‘She says she didn’t.’
‘Is there anything else she hasn’t told us?’
‘At this stage, I don’t know,’ Grace said. ‘I do have some questions for you if you can answer them. You went and picked her up at Parramatta Police Station. Didn’t she want to go back to her flat?’
‘She said she wasn’t working at that place any more and she wanted to come home. That was it. I could mind my own business after that. You should have seen her at the police station. She was standing there in these clothes. She looked like a-It’s a part to her, you know? Nothing else.’
‘Do you and your wife live here, Duncan?’
‘No, we’ve got a house at Campbelltown.’
‘One last question. Are any members of your family dual citizens?’
‘All of us, my wife included and she’s Australian. Mum and Dad are from Hong Kong. He goes back there on business a couple of times a year.’
‘When’s he coming back?’
‘Tomorrow. He’s probably the best person to talk to Narelle.’
‘The number I gave you,’ Grace said. ‘If you think of anything, if you’re worried about anything, it doesn’t matter how trivial, ring it and ask for me by my first name.’
‘There’s something going on here. Narelle’s putting us all in danger, isn’t she?’
‘No, this is just a precaution. It’s also imperative that you keep this information within this house. This is an ongoing inquiry and confidentiality is very important.’
‘More important than we are? Yeah, I bet it is. I’ll see you out.’
Grace’s next port of call was a service station on the Hume Highway. In southwest Sydney, ever since the opening of the M5 motorway had diverted the traffic, certain parts of the highway’s surrounds had taken on a run- down look. Worn buildings and struggling businesses lined the road that had once been the main corridor for southern-bound traffic out of the city. Now the traffic had a local feel: intermittent cars and aging trucks farting black smoke. The grass on the nature strips was worn thin with occasional trees struggling through the drought. At least it was quieter.
Next to the service station was a motel offering cut-price accommodation. Grace parked her car out of the way and went into the motel. The receptionist directed her to a room just down the hallway. Borghini and Clive were waiting for her inside. When she walked in, Borghini got to his feet and held out his hand to shake.
‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You were impressive.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied.
Clive remained seated; he was staring at her with a distant, almost absent-minded look.
‘Why did you tell that girl’s family they might be in danger?’
‘Because they may well be and they have a right to know. They’re not stupid. They could put it together themselves.’
‘You were in role. You’re a blackmailer who doesn’t care who lives or dies so long as you get what you want. You’re not supposed to be concerned for anyone’s welfare.’
‘In that case,’ Grace replied, ‘that’s how I’m covering my tracks. I’m making myself appear to be something I’m not.’
‘You may see it that way. Our targets may not. It’s not just their safety. It’s yours.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Borghini watching them intently.
‘Since this is your operation,’ he asked, ‘are these people under guard?’
‘Twenty-four-seven,’ Clive replied. ‘As Grace is well aware.’
‘Then they’re not mushrooms any more, are they?’ Borghini came back.
Clive gave Borghini a needle-like glance. Probably that comment would go in his notes.
‘Apart from that,’ he said to Grace, ‘you did it well. There was some valuable information there, we have a hook to the boyfriend. There’s a long afternoon ahead. Better eat something.’
There was food waiting on the table. She sat down, suddenly ravenously hungry and needing to shake her character out of her head. Clive sat down as well but didn’t eat. It was unusual for him to praise anyone; the effect was almost as disturbing as his needling.
‘Here’s some information for you to read over before we go visiting,’ Borghini said.
He handed her a brief report on the guard and the driver who had been rostered on when Jirawan had supposedly escaped. Both had police records. The guard, Sophie Jovanov, and her husband had been involved in an insurance scam six years ago, resulting in him serving an eighteen-month gaol term while she had received a good behaviour bond. The driver, Arleen McKenzie, was a former ice addict with a record for theft and possession and who had once been convicted of malicious bodily harm.
‘Who hired them to work at Villawood?’ Grace asked.
‘We’re checking. Everything there is outsourced, including the transport. Their employer was a firm called Australian Secure Transport,’ Borghini said. ‘They signed their statements and got their marching orders at the same time.’
‘We’ve asked for their financial records but it’s hard to believe whoever is behind this would leave any obvious footprint,’ Clive said. ‘Their backgrounds mean they’ll have limited credibility regardless of what they say.’
‘Are you sure you’re ready for another interview this afternoon?’ Borghini asked Grace. ‘Is your head in the right place?’
‘Yeah, I can deal with it.’
She had been rolling her shoulders to relax some tension. There was too little time between these interviews. But the timeline Clive had put in place, the forty-eight hours she had given Narelle, left them with no choice. She glanced at him; he was staring at her, that same distant look on his face. It was disturbing enough for her to look away.
‘Now you’ve both finished eating, here’s something else for you to look at,’ Clive said. ‘Our IT people broke into Kidd’s computer. He liked to take pictures of himself with the children from the orphanage. Not a smart thing to do for a man with his sexual tastes.’
Grace looked through the photographs quickly and handed them to Borghini. Once she would have been able to deal with this, her mind would have been focused on tracking down the people responsible. Now she could barely look at these pictures. The thought of the children brought her too close to her daughter. There were things she couldn’t bear to have in her mind.
‘Can’t you cope with this?’ Clive asked. He was still watching her.
‘I’ve seen as much of them as I need to.’
He was about to say something else then stopped.
‘He’s a piece of shit, isn’t he?’ Borghini said evenly, handing them back.
‘He’s useful to us.’ Clive’s reply was matter-of-fact. ‘When you talk to him, Grace, you don’t want money. You want in on his scam. See if you can find out who’s bleeding him.’
‘How did I get hold of that information in the first place?’ she asked. ‘Could I have got it from the people who are blackmailing him?’
‘That’s a dangerous approach. We don’t know who these people are or how likely that is. I think you’ll have to keep him guessing. If you have to, you got these through your work, but again you’re sitting on them for your own personal gain. Tell Kidd it’s your decision how these pictures get used. If you choose to, you can turn him into an informant and protect him that way. That should be enough of a hook to get him onside. Right now, you’d both better get to your afternoon appointment.’
‘Will it be on these women’s minds that they sent a young woman to her death?’ Grace asked, almost to herself.
Borghini was getting to his feet. ‘I’m feeling privileged, mate,’ he said sarcastically to Clive. ‘You’re letting me do something.’
Clive seemed to start a little. He said nothing, but in Grace’s experience he wouldn’t forget the comment. She and Borghini left, each taking their own car. The next act was about to begin.
