CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

"So he had a share portfolio. An absolutely huge share portfolio. Possibly something like two hundred thousand dollars worth a year. For around twenty years, apparently. Are you sure he was getting that much?"

We were back at Miriam's home. Jonah had received permission to resume his battle against the forces of evil, while Miriam and I sat in the kitchen.

"It was a torrent of money," she said. "When I was helping him it could be five-figure sums every month. Ten thousand dollars. Twenty thousand dollars. More sometimes. Each month. He was brilliant at fund raising. That's mainly what he was doing when he wasn't in Asia. Traveling around the world. Speaking at churches."

"Speaking out on the issues."

"Speaking out on the issues. He used to love it when the newspapers phoned and asked for some outrageous comment on gay marriage or women's lib or whatever. It-you know-rallied the base, or whatever they say in America. There'd be a stream of letters to the editor and comments from public figures-from politicians even-attacking him and making him appear under siege. It was brilliant for fund raising."

"So much money. Didn't he have staff? An office?"

"He did everything himself. Absolutely everything."

"So how did the money arrive? People were sending him cash and checks?"

"He had lots of regular donors. Probably most of the money came from them. He had a bank account. Everything went in there."

"But he must have had a secretary? An accountant?"

"Not as far as I ever knew. He did it all himself. He didn't trust anyone. That's why he wanted me to take it over."

"So when you were helping him, when you took a term off your teaching to work with him, you saw where the money went?"

She thought. "Not really. He did all the banking work himself. I was mainly helping to gather the money, send receipts, help write the monthly newsletter, stuff like that."

"So you didn't know where the money went?"

"No, but...look...there was no reason to doubt where it went. It all went to the various orphanages. I just took that for granted. But I didn't actually deal with money going out. Only money coming in."

"You didn't send checks to orphanages, or transfer money to them?"

She shrugged. "I don't think so, no."

"But then after you left, when you got pregnant...I mean, your father was getting old. Didn't he get anyone to replace you?"

"I know he had a friend in Sydney who was helping him. But he was another old guy. A retired pastor, I think. Anyway, I'm sure he died a few years ago. And as far as I know my father didn't have anyone else."

"Obviously because he didn't want anyone to know where the money was really going. He trusted you. Perhaps he was going to tell you. He knew he wasn't going to live forever, and that the money would keep arriving. He had to tell someone. You were the only person in the world he could really trust."

She shrugged. "Yep. Possibly. It sounds about right."

"So what were his plans for when he died? Do you know? He must have made some sort of plan."

"I asked him once about all the orphanage money. How is it distributed if he's sick or dies? He was vague, but implied that it's all taken care of. And I know that he drew up a will. Not that he owned anything. So I never saw the point of that."

"Despite everything you say about his lack of concern for money, it seems he was actually pretty good at managing it. He must have had plans to keep it flowing if he was ill or something. Or if he died. He knew he wasn't going to live forever, no matter how many push-ups he was doing. And he'd know that it can take months to sort out a will. In any case, he must have made plans for making sure that money kept arriving after he died, and that it kept heading out to wherever it was intended? Wherever that was. I just can't believe that he didn't have some sort of planning for that."

"Right now your guess is as good as mine."

"We do need to find out where the money was going. It would seem that at least some, maybe lots, was going to Go-Go Greene. But this has been going on for twenty years, and Greene told me he's been a client for less than a year. Would you still have any details of his bank accounts? What about a copy of his will?"

"I've never seen a will. I know that. But I still have a lot of his stuff in a drawer from eleven years ago. Probably there're some bank account details there. I don't know if he still has the same accounts."

"You wouldn't want to change your accounts if you have lots of regular donors. That would upset everything. Can you get any bank accounts numbers for me?"

I waited until she returned. From the living room I could hear monsters dying in agony. "Here's one of his latest pamphlets. He leaves these at churches, for potential donors. It's got his bank account number on it. And I checked. You're right. It's the same account as before."

It was the same pamphlet she had shown me earlier. On the back was a form that could be filled in with donor details, along with instructions for various methods of payment. For bank transfers a Westpac account number was given. "Do you think there might be more accounts?"

"I do remember that everything seemed to be going through Westpac. And I very, very vaguely remember that there was just one account. It all went through that. But who knows what's happened recently?"

"Exactly right. Who knows? Miriam, I want you to phone absolutely everyone you can think of who might know anything about where your father's money was going. And try to find out which lawyers are handling his will. And anything else you can think of. And carbon offsets. We need to know if something strange is happening with these. Rad In-Your-Face, last night, he seemed to be telling me there might be something fishy going on with these. I feel he knew more than he was prepared to say."

I set off back to Yarra Boss. At the office of Go-Go Greene the prim receptionist told me her boss was with a client. But she was sure he could see me when the meeting concluded.

I looked at the wall holder, offering a series of free pamphlets, spanning a range of green interests. I took one on carbon offsets. "Do you have your money in these?" I asked the receptionist.

"Oh yes, my husband and I have all our money invested with Go-Go. And we live locally, so we're in the carbon offset program."

"Carbon offset program? It sounds good. Do you think I should be in it?"

"You do need to own land locally."

"What about if you're renting a cheap apartment in Box Hill?"

She laughed. "We have plenty of other investments to choose from." She pointed to the pamphlets. "Take your pick. But that particular one does require you to have land. Around Yarra Boss."

I took a copy of each of the other half-dozen pamphlets, and as I did so a young man with long brown hair emerged from Greene's office. The receptionist disappeared for an instant, then returned and ushered me into the office.

"The private detective," said Greene, shaking my hand. He seemed to be wearing the same tweed trousers as on the previous day, although the shirt was now purple. "Solved the crime? Going to gather us all in the drawing room to tell us whodunit?"

