Liam Hepworth had two adult children from his first marriage. Callum had spent most of his life flitting between jobs but now at thirty six, he was a salaried Operations Manager for his father’s business.
‘What exactly does that entail?’ Dan asked.
Stacey Burns put her coffee cup down and sat back. ‘He looks after logistical matters,’ she said, ‘making sure things get to where they’re supposed to go on time, things like that.’ She gave a slight sniff. ‘He deals with truck drivers and warehouse people, all that end of the business.’
Dan noted her inference. ‘So he must be good at what he does,’ he said. ‘A business like this must rely on its reputation.’
Stacey considered the question for a moment. ‘They have a good team,’ she replied evenly.
‘Uh-huh.’ Dan made a note on his pad. ‘And the other child? A daughter?’
‘Carmel. She’s lovely.’ Stacey gave a smile of genuine happiness, and it lit up her face. Dan could see what attracted men to her. ‘She’s thirty three, married, two kids. They’re adorable.’ Her eyes flicked up to Dan’s face and she went serious again. ‘There is no way Carmel’s involved in this at all. She’s such a little sweetheart, she’d never hurt a fly. No, if you want to look at somebody inside the family-and I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, but if you do-then Callum’s your man.’
‘Not a nice guy?’
Again Stacey considered her answer carefully before speaking. ‘He has a certain edge to him. He’s been around.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s one of those guys who stumbles through life without ever really going under but never making anything of himself either.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘Aren’t I terrible, slating him like this?’
Dan shrugged non-committedly. ‘Trouble with the law?’
‘Maybe, I’m not sure. I’ve never been told that. I know Liam has paid off creditors for him.’
‘Not a money man then.’
‘Not at all. If he didn’t have his father propping him up, he and Karen would be living a very different lifestyle.’ She couldn’t hide the disdain in her voice. ‘They live in Mission Bay and drive his and hers Porsches. All paid for by Liam, of course.’
Dan nodded, noting that down too. Mike listened silently from his desk. Molly was tapping away at her own desk, but Dan knew she was taking it all in. In fact, she was probably running background checks on the offspring as they spoke.
‘What does Carmel do?’ he asked.
‘Raises beautiful babies,’ Stacey smiled. ‘Her husband Tony is an IT guy of some sort, makes squillions of dollars. They ski in winter and holiday in Fiji. They’re just lovely people.’
‘Daddy’s little girl?’
She looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Again he shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just guessing-the brother’s a rat bag, causing his father headaches. The daughter doesn’t, in fact seems the complete opposite of her brother. Stands to reason.’
Stacey Burns absorbed that and paused, before smiling again. It was a hell of a smile and she was a hell of an attractive woman, but it was too late. Dan had seen the leather behind the lace, and looking at her now, she knew he’d seen it. He mentally shrugged and put wound up the interview by getting the contact details for Callum and Carmel.
Stacey put her phone away and stood. Dan did likewise and they faced each other for a moment, each taking the measure of the other. Dan smiled affably and moved towards the door.
He waited while Stacey made a payment transaction with Molly then opened the door for her. They said their farewells and he noticed that she paused at the door to look back at Mike and give a coy smile before leaving.
He shut the door behind her and looked at his wife. They didn’t need to say anything.
Molly passed him a couple of printed pages. ‘Carmel checks out. She and her husband Tony are exactly how she described them. Based in Queenstown and living the dream.’
‘And brother Callum?’
‘Huh. Again, how she described him, but worse.’ She handed him a sheaf of papers from the printer.
Callum Hepworth had one of the worst credit ratings Dan had ever seen, with debts to almost every lending institution and major retailer in the country.
Dan glanced from the papers to his partner. ‘Looks like we’ve got a place to start,’ he said.
The neighbourhood was one that favoured understated wealth. The properties were well maintained and the cars expensive but not gaudy. The gardens were low maintenance and heavy on succulents.
Then there was the Hepworths’ house. Stacey Burns had been right about the his and hers Porsches driven by Callum and Karen Hepworth. Identical 911 Carreras stood in the driveway of the Mission Bay home.
What she had neglected to mention was that they were both an electric lime green. It made Mike cringe to look at them. That such fine automobiles could be desecrated so badly made him feel ill. If he’d vomited on the cars they couldn’t have looked any worse.
As he watched from a vantage point down the road, he wondered how people like the Hepworths even existed. Everything Mike had to his name he had worked hard for. He had scrimped and saved and worked two jobs and kept on going until he reached his goal. Then he set himself a new goal and started all over again. It was the only way he knew. Yet somehow people like Callum Hepworth meandered through life, lurching from disaster to disaster, always with someone there to bail them out. Never knowing the true meaning of earning and hard work and integrity. Mike didn’t get it.
He shrugged to himself. They were charging Stacey Burns $150 an hour to spy on her family, so he figured he didn’t really need to get it. He shifted in the seat of the Subaru. Surveillance required infinite patience, but it was well paid patience.
