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True to her word, Aunty emailed me the passenger flight records for all fifty-five flights out of Sydney over the three-day time period, Friday, March 15 to Sunday, March 17. I trawled through each one, starting with the earliest flights Tamsin could have taken at 9:20 PM and 11:00 PM Friday, and found no match. I moved onto the earliest morning flights on Saturday and found Anastasia Morrison on the 6:15 AM Qantas flight QF 411, arriving in Cairns Domestic airport 11:45 AM.
I needed to eradicate both coincidence and chance, as Morrison was a relatively common name, and checked the passenger list in its entirety. Only twenty-six people were on the flight. That brought the chance that another Anastasia Morrison just happened to have flown to Cairns down to near impossible.
I texted Aunty:
I could kiss you.
I didn’t get a response straight away, so I turned off my phone and booted up my laptop as a strong easterly beat against my kitchen window. Hard lashing rain soon followed, and because I’d missed breakfast, I sliced some brie, pulled down a packet of salt crackers from the pantry, and pulled out a small jar of bread and butter pickles from the fridge, to help with the real gumshoe work.
I printed all the notes I’d compiled for the case, including the timeline. The fact Tamsin escaped whatever hold her father had over her showed her desire to detach herself from his money and its associated trappings. The money from the cheque would only take her so far, depending on how much she cashed. Even if Tamsin managed to deposit a certain amount of money into her account, granted there were sufficient funds to cover it, her practical nature may have reined in the amount she wrote on the cheque—enough to start over, but not an amount that was ridiculous or drew too much attention to her. Whoever looked after Lyons’ accounts must have noticed a large transfer within the last two weeks. In spite of Evelyn’s link to the unpublished manuscript, I had no way of knowing if she also managed Lyons’ money. It meant confronting Evelyn, and I didn’t have the time nor the inclination to follow up on that.
Everyone at the university had said Tamsin lived in the gym, and one of the tutors mentioned she was considering changing her major from Veterinary Science to Physical Ed. Heather seemed to be similarly minded, appearing fit and in shape. There appeared to be a strong connection between the two women, and Ari Malouf mentioned Tamsin’s predilection for bringing another woman with her to entertain him.
Bev talked about Heather’s desire to return to Port Douglas, and the CCTV images Ivers presented depicted Tamsin hauling a large suitcase. If Tamsin had a strong connection to Heather, perhaps she planned on running away with her, and if they were to run away, it would more than likely be to Port Douglas.
What would she do there when the money ran out?
Tamsin’s prior jobs said a lot about her. The waitressing gigs at cafes in Glebe demonstrated a humble spirit, unconcerned about being one with the people, minus any airs and graces that may have sprung up around her being the daughter of a wealthy media mogul.
I Googled Port Douglas and looked at the various businesses in the area. Tropical north Queensland experienced a large influx of tourists at various times of the year, with numerous hotels operating at full capacity, offering sight-seeing tours of the Great Barrier Reef. No doubt restaurants and cafes saw a roaring trade. Five gyms also operated in the area.
I gleaned phone numbers of all the cafes, restaurants, gyms, and hotels, and set to calling them one by one. After knockbacks from forty hotels and cafes, I moved onto a gym called Bull’s Gym, located half a kilometer south of town, and asked if I could book a personal training session with the new girl. I gave them a brief physical description of Tamsin.
‘Sounds like Anastasia,’ said the girl on the other end of the line. ‘She only started last week. Let me check her schedule for you.’
I hung up and called Reggie’s mobile.
‘Cash and Hendrix, you’re speaking to Reggie Cash.’
‘Reggie, its Matt. I think I’ve got a hit.’
After a pause, Reggie said, ‘You’ve found her? Already?’
‘Don’t sound so excited.’
‘No, I’m good. Excellent work. Well done.’
‘She’s alive and well in Port Douglas.’
‘Did you talk to her?’
‘No, but I can attest she’s working as a part-time personal trainer at a place called Bull’s Gym. I’ll get onto Detective Inspector Ivers, so he can do what he has to do.’
‘Sounds hunky dory. Funny you called, as I also have good news. I had the injunction lifted from Heather’s book. Capital Letter will publish it, and it should hit the stands within a fortnight.’
‘Great work, Reggie. Any chance of getting a copy of the manuscript beforehand?’
‘Way ahead of you. I got one of the production managers to email a copy to this very office.’
‘Any chance you could you forward it to me?’
‘Shall do.’
‘Is there any leg for Lyons Media or Capital Letter to sue us?’
‘Not at all. Best they could do at that stage would be to ruin our reputations and drag our names through the mud.’
‘That’s all? Nothing too serious then.’
‘Not at all. Oh, speaking of Lyons Media, did you get a call from Antoine Lexington today?’
‘No, I’ve been busy out-calling. Who is he?’
‘Lyons’ lawyer. Wants you to meet him ASAP.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘Didn’t say. They’d be pissed about the injunction being lifted.’
‘Should I go in alone?’
‘It’d be stupid not to go. Tell you what: show up as a sign of good faith, if nothing else. It might smooth things out a little and keep us in the good books. You don’t have to say anything. Smells like a preliminary scoping job.’
