15

WHILE THE REST of Australia watched the state funeral on TV, everyone in the Major Incident Room was glued to a computer screen, viewing several minutes of CCTV footage that had just gone up on PROMIS. The footage showed that, despite her denials, Janet Wilson had indeed opened Proctor’s file as she was bringing it up to Wright’s party.

Wilson hadn’t rifled through the file as such, but footage from the night showed her getting into a lift on the ground floor. The next shot was from inside the lift as the doors closed: as the lift ascended, she opened the lid of the file and had a lingering look inside; then, as the doors began to open at the first floor, Wilson quickly closed the file. A corridor camera caught her a few seconds later, scooting into the party. The footage finished with her handing the file to Proctor as he stood at the door to Wright’s office.

In the segment that followed, Wilson got a drink from the kitchen and returned to reception, where she chatted to various people. Ten minutes later, Proctor’s deputy, Penny Lomax, tapped her on the shoulder and the two of them moved into a short corridor and put their heads together for a few minutes.

In the final shots, Wilson returned to reception, and Lomax headed for the toilet. The minister’s private office and the staff toilets were the only areas of the office suite not covered by CCTV cameras. This raised the possibility that Lomax had called or texted someone to tell them what Wilson had seen in the file.

When I discussed the footage with McHenry, he was all for going up to the Hill and charging Wilson with obstruction. I advised against it. Yes, she knew things she hadn’t told us. In fact, she’d lied. But I didn’t see her as one of our killers. And given her nervous disposition, if we made a big show of arresting her, it might tip her over the edge and cruel our chances of getting anything from her.

McHenry heard me out, and then told me to handle it whatever way I wanted to — so long as I got to the bottom of it. That would mean hauling Lomax in again, too, I told him, to see what she and Wilson had talked about after Wilson delivered the file to Proctor. And, more importantly, I wanted to know if Lomax had contacted anyone while she was in the toilets, after she’d chatted with Wilson.

‘That’s a lot to cover,’ said McHenry. ‘You’d better get on with it.’

An hour later, when she walked into the interview room, Wilson looked shaky — as though she knew something was up. When Smeaton told her we had new information about Proctor’s file, her jaw started to quiver.

‘W-w-what information?’ she said, her fingers splayed across her mouth.

‘It might have escaped your attention,’ said Smeaton, leaning across the table towards her, ‘but there are cameras all over Parliament House. So what do you suppose those cameras recorded when you were bringing Proctor’s file up to the party that night? Think about it — you and the file, in the lift, alone together.’

‘Okay, okay,’ she said, letting out a giant sigh, as though suddenly relieved. ‘I didn’t tell you the exact truth the other time. But you already know that. Well, okay. I did look in the file, but I didn’t take anything from it. But you know that, too. And the thing with the file is, I didn’t really see what was in it. Just some documents, that’s all.’

‘How many documents?’ said Smeaton.

‘There were five of them.’

‘And what can you tell us about them?’

‘Nothing, really. They were in those heavy plastic covers you can’t see through.’

‘The opaque ones?’ said Smeaton.

‘Yes, that’s right. They were opaque.’

‘What about one of these?’ Smeaton said, sliding a micro-cassette across the table towards her. ‘Did you see one of these in there, too?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said, looking like she was going to crack up. ‘Yes, there was one of them in there, too.’

‘So, you remember the cassette now, do you? Well, go on then. Tell us about it.’

‘There’s nothing to tell, really. It was just like that one. Except the one in the file had a word written on it.’

‘And what word was that?

‘It just said “Mondrian”.’

Smeaton and I exchanged a knowing glance. There it was again — Mondrian, the banker’s bank. So what, if anything, was recorded on the cassette in the file? Only God knew the answer to that one. And Proctor, if he was still alive.

We told Wilson she’d be charged if she held anything else back. Then I asked her what had made her open the file. She said it had been a rare opportunity, being alone with a dirt file like that, and she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. I asked if she’d told anyone else about what she’d seen in the file.

‘Only Penny,’ she said, wiping vainly at the tears streaming down her face. ‘Penny Lomax.’

‘Why her?’

‘Because she’s my boss, and I tell her everything. What I hear around the place — the goss and stuff.’

‘Do your efforts for her often involve sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong?’ said Smeaton. ‘Like poking around in secured files?’

‘No! That’s the first and last time ever. And, truly, it’s like I said. I never had the opportunity before.’

‘So how did Penny Lomax react when you told her what you saw?’

‘She was not happy. She told me it was the wrong thing to have done and that I’d be turfed out of the office if ever Mr Proctor found out about it.’

