Later, when Jenny goes to bed, Harry tells her he has to go out for a while. ‘Will you be okay?’
‘Of course.’ She reaches down to Felecia lying on the floor at her side. ‘But you be careful.’
‘Always.’
He heads to the Mayfield bungalow. It is Friday night, and Harry hopes that McGilvray will be occupied elsewhere. He leaves his car a block away and walks into the quiet backstreet where the house stands shoulder to shoulder with its matching neighbours. There is no one about. Only a few windows showing lights, McGilvray’s in total darkness. Harry steps quickly onto the path running down to the back.
The glass sliding door has been repaired. Harry takes a small tool from his pocket and works the lock for a moment. The door slides open and he is met with a heavy smell of stale marijuana and old pizza. It’s clear the housekeeping’s taken a slide since McGilvray’s wife moved out. Clothes, pizza boxes and dirty dishes are scattered everywhere.
Harry begins to go through drawers using a narrow-beam torch. He comes across documents belonging to the wife, including her degree certificate and photographs of her younger self, coy alongside her parents and sister. It is hard to reconcile them with the framed photograph on the wall above. The two McGilvrays in bikini and Speedos, displaying their multicoloured bodies for the camera. She looks unhappy and alarming at the same time, with black and red hair and green eyes.
In another drawer, filled with men’s socks and underwear, his hand touches something hard buried at the back, and he pulls out a mobile phone. He turns it on and checks its contents. There are no numbers listed under ‘contacts’, and only one, repeated several times, under ‘recent calls’. It’s listed as ‘unknown’. Harry takes a note of the number and replaces the phone.
There are two wardrobes of women’s clothes and one of men’s, including safety jackets with the large letters NRL on the back and a safety helmet with the same logo. In a desk drawer are letters and forms relating to his employment at the Wattle Gully Mine at Singleton in the Hunter Valley.
There is a laptop computer on the desk. Harry lifts its lid and hits the return bar and its screen comes to life. He becomes very still, looking at the picture of himself and Jenny. The link is to the New South Wales police site. A report of a function where he received the Commissioner’s Commendation. He is dressed in uniform, wearing his medal, and Jenny is at his side smiling, full of life. It was four years ago, and she could see.
A woman’s shriek. ‘Hey, what are you doing?’
Harry closes the laptop and switches off his torch. The front door slams and the woman cries, ‘Keep your hands to yourself!’ then shrieks again, this time with laughter.
Harry gets to his feet and lets himself out through the sliding door and locks it. As he steps off the deck and into the shadows, light floods out onto the boards behind him.
When he gets home he finds Jenny sitting at the computer in her dressing-gown, the dog at her side.
‘His mum,’ she says. ‘He calls her every Sunday on that landline. And there are regular calls to the wife’s parents and sister, their landlord, his work number and a few other everyday numbers—a telco, Domino’s pizzas, Dee-Dee’s tattoo studio, a nail bar. I haven’t found anything incriminating, Harry.’
‘Okay.’ He goes to her side and looks at the screen. ‘Thanks. I’ve got another number for you to try, his mobile.’
She frowns. ‘How did you get hold of that?’
‘It was hidden in his sock drawer. Presumably he’s got another one he carries around. And there was a recent call to a blocked number.’ He gives her the number and strokes her hair. ‘Not tonight, though, it’s late.’