22

When, in the morning, the phone rang next to Grace’s bed, she hoped it was Harrigan.

Instead, the whispered voice was one she had first heard only a few days ago.

‘Grace,’ Daniel Brinsmead said. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

‘No,’ she said, sitting up in bed and glancing at the clock. It was 11 a.m. ‘How are you?’

‘I wondered if you had any spare time this afternoon. I wanted to talk to you about something.’

‘What?’

‘The police have released a sketch to the media, someone who’s implicated in kidnapping the commander’s son. I’m ringing you because I know him.’

‘You should call the police and talk to them,’ Grace said. ‘If you know where to find him, you have to tell them that immediately.’

‘I haven’t seen him for a number of years. I have a history relating to him. He’s responsible for the way I look now. This is more about my past than your companion’s son.’

‘You should still talk to the police.’

‘I would talk to the commander, but he must have other things on his mind right now and I wondered if you might be prepared to be a bridge between us. This is a personal story. Would you be prepared to come and see me? I don’t usually go out except to go to work so that means coming to where I live. It’s close to the city. I promise you, you’ll be completely safe. I’m not in a position to hurt a fly.’

When the phone rang, Grace had been lying in bed thinking that what she most wanted was for Harrigan to be here with her and for them to make love. The way things were, maybe they never would again. She thought of the gun in her bottom drawer and then tried to think why Daniel Brinsmead might mean her harm. What reason could he have? She was in a mood to walk out on that tightrope once again. It would make her feel better.

‘If it’s important, I can come and talk to you.’ ‘I think it is,’ he said. ‘I should warn you, I’m not much of a housekeeper. But I can make us some coffee.’

‘It’ll be fine. We can just talk. When?’ ‘Early afternoon. I’ll give you the address.’

Grace’s taxi dropped her outside an older-style apartment building up on the hill overlooking Rushcutters Bay Park. The entrance was a wooden-framed double glass door next to a bank of mailboxes. She buzzed the intercom and waited.

‘Grace?’

‘Yes, I’m downstairs.’

‘I’m in the penthouse. I’ll buzz you in.’

An old lift hauled her up slowly to the roof. On stepping out of the iron cage, the view was spectacular. The penthouse took up the western side of the top floor and looked across the harbour in the direction of the heads. Grace stopped to look over the railings at the park below. Crowds of tiny people covered the grass on the summer’s day. Around them, the city was spread out as an interwoven and chaotic pattern. To the west and the north, high-rises studded the foreshore. The harbour glittered, the Rushcutters Bay marina was packed with pleasure craft.

Close by was a rooftop swimming pool, emptied out by the city’s water restrictions in the continuing drought. Dead pot plants lined the pool’s fence and the gate was locked with a closed sign hung on it. She walked past it to reach the penthouse’s front door. Despite the spectacular view and the bright sunlight, all its curtains were drawn. It was some moments after she had rung the bell that Daniel Brinsmead opened the door. The sight of his face still had the power to shock.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Grace. Thanks for coming. I’m afraid the place is a mess and it’s dark as well. I have difficulty with the light. Believe me, I’m not trying to frighten you.’

‘You’re not.’

Even if he had, her gun was within reach in her shoulder bag. Dressed as he was in a white shirt and trousers, there seemed to be no place where he could have concealed a weapon. Through the light fabric she could see that his torso and the full length of his left arm were covered in dressings. At the hem of his trousers, the bandages from another dressing on his left leg were also visible.

She walked inside. He shut the front door behind her but left it on the latch; she could walk out any time she wanted to. His feet were covered with white ankle socks, which also had a medical look, and he moved awkwardly. A short entranceway took them through to a spacious lounge room that was partially lit by a standard lamp casting a soft light. A high bar stood between this room and a kitchen where the blinds were also drawn and a dull overhead light was on. No one had cleaned up from the last meal and the dishes were piled beside the sink despite there being a dishwasher. To her left, the lounge opened onto a hallway, again partially dark. She saw a row of three closed doors, with a fourth at the end of the hall facing towards the lounge. The apartment was silent. The air was cool, almost chill.