He gave me the number and hung up. When I called it, Lexington answered immediately.
‘Kowalski here. Any chance we can meet this afternoon at St. Vincent’s by three?’
‘I’m on the south coast at the moment.’
‘Don’t take the Hume. Take the M5. Cuts twenty minutes off your drive time.’
It didn’t. It cut three minutes on a good day, but I didn’t tell him that.
‘I can’t make any promises,’ he said.
‘Good man. See you then.’
***
My voicemail alert went off as I traversed the hospital corridors to Lyon’s ward, and I swiped the red arrows to listen to it later. Three men in expensive suits occupied three seats by Lyons’ bed. There wasn’t a spare seat, so I stood awkwardly by the doorway.
The suit in the middle stood rigidly and came at me with a hand stuck out and bleached teeth exposed. ‘Mr. Kowalski? Lexie from Mallory Lexington. Pleasure.’
We shook.
He squeezed too hard and held on for too long. ‘Thank you for coming on such short notice. I hope the traffic was kind to you?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘We’ve called you here to discuss something of importance. Would you prefer to have legal representation present?’
I considered calling Reggie but let it go. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Fire away.’
‘My client has raised a matter of concern in relation to your conduct. The reason we’ve called you here, and thank you for taking the time to travel in such horrible weather, is that Mr. Lyons has some concerns in relation to expenditure. It’s come to his attention that you’ve been frequenting a brothel in Surry Hills, as well as a strip club in York Street. Is there any particular reason why your investigation into Mr. Lyons’ missing daughter has led you to such places of ill repute?’
I stared at Lexie with as much neutrality as I could muster. I failed, because he coughed and glanced uncomfortably in Lyons’ direction.
I said, ‘My expenses relate to the case file, which remains in confidence between my client and myself, pending the investigation’s outcome.’
‘I was hoping you’d volunteer the information as a gesture of goodwill. You know, to prevent any potential litigation.’
I looked at Lyons. ‘I didn’t realise our relationship had gone awry.’
Lyons stared at the foot of his bed like a petulant child.
I searched for big words or a witty remark, but came up dry.
Lexie took a big breath. ‘My client is willing to ignore your dalliance with prostitutes, and the like, if you were willing to impart some knowledge.’
Jesus Christ, this guy doesn’t know the meaning of confidential or tact.
‘What kind of knowledge?’
‘The current location of Tamsin Lyons. Surely you’ve made progress?’
I crossed my arms and gave him the Kowalski stare. ‘Goodwill doesn’t extend to an ambush in a hospital, and if any of you gentlemen had done your research, you’d know Mr. Lyons’ associate, Evelyn Turner, signed the contract, of which I agreed to waive the retainer. So, any expenses I’ve accrued are cash based, and will be itemised in my case file once provided to Ms. Turner. You’re going to have to talk to my representative, Reggie Cash of Cash and Hendrix.’
I gave Lyons another look, walked out, and checked my voicemail.
‘You could kiss me, but what’s the frickin’ point?’ Aunty’s voice said down the line. ‘If I ever need to kill an ex, I’ll come to you. I’ll take the twenty percent when you find her and wrap it up. I prefer cash. Text me. Ciao.’
That evening, I opened a bottle of the expensive red from a sealed box in the lounge room, and watched a documentary on Netflix, when my phone rang.
‘Matthew! Hello? It’s Brenda.’
‘Uh, Mrs. Cash. Hi. Are you okay?’
‘Mathew, please.... Is my Reggie with you?’
‘No, why?’
‘I’ve tried his mobile and his office number, but he’s not answering. Can you try? Maybe he’s ignoring me. Please, Matt, can you see him? Maybe he’s angry. He gets into a mood sometimes. Just, please, if you see him or ring him, tell him to text me, or you can call me?’
‘Okay, no problem. I’ll see what I can do.’
When I hung up, there was a text from Reggie I hadn’t noticed. It said:
They know.
I tried his mobile and work numbers with no luck. I also sent a text and an email, and got no response, so I locked up and drove down to the office.
There were no signs of life from the outside. Reggie’s BMW sat alone in the car park. I pushed the key in, and the lock spun a full three-sixty with no discernible click. The door opened with a nudge. Reggie had never left the office unlocked in the three years I’d known him.
Inside, an ear-piercing silence permeated the space. I turned the lights on and waited as the fluorescent’s flickered into life and hummed. An empty water bottle lay on its side in the walk space between Reggie’s office and a row of empty offices to the right. Red spatter marks dripped down the side of the bottle.
I crossed the open space as quietly as I could, with my ears preened.
Nothing stirred.
I stepped into Reggie’s office.
He lay motionless on the carpet next to his desk, his face streaked with blood. The bottom three buttons of his business shirt had come undone, and his belly lay pale and exposed. The last three fingers of his left hand skewed at an angle.
I knelt next to him and checked his vitals. He breathed slow and shallow, and his pulse felt faint. I bent his top leg at a right angle to his hip, called an ambulance, and put his head back so his airway stayed open.
Then I called Brenda.
