The next few weeks were busy for Miles. The announcement of the Koala Bay tower development, as the proposal soon became known, drew sharp reactions. First cab off the rank was a Graham Gleick, an energetic 30-something man representing an organisation called the Australian Natural Foreshore Association. He came in, unannounced, perched on the corner of Miles’ desk as if it was something he had done every day to that point, and started to tell Miles about how the planned tower would be an appalling disaster for the environment.
“There’s just too much pressure on the foreshore as it is,” he told Miles. “And in the bay itself.”
“But they’re not building in the bay.”
“Look mate, this tower will increase activity on the foreshow and put real pressure on the bay environment.”
“Right!” said Miles, taking notes in his self-invented, doggerel shorthand. He had never been through a proper traineeship which involved being taught shorthand. Instead, he had found an old shorthand textbook in the town library back home and had adapted the outlines to his own uses. His notes were largely an aid to his memory of the conversation. “Is there any specific danger?”
“Yeah, yeah, the orange striped custard fish is in real danger.”
“The – um – orange stripped custard fish.”
“The bay is one of the last six known breeding grounds of the fish.”
“Right – er – how do you know this?”
“The state government did a study 10 years ago which showed they were in danger from further development in the bay.”
“Ten years ago – what was the name of the report?”
“Development balance in Koala Bay,” said Graham, “it’s on the department web site. I wrote down the link for you.”
In all of this, Graham proved considerably more media savvy than his developer counterpart, Graeme Clark, or Clark’s legal advisor. He also gave plenty of quotable quotes and, above all, he never made the basic blunder of demanding to see the story.
No sooner had Graham Gleick finished telling Miles what a disaster the development would be and had gone, than Councilor Coustas rang to say what a great thing the development was for Koala Bay.
“Mate, can’t do better. This‘ll make those bastards in Hornsby sit up. When these guys build some’n that big there’ll be others right behind them. Soon we’ll be just like Chatswood.”
“Yeah right – say, how come it’s so close to the foreshore?”
“Cause there’s no beach just where the tower’s gonna be – anyway, town planning says it’s okay, so it’s okay. You should go to Surfers Paradise mate. Buildings lined up right behind the beach. Anyway, this will be great for house prices – remember to put that in the story…”
What did Miles think of all this? He thought that getting the first names of Graham the developer mixed up with Graeme the greenie was an accident waiting to happen. He also hoped for more controversy, as more controversy made for more stories. In that he was disappointed. Residents were initially surprised by the size of the development but when they read that their house would become more valuable because of it, the vast majority thought that the orange striped custard fish could take its chances.
In the middle of this frenzy of editorial activity the email system died. It expired quietly and mysteriously, while Miles was out to lunch one day. He came back to find a system message saying that it had lost connection with the server. The internet connection worked, but not the email.
“My email’s got problems,” said Kelly from the next room.
“So’s mine,” said Kate, the ad sales lady, yelling harder to be heard from her room. “I’ve called tech support.”
“Mine too. Techs get back yet?” Miles also raised his voice to make himself heard.
“No, no response so far.”
“Okay..”
Ros did not contribute to the conversation, although Miles knew she was in her room. It was her job to sort out this problem, but she never seemed to do anything but laugh on the phone, abuse Miles and get in Kate’s way. Kate would dearly have liked her boss at South Forest to tell Ros where to go, as Justin had done. But the sales side of the business could not display the same independence from management as editorial.
The next day, when Miles came back just before a little before going home time from a meeting with a group of residents who were concerned about the morning shadow from the proposed building, Kelly started complaining the moment he walked in.
“Miles, my email is still not up and the techs just aren’t returning our calls.”
“Can’t we get our office manager on the job?” asked Miles, without really expecting that Ros could be made to do anything useful.
“She told me to get it fixed. She says she’s too senior to deal with it.”
“GET TO WORK MILES, AND STOP CHATTING WITH THE OTHER STAFF!” screamed Ros from her office.
“ROS DO YOU KNOW WHY THE TECHS DON’T RETURN OUR CALLS?”
“THAT’S NONE OF YOUR CONCERN. KELLY FIXING IT. GET ON WITH YOUR WORK.”