Thirty minutes later, when Penny Lomax walked into the interview room, she looked less than poised. As soon as she was seated, she said she had something she wanted to tell us. Then, in what sounded like a well-rehearsed statement, she said that on the night of the party, Wilson had opened up to her about having a peek inside Proctor’s file. Wilson had also told her about a cassette inside the file, she said. And that cassette had had the word ‘Mondrian’ written on its spine. She apologised for having failed to say anything about these things when we’d first interviewed her. These declarations were no surprise, really. Lomax would have known that we were talking to Wilson again, and she would also have known that Wilson was likely to buckle under pressure.

‘So why didn’t you say anything about this when we first spoke to you?’ said Smeaton, a disbelieving smile on his face.

‘I didn’t think it was important then,’ said Lomax, struggling to maintain her composure. ‘But thinking about it since, I now recognise it as something you’d want to know.’

‘So you didn’t think the word “Mondrian” on that cassette case would interest us?’

‘I’m sorry, but at the time I was thinking, like, Mondrian? It’s a bank — so what? But then I Googled it, and saw how it was linked with Mrs Wright in the past.’

‘I don’t believe you for a second. So why don’t we start again. And this time, I advise you to think carefully before you respond.’

Lomax dropped her head and ran her tongue over her lips. She looked up at Smeaton, and then swung a look my way. The usual hint of defiance was gone from her eyes. She was finally feeling some pressure.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘Yes, I should have said something. I was vaguely aware of the Mondrian thing. But it was so long ago, I didn’t see anything in it. And I was more focused on Janet. Alan would have sacked her if he’d found out, and I couldn’t let that happen. She’s my eyes and ears up there.’

Self-interest seemed a much more plausible explanation than ignorance, but Smeaton wanted to give her another push.

‘And when you had your little tête-à-tête with Wilson at the party,’ he said, ‘did you tell her to keep quiet about what she’d done?’

‘Well, sort of. But, not really. I mean, I was angry that she’d been poking around in things that weren’t her business. And I told her she’d jeopardised her job and that she should keep her mouth shut about what she’d done.’

‘And after you had a go at her, you went to the ladies’,’ I said. ‘Did you call or text anyone while you were in there?’

‘In the toilet?’ she said, screwing up her face at the suggestion. ‘No. Why would I do that?’

That was the question, but in the absence of a ready answer, my only option was to check her phone records to see if they contradicted her. I cautioned Lomax not to hold anything back in future, after which Smeaton saw her out.

Our final interview for the day was with Simon Rolfe, the last of the Early Leavers from Wright’s party. Rolfe owned the Blood Oath news blog, which, according to my old schoolmate Stevo, had a healthy subscriber base that gave it plenty of clout with big advertisers and the politicians.

When Rolfe entered the interview room, his clothes were the star of the show. Sure, he looked very fit for a man in his late forties, but it was his cream, double-breasted suit, and the white shirt and pink silk tie, that caught the eye. He even had a matching pink hankie sticking out of his breast pocket. He looked crisp, tanned, and freshly pressed. Maybe he was groomed for the interview.

He sat down on the other side of the table and carefully crossed his legs, protecting his creases as best he could. Then he looked us over with a mixture of impatience and world-weariness. Smeaton started off by asking him our stock question. Did he know anyone who might have had a reason to harm Susan Wright? Rolfe took the question as a cue for a speech.

‘I could say she was a saint and that everyone loved her,’ he said, chuckling at the thought. ‘But then, why’s she dead? Because someone found a compelling reason to kill her, of course. Was it hate? Who knows? Did she hurt someone so badly that they needed to kill her, or was it just a matter of convenience? Something purely practical? I don’t know. And, no, I don’t know anyone capable of killing Susan Wright.’

‘So how’d she get on with her colleagues?’ said Smeaton. ‘Especially the other members of cabinet?’

‘So it’s background you want, is it? Ahh well, she was one of three women in cabinet, and all of her male colleagues, including Lansdowne, were blokey blokes. Enough said, really. I mean, that should have been an automatic block on her ambitions. Except for the fact that she was a shining star in a firmament of black holes. And, of course, Lansdowne greased her path, though I’ve never understood why. So … Susan Wright. She was elegant. She had an intellect. Her judgment was mostly sound. Not everything she did was popular, but she was a good communicator, so the punters thought they understood her. And gender hardly featured when the gallery wrote her up. I guess no one wanted to kill the golden goose.’

‘You sound like a big fan, Mr Rolfe,’ I said.