‘I keep the air conditioning up very high, I find it more comfortable that way,’ he said. ‘I hope it’s not too cold. Please sit down. Would you like a drink? Tea? A soft drink?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

She sat in a damask armchair, taking it for its proximity to the entranceway and the front door. The penthouse had the look of a place that was no one’s home. Sometime ago it had been furnished for hire with an expensive if impersonal veneer, now grubby with use. Used cups and old newspapers had been left lying on any spare surface, including the floor. On the sofa was a pile of car magazines. A stained and empty wine glass and a mobile phone stood on the coffee table. An unfinished game of two-pack patience was laid out on a nearby table. Brinsmead sat on the sofa beside the car magazines, pushing them out of his way.

‘This must look bad,’ he said. ‘I seem to have reached a point in my life where nothing that’s external to me matters. I have a carer who comes in and dresses my left side. She does that in the bathroom and makes sure it’s clean. But outside of that, I don’t seem to care. Unfortunately I’m in pain a lot of the time. The question is whether it’s bearable or not.’

‘It’s very impressive that you should be running the LPS signature project under those circumstances.’

‘Running that project doesn’t weigh me down as you might think it could. The opposite: it helps. I have to occupy my mind.’

‘I read in your résumé you were in the army once. So was my father. He was a professional soldier. A brigadier.’

‘I was at Sandhurst. I didn’t last that long. I was very young and realised I wasn’t cut out for it. I had the idea that I was going to save the world. The army wasn’t the right place for that, I found out. Also I was very bad at taking orders. I went back to science. I have a doctorate from Durham University. I’ve worked in research institutes most of my working life, mainly in London.’

‘Very successfully,’ Grace said. ‘You said you knew the man who may have abducted Toby Harrigan. What can you tell me about him?’

‘Andreas du Plessis. Yes, I do know him.’

‘If you know his name, you should call the police.’

‘He won’t be using that name here. He’ll be using false papers. I don’t know what his present name will be or where he can be found. If I did, I would have called the police straightaway. It’s more likely they’ll find him using the drawing they have. It’s a very good likeness.’

‘How do you know him?’

Brinsmead seemed to smile in that ruined face. ‘I’m going to have to destroy all the good impressions you have of me,’ he said. ‘I’m not a good man. I’m a very flawed man. But before I do, do you want to tell me something about yourself? What you do, for example?’

She laughed a little. ‘There isn’t much to tell. I have a dull job.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I’m a public servant with the Attorney-General’s Department. I collate reports for the minister. It’s not very interesting.’

This description, as far as it went, was true. The reports were classified as top secret and dealt with issues of terrorism, gun running and terrorist financing but they were still reports. Grace worked mainly in intelligence analysis but also occasionally in the field on surveillance. It was nothing she could talk about, not even to Harrigan. If she had been asked why she did this work, she would have said it was to protect people.

‘You went from policing to something that was completely a desk job?’ Brinsmead said.

‘A lot of policing is paperwork. I have a background in law and criminology. I worked for the police because I wanted to have some practical experience.’

‘You make it sound very staid. But you don’t look staid.’

‘It’s just work. I was a singer once, in another life,’ she said. ‘I can sing but I wasn’t cut out to be a performer.’

‘Why not?’

‘You have to put yourself right out there when you perform and it’s always in front of strangers. I didn’t like doing that so I stopped.’

It was another simple sentence behind which lay a history of heartbreak and alcoholism and a worse memory: her old lover who, until recently, had stalked her; the man who had once raped her and given her the scar on her neck. She never spoke of these things, not even with her father and her brother, who were the only ones who knew the full story. She had hinted at the details with Harrigan but could go no further than that. She knew he had put at least some of the story together but had never tried to ask her any questions about it; she liked it that he hadn’t.

‘You wouldn’t be prepared to sing a few bars for me, just so I have an idea what your voice is like?’ Brinsmead said.

She laughed. ‘No, I don’t do that. Sorry.’

‘Another time maybe. I should get on with why I asked you here. There’s a fact we need to start with. I’m a gambler. It’s a fundamental aspect of who I am. I still gamble, although I don’t do it at the roulette table any more.’

‘Why is it fundamental to you?’

‘It’s how I see the world working. In the end, all life comes down to whether or not you’re holding the right cards. That’s true even for genetics. Someone has the gene for muscular dystrophy or Huntington’s chorea. Do they deserve to? No, of course they don’t, and who could make the judgement that they did? For each of us, it’s pure chance. If that chance goes against you, you can live badly and die violently. I’ve seen the world this way ever since I was thirteen and nothing has changed my mind. I’ve always had to play the odds. Mainly because a few years ago, I didn’t play the odds particularly well. I got involved with Jerome Beck and du Plessis. Or DP as he’s known to his friends, so called.’

