Private Oz (Private 7)

“Sure. Look, Craig, Greta told me stuff. Half the women she knows are having affairs with their personal trainers, tennis coaches, you name it. But she reckons Stacy and David weren’t like that.”

“She’s sure?”

Justine nodded.

“So we check out David Friel’s associates. See if any of his enemies hate him enough to kill his wife.”

“Find out if he’s been a ‘naughty boy’ you mean?”

“Oh don’t even question that!” I said. “The guy lives in a five-million-dollar mansion and earns a seven-figure salary. As he more or less told me himself, he’s definitely been a ‘naughty boy’.”

Justine gazed out at the view across Middle Harbour, checked her watch. “I’d better go.”

As I led her to the door she turned suddenly. “Nearly forgot … Would you like to come to my sister’s fortieth?”

I was startled for a second. “Well … er … yeah.”

“It’s at a restaurant called Icebergs at Bondi. Greta raves about it.” She took a breath. “She almost called the whole thing off, but Brett and I talked her round. When I pointed out that she couldn’t let the bastard who murdered Stacy rule her life, it got her blood up. She can be quite fierce when she’s riled!”

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Well, I’m honored.”

Justine held my eyes and grinned mischievously. “Don’t be. You’re the only man I know in Sydney!” Then she pecked me on the cheek and left.

Chapter 34

JOHNNY HAD THE smallest office at Private HQ and shared it with the photocopier, which in effect meant he shared the space with the receptionist, Colette. But he didn’t seem to mind. Johnny was an expert at filtering out noise and distraction and just getting on with things. It was a skill he’d picked up as a kid. He had to do his homework in a tiny living-room while his father watched the racing, his mother did the ironing and his older brother argued with his younger sister. He still managed to get straight As in his exams.

Now he was staring at the monitor, his coffee ignored on the desk beside the keyboard. He’d been following a paper trail, well a cyber trail, to find anything juicy he could on Graham Parker. But the facts were scant.

He looked away from the screen for a few moments to survey what he had written on a legal notepad next to the coffee cup.

Parker was fifty-six, American, born in Utah. Went to Brigham Young University, studied Economics. He dropped out after two years and became a minor pop star himself. Played on the New York CBGBs scene in the late seventies fronting a band called Venison. Then he became a manager for Toys and, later, Rough Cut, who were pretty successful. He left America in 2010, hooked up with Micky Stevens as the singer was leaving his old boy band Fun Park six months later and turned the guy into a huge solo star.

Johnny returned to the computer and tapped a few keys. The screen showed sales figures for Micky Stevens’ three solo albums. He’d peaked with his first, Love Box, which had made the US Billboard Top 10. But since then his career had begun to falter. His last CD, Much 2 Much, was a flop except in Australia.

“So, there’s your motive,” Johnny said under his breath. “If Stevens is right and the manager is trying to have him snuffed out, it’s because his career is on the ropes. Parker’s going for the ‘dead pop star revenue’.” He spanned back to the screen and began to type.

The next ten minutes were a waste. He went through all the official sites linked to Stevens, Fun Park, old material on the bands Parker had managed in the ’80s. Nothing. Well something … Parker had been a junkie, had served six months for possession in 1979, spent time in rehab … pretty de rigueur.

He was about to give up when he found a blog thread about Micky’s old band. From there he stumbled upon a chat exchange between half a dozen fans of Fun Park and a couple of people who evidently detested them. Most of it was inane garbage and Johnny began to scroll down faster and faster, until a sentence jumped out … Parker’s bankruptcy was the best thing that ever happened to Micky Stevens. What would the useless son of a bitch have done after Fun Park if Parker hadn’t left the States to start again?

Johnny stopped scrolling and reread the two sentences. Then he checked the responses. There were no more comments, they’d just moved on. He threw himself back in his chair, a tingle of excitement passing through him. It was the first chink in the investigation and he was determined to prise it open.

Chapter 35

ELSPETH LAMPARD HAS put the kids to bed and is walking down the stairs when she realizes just how much she needs a glass of Shiraz.

Her husband, Ralph, is away in Europe and won’t be back until next week. She feels lonely at this time of the evening – after the kids are in bed and before she falls asleep in front of the TV.

She goes to the wine rack. Nothing. “Damn it,” she says aloud. She considers taking something from the wine cellar, but Ralph would hit the roof if he found one of his treasured wines had gone missing. There isn’t a bottle in there worth under five hundred bucks.

Dusk is descending over Bellevue Hill as Elspeth walks to the liquor store two streets away. Five minutes later, she is forty yards from her house with a decent thirty-dollar quaffing wine.

It’s quiet, sticky hot. Most of Elspeth’s neighbors are indoors watching TV or lounging by their blue-lit pools with a cocktail in hand.