Finally he saw the front door of the Hepworths’ house open and a security light came on, revealing a woman hurrying to one of the Porsches. Even with the compact binoculars Mike couldn’t make out her features, but he saw enough to recognise Karen Hepworth from her Facebook pictures.
She reversed at speed and hared down the road towards him, ringing it out before changing gears, flying by him and squealing out of the street. He heard something hip-hop with lots of bass booming from the lime green car as it went past.
Silence fell on the street again and he waited some more. Nothing stirred and after a while he decided to pack it in and head for home. Sarah had a few days off between flights and had text him earlier to say she’d bashed the plastic at her favourite lingerie store. He was keen to see what she’d bought.
He fired up the Subaru and was about to move off when the Hepworths’ front door opened again and he recognised Callum, heading for his own car. Mike waited until the Porsche reversed out to the road and headed the other way, before pulling out and following.
Callum Hepworth drove fast and loose and traffic was thin, but Mike was happy to hang back a good distance. He figured it was hard to lose a car the colour of a spearmint milkshake.
Lights sparkled on the harbour as they motored along Tamaki Drive, and within minutes the Porsche turned off and made its way down a side road towards Fort Street. The notorious red light district of downtown Auckland was always busy and tonight was no exception.
Mike slid to the kerb and watched Callum cross Fort St to a loading zone where he dropped the car. Callum trotted back across the road and was nowhere in sight when Mike reached the corner a few seconds later. He ambled along the footpath towards Queen St, glancing in all the windows as he went. The fourth premises was Wild Bill’s Saloon, with a steer’s skull and horns mounted over the door. A red neon sign in the front window advertised Bud.
On a hunch Mike ducked past the shaven-headed steroid junkie at the door and pushed through the Western-style swing doors.
The place was busy enough and Callum was at the bar, talking to a pair of thugs. Mike went to the bar and ordered a Heineken. A Confederate flag hung above the bar. The barman was wide and fat and had a curly mullet. The juke box on the back wall was pumping out Steve Earle.
He took his bottle to a leaner and saw Callum head to the back of the building with one of the guys. Mike saw a second steroid junkie manning a door there with a discreet sign beside it saying Private. Callum and the guy went through the door and Mike went back to his beer.
He played with his phone while he waited, texting Dan an update and then checking the sports news. In the half hour it took him to finish the Heinie he saw two punters go through the Private door. Both were rough looking white guys and the bouncer spoke to them both before they went through. A girl came out at one stage and spoke to the other guy Callum had been with at the bar. He passed her something discreetly and she went back through the door. Her skirt was really a belt and her top was really a handkerchief. She had stacked heels and at least two visible tats.
Mike noticed the guy at the bar was constantly on his phone, one thumb working overtime as he texted. The bar filled up some more and at least one other punter went to the guy for a score. Callum didn’t come back before Mike finished his beer, so he put his bottle down and left the bar.
Stacey Burns was waiting at a table in the Starbucks at St Luke’s when Mike arrived. She wore a cashmere scarf and a doleful expression.
‘It came first thing this morning,’ she said without further ado, sliding her cell phone across the table to him.
Mike read the text message on the screen.
8 2nite @ da domain. No copz. No trikz.
He took a photo of it on his own phone then slid it back to her.
‘There’s more,’ she said. She tapped at her phone before holding it out to him again.
This time the screen showed a photo of Stacey on stage, clad only in a red bikini that appeared to be made from shoelaces. Her hair was big and she looked much younger. Coloured strobes lit the background and she was swinging from a pole with one hand. Mike could see at least a couple of notes tucked into her waistband.
He swallowed hard and felt himself flush as he snapped a photo of it too. ‘Evidence,’ he said self-consciously.
Stacey nodded and put the phone away. ‘That was a promo shot they used at the club,’ she said.
Mike nodded. Whoever it was had done their homework. ‘What d’you want to do?’ he asked.
Her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes glistened. ‘I don’t know,’ she said softly. ‘I think I should pay them.’
‘They probably won’t go away,’ he said.
Stacey shook her head and stared at the table top, her hands knotting into fists.
‘Then what the hell am I supposed to do?’ she choked, the tears coming now. ‘I can’t live like this. That was a different life and I put it all behind me. It was a mistake and all I want is to get on with my life. I’m not that stupid kid anymore.’
Mike reached across the table and closed his hand over hers. She looked up at him with moist blue eyes so clear he wanted to dive into them. Her mascara was bleeding and a solitary tear was dribbling down her left cheek. He wanted to wipe it away but didn’t. He squeezed her hand instead.
‘It’s okay,’ he said softly, ‘I’ll get it sorted out. It’ll be okay.’
He gave her a reassuring nod and was pleased to see a small smile in return.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice soft and breathy.
A flock of butterflies played scrag in Mike’s chest.
‘It’s okay,’ he said with a shrug and what he hoped was a rakish grin, ‘it’s what I do.’
Stacey Burns gently withdrew her hand and sat back. She watched him as he stood and went to the counter to order. He was a fine looking man; rugged, a man’s man.
He would do nicely, she decided.