‘How?’

‘About five years ago, I was working in London at a science research facility. I met Jerome Beck there. He was a financial manager. I recognised him when I saw his picture on the net after he was murdered.’

‘But you didn’t tell the police,’ Grace said.

‘No, I didn’t and you’ll know why when I’ve finished this story. I found out Jerome liked to gamble as well. We started going to casinos together. He knew I was badly in debt and getting deeper. He said he could help me. He was involved in a business venture of some kind, building infrastructure in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. If I was interested, I could use my ex-army skills to manage the project and I’d be very well paid. I would only need to be away for a matter of weeks, it was a fly-in and fly-out affair. I think we both accepted implicitly that his offer was a cover for something else and I always assumed it would be criminal in some way. But, as always, I went to the DRC as a gamble. I decided to do that even after I’d researched the country and discovered how dangerous it was. I thought, if this is where the possibilities are, I’ll follow them and see where we end up. God knows, I needed the money badly enough. What are you thinking?’

‘I was wondering why you’d be so open about yourself with me,’ Grace said. ‘I can understand you telling this story to the police but not to someone you’ve only met once.’

‘You used to be a police officer and you’re well known for your connection to another senior police officer.’

‘You’ve checked me out on the web.’

‘Yes,’ Brinsmead said. ‘You see, I’m not talking to you as a complete stranger. I’ve tried to find out something about you. We spoke for a little while at the launch as well. What you’ve said today hasn’t changed my impression of you. I think you listen to people and that you’re reliable. You understand what people are saying to you.’

‘I like to think my training has made it possible for me to do that,’ she replied carefully.

Brinsmead leaned towards her. ‘It’s something you do naturally,’ he said. ‘At one level, I don’t care who knows this story. To be honest, everything except the essentials has been burnt out of me. I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t talk with complete honesty about almost anything, including myself. Do you know anything about the DRC?’

‘I know it’s in a state of civil war and there have been terrible atrocities there. I’m sure it’s full of people who’d like to live ordinary lives but aren’t given the chance,’ she said. ‘What was it like for you to be there?’

‘Unimaginable. Not long after I got there, I realised I was involved with illegal diamond trading. I thought I could deal with that. Then I discovered I was the fall guy. I had no criminal history so I was going to be the mule. My problem was, there was no way out for me. The parts of the DRC we were in were very dangerous. The people I was with might have been vile but they were my protection. DP was one of them, he was the boss. Baass, the African mercenaries called him. It sounded almost like an insult. At one time, he and his mercenaries raped and killed a woman in front of my eyes. She was probably only twenty. Jerome didn’t involve himself but he didn’t care either. He laughed. “Let DP have his fun,” he said.’ Brinsmead stopped and closed his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have told you that. I don’t want to bring it back.’

Grace waited.

‘The trouble is, there’s no way I can bring this to the law,’ he said eventually. ‘I have no evidence against them other than my word. At the time I was a debt-ridden gambler. I have no real names for most of them—we didn’t exchange email addresses and telephone numbers. DP was South African, you could tell that by his accent. He may have been in the army once. From the way they spoke to each other, he and Jerome were long-time partners. That’s all I know about any of them.’

‘How long were you there?’

‘I was with them for eighteen days. A lifetime. I learned there are events so serious, the only people who know what they really mean are the dead. The ones in the mass graves. If I say to you, you can’t know, that’s not an insult to you. You’re lucky you can’t know. Every day in my mind I replay what I witnessed there. It’s like being in hell.’

‘You don’t have to tell me any of this,’ she said.

‘Don’t you want to hear it? I’m sorry. I’ve imposed on you very badly.’

‘I can listen to what you’re saying because that’s what I’m trained to do,’ Grace said. ‘I’ve had to go in and deal with situations where people have been murdered. I can listen to you. But you have to live with bringing it back like this and then with knowing that you’ve told me that story. You may tell me something you wish you hadn’t.’

‘That last point is the least of my concerns. Our so-called expedition had a number of trucks. On the nineteenth day, I stole one and made a run for it. But the truck broke down and my colleagues caught up with me. I tried to take refuge in a building but they burned it to the ground around me. There were other people inside at the time. Somehow, I survived. I was the one who brought that death on those people and I was the only one who survived. A group of villagers found me barely alive. They took me to a local aid hospital, then to Kinshasa. Finally I was flown home to London.’

