The judge shakes his head, a wan smile on his lips. ‘Not really, not after nearly fifty years. The people I knew are all dead. And, as I said, it’s not something we talked about within the family.’
‘No one?’
‘Titus might know more. He’s still out there, out in the world.’ The judge gazes through the bay window as if at something fondly remembered, something denied him. ‘There was Lizzie and Titus, and Clarence O’Toole—another young lawyer, a classmate of Lizzie. His father was a member. We signed them up together. He might still be a member for all I know.’
‘Do you know where I might find him?’
‘Through the courts, I’d imagine.’
‘He’s still a lawyer?’
‘A judge. Land and Environment Court.’
chapter twenty-three
Mandy sends the video to Martin, holding her breath as she messages him. He’ll want to know what it is, where she got it.
Her phone rings. Just like him: so focused, so quick on the uptake. ‘Martin.’
‘Hello? Is that Mandy?’ The voice is female.
‘Yes. Can I help you? Who is this?’
‘It’s Pam.’
‘Pam? Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. Champion. I’ve just been doing a bit of research on the internet. You know, seeing what I might find out about Mollisons. What Tarquin might have been looking into.’
‘On the internet?’ Mandy can’t keep the incredulity from her voice. She likes her old boss—Pam was always supportive, practically the only one who was, and she always meant well. So Mandy doesn’t want to insult her, but the idea of using Google to find Tarquin’s killer is ludicrous. She needs to finish the conversation so Martin can get through.
‘Well, not just the internet,’ Pam continues, seemingly unaware of Mandy’s scepticism. ‘Zelda Forshaw has been helping.’
‘Zelda? You’re joking.’
‘I know you don’t like her.’
‘Don’t like her? Are you kidding? She kidnapped me. Tied me up and gagged me.’
‘But, Mandy, listen. She went to prison—but if Tarquin was a cop, if he never stole the money, she might be innocent.’
‘She confessed. She was convicted.’
‘Of what? Conspiracy to defraud? But there can’t be a conspiracy if one of the parties isn’t conspiring, if Tarquin was simply using the illusion of money to win her over.’
Mandy can’t believe she’s having this conversation. ‘Pam, I know you see the best in everyone, but trust me, Zelda is interested in one thing and one thing only: getting her hands on the money.’
‘Too right she is. But not Tarquin’s money.’
‘Sorry?’
‘If there was no money, if there was no theft, if Tarquin never stole it or intended to steal it, then she can’t be guilty. There was no conspiracy to defraud.’
Mandy thinks of the trading data, the thirty-six-character alphanumeric codes she committed to memory and conveyed to Tarquin. And she thinks of the Turtle, his confirmation that millions were missing. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘She deserves compensation. For false imprisonment, for loss of earnings, for damage to reputation. The lists goes on. She hasn’t worked as an accountant since. She could get millions.’
Mandy can’t help laughing: Zelda the gold-digger has found a richer vein. ‘You trust her?’
‘I trust her to pursue her own self-interest. And I tell you, she’s good.’
‘At what?’
‘At being an accountant. We’ve worked it out.’
‘Worked out what?’
‘How Mollisons works. Who owns it. Who controls it, anyway.’
‘Why would I be interested in that?’
‘Because it might help us to work out what Tarquin was investigating. Now, should I come to you, or do you want to come here?’
An hour later Mandy is in the State Library, waiting for Pam in the reading room in the new wing, next to a wall of glass, where it feels as if a quiet conversation won’t be frowned upon. Outside, the afternoon has grown sunny, the wind easing. All around her, people are at desks, working in silence, using the library’s computers.
Then she sees her, Pam, gliding down the stairs, carrying a brown leather tote bag. There’s purpose in the woman’s movement, but also pleasure; Pam is back at the centre of things, the den mother. Always first at the sausage sizzle and always the last to leave, always offering a shoulder to cry on, always the dispenser of hugs. A heart of gold. Mandy had forgotten how overwhelming she could be, simultaneously well-meaning and irritating.
‘I got the train in,’ whispers Pam, as if divulging a saucy secret, a tidbit of gossip. ‘It’s so nice to be back here, in the city. I didn’t realise how much I missed it.’ And she pats her bag, as if it’s the first time she’s used it in a long time.
Mandy doesn’t respond. She hasn’t missed it a bit, not living in splendid isolation up on the north coast with Martin and Liam. Immediately, she feels guilty. She has her family, her new life; Pam had prioritised her career. It had been her life, her colleagues her family, and she’d lost them five years ago. All that energy, all that ability, all that compassion. What a shame, what a waste. Maybe she sees this as a way of bringing them back together. A family reunion. ‘What have you learnt?’
Pam casts her eyes about. ‘Not here. Zelda is meeting us upstairs in the cafe.’
‘She’s coming too?’
‘Yes. She doesn’t trust you.’
Mandy surprises herself; finds herself laughing. ‘Fair enough.’
A middle-aged man at a nearby table casts a disapproving scowl in their direction.
Zelda is waiting for them, sitting at a table of pressed wood next to a man with a scarf around his face.
‘Who’s he?’ asks Mandy bluntly, not bothering with a greeting. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘This is my brother, Derek.’
‘Ah, the man in the mask. What’s with the scarf?’
Derek lowers it; his face is a mess, his jaw appears to be wired shut.
Mandy winces. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, not sure what she’s sorry about. ‘I assume that’s Henry Livingstone’s handiwork?’
Another nod.
‘Derek, mate,’ says Zelda, her voice surprisingly soft, all the hard edges taken from it, ‘would you mind giving us half an hour or so? Have a walk or