Miles did not bother to reply. “So much for Ros,” he said quietly to Kelly. “Have you any idea why the techs don’t return our calls.”
“The people at South Forest say that the techs always call them back. No one knows why they don’t call us back.”
“Doesn’t someone in admin have a direct number for these guys?”
‘MILES! YOU’RE STILL TALKING”
“I just keep being given the same number to ring,” said Kelly.
“Hmmm!”
“And Miles, I’ve got all this work waiting to sent off.” Kelly did not work solely as a receptionist but did some basic clerical work for ad sales, some of which was for Kate – work that was shunted around the company by email.
“Okay, well at this point we’ll have to give up on the techs. Do you know how to set up an email address on a free email site?”
“I – I think so..”
“Okay, set one up. Then get one of your computer savvy mates down in South Forest to log onto the system as you, and set up your inbox so that all your email is bounced to your new address.”
“Got it – I think.”
“Just talk to someone who can do it down there. Also, set it up for Kate.”
“What about Ros?”
“MILES GET ON WITH YOUR WORK!”
“Do I really have to answer that?”
Miles walked to his desk to again find Steve in his chair with his feet on the desk using his phone. This time, at least, he stood up immediately so that Miles could edge by, but kept talking for several minutes. Again, it was all about a property deal, in which the party at the other end was having unspecified second thoughts.
“Anyway, gotta go, using another guy’s phone,” he said eventually, “we’re going back to Ange’s place now, n’ I’ll drop in after that. Sure…” he laughed, “Whatever! Catch you.” He hung up. “Stories to write, ay!” he said to Miles, grinning. His teeth had been capped.
“Something like that.” Miles managed a weak smile, then forgot about him. The next time he looked up both Steve and Angela had gone. It turned into a regular routine with Steve dropping in regularly at the end of the day to pick up Angela. Each time he spoke briefly to Miles who would nod and say a few words in return.
He naturally never bothered to tell Angela how to jury-rig an email system and paid for it the next week, when Eve nearly had hysterics over both the police notes and the community notes being missing in action. Rather than try to confront Angela he got Eve to tell her to copy the material onto a memory key and put it on Kelly’ desk. Kelly then gave the key discretely to Miles who sent the files. That was the way they did things at the Bugle Group.
On the same day he arranged the file round robin with Kelly and Eve, he accidentally overtook Anne in the street, and gave her a pleasant “Hi!”
Since she had judged that Miles did not need any further discouragement, her response was civil. “Miles, hi! What have you been doing.”
For a few minutes they were walking in the same direction and he muttered something about helping his co-worker with the email system.
“I think I’ve seen her,” she said. “She’s the drop-dead gorgeous one. One of the juniors at my work hangs around on the street sometimes hoping to see her.”
“That’d be Angela.”
“What’s she like to work with? Is she nice?”
“She’s a poisonous bat.”
Anne gave a startled laugh. “Go on, tell us what you think Miles,” she exclaimed. “Don’t hang back.”
“No chance of your junior running off with her, is there?”
Miles had to get to an interview but they were to meet again soon. That Friday, Miles and Jake cut their usual beer and video games night because Jake was on a promise to get back early. As he did not have a car that day and they started out from South Forest, Miles dropped him at his flat. He was invited up to find both Tomasina and Anne sitting at the table but, he was pleased to note, no Allen. On seeing Miles in a decent suit and tie, Anne raised an eyebrow and smiled. Miles liked the way she smiled.
“Miles! You’re sober – again,” said Tomasina.
“No lecture in philosophy today.”
“I should hope not.”
“Aw, Thommo, I’ve been easy on ‘im so far,” said Jake. “We haven’t even started on deconstruction as a concept yet.”
“Deconstruction sounds bad,” said Miles. “It involves heavy liquor, right?”
“Mate, three bottles of cheap Yarra Valley Riesling involves heavy deconstruction the next day, trust me!”
“So how come the suit and tie, Miles?” asked Anne.
“Had an interview. Was trying for a job on the Manly Daily.”
“Do you think you’ll get it.”
“They were interested but a lot of other applicants, I think.”
“They’re saying at work that the Herald is looking for juniors,” said Jake.