‘That’s a terrible story,’ Grace said.

‘What I can’t get out of my mind is that I didn’t die. There were other people who did die around me. I think about those people every day. I know some of their names and I repeat them every morning when I wake up. I tell them I haven’t forgotten them. Yet, somehow, here I am with a new debt-free life and a first-class research project. What did I do to deserve that?’

‘How did you get debt free?’

‘I can thank Elena for that.’

‘Elena Calvo?’

‘Yes. She worked at the same institute in London as myself and Beck. I knew her quite well; we went out for a little while. She’s a rich man’s daughter. She picked me up, paid my medical costs, paid my debts and offered me this project as part of my rehabilitation.’

‘That was very generous of her.’

‘I think she was horrified by the way I looked. She’d never seen anything like that before.’

Brinsmead was silent, lost in his thoughts. He had spoken bitterly. Then, suddenly, he laughed. ‘You see, in a number of ways I’m really already dead. I just keep breathing for some reason. What keeps me going is my work. Usually I don’t focus on anything outside of that. Today has been different. Talking to you has made the difference. It’s the first time in years I’ve felt a sense of being alive.’

‘Should you rely on a chance encounter to feel something like that?’

‘I’ll take whatever’s available,’ he said.

Grace was about to ask another question when she became aware of a faint underlying odour in the chill of the room, a decayed animal smell. Once noticed, it was impossible to ignore. The light had sketched out the structure of Brinsmead’s face. The covering of his features seemed thin, the bones too close to the surface. She suppressed a shiver. He was watching her.

‘Am I frightening you? Either because of my face or anything I’ve said?’ he asked.

‘Maybe,’ she replied.

‘Don’t be frightened. I can’t imagine anyone I’d least like to hurt or see hurt than you.’

Bizarrely, this also had a chilling ring to it. From the kitchen came the sound of an alarm.

‘That’s a reminder for me to take some medication,’ he said. ‘Usually I don’t need reminding. Excuse me.’

‘Go ahead.’

In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of water and swallowed tablets. Sitting down again, he leaned back, his eyes closed. He was in crippling pain, it was impossible for him to hide it.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Grace asked.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘These tablets aren’t going to be strong enough. I need an injection. Could you look in the fridge? There are some ampoules there and some syringes. If you could get one for me.’

She found them on the second shelf down, wrapped in thick, protective plastic.

‘You’ll need scissors to cut the package open,’ he called. ‘There’s a junk drawer in the high bar, the top drawer. Look in there.’

Grace looked among the envelopes, twine and bills to find a pair of scissors and a key on a plastic keyring marked ‘P’. A set of keys was already on the bench: Brinsmead’s, she guessed. She took the key out of the drawer and dropped it in her pocket, then took out the scissors.

‘I’ve found them,’ she said.

‘If you give everything to me, I’ll put it together,’ he said.

‘I can do it for you. I know how to. I’m good at first aid.’

‘I can inject myself.’

‘I’ll do it. You’re in pain. Where do you usually have it?’

‘Right arm,’ Brinsmead said. ‘Where did you learn first aid?’

‘My father made me and my brother learn when we were young. He thought we should know. Then when I was with the police, I did a refresher course.’

She pushed up his sleeve. His undamaged arm had pale European skin, the blue veins close to the surface. He didn’t seem to react when she touched him. Part way through administering the medication, she glanced up. He was watching her with those reflective blue eyes. They were so clear, it was as if they had rolled back onto empty space.

‘I’m taking your likeness,’ he said.

‘You don’t need to do that.’

When she’d finished, he rolled back his own sleeve. After a while, she could see the medication taking effect.

‘If you’re okay now, it’s probably time for me to go.’

‘Yes, probably it is, unfortunately,’ he said. ‘I have to go to work as well. It’s a long way from here, out at Campbelltown. I have some test results due later on today. I want to be there to review them.’

‘It’s a long drive out there.’

‘Too far for me, I can only manage short distances these days. I used to drive a lot, quite fast. I had one or two very nice sports cars. These days, I have a hire car with a driver. I’m one of their favourite customers. I have them booked, they’re due quite soon.’

‘Will you be going to the police?’ Grace asked.

‘I’ll call them. Will they come to me?’

