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Mary kneed him in the testicles, very hard.
This time he screeched, gasped for air. The smile gone.
She did it again, even harder. “Who killed the kid?”
Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, pain clear in his black eyes. “You’ll kill me before I speak,” he growled.
Mary stared him out for ten, twenty seconds, becoming more and more aware of her own pain, her hand throbbing. She flicked a glance downward and saw a puddle of blood. Pulling away the knife, she turned on her heel and walked away, Lin’s laughter echoing in her ears.
Chapter 53
THE $900 SHOES Pam Hewes had worn to the office fit the rest of her lifestyle nicely. The Hewes’ home, 20 Simeon Street in Neutral Bay on Sydney’s Lower North Shore, was what many people would call a mansion, but it passed for a middle-to-largish house in this neighborhood. Most of the people who lived around here were lawyers, accountants and businessmen.
A path led through a neatly manicured garden to the front door. I spotted a black Porsche Cayenne on the drive. I’d been close when I’d guessed at a BMW X5.
Pam met me at the door. She was in some sort of diaphanous caftan and ethnic sandals. Her longish blonde hair was pulled back and she was only wearing a touch of make-up. “Good to see you, Mr. Gisto,” she said. “Come in.”
I walked along the wide hall, an impressive staircase swept up to the next floor. Passed a room on my right. Two kids in school uniform sat at a pair of laptops.
“They have to get on with homework as soon as they’re home,” she said lightly, “or they’ll never do it.”
She led the way into an expansive living-room – polished wood floor, massive gray sofas, a couple of huge paintings. I recognized them as Kudditjis, ten to twenty grand a piece.
“So, I’m assuming your husband is still AWOL?” I said sinking into one of the sofas. Pam sat in the other, a bleached oak coffee table strewn with Italian Vogue and Harpers between us.
She nodded and looked at her clasped hands. “The bugger hasn’t so much as called. I’m getting frightened now.”
“And you definitely don’t want the police involved?”
“No. I’m sure my husband’s mostly legit. But I could be doing the worst thing for him if I told the police he was missing.”
“Have you remembered anything specific about his businesses?”
“He works a lot with Al Loretto.”
“The Al Loretto?”
“Yeah, billionaire, investor, gangster, property developer … whatever …”
“What does he do?”
“For Loretto? Probably wipes his ass,” Pam replied, then shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just so bloody angry! I pray Geoff isn’t dead in a dumpster somewhere, but when I see him next …”
“Okay, Loretto is a start. But I can hardly turn up unannounced at a billionaire’s home and start asking questions without a really good reason. If Geoff is acquainted with him, he must know lots of other interesting characters.”
She nodded. “He does. Keith Newman for one – a retired lawyer – actually, he’s a seedy little shyster, but from what I gather, Geoff does a lot of business with him.”
“Okay, I’ll pay him a visit. See what I can find out.” I paused for a second. “I’ll be straight with you, Pam. If your husband is mixing in those circles, he’s up to his neck in things that are certainly not legit. You understand that, right?”
“Of course I understand it!” Pam snapped. “Don’t treat me like some ditzy bimbo, Mr. Gisto.”
I looked away, staring at one of the paintings. “I’m sorry,” I said, placatingly. “I just think we have to be brutally honest with one another. From what you’ve told me so far, I think your husband is in very deep trouble.”
Chapter 54
I LEFT THE house with a list of names. It was like trying to get blood out of a stone, but I knew the poor woman didn’t actually know much about her husband’s life.
I’d seen relationships like it before. Usual story: a rather average guy who’d never grown up, fancied himself as a player, seen too many episodes of The Sopranos. The wife? She was usually the genuinely better half, the one with the straight career, or “home-maker”, bringing up the kids, worrying, trying to keep it all together. It transcended class.
