Her explanation made sense, but there were gaps. I wished I had a picture of the boy; anything to rule out a link with Dallas Boyd.
‘Look, I gotta go,’ she said, blocking an ear against the noise of the helicopters. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Mark down at the foreshore.’
‘Finetti?’
‘Yeah, he’s on foot patrol for the festival. Wants to talk to me – about you no less. What’s the story, Rubes?’
This concerned me. What did Finetti have to say to Cassie? We’d made a deal but it hadn’t included anyone else.
‘There’s no story. Just stay out of whatever Finetti’s got planned. This is between him and me, not you.’
‘What kind of shit is that, McCauley? You really piss me off sometimes. It’s all right for you to expect everyone to be open and transparent, but when the shoe’s on the other foot it’s a different story. What the hell’s going on with you and Mark?’
‘Look, I’ll tell you when the time’s –’ I stopped when I saw Ben Eckles pull up across the road in an unmarked sedan, blocking her from my view.
‘Now I’ve really gotta go,’ Cassie said, her tone flat and tired. ‘Here’s the boss.’
I punched Will Novak’s number into my mobile phone. I needed to find Tammy, and Novak would know where to start. The phone nearly rang out before he answered.
‘Afternoon, Will. Rubens McCauley here,’ I said. ‘Did I wake you up?’
‘Very funny. Nah, I was outside with a client when I heard the phone ringing and had to run inside. What’s up?’
‘I need to find Dallas Boyd’s girlfriend.’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Her name’s Tammy, I think. Blonde, maybe eighteen years old. Cute but rough, if you get my drift. She works the stroll, maybe up on Barkly.’
‘So go up to Barkly,’ he said. ‘She’ll definitely be working today. The festival’s in full swing – there’ll be thousands of perverts instead of hundreds.’
‘She’s not working today. Nobody is.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he said.
‘Well, that’s why I’m calling. I need an address.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I need her address. Surely you know where she lives.’
‘Well, actually I don’t. She’s not a client of mine.’
‘Not yet.’
Novak breathed out heavily into the phone. ‘Look, I don’t know where she lives.’
‘I think you’re going to want to know what’s going on. And it’s not something I want to discuss on the phone.’
Novak hesitated before replying. ‘Ah, sure, give me about five minutes.’
I drove to the hostel, double-parked and waited a few minutes before Novak came out. He was dressed in a pair of sandals, board shorts and a pink polo shirt, a day’s worth of stubble surrounding his neatly trimmed goatee.
‘What’s happening?’ he said.
‘If you can get me an address for Dallas Boyd’s girlfriend, I’ll fill you in.’
‘I told you, I don’t know where she lives.’
I pointed at the hostel. ‘Ask your clients. Someone will know.’
Novak nodded uneasily and hurried off. I wound the window up and turned on the air conditioner. A tram rolled by, full of passengers on their way to the festival. I wondered how many had seen the crime scene at Talbot Reserve. What a welcome party.
A few minutes later Novak appeared with a Post-it note in his hand. ‘Got an address,’ he said when I wound down the window. ‘Not as easy as you might think though. Whatever’s going on around here has them all spooked. I had to bullshit one of the kids about Tammy and tell him I had a cheque for her. You wanna fill me in?’
I told him to jump in and waited for a tram to ease forward, then made a U-turn. Before we reached the Barkly Street intersection I explained that despite some initial dead ends the investigation was moving quickly and that there were a number of important leads, Tammy being one of them.
‘Hold up a second,’ Novak said. ‘Last I heard you were still trying to confirm that Dall was actually murdered. I take it you’ve done that and this is now officially a homicide investigation. Is that the case?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about Dall’s stepfather? Did you speak to him?’
‘Yes, and he’s clean.’
‘What! That sicko beat the living shit out of Dall for almost ten years. He even threatened to –’
‘I know,’ I cut in. ‘I didn’t say he wasn’t a scumbag. I just said he didn’t kill Dallas.’
Novak appeared to consider this while we waited to turn off Carlisle Street.
‘So where am I going?’ I asked. ‘What’s the address?’
‘Three-sixty Barkly. Three blocks up. We could’ve walked.’