‘I’m sure they will.’

‘I’ll call tomorrow. I have no information that will bring the commander’s son home. Also, I have Elena to think about; I should discuss it with her first. It might not go down too well that her chief scientist has this particular history. Especially since she’s just launched on the ASX. That launch has been very successful so far. The share price is doing well.’

‘Do you think the corporation will be a success out here?’

‘I’m sure it will,’ Brinsmead replied. ‘With Elena driving it, it’ll be very successful indeed. She’ll make sure that organisation works exactly the way she wants it to. When she says that one day it will be one of the best in the world, I’m sure she’s right.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ Grace asked.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The way you spoke about it just then. It seems almost as if you wish it wasn’t going to be that way.’

‘Does it? That’s unintentional. Elena’s very skilled, very sharp. She’s very much her father’s daughter, continuing in his footsteps. He’s a strange, possessive old man whose past has crippled him at every other level of his humanity except for the one that allows him to be a businessman. A little like me. I’m only able to do the work I do now. Nothing else is left.’

‘I should go,’ Grace said, getting to her feet. ‘It’s been my pleasure, Grace. I’ll see you out.’ ‘You don’t have to if you’re still in pain.’ ‘No, it’s better now. Those injections are powerful. Thanks for coming to see me.’

Once outside, she walked to the lift and glanced back. He was standing at the door, watching her. He waved, she waved back and then she was in the slow elevator, going down. As soon as Daniel Brinsmead was out of sight, she took a deep breath, not only for the release of tension. The smell of death had grown more powerful the longer she had sat there in the penthouse. Brinsmead could have no sense of smell left and must have forgotten that other people did.

Down in the foyer, Grace was looking for ways to hide inside the building when she saw a car pulling up outside. The driver didn’t get out. Grace guessed it to be Brinsmead’s hire car and stepped into the fire escape. Holding it open by a crack, she waited. She could see the foyer clearly, although not the front doors or the street. After almost ten minutes, Daniel appeared, stepping out of the lift. He was still dressed in white, wearing soft loafers on his feet, and walked awkwardly. She heard him leave the building, waited some minutes longer, then stepped out of the fire escape. Both he and the car were gone.

Again, she took the lift to the top floor. Bracing herself, she rang the doorbell to the penthouse. There was no response. The key turned easily in the lock and she let herself in.

The rodent smell was even stronger than it had been earlier. All the lights had been turned off except the standard lamp in the lounge room. The mobile phone was missing from the coffee table. Grace went into the kitchen and, in the half-dark, saw that Daniel’s keys were also gone. There would be enough time. It was an hour to Campbelltown and an hour back. She moved to search the rest of the penthouse.

In the hallway, one of the doors had been left open. She switched on the light and went inside. It was the master bedroom, large with a king-sized bed and a walk-in wardrobe whose doors were floor-to-ceiling glass. The bed had been slept in but not made. There was an en suite, scrupulously clean, and more pain medications on the bedside table. Daniel Brinsmead slept here with his temporary anaesthetics and his memories of the dead.

In the top drawer of the bedside table she found a small photograph album. Opening it, she saw pictures of Daniel before he had been burnt. Fit, good-looking and well dressed, he shared most of these photographs with Elena Calvo. They hadn’t just gone out for a little while. They must have been lovers, deeply attached, at least on her side. There was adoration in the looks she gave Brinsmead in these pictures. His response was harder to read. Even so, the happiness in their faces was unforced. Fashion, attraction, wealth, it was all there for them. Then the photographs stopped. She checked the backs of some of the pictures but there were no dates or places given.

Turning a page, Grace found herself looking at very different picture, a black and white photograph from a time that seemed to be immediately post-World War Two. A pale-haired young man and a woman the same age were standing against the background of a ruined European city. The man was holding a baby. No one in this picture was smiling. Their faces were hollowed out, exhausted and hungry; their clothing dark and ragged. Grace slipped the picture out of its sleeve. It was a new photograph of an old image and showed the original’s creases and tears. Stamped on the back in blue ink were two words: Kinshasa Photographique. She put the photograph back and returned the album to the bedside table. Then she left the room, switching off the light behind her.

