‘Shit. Don’t do that. You scared me,’ he says.
She rubs her wrists. ‘You hurt me.’
Immediately he is apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was you. I’m a bit on edge.’
Contrition washes over her. ‘Sorry. It was stupid of me.’
‘Never mind.’
‘I was just glad to see you.’
‘And me you.’
They find a quiet corner over by the window, sitting by a small, up-ended cylinder, covered in cloth, a cross between a table and an ottoman.
‘Did you watch the video I sent you? What do you think?’ Mandy asks.
‘The video? Not yet. Let me see.’ He pulls out his phone, opens the attachment, watches it as she leans close. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘What am I looking at? Is that time stamp accurate?’
‘It is. Most likely that’s the last time Tarquin Molloy was seen alive. It shows him on the trading floor of Mollisons, downloading data onto a flash drive. Then, as he gets into the lift, he’s joined by Henry Livingstone.’
‘Livingstone?’
‘Killer and standover man.’
‘What?’ He appears shocked, scrolling through to watch it again. ‘Jesus. The guy who found you, when you were abducted?’ ‘Same guy. Always dressed to the nines, wears antique suits, oils his hair with something called California Poppy.’
Martin’s eyes are still on the screen. ‘And by the sound of it, the same guy who trashed my apartment.’ He looks up, mind working. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘An old work colleague. Security camera footage.’
‘Jesus. Montifore needs to see this.’
‘I know. I wanted to show you first.’
‘Thanks, but I can’t do anything with it before we give it to the police. It’s evidence in a murder investigation. We don’t want to get charged with withholding evidence or perverting the course of justice.’
Mandy smiles. ‘Of course not. But I promised not to involve my old colleague. I’ll have to claim I got it anonymously.’
‘You’re going to tell Montifore that?’
‘Don’t look at me that way. You’re the one who’s always banging on about protecting your sources.’
He gives her a puzzled look. ‘If you have to. I guess it’s what’s in the video that’s important, not who gave it to you.’ He smiles. ‘And I guess if Montifore is after him, then Livingstone isn’t going to be bothering us.’
‘Exactly. Maybe you could give it to him for me? I’m not sure I want to see him again. Not without Winifred.’
But Martin doesn’t accede. She recognises the look on his face: he wants to ask a question; he’s just deciding how best to frame it. When it comes, his tone is conciliatory. ‘What is it, Mandy? What’s the problem?’
‘I told you. I don’t want to get my colleague into trouble.’ It’s the truth, or a variation of it. She can’t reveal her dealings with the Turtle, not to the police and not to Martin. The thought of him knowing about the sex tapes, the Turtle’s nuclear option, fills her with dread.
‘I don’t think I can,’ says Martin. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Okay. I understand,’ she says, deciding to move on. ‘I’ve been talking to some of the other people I used to work with. My old boss, Pam Risoli, gave me this.’ She unfolds the pieces of paper with the diagram of the structure of Mollisons and its sister companies, Diamond Square and Large Sky. She sees Martin’s initial confusion, then his widening eyes as he realises what he’s looking at.
‘Holy shit,’ he whispers. The video is forgotten.
She takes satisfaction in explaining it to him, pointing out the cross-ownership, the board memberships.
Martin stabs his finger at the paper. ‘These two names. Atticus Pons, senior partner at Phipps, member of all three boards. And over here, George Giopolis, property developer, member of the Large Sky board.’
‘What about them?’
‘They mean nothing to you?’
‘No. Why would they?’
‘Last year, in Port Silver. Montifore threw them into an interview he was conducting with you. You remember?’
She shakes her head, frowns. ‘I do remember a strange interview. He was bouncing all over the place, throwing in names I didn’t recognise.’
‘Winifred took notes. Pons and Giopolis. Any idea how they’re connected?’
‘Other than this?’ she indicates the diagram. ‘None. You?’
‘No.’
Their focus returns to the diagram, voicing theories, exploring the possibilities of money laundering, speculating about what it was that Molloy had found. She sees it then, experiences it: the thrill of the story, like she’s an explorer entering an unknown world, the first outsider to set eyes on a new civilisation, already preparing a report to the Royal Geographic Society. For the first time she’s seeing Martin’s world from the inside, the reporter on the scent of a big story. And she feels it too, the euphoria. She feels the intoxication and she feels the power. The power to push back, to expose the past instead of letting it hunt her down. She and Martin, fighting back. She starts to laugh with exhilaration. ‘This is sensational.’
He laughs as well. ‘It certainly is.’
‘So where do we go from here?’
‘You need to see Montifore. Give him the video. I’ve got a few leads to chase down. Nothing to do with Molloy—people who might know why Max and Elizabeth Torbett were killed.’ He recounts his meeting with Sir Talbot, explains the existence of the Mess, how Max and Elizabeth were investigating
