‘It’s the same, isn’t it? Exactly the same words?’ asks Zelda.
Mandy nods. She deleted the message long ago, but there’s no forgetting the words.
‘I was in Melbourne that Friday,’ says Zelda, her voice lower. ‘Did you know? He flew me down for the weekend. Champagne. Flowers. Sound familiar? Said he was leaving you. Then this message. Then nothing more. Ever. Until now. Until they found his body.’
Mandy says nothing.
‘The same message. To both of us.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Mandy asks, unable to help herself.
‘He didn’t send the texts. Whoever shot him did. To buy themselves an extra day or two.’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘I can’t know anything for sure. I’ve learnt that lesson. But what if I’m right?’
‘What if you are?’
‘It means the murderer, or murderers, knew all about us. You and me. They sent us messages from his phone.’ Now Mandy sees the emotions playing through Zelda’s eyes: grief and anger and frustration. And fear. ‘And if they knew about us then, they know about us now. Now that his body has been discovered.’
‘But I didn’t know he was dead. Did you?’
‘No. Of course not. But those men, they came looking for me.’
‘Yes. But not for me. Because we weren’t the same,’ says Mandy. ‘You knew he was planning to steal the money; I didn’t.’
‘So you say. Or did you take the deal they offered?’
‘What deal? Who are you talking about?’
‘You know.’
‘I don’t. Spell it out for me.’
‘The cops—they offered me immunity. Tell them what I knew and they wouldn’t arrest me. They made you the same offer, surely.’
‘I wasn’t a suspect. I didn’t know about the money.’
‘You’ve already said that.’
‘If they offered you immunity, why didn’t you take it?’
‘Because, like an idiot, I thought he was still alive. Waiting for me. So I tried to stay quiet, to protect him. But they had too much evidence. They nailed me.’
‘I heard you pleaded guilty.’
‘Yeah, I did in the end. But by then it was too late: the offer of immunity was off the table.’
‘Did they believe he was gone?’
‘Sure. They told me he ran off overseas. That you were in on it. I believed them. You were always better looking than me, he always preferred you.’
Mandy grimaces. ‘He confided in you, not in me. He never told me he was going to steal any money.’
‘But in the end he treated us both the same, didn’t he? Lied to us, betrayed us. Protected us.’
‘Protected?’
‘Made sure we were interstate, out of harm’s way.’
‘Or out of his way, so there were no complications. So that we didn’t discover what he was doing and blow the whistle on him.’
Zelda smiles sadly. ‘You maybe, not me. I knew what he was planning, remember. I wasn’t about to stop him. I was cheering him on the whole way.’
Mandy considers that, admiring the woman’s brutal candour. And wonders why Zelda’s come looking for her, what she really wants.
The waitress returns, delivering Zelda’s cream-topped drink in a heavy-duty parfait glass, with a straw and a spoon.
Mandy waits till they are alone again. ‘Did you know he was a cop?’
The shock on Zelda’s face gives the answer before she can vocalise it. ‘Is that what they’re saying?’ Her voice is lower, a confidential whisper.
‘Yes. Tarquin Molloy wasn’t even his real name.’
Now there are signs of distress playing on Zelda’s face. ‘Shit. No. I didn’t know. The cops told me he’d been shot, but not that.’
‘He was married. There are children. They told me this morning.’
Now the distress is plain to see, a shudder running through the woman. ‘A wife? While he was screwing the two of us? Did she know?’
Mandy shakes her head. ‘How could I possibly know that?’
‘Do you know his real name?’
‘They wouldn’t tell me.’
Zelda looks bewildered, uncomprehending, as she slumps back in her seat. ‘So he did con us. You and me both. We meant nothing to him. A means to an end, nothing more.’
‘I’d say so.’
‘Fuck him,’ Zelda spits, real anger in her subdued voice. ‘I went to prison for that bastard. I ruined my life for him. I can’t get work, not as an accountant, not with a criminal record for embezzlement and fraud.’ She stares at her drink with distaste. ‘He didn’t give a shit, did he?’
‘Probably not,’ says Mandy. ‘He was dead by then. But probably not when he was alive either.’
‘So was there ever any money?’ asks Zelda.
‘I don’t know,’ says Mandy. ‘I’m not sure about anything anymore. Maybe it was just a way of manipulating you. To get into the accounts.’
‘But I went to jail for being an accessory. It must have existed, he must have taken it.’ There’s a note of desperation in her voice. ‘It must be what those men are after, the killers. Livingstone and the other one.’
‘Spitt.’
‘Yeah. Spitt. The ones who bashed Derek and chased me. They have to be after the money.’
‘Maybe.’
‘What else would they be after?’
‘Maybe what he knew. He was a cop. Maybe he got killed for the money, maybe he got killed because he uncovered something that could be worth chasing down.’
‘You think?’
‘Does it matter? He’s dead.’
‘You won’t help me?’
‘Help you do what?’
‘Find the money. Find out what happened to him. Find out what he discovered that was worth killing him for.’
Mandy is shocked by Zelda’s desperation. ‘We know what happened to him. Someone put a bullet in his head. And if the money ever existed, it’s long gone.’
‘Easy for you to say.’ And now Zelda is sneering. ‘You’ve got your money, you’ve got your man, you’ve got your little boy. You’ve got your castle on the clifftop.’ She looks down at her iced mocha and its layering of cream. ‘I’ve got sweet fuck-all.’
‘Zelda, it’s not worth it. It’s not worth dying for.’
‘So you won’t help?’
‘No.’
‘All right then, we’re quits.’ Zelda stands, sucks hard at her drink, slurping up the dregs, before thumping the empty glass on the table. ‘Thanks