“Manly sounds like a better shot – or Newcastle. Don’t reckon the Herald ’d look at me, yet.”
“They’re all raving on about the Herald at work. Half the reporters in the group are lining up, I reckon. They won’t even look at Newcastle.”
“What’s wrong with Newcastle? I reckon youse blokes are all stuck up.” Tomasina and Anne grinned and exchanged glances – a byplay which Miles noted, and was relaxed enough with them as a group to ask the reason for it.
“Youse blokes..” teased Anne trying to imitate his drawl. “You’re such a Bogan.”
“Bogan!” exclaimed Miles. “Bogan, you North Shore Princess. Youse is a perfectly good plural form of the pronoun you. Youse blokes can all go and bite your bums.”
They all laughed.
“Fair enough,” said Tomasina, “but Miles, one thing we really want to know.”
“Um, yes?”
“Your fashion model – weather girl, co-worker – why is she a poisonous bat?”
After talking about Angela’s faults to Anne and the others – he had stayed for another half hour before they all vanished to a live theatre show, where Allen would also be - Miles felt better about being cooped up in the same office with his co-worker. But on the following Wednesday, when he turned up for work as usual, Angela was not there. Miles was puzzled - she had never taken a sick day in the months they had been sitting in the same office - but was too thankful to have the office to himself for once to question her absence. After lunch Kelly came to the newsroom door and asked him where Angela was.
“Dunno. Did she ring in?”
“Nope. Haven’t heard from her.”
“What about Ros or Kate? Maybe she’s doing something for Ros.”
Kelly was back in a few minutes. “No-one knows anything.”
“Okay,” said Miles, reaching for his phone headset. “If you find out anything let me know so I c’n avoid her.”
“But aren’t you going to do anything?”
“About what?”
“Angela.”
“I’ve been told by Justin I’m to have nothing to do with her.”
“..Nothing to do with her?” Kelly repeated his statement, puzzled.
“That’s right. Anyway, she hated my guts from the moment I came here. I’m the last person she wants calling to find out what’s happened. So if you want to tell someone tell Justin at South Forest.”
“Ring him!” said Kelly, looking alarmed.
“Before you do that, maybe you’d better ring her at home, or ring Steve if you have the number. Maybe she’s there.”
He turned away, puzzled over why Kelly thought he would have the slightest interest in where Angela had gone. It was not until later that he realised Kelly thought that Angela was a full reporter, instead of editorial ballast. She might have known better if she looked at the Koala Bay Bugle or any other newspaper, but she never did. After a few minutes she drifted back into Miles’ field of view.
“Nothing but answering machines at Angela’s. South Forest doesn’t know anything.”
“Uh huh,” said Miles absently without looking up.
“So whadda I do now.”
“Oh, em, er, do you know any of her friends?” Miles had since thought that because Angela was extremely good looking her disappearance - he hoped she had disappeared - might cause more than the usual stir, so he should at least be seen to be making an effort.
“A couple, I guess. I can ask.”
“Okay, do you mind? At least before we start ringing her family. With any luck she’s just gone off with Steve, or decided to take a day off. Not that I care.”
“Sure.”
Miles heard no more about Angela that day, and was so thankful for an Angela free newsroom that he was reluctant to ask Kelly if she had found out anything. The next morning when he walked in past Kelly, with his usual “morning!” she was on the phone but started to tell him something. Too late! Miles found two men in suits, one with a small moustache, rummaging through the news room. His first thought on seeing them was that they were far too neatly turned out to be local hard men, and his suspicions were confirmed when the one with the moustache thrust his identification in Miles’ face.
“Police,” he said. He was the older of the two and perhaps the brains of the operation, if there was any brains to be found in it. “You the other reporter that works here?”
Miles nodded.
Moustache man picked up a clipboard folder he had left, opened up, on Miles’ desk. “Miles Gregory Black?’
He nodded again, startled that his name was in a policeman’s folder.
“We have a warrant to search these premises, including this room,” he thrust a folded piece of paper at Miles who took it and glanced at it. The document seemed official enough. “Which was Angela Feldman’s desk?”
“Your mate’s almost standing on it.”
“The other is yours?”
“Uh huh!”
“Sorry, but we’ll have to search that as well?”
