‘And what did he say?’
Mandy stares down at the desk, not allowing her emotions to rise. ‘He begged forgiveness. Said he’d been a fool. He was very convincing.’
‘You believed him?’
‘I did when he asked me to marry him. After that, my doubts disappeared.’
‘He proposed; you said yes?’
‘I said yes.’
‘Did you know Zelda Forshaw?’
‘Not really. We’d met socially. I didn’t like her.’
‘Why not?’
‘She liked to play the slut.’
‘You mean she was a flirt? Or something more?’
‘With Tarquin she was definitely something more. None of the women liked her.’
‘Where did she work?’
Mandy blinks. The policeman must already know that, surely. ‘She was an accountant. I’m not sure which floor she was on.’
‘Okay. Let’s move forward to around the time he disappeared. Tell me about the night you spent on the Gold Coast.’
‘It was a weekend. He rang me beforehand, on the Wednesday night. He told me he’d had to go up at short notice, he’d be there for a week. He suggested I come up, we could make a weekend of it. I went to work on Thursday; there were plane tickets and flowers on my desk. So I took the Friday off. Called in sick and flew up with the ticket he left me. He said he’d see me there.’ She pauses, as the memories start to solidify, images coming to mind, building upon the foundation of her narrative. ‘It was a beautiful place. A penthouse. Amazing views over the beach. Lots of marble. Its own plunge pool. He was a lawyer, well paid, liked the good life, but even for him it was flash. There was champagne waiting, and flowers. But he never showed. I never saw him again.’
‘Did you hear from him?’
‘Just a text that night, the Friday night. Late. I’d been trying to ring, to text. Then finally I got a message.’
‘You remember it?’
‘How could I forget? Sorry. Delayed. There soon. Love you. And some kisses. That’s all.’
‘And then?’
‘And then nothing. Not on the Saturday, not on the Sunday. So I was there two nights. I flew back to Sydney Sunday night. I went to work on the Monday, no one had seen him.’
‘You reported him missing? Notified the police?’
‘Yes, I did. Along with others. There was nothing for a couple of days, then they came and interviewed me. A man and a woman. Plainclothes. I could tell from their questions something wasn’t right, that it had something to do with money.’ She looks away, again swept back in time to those days of grief, those days when her dreams crumbled and reality replaced them. ‘Then the next week they arrested Zelda Forshaw and the rumours turned to fact. They’d been in it together. Embezzlement. He’d still been on with her after all, both of us at the same time, proposal or no proposal. The only difference was she knew what he was up to and I didn’t.’
‘You felt betrayed,’ says Montifore, a statement not a question.
‘What do you think?’
‘What did you tell your superiors?’
Mandy shrugs. ‘The police cleared me pretty quickly, but Mollisons were more thorough. They did their own internal investigation. The rumour was that millions were missing. They gave me the third degree.’
‘You told them about giving him the passwords?’
Mandy shrugs. ‘They already knew that months before.’
‘You were cleared?’
‘Formally. But they sacked me all the same. A bunch of us, about a month later. I guess they didn’t completely trust us. The whole section went. So did parts of human resources, also some of the accountants who worked with Zelda.’
‘Your whole section was sacked? How many people?’
‘About five. Something like that.’
‘Was it your section the money had vanished from?’
‘There was no suggestion of that. We didn’t oversee any money. But we were out. Escorted from the building by security. That was that.’
Montifore takes this on board. ‘Why do you think Zelda Forshaw abducted you?’
‘I guess she thinks I know where the money is.’
‘So she doesn’t?’
Mandy shrugs. ‘I guess not. But she went to jail for it. They established she conspired with him.’
‘But if Tarquin Molloy was already dead, maybe she never got her share.’
‘Yes. So she says. But she’s mad if she thinks I know where it is.’
‘So what do you think happened to Tarquin Molloy?’
That gives her cause to pause, to take a deep breath, to re-centre herself. ‘I don’t know. If he was a cop, maybe there was no missing money, maybe it was something else, all those other things you mentioned. Money laundering, corruption. Maybe someone killed him to keep him quiet.’
‘That’s possible,’ says Montifore, his expression non-committal.
Mandy has the impression he’s about to wind up the interview. Before he does, she asks her own question. ‘Tell me one thing then. Tarquin Molloy was his name while he was undercover; what was his real name?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Why not? He’s dead. Has been for five years. It’s not going to hurt him now.’
Montifore looks genuinely apologetic. ‘It’s not possible.’
Winifred is frowning. ‘My client has been most forthcoming. She has helped you when she didn’t need to. You should tell her.’
Montifore looks at the table, unable to meet their twin gaze. ‘He was married. There are children.’
Mandy goes to say something, but finds herself unable to speak. Married? He was married? The whole time?
There’s a silence, an awful interregnum, before Ivan Lucic bursts into the room, eyes wide, ignoring the two women. ‘Boss, we’ve got to go. Two dead. And Scarsden is there.’
chapter nine
It’s like a slow-motion swarm, bees coming to a newly discovered source of nectar. No sirens, no urgency, just an efficient hum. Two more uniformed officers, then a woman weighed down with camera gear and a grim expression, followed by a van full of forensic investigators. Quietly, without comment, they don pale blue oversuits. Plastic, Martin thinks. Disposable.
He and Eileen leave the steps, clearing the way for the police, and move to a garden bench, from where they watch without seeing. Off in the distance, the harbour shimmers, that other Sydney, so far away now.
Ten
