Private Oz (Private 7)

“Makes sense.”

Friel was in a daze I realized, no inflection in his voice, face expressionless. It was a state I recognized immediately.

“I’ve given a full report to the police. Not sure what more I can …” He trailed off again.

“Look, Mr. Friel, I know this is tough, but I have to ask some personal questions. I need to get some background. I appreciate it’s a raw time. I understand.”

“You do?”

I looked around at the white walls, a Balinese wall-hanging softening things a little. “I lost my wife and son three years ago.”

He stared into my eyes, his expression still vacant.

“An accident,” I added. It felt strange speaking about it with a complete stranger. It was something I never discussed. Perhaps it was simple empathy. I really could feel what the poor guy was going through.

He shrugged. “Ask away.”

I paused for a second. “Were you happily married, Mr. Friel?”

“As far as I’m concerned, I was. I think Stace was … And, I’ll save you asking, Mr. Gisto. I wasn’t having an affair, and I’m pretty sure my wife wasn’t either. I do realize this is your first port of call. It would make life easier if she had been … or if I was, I guess.”

“Okay, sensitive question No. 2. Money. Everything al

right?”

He waved a hand around. “I’m third in line to the throne.”

Seeing my puzzled expression, he added, “Sorry, in-joke. There’s the boss, Max Llewellyn, then his son, then me. I pull down a seven-figure salary.”

I thought how that didn’t necessarily mean everything was cool, but moved on. “It may sound ridiculous, but can you think of anyone at all who may have hated your wife?”

“Stace was a normal wife, a normal mom, Mr. Gisto. She cared for the kids, had her book club, her gym class. Who would hate her enough to murder her … it’s nuts.”

“You’re absolutely sure? Within your social circle? Any grudges? Any big bust-ups recently, ever?”

He was shaking his head. “No. We are … we were part of a big social circle – golf club, yacht club, neighbors, work colleagues.” He stared straight at me. “But nothing … we were … rather boring, actually.”

“What about you, Mr. Friel? Do you have any enemies?”

His expression changed for the first time. A bleak smile. “Me? Mr. Gisto, in my business I’ve acquired so many enemies, if I lined them up, they’d stretch from here to the Harbour Bridge.”

Chapter 33

“WELL IT COULD be a lead,” Justine said. She’d met me at my apartment in Balmoral. I’d called her while driving home from seeing David Friel and she was now sitting on one of my sofas cradling a cup of coffee and looking, I thought, exquisite.

“I guess these money guys live close to the edge … plenty of wars.”

“And there’s also the symbolism of the money … the fake money.”

“Of course. All a bit vague though, right?” I said.

“Oh, totally. But we have to start somewhere, don’t we?”

“You’ve talked to Greta. Anything?”

“Just confirmation of what we already know. My sister is part of the same social scene. There’re always silly feuds between the moms … the usual thing, rich women, bored, overindulged; husbands never there. They crave excitement so they invent problems between themselves. Same in LA, London, anywhere.”

“Yeah, but I can’t get past the relationship angle. You said it – bored women, husbands never there. Perfect recipe.”