“Um, sure.” Miles’ mind was racing. Journalists do not welcome policemen who come with search warrants to rummage through their desks, but he had nothing whatever to hide and, if he played up to them a little, he might get a story. “If you find a story in it, give us a shout.”
The policeman smiled slightly.
“Don’t give you much room in here, do they?” said the younger one.
“Not wrong there,” said Miles, and meant it. They smiled again.
“Do you know Steven Gerald Coombes?” said moustache.
“If you mean Angela’s friend, Steve, just to nod to. Use to come to pick her up sometimes, in the last few weeks.”
Both men nodded. Ros chose that moment to appear, semi-hysterical beside Miles. Anything to do with the police and lawyers terrified her.
“What have done, you bastard!” she yelled at Miles, “was it something in the paper?”
“I haven’t done anything,” snapped Miles, “‘n they don’t send the police round if we get stuck into the mayor or someone. The mayor issues a writ.”
“They mayor is suing us?”
“It’s nothing to do with me! These gentlemen have a search warrant,” he held out the warrant to Ros, who snatched it from him and started studying it intently. “And they are looking for Angela and Steve.”
“Who is Steve?” She asked, looking up. It was the first words she had uttered to Miles in months that had not been hostile.
Miles noted Kelly at her desk, listening to every word.
“You must have seen him. Guy in a good suit, brown hair, moustache. Comes in to pick up Angela.”
She thought for a moment. “Oh him! I thought he was an advertiser, in to see Kate.”
“Well he wasn’t and these gentlemen.. youse guys going to arrest the man?”
“He’s a person who can assist us with our enquiries,” said moustache.
“What about Angela? She’s a co-worker. My own boss will be asking.”
“At the moment she is also a person who can assist us in our enquiries, but we have no reason to believe our dealings with her will go further.”
“Thought she couldn’t have done anything, she’s not bright enough.”
Again the two policemen smiled.
“We haven’t met her,” said the younger man, “we understand she’s very good looking”.
“The cops down at the local station would know about her, more than me.” The two policemen exchanged looks. “She does the rounds – goes down there on Monday for the local police briefs.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t ‘ve gone there first,” said the younger policeman to moustache. The older man gestured him into silence.
“Did Coombes make any telephone calls from here, sir?” said moustache.
“As a matter of fact he did. A few, and on my phone. I couldn’t help but overhear. Something about a property deal where the other side was proving real reluctant to do the deal.” The information was of no use to Miles by itself. If it had amounted to a story he would never have told them, but now, almost unconsciously, he was playing the age-old game of trading information. He hoped that they would tell him a little of what they knew. The policemen exchanged looks again. Beside the door, Ros was reading the search warrant with fierce concentration, her lips moving.
“Don’t do anything until I get back,” she snapped to the policemen, then raced off to her office.
“It’s a properly made out warrant, madam,” moustache called after her.
“Ignore her,” said Miles, “they sent her up here to keep her out of head office.” The men grinned. Kelly suppressed a giggle. In the end, the two policemen just glanced through the filing cabinet which was, very obviously, full of dusty council reports, and the equally unexciting contents of both Miles’ and Angela’s desk, but they did disconnect Angela’s PC to cart it away. “Say fellas,” he asked as they were going, “what brought all this on, anyway. I mean has Steve committed a murder?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” said moustache. “We’re fraud squad. We can’t tell you who he did for, but a local business is short a lot of money – a lot, and that’s all I’m gunna say.” He tipped Miles a wink. “It’ll come out into the open, soon enough.”
“Thanks. Well, if you find him give him a belt for me.”
“If we don’t find him soon,” said moustache, whose name was Sergeant Owens, “a few people may give him a belting for us.”
“See ya, Miles,” said the younger one, who had introduced himself as Frank.
“See ya, Frank.”
A local business, thought Miles, and if the police were involved it was a lot of money. He remembered reading that the fraud squad never became involved unless the amount was really worth the trouble of chasing. That meant it must be something like $1 million. Anything less and they relied on the business to collect the evidence before interrogating the suspect, if the suspect could be found. Perhaps this might be a nice page one story with a breakout on the police raid of the Koala Bay Bugle’s office? But what business in Koala Bay had a million dollars to steal? The first stop in the investigation process was Kelly.
