The Labyrinth of Drowning by Alex Palmer Page A

she asked, her face showing more confusion and fear than anger.
    Borghini gave the standard reply to that question. ‘Grace Riordan, one of my officers. I’ve already shown Marie a photograph of Coco and told her she’s dead,’ he said to Grace. ‘I’ve also told her we have information that she was a worker here. She denies that. She also says she’s never met the brothel’s owners and doesn’t know who they are.’
    ‘Lynette handles all that kind of thing,’ Marie said. ‘She deals with the accountants. I’m the hostess. That’s all I do.’
    ‘You’re the manager,’ Borghini said.
    ‘The hostess,’ she replied sharply. ‘It might be called manager but it really means hostess. I make people feel at ease. I’m better at that than Lynette.’
    Grace sat down. Marie lit a cigarette from the end of the one she was just finishing. Jirawan’s photograph, taken at the Villawood Immigration Detention Centre, lay on the table.
    ‘Where did you get this information about this girl?’ Marie asked. ‘Whoever it was, they must have been mistaken. I don’t know her. She’s never worked here.’
    ‘Our informant knew your receptionist’s name,’ Borghini said.
    ‘Maybe he’s been a customer here. He might have a grudge against us.’
    ‘So if I go downstairs and ask Lynette about Coco, what’s she going to tell me?’
    ‘That she’s never seen her here and she’s never heard of her.’
    ‘And the workers?’
    ‘The same!’ Marie’s voice had an edge of panic. ‘She was never here. I don’t know why you keep asking me. Where did this information come from? What was this informant’s name?’ She spoke with a modified Australian accent, giving her speech a strained, artificial, up-market gloss.
    ‘That information is confidential,’ Borghini said.
    ‘We don’t even know who’s accusing us. That doesn’t seem very fair.’
    ‘Who were you expecting tonight? You got the champagne out for someone.’
    ‘That’s none of your business!’ She almost shrieked this, theatrically.
    ‘I think you’ll find it is,’ Borghini replied. ‘Whoever he is, he hasn’t turned up.’
    ‘My private life is my affair. It’s got nothing to do with this.’
    Grace’s gaze went past Marie to a plain-clothes officer heading towards them from the hallway that presumably led to the bedrooms. He whispered in Borghini’s ear.
    ‘Okay,’ Borghini said. ‘If you don’t mind, Marie, we’ll just stop there for the moment. There’s a room in your flat I want to have a look at.’
    She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I don’t have anything to hide. This is my home and I don’t like you being here but I don’t have anything to hide. Which room is it?’
    ‘The one beside the linen cupboard.’
    ‘There’s nothing to see in there. I’ll show you.’
    Marie rose to her feet. She was slender, and wearing a red silk cheongsam set off by very high stiletto heels. Kidd fell into step behind her. They all followed her down the hallway past the main bedroom—a large room furnished with a king-size bed and soft rugs, including one that seemed to be a genuine tiger’s skin. The windows were covered with heavy drapes. They stopped outside another door.
    ‘Is this the room you’re interested in?’ she said. ‘I can’t see why.’
    Furnished with a single bed, it was small and spare and lacking the gaudy luxury of the rest of the flat. There was no window and the door had a lock on the outside.
    ‘Why do you need a lock on this door?’ Borghini asked. ‘Do you lock anyone in here?’
    ‘No, of course I don’t. That lock was here when I moved into this place. I don’t use this room. Go inside and look at it if you want to. It’s not such a terrible place. It has heating and an en suite.’
    Grace stepped into the room. The surfaces seemed free of dust and there was the same faint smell of artificial air freshener as in the room downstairs. There would be nothing in here, not even a hair. A place with no