‘Really? When was this?’
‘A few weeks after we met. It would be six years ago now, the year before he disappeared. We started seeing each other. I needed a job, he found me one in their graduate program.’
‘You were a graduate?’
‘Only from high school.’
‘So you were indebted to him?’
‘I was in love with him.’
Montifore blinks at her frankness. ‘Where did you work? What section?’
‘I was on the trading floor.’
‘I see. But you weren’t a trader?’
Mandy smiles. ‘Hell, no. I was just there to double-check trades, to make sure all the records were in order. To fetch coffee, take phone messages, do the photocopying. All the tedious stuff the traders were too busy or too important to do.’
‘But you had a desk, a computer?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you have digital access to other areas—Mollisons’ wider business dealings, their financial records, their trading platforms, human resources, that sort of thing?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Not anything commercially sensitive. I had access to the personnel files of the trading floor staff, to update holidays, rosters, that sort of thing. I could access email, the company intranet and the trading software—but only to see the records; I wasn’t actually able to trade. Beyond that, I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
She shrugs. ‘I never tried to access anything else. I just did what I was meant to do.’
‘And where was Tarquin Molloy working?’
‘For a law firm—Phipps something or other.’
‘Phipps Allenby Lockhart?’
‘Yes, that’s it. But he spent three days a week at Mollisons. He told me they were a major client, that he was working on some sort of restructuring with them.’
‘Did he ever discuss who he was dealing with at Mollisons?’
‘If he did, I can’t remember it. My impression was that it was senior people. He had an office up on mahogany row with the other executives.’
Montifore steeples his hands, looks her in the eye. ‘I’ve said that you’re not a suspect, that we know you were on the Gold Coast when he disappeared and that all I’m interested in is finding the killer, not investigating any other criminality, not by Molloy, not by the bank.’ He pauses, either for effect or to choose his words. ‘There is evidence that Molloy gained unauthorised access to Mollisons’ computer systems and stole something like ten million dollars. You’re aware of that?’
‘Of course. Everyone was talking about it.’
‘Is it possible that he used your passwords to gain access to Mollisons’ systems?’
She frowns. Why is he asking her this? ‘Yes. I told the company investigators at the time. He used my passwords.’
‘Take me through that. How did he get your passwords?’
‘I think he recruited me, played me for a fool. Got me the job at Mollisons as another conduit for him to infiltrate their networks, either as a cop or a fraudster—or both. I should have seen it, but I was blind.’ She allows herself a knowing smile. ‘Love’s like that.’
‘So you think, in retrospect, that you could have picked up on what he was doing?’
‘Maybe.’
‘How did he get the passwords?’
She sighs. ‘This should all be on the records from the police at the time.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind repeating it, please.’
Winifred interjects. ‘If this is some sort of attempt to find inconsistencies in my client’s evidence, given five years apart, it’s a clumsy one.’
‘I said she’s not a suspect. I meant it.’ He turns from the lawyer. ‘Mandalay?’
‘It’s pretty mundane. He was over at my apartment one weekend, after we’d been going out for a few months. He was working on his laptop. He told me the system had locked him out because he’d forgotten to do his monthly password update, some reason like that. So I gave him mine. I didn’t think anything of it.’
‘You had no suspicions?’
‘No. I had very low-level clearance. Even now, I can’t believe it would have been much use to him.’
Montifore is looking at his notes as he speaks. ‘And yet you reported him, some months before his disappearance.’
‘It was a formality. Routine. There was a questionnaire; I answered it truthfully.’
‘Who sent the questionnaire?’
‘I don’t recall.’
‘Clarity Sparkes, the head of physical security. Does that sound right?’
‘Yes. Thanks. That was her. She interviewed me about it at the time. She didn’t seem to think it was serious.’
Montifore is looking at her intently; beside her, Winifred is unmoving. ‘I don’t understand. He was your boyfriend, you only had low-level access, it was no big deal. Yet you dobbed him in?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’
And the memory comes to her: hard and clear, as if illuminated by stage lights. Discovering the two of them at it, in the most tawdry and compromising of situations, his snow-white bum pumping up and down, her groans filling the air like a porn star. Mandy frozen there, staring through her tears, anger filling her. And later, when the questionnaire had arrived in her inbox, she’d answered it honestly. Such a petty betrayal, such juvenile vengeance, a schoolyard retribution. What was she thinking? To punish him? To demonstrate he shouldn’t take her for granted? What?
‘Mandy?’
She swallows. ‘I discovered he was having an affair.’
‘He was unfaithful?’
‘Yes.’
‘With whom?’
‘With Zelda Forshaw.’
‘Zelda Forshaw? The woman you allege abducted you?’
‘It’s not an allegation. It’s a fact.’
‘So he was in a relationship with you, then you discovered he was also involved with Zelda Forshaw. When was this?’
‘I’m not sure. Some months before he disappeared.’
Montifore looks at his notes. ‘About eight weeks before?’
‘If you say so.’
The detective leans back in his chair. ‘Let me get this right. You’re in love with Molloy. You trust him. You even give him your passwords. Then he betrays you; you discover he’s having an affair with Zelda Forshaw. You’re pissed off. Understandably so. And then a security questionnaire comes to you, just at this time, and so you report him.’
Mandy feels her face flush. She’s not sure if it’s guilt or shame she feels. But she nods. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you confront him about this fling with Zelda Forshaw?’
‘I