She checked the other rooms but they were unused. At the end of the hallway, she went to the fourth door and opened it. Immediately, the animal smell filled the air. She had found the main bathroom, a large room with a spa bath. The blinds were drawn here as elsewhere, but the overhead lights, artificially bright, had been left on, illuminating the white tiles. The bathroom didn’t seem to have been used for some time; it was completely dry and the spiders had woven their webs in the corners of the room.

Someone had built a makeshift set of shelves against one wall. They held a dozen cages. She heard a soft rustling. Small animals were in some of these cages; she saw the occasional dull glint of a tiny eye. She walked closer to them. In about three of the cages, white mice sniffed at the air through a strong, closely woven steel mesh or were huddled together in corners, motionless. In all the rest they lay dead beside their feeding and watering trays, all of which were filled with pieces of grain. Each of the cages was locked. Next to the shelves, there was a large steel cabinet. She tried to open it but it was also locked.

It was time to leave; she had seen all she could. She shut the bathroom door behind her and was about to walk into the lounge room when she heard the front door being opened. Quickly she went into the master bedroom and stepped inside the walk-in wardrobe.

‘Danny?’ a woman called in a clear voice. ‘Are you here? Have I missed you?’

It was Sam Jonas. Grace took out her gun. In the silence, she heard quick footsteps that stopped at the bedroom doorway for a few seconds before continuing along the hallway. There was the sound of another door opening.

‘How are you poor little critters today?’ she heard Sam say. ‘It’s the end of the road, boys. I’m taking you to our safe house, all of you, dead or alive. It’s time for you to fulfil your destiny. Lucky you.’

Sam could only be in the bathroom. While Grace listened, she made a number of trips up and down the hallway and in and out of the penthouse, evidently moving the cages out. Finally, there was the sound of the metal cabinet being opened; then another sound; the front door opening again. Grace heard Brinsmead’s voice.

‘Sam? Careful with them. Don’t disturb them any more than you have to.’

‘I am being careful. Anyway, I’m almost finished. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on your way to the bunker?’

‘I realised I’d forgotten my dog tag. It’s the painkillers, they’re addling my mind.’

‘You’ve got to hang in there for a while yet. We’re not finished by a long chalk. Where did you leave your tag?’

‘In the bedroom.’

The light was switched on and Grace heard the footsteps of two people entering the room.

‘Is it in the wardrobe? Maybe you left it pinned to one of your jackets.’

‘No, the last time I took it off, I put it on the chest of drawers. But it’s not there now.’

There was a creaking sound, as if he’d sat on the bed.

‘Are you okay, Danny? Are you in pain? Do you want a shot?’

‘I’ve had one already. Riordan gave it to me.’

‘You let her touch you.’

‘She offered and I didn’t say no. She was being kind to me, I was in some bad pain. She had a gentle touch and lovely hands. Don’t worry. It’s just a fantasy on my part.’

‘Enjoy it while it lasts,’ Sam said. ‘Did you tell her the story?’

‘In full gruesome detail. It almost got too much for me. She was a good listener.’

‘As long as it eases your mind, I don’t care. Did she notice the smell in here?’

‘If she did, she was too polite to say so. I want her to understand. Almost as soon as I started talking to her at the launch, I wanted her to know. Then today when I was talking to her, I kept thinking she made me feel almost human. The world had some colour in it for once. If I was the man I used to be, I would have asked her to have dinner with me.’

Sam laughed. ‘You’re in love. You can’t let it distract you.’

‘It’s a passing dream. It’s not going to turn into anything else. Look at me. How can it? It’s something a little different for me to say good night on. It means I can pass out of consciousness in a better place in my head.’

‘One thing we know for sure now,’ Sam said. ‘Harrigan isn’t Elena’s little running dog. DP wouldn’t have snatched his son if he was onside. He must have said no the other day. She wouldn’t have liked that.’

‘She must be getting frustrated,’ Brinsmead said. ‘This isn’t proving as straightforward as she thought it would be. What do you think she wants from Harrigan? You say she already has a stooge in the police. So why put pressure on Harrigan?’

‘She does have a stooge. Marvin Tooth. He and DP were having a very intense conversation that morning in that car park. Harrigan must have something she wants. Freeman gave Riordan something the other day—he must have done. Something to do with Jerome’s grubby mates. Why else would his place have been turned over like that? She’s passed it on to Harrigan. Whatever it is, it’s enough to spook Elena and get her running around like a blue-arsed fly. She takes her eye off the ball, it makes it easier for us.’

