Both of Gary's two business suits were demode and falling apart. For his meeting with Robert Merton, he chose the one with the most remaining buttons. He also ironed his shirt with an unpractised hand.
He caught a bus to Sydney Town Hall and strolled down sunless canyons, in which the air barely stirred, towards the harbour. Pedestrians scurried in all directions. They included shoppers and corporate clones who'd snuck out of their cubicles for a bite to eat or a cup of coffee. Thank God he wasn't a white-collar slave like them. If that meant being dirt poor, so be it.
The skyscraper which housed Merton & Co was a block back from the harbour. Gary got out of a lift onto the 65th floor, feeling self-conscious about his suit, and introduced himself to a well-toned blonde receptionist. "I've got an appointment to see Robert Merton."
She phoned someone and announced that "Mr Maddox" had arrived. After listening briefly, she hung up and said Merton would be out "as soon as possible".
The waiting area had several puffy leather couches on a marble chessboard floor. A huge glass wall provided a spectacular view of the Harbour. Merton & Co was not a big firm - it only occupied half the floor - but was obviously doing well.
He sat and watched ferries and cruise liners plough frothy furrows in the water. Behind him, expensive suits with people in them dashed in and out of the lifts. After half an hour, a tall, silver-haired man in his mid-forties, wearing a bespoke Italian suit and glittering cufflinks, emerged from a corridor and headed towards Gary. His self-satisfied expression and jaunty stride said he owned the joint.
Gary realised that instead of wearing a suit - and trying to compete - he should have stayed true to himself and worn a faded sports jacket and jeans. He climbed into the ring with the wrong man.
The guy had still blue eyes. "Mr Maddox?"
"Yes."
"Robert Merton. Sorry to keep you waiting."
They shook hands and Gary realised he already disliked Merton's superior attitude and would soon dislike the rest of him.
"Don't mention it. Thanks for finding the time to see me."
"No problem. I'm very worried about Patrick. His mother said you've been hired to find him. You're a private investigator, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm anxious to provide whatever help I can. Come into my office."
He led Gary down a mahogany corridor lined with paintings. Most looked like the artist threw rotten fruit and eggs at the canvas; the last showed a naked woman with a misshapen arse and extra breast.
They stepped into a huge corner office with cherry wood paneling and chrome furniture. The adjustable desk was bare except for a capped fountain pen. No books, folders or computer cluttered its surface. The desk said the occupier of the room was a strategic thinker. Others handled the details.
Near the door, a leather couch and two armchairs surrounded a coffee table.
Merton said: "Please, take a seat."
Gary dropped into an armchair that sucked him towards the centre of the earth.
Merton unbuttoned his jacket and sat opposite. Over his shoulder, on a shelf, were photos of a woman and two children.
Gary said: "You've got a very impressive operation, here."
"Thank you. This is a boutique accountancy firm. I only employ five accountants and all clients are high-net-worth individuals."
"That counts me out."
A thin smile. "Too bad."
"What sort of work do you do for them?"
"A variety of accountancy work, of course. But the main aim is to structure their financial arrangements to make them more efficient."
"You mean, to reduce their tax bills?"
A sharp stare. "That's one - but only one - consequence of doing so. But there's nothing wrong with that. Nobody wants to pay more tax than necessary. Now, I understand you want to ask some questions about Patrick?"
"Yes. How long has he worked for you?"
"About three years."
"A good accountant?"
Merton's eyes wandered. "I have no complaints."
Gary expected him to praise a staff member who had gone missing. Merton obviously thought little of Arnott's talents. "When did you last see him?"
"Last Friday, when he left work."
"Did you notice anything unusual about his behaviour?"
A shrug. "No, I didn't think anything was wrong until he failed to turn up on Monday morning and didn't contact me."
"You were surprised?"
"Of course. If employees can't make it to work they always call to explain why. After a couple of hours, I got worried and tried to call him on his mobile. No answer. I kept trying for the rest of the day and got no response."
"Did you make any other inquiries?"
"I asked some of the other staff, of course, if they'd heard from him, but they hadn't. There was nobody else I could contact: I knew his mother was still alive, but didn't have her number." A shrug. "After that, I assumed he was admitted to hospital for some reason and would turn up sooner or later. It may sound harsh, but I was very busy and had lots of other things to worry about."
"I understand. Now, umm, was he working for any particular clients when he disappeared?"
A steely glare. "That's confidential information. But I can assure you his disappearance had nothing to do with his job - nothing."
"How do you know that?"
"Because this is an accountancy firm. People don't disappear because of their work."
His vehemence made Gary suspicious. "I understand. But can I, umm, talk to some of his workmates? I won't ask them about his clients, I promise. I just want to ask about his social life."
A frown. "No, I don't want you to do that."
"Why not?"
"They're all very busy. Your presence would be a big distraction."
"I won't take up much of their time."
A scowl. "No."
Gary sighed. "That's up to you, I guess. Can you tell me about his life outside the firm?"
"You mean, his social life?"
"Yes."
"Not really. We didn't chat much about that. All I know is that he's single and belongs to the Sunrise Mission."
"He mentioned the church?"
"Yes. He joined it about a year ago. Got very excited about the whole thing. I think he hoped to convert me."
"You weren't interested?"
"Of course not. I'm not religious. I only believe in double-entry book-keeping. Now, tell me: do you have any idea what happened to him?"
"None at all; I've just started the hunt."
"Fair enough." Merton abruptly rose to his feet. "Well, if I can be of any further assistance, please let me know."
"I will. I'll see myself out."
Gary expected Merton to insist on showing him to the lifts. Merton just nodded. "Fine."
When searching for a missing person, Gary often used a computer hacker called Vincent Drew to hunt for the digital spores that people left scattered everywhere as they tapped and clicked their way through life. On the pavement outside the skyscraper, he phoned Drew. No answer. Damn. Drew was often hard to contact - usually because he was war gaming with his internet buddies - so Gary wasn't surprised. But, without the guy, Gary was cyber-blind when he desperately needed to see. He'd try again later.