cannot be reached.’

He spoke without giving the slightest sense that he was lying.

‘Take it from me, we have been,’ Harrigan replied. ‘We need to talk to a boy who’s in your care. Greg Smith.’

‘But he’s exactly who I’ve come to see you about.’

The man rested his hands on the table. His fingertips brushed at the edge of the folder Harrigan had brought with him, and he fought the urge to move the papers out of Fredericksen’s reach. The preacher appeared wholly unconcerned by his surroundings; the sight of the blank window, the tape recorders and the lockable door did not seem to affect him.

‘This is fortuitous. I had some hesitation whether I should approach you or not, but now I am most relieved that I have come here. Can you tell me why you are looking for him?’ The preacher smiled as he asked the question.

‘Why don’t you tell me why you’ve come here first, Graeme? Then I’ll be only too happy to answer your question.’

Let the man talk. Who knew what he might say.

‘Of course. Obviously, you know that Greg is in my care. Of course you do — there is the matter of this unfortunate business in which he seems to have been implicated, I am very certain, quite wrongly.

Besides that, you know that I’m a preacher? That I have a church in Camperdown, a congregation. That I run a refuge.’

Harrigan nodded.

‘Then you know my concern is for the dispossessed. Addicts, alcoholics, thieves, dealers, the destitute, the violent, those without hope. All those souls that no one else in this world wants. To them, my door is never locked. I am always there to take them in. You see, I have all the strength I need for my vocation from God. Nothing can prevent you from doing what the Lord expects of you. And of course, I am fortunate in that he has given me the benefactors to help me along.’

‘I see. Perhaps you’d like to tell me who they are,’ Harrigan replied.

‘Mrs Yvonne Lindley. Do you know of her? She’s endowed my refuge very generously this last year. She’s actually my mother’s half-sister. I’ve known the family all my life, of course. I was an only child; her children were my true brothers and sisters, we played together when we were small. I went to school with Geoffrey but, as you can see, we’ve gone very different ways. He’s quite senior in the Premier’s Department now. I’m not sure if Elizabeth approves of me any more.

She calls me God’s anarchist. They are my only earthly family, Paul, my mother and father died some years ago. We are a support to each other.’

There was a useful family connection if ever there was one; it explained Fredericksen’s ability to open doors at the Family Services Commission. Yvonne Lindley was the aged widow of John Lindley, lover of horseflesh, sometime state politician and a cabinet minister for every portfolio going, including the police. He had died not long ago, leaving his family independently wealthy. Always a renowned political operator, Yvonne Lindley still had strings to pull. The preacher sat waiting but Harrigan did not speak.

‘You must understand, Paul,’ he continued eventually, ‘my refuge is of great importance to me. The children who come my way — they have no one. I offer them the only home they may ever have had. Greg is the perfect example. He has no one in this world, no one at all. He needs the most loving care or we will lose him. He is addicted to self-harm. He is on the edge. You must remember that. Because when you find him, you will have to approach him with great care. Anything could happen. Anything at all.’

‘Is that what you came here to tell me?’ Harrigan replied after a short pause. ‘That we need to find him? And we should be careful when we do?’

‘Yes. I would have come here sooner but I’ve been out searching the streets for him all night. I know the places he goes and I thought, arrogantly, that if anyone could find him, I could. By first light this morning, I understood that I cannot do this alone, I must accept help.

Greg’s welfare is paramount to me, Paul. I am very afraid for him.’

He spoke passionately while his face remained oddly blank of any expression of emotion.

‘Where did you lose him?’ Harrigan asked.

‘Very close to the refuge, within sight of safety. I’d just turned off Parramatta Road. I think he was waiting until then because it’s easy for him to get into the city from there. It was dark, so it would have been a little after six perhaps? I stopped at an intersection and he was out of the van and away before I could stop him. But the point here is Greg. He needs every care. All last night as I walked the streets looking for him, I thought, I have failed him. I have failed him and I cannot permit that failure to be continued by others.’

There was another silence.

‘Six o’clock, you say?’ Harrigan asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You’d bailed him by a quarter to three. What were you doing in the meantime? It doesn’t take that long to drive from Parramatta to Camperdown.’

Harrigan’s fingers tapped the manila folder on the table, which held a transcript stating that at 4:09 p.m. the Firewall had chatted online to Toby, to say that she had a friend in bad trouble and she did not know how to help him without getting herself in any deeper than she already was.

‘In many ways, Greg behaves like a normal adolescent boy, Paul, despite his unfortunate history. I took him to McDonald’s, then we went to an entertainment arcade, at his request, where he played video games. It was the release of a pressure valve for him, a time in which to think.’

‘Where were you at about four o’clock?’

‘I’m not really sure…’ The preacher paused, his fingers brushed against the folder once again. ‘I think the van was on the road between McDonald’s and the video parlour at that time. I was too busy thinking about Greg to notice the clock.’

‘I see,’ Harrigan replied. ‘Last night — did you go looking for him in the refuge van?’

‘No, someone else needed to use it. I had another car, one belonging to a member of my congregation.’

‘Yes, we had a bulletin out for your van last night but it seemed to be off the road. Why should you think Greg’s come to harm? He could just be out and about. He’s used to that sort of life, after all.’

‘Greg is a very wild young man. He takes appalling risks, his life is one of terrible recklessness. I have watched him often with my heart in my mouth. I have to say I am very afraid for him. Particularly if he is faced with a return to custody.’