"Still a mystery, I'm afraid. But I do have an interesting lead that has drawn me here."

"I'm intrigued. Sit down, Mr Ravine, and speak up."

I took a seat, and he also sat back down. "You confirmed that Pastor Reezall was a client. I'd like to confirm something more. That he was investing in the stock market, through your company."

He smiled. "You've driven to Yarra Boss just to ask me that? A bit of a waste of time, I'm afraid. You know I can't reveal those details. We've already discussed that."

"Then can I confirm that this burnt piece of paper is from your company? This receipt for shares."

I extracted a charred sliver of paper from a folder and placed it on the desk before him. He examined it briefly, then looked back up at me. "Well played, Mr Ravine. You're a master. Yes, I can confirm that that is ours. And, as I look at it more closely, I think it might relate to holdings of Jim Reezall."

"So he was investing in shares. Through your company."

"The evidence certainly suggests that, doesn't it? Yes, Jim had a stock market account with us. But, in answer to your next question, I cannot disclose more than that. Unless you turn up with more documents, of course."

"I might very well do that."

He looked at me, apparently unperturbed. "And is that all? I agreed to see you without an appointment. I do have to make some important phone calls, and then I must visit someone."

"I'm interested in your carbon offset program. It sounds like a good investment."

"It's a very good investment."

"I would like to learn more."

"Well, my brochure, which I notice you holding, provides an excellent explanation. Please study it at your leisure." He stood and extended a hand.

I paused for a moment, then stood too and shook his hand. "Thank you Mr Greene."

I walked to a nearby cafe and ordered a coffee. Then I took out my cellphone. When matters became complex I had a friend who, like my pastor, had a magical ability to find answers. He was on my speed dial.

"Rohan Gillbit," he answered as soon as his phone rang.

"Johnny Ravine. Busy?"

"Greetings my private eye friend. Busy? Yes. Too busy to talk to a friend? No." Rohan was a star journalist at The Age newspaper with an extraordinary ability to track down information that others couldn't. He had helped me on numerous cases. He spoke in a deep, modulated baritone that made him sound like a radio announcer.

I explained details of the current case.

"Pastor Jim Reezall," he said. "I know the name well, of course. Often in the papers. I may even have interviewed him myself. But I didn't realize he'd passed on. And that's fascinating stuff about the money. I'll certainly see what I can unearth."

"What about Go-Go Greene Financial?"

"That one doesn't ring bells. But I'll check them out. Won't take me long. I can probably talk to you tomorrow. Unless my kids disappear again."

"Your kids? Aren't they in Perth?" I knew that Rohan and his wife had been divorced some years before, and that the wife had taken their two sons with her when she moved to Western Australia.

"They've been spending time with me over the summer holidays. Pretty much against their will. The older one is okay. He's seventeen and likes sport. But the younger one, Dean, he's fifteen and is going through a bad patch."

"A bad patch?"

"As in hating the world. And hating your dad. And blaming your dad for the ills of the world. It doesn't help that I don't especially care for him. I've never pretended to be the world's best father."

"Good luck," I said. "One more thing-you must have some contacts in the banking world. The Westpac banking world in particular. Someone who can whisper to you a detail of a particular account. Where money is being transferred to, out of that account."

"You're asking for a lot, Johnny. You're asking for someone to put their job on the line."

"Someone's been murdered. Something strange is happening." I gave him the account details.

"I'll see what I can do, Johnny. I'll see what I can do."

At home I looked at Go-Go Greene's carbon offset pamphlet.

PLANT TREES AND MAKE MONEY!.

Did you know that responsible individuals, institutions and companies around the world are now paying to offset their carbon dioxide emissions?

Did you know that planting trees is a highly effective means of absorbing carbon dioxide emissions?

Here at Go-Go Greene Financial we are offering residents of Yarra Boss a unique opportunity to make money from planting trees in our Carbon Offset Program.

Take action NOW!

Contact our office for more details.

On the inside pages of the pamphlet was a lot more information on deforestation and global warming, along with charts and a table that allowed you to calculate your carbon footprint.

It all seemed fairly innocuous. And yet Rad had told me, with a tap to the nose, that perhaps the pastor had learned that something dubious was happening concerning the carbon offset program.

I looked forward to meeting my journalist friend Rohan the next day.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

"Come on, mate, let's go." Rohan Gillbit arrived looking agitated.

"Problems?"

"Dean. My youngest. He's vanished."

"Vanished? You need a private detective. I'll give you a discount."

"Mate, normally I'd be laughing with you, but this is not a joke. Vanished probably isn't the right word. He ran off. We had a fight-we've been fighting most of the three weeks that he's been in Melbourne-and then he told me to get out of his face and he took off. He's somewhere here in the city. Almost certainly at a video game parlor. But I have to get him on a plane this afternoon back to Perth. So I need to find him, and then bribe him onto that plane."

Rohan was tall and skinny, and whenever we were together I felt as if I were on an excursion with a stand-up comedian, such was his constant repartee. He was also one of Melbourne's top investigative reporters, with a string of awards to his name. And I had learned that he was eternally modest about his abilities, reluctantly conceding that while he may not be the best journalist in Melbourne he was certainly among the top one or two.

"What about your other boy?" I enquired.

"Colin. Oh, he's fine. He's back at my house. Also playing video games."

"Aren't they meant to be at school? The new term started a week or so ago, didn't it?"

"My ex's new husband has them in some fancy private school. It seems the higher the fees the less actual time spent in class. But yeah, it is possible that they should have been back last week. I think my ex and her husband were skiing in Europe, and wanted an extra week or so of freedom."