‘Yes, a big fan. A lot of people had an interest in seeing her fail, but I wished her well. I mean, I’m not crying over her. Not like some of her cabinet colleagues. Boo hoo! Not! You see, they never saw her as crucial to their fortunes. To them, she was just another competitor. Another block in the road. Well, she would have got to the top ahead of all of them, had she lived. And it’s that sort of loss, detective. Because whoever killed Susan Wright deprived Australia of someone who would have been a great leader.’

‘You agree with Mr Lansdowne, then?’ I said.

‘About what?’ said Rolfe.

‘That Susan Wright would have been prime minister in a few years. Had she lived.’

‘When did he say that?’ he said, sliding forward in his chair, suddenly very focused on me.

And then it hit me. I hadn’t read anywhere about the prime minister anointing Susan Wright. Nor had I seen him say it on TV, or heard it on the radio. He’d said it to me.

‘I, I don’t know when,’ I said, looking for a way out. ‘I mean, it’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? So surely he said it.’

It was a pathetic attempt, and Rolfe knew that he had me. An involuntary shiver rumbled from my middle as I imagined the headline in his next blog.

‘So you’ve interviewed Lansdowne since Susan was found,’ he said, ‘And that’s when he told you these things?’

‘We … ahh. We … look, Mr Rolfe, we’ll ask the questions here, so let’s get on with it.’

‘You interviewed him,’ he said. ‘And he told you she’d be in the top job within a few years. Mmm. Not a complete dill then, is he?’

He spent a few moments weighing up what he had. Then he shook his head and gave me a sympathetic smile. I’d engineered lots of ‘gotcha’ moments in my time, but I’d never been the bunny in one. Until now.

Smeaton cleared his throat and looked at me inquiringly. What he saw told him I was in a hole. He just didn’t know how deep.

‘Can we move on to Wright’s party now,’ he said, taking control. ‘You were in reception most of the night, Mr Rolfe. Is that right?’

‘Yes, we can move on. And, yes, apart from visiting the little boys’ room, and top-ups, I was in reception the whole night. It’s the best place to be at one of those affairs. No one gets in without going past you. It’s the same when they leave. And if there’s nothing interesting happening, you can POQ yourself. But there were a few heavyweights in attendance — Susan, for one. So I hung around.’

‘And what did you get out of the party?’ said Smeaton. ‘I mean, did you hear anything, or make any particular observations?’

‘Now that is disappointing,’ said Rolfe. ‘And they say journalists are slack about research.’

‘I’ve read every edition of your blog since the minister disappeared,’ said Smeaton. ‘Now answer the question.’

‘You say you read my blog?’ he said. ‘Mmmm! Anyway. The party. Yes. I saw the contretemps between the minister and Proctor. No, I didn’t hear a word of what was said. And when Susan left, I didn’t see any point in hanging around. Proctor and I don’t get on, you see. And, anyway, he was pissed, judging by the way he staggered out of there. So I went home early, too, and indulged in that profound form of rest called sleep.’

‘Mrs Wright drove off the Hill using the Melbourne Avenue exit,’ said Smeaton. ‘Two minutes later, your Citroen came out of the Senate-side carpark and exited the same way.’

‘Yes,’ said Rolfe. ‘But she went back to her pokey little flat in Kingston, and I went home to Yarralumla. You’re not suggesting anything are you, detective?’

‘Not at all, Mr Rolfe. But do you, uh, “share” your house with anyone? Anyone who can confirm when you arrived home?’

‘No. I live alone. But I’ve got nosey neighbours who observe all the comings and goings on the street. So, if it’s really an issue, I can direct you to one of them.’

‘We might get you to do that,’ said Smeaton. ‘Now, finally, do you have any ideas about Alan Proctor’s disappearance?’

‘None whatsoever,’ said Rolfe. ‘I’ve barely exchanged a dozen words with Proctor in all the years we’ve both worked on the Hill, but I can say this about him: he’s a disgusting little man who does the prime minister’s dirty work. And we hate each other. He hates me for what I write about the government, and I hate him for the sycophant he is.’

And that was that. Smeaton saw Rolfe out, and I stayed seated in the interview room, ruing what I’d let slip about the prime minister. If Rolfe did get a story out of it, and I was sure he would, it would not only end my chances of being in on the Lansdowne interview, it might also get me kicked off the case. The thought of this filled me with dread. What a careless dickhead I’d been. My life was becoming a series of stumbles and near misses. If I didn’t watch it, I might stuff up in a really major way.