in need of physical support, he would have shaken the helping hand from his arm. He wasn't sure what had triggered his instant dislike of the person. Maybe it was the fact that he was smartly dressed in shirt and tie over clean, pressed slacks when those others he could see wore dirty work attire. He dismissed the thought - clothes maketh not the man. No, it was something else. His bearing? He did strut with arrogance like Mildenberger. The way his mouth moved? Ernest couldn't hear a word he was saying above the noise from the helicopter, but he had already decided on the man's insincerity.
They moved off the pad and Caffrey said: "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Les Meyer, Company Drilling Superintendent."
He forgot to add heir apparent, thought Ernest. He took Meyer's hand. It felt soft and clammy. Ernest shuddered. "Detective Inspector Caffrey, and this is my 2IC, Sergeant Mildenberger."
Dieter stepped forward. "Detective Sergeant Mildenberger," he corrected.
Their eyes met for a moment. It seemed to take just that long for each to sum up the other as supercilious and therefore irrelevant.
Meyer produced a satisfied smile, the reason for which only he knew. Turning his back on the sergeant, he took Caffrey's arm again. "I'd like you to meet Del Presswood. He's the toolpusher." He made the title sound like an insult.
Del shook hands. "G'Day Inspector. I can't say I'm glad to have you here. Nothing personal, you understand."
"I think I do, Mr Presswood."
"It's Del."
"Hmm. Tell me, Del, what kind of tool do you push?"
Del allowed his sick grin to float in Meyer's direction. "Whichever one it takes to get the job done. Man or machine, I'm not fussy, Inspector."
Very aware that he was losing ground, Meyer bustled forward. "Why don't you come to my office, Inspector? Do you have any idea how long you and your team will be on board?"
"We've only just arrived, Mr Meyer," Caffrey reminded him.
Les was nodding. "Of course. I only wondered whether you'd be needing overnight accommodation."
Dear God, thought Ernest, anyone would think he was running a holiday resort. Would you care for breakfast in bed? Some eggs and bacon perhaps, or a nice slice of fried bread running in grease? His handkerchief came out and he dabbed at his lips. "Let's see what we've got here first before we start making any decisions." Caffrey turned and panned his eyes over the members of his team. "Dieter, gentlemen, shall we?" He gave Presswood his best impression of a smile. "Care to join us, Del?"
The invitation seemed to annoy Meyer. Del was pleased about that, "I'll catch up with you," he said. "Couple of things I have to do first."
"Pushing tools?" sneered Mildenberger as he walked past.
Caffrey was intrigued. The two men had hesitated and were staring at each other. Rather than mere looks, an intangible yet highly volatile surge of energy seemed to pass between them, the mass and intensity of which could easily have run the lights of Perth with some to spare. If it came to a confrontation, he wouldn't have cared to guess the outcome, although the oil man did have the advantage of familiar ground. On the other hand, Dieter often overcame heavy odds by simply ignoring them. The situation would bear careful monitoring to ensure it didn't get out of hand.
Presswood broke the stalemate. He winked and produced a clucking sound. "You'd better believe it, pal."
~o~o~o~o~
By the time Del had checked that Sam had no problems with the operation and then made sure Jack Pierce wasn't stringing himself or someone else from a yard-arm, half an hour had gone by. He went straight to the Company office, expecting to find Meyer organising things in accordance with his own selfish needs and to the utter confusion of everyone else. Instead, the office was empty.
Del was scratching his head, trying to figure where they'd all gone when Jonesy, the radio operator came in. "Oh." He looked round the room with a frown. "Where's Les? I've got John Stanley on the line for him."
Maybe he's disappeared up the Inspector's arsehole, thought Del. "Wouldn't have a clue. Doesn't matter - I'll take it." Not that he was going to make a habit of doing Meyer's job for him, but he was thinking that he might just get to talk to Liz. Even the chance of hearing her voice right then was a boost he was well in need of.
The radio room was next to the toolpusher's office. Del was about to follow Jonesy in when he heard voices coming from his own quarters. "Be with you in two shakes," he said to the radio operator and walked on to the next door.
Meyer was standing at the back of the room like a presiding judge. His smugness increased as Presswood entered. "Ah, Del. I've handed your office over to the Inspector for interviews. Knew you wouldn't mind."
"Why would I mind?" Presswood drawled sourly. "I'm only the toolpusher." He nodded to indicate the door behind him. "You've got a call."
Les screwed up his face in annoyance. "Wouldn't you know it?"
"It's only John Stanley," said Del, trying to make the radio transmission sound very boring and only of minor significance. "I'll take it and you can carry on with your meeting."
Meyer was already on the move. "Thank you, but I can manage." He paused beside Caffrey who was sagging in one of the chairs, his face a peculiar ashen green colour. "Sorry Inspector, but duty calls. It's the price we pay." He continued to the door.
Del waited until he was passing out into the corridor before commenting: "Yeah, a woman's work is never done, eh, Les?" He waited to hear Meyer's snort of disapproval, then closed the door. Taking a few paces to the centre of the room, he glanced around casually. The police investigation team looked as if they were there for the duration. That and missing out on talking to Liz caused him to be more than a little irritable. "Well, isn't this cosy?" he observed sarcastically.
"I trust we aren't putting you out, Del," said Caffrey. He was speaking through his handkerchief which made it difficult to ascertain whether his concern was genuine, or was merely a polite way of saying that he didn't give a stuff.
Presswood shrugged. "Mi Casa, Su Casa." He had noticed Mildenberger peering through the door to the bedroom. Now the man was on the point of going in. "My bedroom, however, is off-limits," he warned across the room. Mildenberger took no notice. "Sergeant!" Del called louder. The policeman had disappeared into the room beyond.
Del rushed to the door. He bustled in, skirted the burly sergeant and barred his way. "The office is out there, pal." He pointed over Mildenberger's shoulder. "If you want to go anywhere else, have the decency to ask."
Dieter regarded the toolpusher in cool silence. "I may do that, pal." He peered past Del at the bathroom door. "What's in there?"
"Do you want to look?"
"I might."
"Would you care to ask first?"
Mildenberger sneered. "Not particularly."
"Then piss off!"
The sergeant stiffened. "You've just made a serious mistake, Mister Toolpusher."
"Two,