“Did you find out anything from Angela’s friends?”
“Oh yeah! They dunno where she is, but they’re pretty sure she’s with Steve. ‘Been talking about just going. Doesn’t reckon she’s cut out to be a journo.”
“Well, she learnt something from being here.”
“Wasn’t she any good?”
“Couldn‘t say she was. Do you happen to know where Steve worked?”
“He was a solicitor down the road somewhere?”
Miles had in fact, suspected either a real estate agency – a couple of property sales in Sydney would add up to a lot of money – or a solicitor, as they had trust funds that could hold money from property sales. But he would have put money on Steve being in real estate.
“That salesman was a solicitor?”
“That’s what Angela said. Reckoned he had a degree from a Uni in England.”
“England? Steve? I picked him for real estate. He was always talking about real estate deals.”
Kelly shrugged. “I reckon Angela did real well. He was a honey and he knew about clothes.”
“If those cops catch him they’ll put him where they all wear the same clothes.”
“Reckon they’ll catch him?”
“Dunno. Steve didn’t seem like a bloke who planned a lot, but I hope I c’n find him first.”
“What, you want to hand him over to the cops?” Kelly was surprised.
“Nooo! I want to interview the man.”
Miles went back to his desk to think for a few seconds about what he should do, and in those few moments the telephone rang. It was Justin, who had chosen to act as if their last conversation had not been a screaming match.
“Ros has been on the phone to the company lawyers about cops in the newsroom there.”
“Gone already, mate.” Miles had also chosen to act as if he did not loathe his editor in chief. “They were after Angela and her friend Steve.”
“Steve?” There was a distinct note of anxiety in Justin’s voice. “Who’s Steve for Chrissake?”
“I just told you, a friend of Angela’s. Use to come ‘n pick her up sometimes.”
Justin was silent for a moment, as if this was an enormous blow. Miles could guess why the editor in chief was upset, and thought ‘you have a wife and children you bastard’.
“So do you know where Angela has gone?”
“Word is she’s run off with Steve somewhere,” Miles said cheerfully. “Told she’s been thinking about leaving journalism.”
“That can’t be right!” Miles did not bother to reply. “Have you tried to get her back?”
“Why on earth would I want her back,” blazed Miles. “She hated my guts and, the one time I tried to do anything about her total lack of skill after the subs begged me to help out, she called in the editor-in-chief to scream at me.”
“All right! all right!” growled Justin, “so you don’t know where she is?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. I wish I did as I’d like to interview Steve. Skipped with a lot of other people’s money.”
“How much?”
“Cops wouldn’t say, but I’m working on it.”
“Humph! We should make some effort to contact her.”
“Fine, I’m going to be busy with the story.”
“Someone’s gotta go and find her.”
“Sound’s like a job for the editor in chief.”
“You didn’t know anything about this?” Justin sounded as if he couldn’t believe what had happened.
“Mate, I was told not to interfere, remember. We never spoke and she hated my guts, totally. Why don’t you talk to Kelly.”
“Who’s Kelly.”
“The receptionist here. She knew the happy couple a little better than I did, which is not saying much. While you’re at it, why not asking around the women at South Forrest, she may have been mates with a couple of them.”
“Humph! If you find out anything drop us an email.”
“Sure, it’ll be coming from a free internet service – our email hasn’t worked for weeks.”
“Well for chrissake you just ring techs here!”
“We’ve just about melted their answering machine down leaving messages! They don’t call back. They don’t want to talk to us. Why don’t you help us work out why they won’t talk to us?”
The editor-in-chief did not trouble to hide his irritation at being bothered with such petty concerns. “Just talk to Bronwyn about that stuff,” he snapped. “She’s got the time to talk to IT.”
“She won’t do anything either.”
“Just tell her I said. In the meantime find out about Angela.”
“I’ll look for Steve – so I better go ‘n do it.” Miles hung up before Justin could argue further. There was no point in ringing Bronwyn. She would have even less interest than Justin, if that were possible, in the IT system issues of Koala Bay. But getting to the bottom of Steve’s nefarious doings in the mean streets of Koala Bay, now that promised some fun.