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“That’s the thing. I only caught a glimpse.” He spun the wheel hard left. “It was dark, right? The council haven’t fixed the street lights. Besides, those dudes all look the same, don’t they? Usual shit … short, skinny, long black hair. One was wearing a leather jacket. I thought that was odd as it was about seventy-five degrees outside even that late.”
Mary pursed her lips, looked away at the sidewalk flashing by.
“You got the number plate?”
“Oh yeah. I left it for a bit, then I went downstairs.”
“You did?”
“Told you. Hate ’em. That’s why I’m ’ere.”
“Okay.”
“It was GHT … ah … 23R.”
“Sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, thanks,” Mary responded. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure they were in apartment 16, third floor.”
“Were?”
“They left a couple of nights ago,” he said quickly and then pulled the car to the curb, turned in the road and headed back to the park.
“How do you know that?”
“Saw ’em, didn’t I?” he glanced over to Mary. She caught a glimpse of the dog, dribble dangling from its chops. The guy acc
elerated down the street, screeched left and the park lay directly ahead. “I checked with the block manager, Harry Griffin, I know ’im.”
“You certain?”
“Of course I’m certain … Christ!”
“What’s the full address?”
He paused for a beat, reluctant. Pulled back into the lot. “Newbury House, 17, Canal Street. And that’s all I got.”
Chapter 45
MARY CALLED DARLENE and arranged to meet her an hour later at the address the guy with the dog gave her. Then she rang Parramatta Council. Within two minutes she’d learned that Newbury House was serviced by a private cleaning company called R and M Cleaners.
Their address was only half a mile from where she’d parked and the traffic was light. The office was open, and as she approached the door to the left of a closed shop, a small group of Asian women in overalls came down a flight of stairs. A van was parked at the curb. It had R and M Cleaners written on the side.
Mary paused on the sidewalk to let the women pass and glimpsed the plastic ID each of them wore attached to the straps of their overalls. That’s all she needed. Twenty minutes later and a trip to a passport photo booth and a stationery store in the town center and she had a duplicated ID that would pass a cursory inspection. Then she drove on to Newbury House.
The block manager’s office stank of cigarette smoke. The manager, Harry Griffin, sat behind a small desk strewn with papers, an overflowing ashtray close to where he had rested his left elbow. He had the racing paper open on top of the mess.
“R and M Cleaners,” Mary said confidently. He looked up from the paper, scrutinized her.
“Council sent me. Special clean for apartment 16.”
Griffin looked puzzled for a moment. “You got ID?”
Mary pulled the fake from her pocket and held it out.
