‘Do we know who their clients are?’
‘No. Even less than we know about the owners. You won’t find that in any publicly available company records. But more than likely there’s a big overlap.’ And Zelda smiles once more, as if in admiration. ‘If it’s what we suspect it is, then it’s very clever. Whoever is washing their money through Mollisons is not only getting their cash laundered, they’re getting it invested in legitimate businesses and property, and they’re making a profit along the way.’
‘And the authorities can’t track this?’
‘Only to an extent; once it goes offshore, it’s very hard to trace. And remember, Mollisons runs its own trading floor: foreign exchange, bonds, derivatives. So there is money washing in and out all the time, large amounts of it, big trades.’
‘That’s where my desk was,’ says Mandy. ‘On the trading floor.’
‘There you go,’ says Pam.
Mandy ignores her, still focused on Zelda. ‘Is it possible, then, that all of Mollisons’ activities, here in Australia, are above board, totally legal? That it’s just the source of funds and ownership that’s questionable?’
‘Yes. Entirely possible.’
‘What about Phipps, the law firm? Same owners?’
‘No, that’s different. A partnership. Twelve partners. All Australians, mostly in Sydney, one in Brisbane and one in Melbourne. The interstate partners aren’t on any of the company boards.’
‘Which explains why Tarquin was positioned there. In Phipps.’
‘Yeah. Working for Phipps, working three days a week at Mollisons, he was in the perfect place to find out what was really going on.’
Mandy stares at Zelda. ‘This is amazing,’ she says, her antipathy towards her erstwhile rival on hold. ‘Have you found out anything else?’
‘Not a lot. But all three companies are profitable. Although Mollisons in particular doesn’t seem to like paying much tax.’
‘But again, nothing illegal?’
‘No,’ says Pam. She looks as though she is starting to feel left out. ‘Apparently it’s just mug punters like you and me that pay full tax.’
Mandy leans back, thinking. ‘So we have our suspicions. With so much money flowing in from overseas, and the companies controlled in large part by unknown foreign interests, you can see why the authorities might assign someone like Tarquin to go undercover and check them out. But we still don’t have any hard evidence of what it was that he found.’
Zelda shakes her head. ‘No. It’s not exactly going to be filed away with the financial statements.’
Pam chimes in. ‘And you can also see, with so much money moving through, that Tarquin might have been tempted to pocket some.’
‘Possibly,’ says Mandy. ‘Or maybe he stumbled across someone else who was doing just that,’ she suggests. ‘They found out and it got him killed.’
The three women continue to speculate, but to Mandy it seems they’re going in widening circles, suspicion orbiting with nowhere to land. Eventually, Pam excuses herself, heading off to use the bathroom. With her gone, the remaining two lapse into silence.
‘You don’t like me, do you?’ Zelda says eventually.
‘No,’ says Mandy. ‘I already told you that.’
‘But you can trust me,’ says Zelda.
Mandy can’t help herself; she shakes her head, disdain evident. ‘Is that right?’
‘Because you know what I want.’
‘Money?’
‘That’s right. If Tarquin never stole any, then I want compensation.’
‘Are you sure it’s worth it? You saw what Livingstone did to your brother.’
At the mention of Derek, the hard-faced shield cracks a little, and Mandy can see the edge of emotion. Suddenly Zelda is talking with a low intensity. ‘You have no idea what it’s like, no idea—being unemployed, unable to practise, to have a police record, only able to get menial work. To look after a brother like Derek. You can’t even begin to understand, with your perfect partner and your perfect house and your perfect child.’ She spits the words out. ‘If I can’t have the life that Tarquin promised me, then at least I want my old one back.’
Mandy blinks; she can’t quite make Zelda out. The brassy go-getter has been replaced by a woman of compassion. ‘The last time I saw you, you were still convinced the money existed. Enough to kidnap me. I can’t see why you’ve done a one-eighty-degree turn.’
‘You,’ says Zelda.
‘Me?’
‘Don’t you see? I thought Tarquin was a lawyer who stole ten million dollars and skipped the country. We all did. For five years I thought that, and the known facts supported it. But then the facts started changing. Fact one: he was dead the whole time. Fact two: he was an undercover cop, investigating Mollisons. Fact three: he was married. Fact four: he didn’t tell you about the millions. So I reckon there never was any money. He sized you up and he sized me up and he pretty quickly worked us out, how he could manipulate us. I wanted the good life, you wanted a knight in shining armour; I wanted money and you wanted love. So he gave us what we wanted, or at least the facsimile of it. Promised me millions, promised you marriage. And in return, we let him fuck us, even as we gave him the keys to the kingdom: access into Mollisons. Face it, Mandy: he screwed us good and proper.’
Mandy says nothing; there is nothing to say. Zelda’s words are sharp with truth and heavy with conviction, enough to excoriate, enough to penetrate, enough to wound. Tarquin had used them, nothing more. She had supplied Tarquin with the alpha-numeric keys, but she still has no idea what he used them for. Was it to collect incriminating evidence or to plunder millions? Either way, Claus Vandenbruk was right: the undercover cop Tarquin Molloy was every bit as amoral and every bit beyond the law as any ASIS spy.
They’re still sitting there in silence when Pam returns, as cheery and enthusiastic as ever, bouncing around like a dog in a graveyard. ‘God, it’s good to be back together, working like this,’ she says. ‘The old team.’
Later, outside, Mandy, Zelda