The preacher’s insistence had been without emphasis. Harrigan sat in silence for a few moments, looking at him, unconsciously tapping his fingers on the table top.

‘You say you don’t think he’s involved in the shooting we’re making inquiries about?’

‘I am sure that will be revealed to be a mistake. I should be very surprised to discover that he was.’

‘Right.’ Harrigan put a light emphasis on the word. ‘Does the name

“the Firewall” mean anything to you?’

‘Yes, I’ve read about her — I understand she’s female? — in the paper today.’

‘Do you know anyone who uses that name?’

‘Know in what sense, Paul?’

‘Know of, Graeme. Or know personally. Take your pick.’ Harrigan sat back in his chair, apparently relaxing for the duration.

‘I find that in my line of work people often have more than one name.

I know of no one who has introduced themselves to me by that name.’

‘Let me ask you, is there anyone in this picture that you recognise?’

He took a photograph out of the folder and placed it on the table.

The preacher looked at the homeless boys in Belmore Park.

‘This was in the paper today but I have already seen it before in any case,’ he said. ‘It was taken some time before Greg came into my care.

I was quite angry that they chose to characterise him as they did.

Other than that, I can tell you nothing about it.’

‘Is there anyone else you recognise? Someone familiar to you?’

‘Other than Greg? I don’t think so.’

‘What about her?’

Harrigan pointed to the female figure shown only from the back.

‘It’s difficult to recognise someone from the back of the head, Paul.

Why do you think this is your killer? Because she’s talking to Greg? On first glance, that could be described as discrimination. Unless, of course, you have some other information — which I would hope you would pass on to us. If not to Greg, then at least to me as his guardian. He does have legal rights.’

The man spoke with a neutrality equal to Harrigan’s own, his eyes so pale as to seem sightless.

‘Just an inquiry, Graeme. You know of any friends of his who might be this girl?’ Harrigan asked.

‘Girls are the last thing Greg would talk to me about, Paul. You can’t force information out of your charges.’

‘No, that’s true,’ Harrigan said, returning the photograph to the folder and waiting a few moments. ‘You have something of an American accent there, Graeme. You’ve spent time in the States, I take it?’

The man’s composure was unruffled by the change of questioning.

‘My voice gives me away, doesn’t it? I have indeed, more than half my lifetime. I’ve come back only recently. I recommend that you visit there one day, if you never have. It is genuinely a land of great opportunity. Why do you ask?’

‘I’m just trying to place you. What brought you back?’

‘The realisation that this is home after all? It certainly had that feel about it when I was walking through the Sydney Terminal.’

‘You’ve always been something of a traveller perhaps?’

‘Yes, I have. I travel for God, I go where I am called. I feel that I am most useful where I can reach as many people as possible. There is no more wonderful sight in the world than the dawn as you watch it by the side of the road and you know there is another town a little further on where they need you. It’s like being in the new world to see the sun rise at those times. People open their hearts to me, Paul, I understand them.

I understand them better than they understand themselves. I am someone who can reveal to them who they truly are, who can lead them to act in a way that is closest to their true wishes. They trust me and I always reward their trust.’

Harrigan had the rare sensation of a chill down his spine.

‘I guess in your business you need to,’ he said. ‘It helps in mine as well from time to time. You’re a people person, are you, Graeme? Does that describe your approach?’

He listened in what could only be described as detached astonishment to his own words. In the light of his feelings towards the man sitting in front of him, they were nothing less than a bad joke.

‘Oh, yes. Very much so. I can say that I truly love people, that their fate is of the greatest concern to me. And I know them. I know their hearts but I also know their faces and their names. I never forget anyone. Whoever comes to my door, whoever I encounter in my work, I remember them. I have that gift.’

‘I see.’

There was silence. In the small familiar room, Harrigan felt claustrophobia while the man in the other chair appeared unmoved.

‘When you were in the States, where did you spend most of your time?’ he asked.

The preacher smiled.

‘Everywhere, Paul. Everywhere. If I may say so — I’m a little surprised by these questions. I wonder if you shouldn’t be more concerned for Greg at this point. Shouldn’t you be organising a search?’

‘We’re out there looking, Graeme. Every available officer I’ve got.

I’ve already told you that. And from what you’ve just said to me, I’d have to judge there’s probably no great urgency about it now.’

‘But there is, Paul. There is great urgency. I must emphasise that.

Why wouldn’t there be?’

‘Then let me thank you for your help in putting us on the track.

Perhaps I can show you out.’

The preacher smiled again and got to his feet without waiting to be asked twice.

‘Certainly. Thank you for your time. This meeting has been most valuable to me. I will remember it. I hope we meet again.’

‘We will, Graeme. For one thing, we’ll need to talk to you about Greg. Whether we find him or not. I will brief one of my officers on this and she’ll be in touch with you pretty much as soon as is possible.’

‘By all means. I’ll wait to hear.’

At the elevator, Harrigan stood with the preacher waiting for his escort to arrive. Dea, at her desk, watched them between telephone calls.

‘I understand your congregation in Camperdown is quite popular, Graeme,’ he said, having heard no such thing, simply curious as to what response he might receive.

‘It’s thriving, Paul. I hope to take it out west in due time, I think there are many people out there who need me. I thought so yesterday when I was out there with Greg. But if you’re interested, why don’t you come to a prayer meeting one day? You would be most welcome.