‘You still let DP walk away. You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘I was only ever there on the off chance that Elena would send him after Freeman. Whatever DP did to you, Danny, he’s still just a foot soldier. His picture’s out there everywhere now. It’s only a matter of time before his name joins it. I’m going to tip off Interpol myself in the next twenty-four hours. Someone will get him. He’ll pay.’

‘Do you think he’ll return Harrigan’s son?’

‘I doubt it. It would be DP’s idea of a good joke not to. For all we know, the kid’s dead already.’

‘If we could find out where he was, we could let Harrigan know,’ Brinsmead said.

‘How are we going to do that? DP probably hasn’t even told Elena. She wouldn’t want him to. The last thing she wants is the details of what he’s doing.’

‘Couldn’t you work it out? You know his MO better than anyone.’

Sam was silent for a while. ‘He’s got to be very careful where he goes,’ she said eventually. ‘His picture’s all over the place. There’s a car park not far from Redfern station—Prestige Car Parking, long and short stay. You can leave your car there for months if you want to. I’d look there. DP used to park his van there when he was doing Elena’s dirty work. I tracked him there just before he gave me the slip. He could leave his van there for days and no one would look at it. Until the smell got too bad.’

‘Wouldn’t he use a stolen vehicle?’

‘No. That’d give the police a lead. He’s got a white Toyota HiAce under the name of Robert Woods. He’s probably used that.’

‘Do you know the registration number?’ Brinsmead asked.

Sam recited the letters and digits then seemed to regret it. ‘Danny, whatever else you do, you can’t ring Riordan with that information. However much you want to.’ Her voice was urgent.

‘How could it hurt to do that?’

‘Because it’ll bring the police here. They won’t stop asking questions until they know exactly where you got that information from. Then my cover could be blown. If Elena gets wind of any suspicion that I’m not who I say I am, we’re both gone. Listen to me. I’m the professional officer here. You’re the civilian operative. It’s my call. We have an operation to finish. We came here to find out what LPS is really up to and we’ve pretty well done that. If we don’t finish and report back, we’ve failed. Then more people stand to die than Harrigan’s son. You have to make these kinds of nasty decisions in this business. It’s what you signed up for.’

‘Why don’t we go and get the kid out ourselves?’ Brinsmead asked, his tone confrontational.

‘Because we’ll be picked up on the CCTV.’

‘Make an anonymous call. You’ve done that before today.’

‘No. As soon as that boy’s found, it’ll be all over the news. DP almost saw me that day in the car park with Marvin Tooth. It was enough for him to know he was being followed. He’ll join the dots and he’ll tell Elena. She’s already pretty suss about you as it is. You’ve been putting the wind up her lately. You shouldn’t do that, it’s unprofessional. We can’t risk it. There’s too much at stake.’

‘He’s an innocent—’

‘No!’

There was silence.

‘Sam, why are you so sure about all this?’

‘I’ve told you why. This is the only way I can make a difference. One thing I said I would do in my life is make a difference. I’ve made my decision and nothing’s happened to make me change my mind. Now I’ve got to get going. I’ve got things to do. Hang on. I’ve just seen your dog tag. It’s on the floor. There you go.’

Again there was the sound of the bed creaking.

‘I should get going as well. The car’s waiting downstairs,’ Brinsmead said. ‘Did you finish cleaning out the pool?’

‘Yeah, that’s done. I’ll leave first.’

There was a brief pause.

‘Bye, Sophia,’ Brinsmead said quietly.

‘Don’t call me that. Sophia’s dead. I said goodbye to all that when I signed up with you. I’ll get the last of that stuff out of the bathroom and I’ll go.’ There was another silence. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m just going to lie here for a little while longer. That wasn’t a good combination, the tablets and the shot.’

‘You wanted her to touch you.’

‘I don’t want to live like this.’

‘Stay the course, Danny. We’ll get you there. I promise.’

There was the sound of Sam going into the bathroom and then walking back down the hallway. ‘See you,’ she called, and the front door slammed shut. After a little while, Grace heard Brinsmead open a drawer in his bedside cabinet. She looked at her watch. The minutes ticked by and still there was no sound of him leaving, although once he went into the bathroom for a glass of water. Eventually half an hour had passed. Her feet were beginning to ache. She thought of Harrigan and Toby and decided she would walk out of the wardrobe regardless of the outcome. Then there was the sound of the downstairs buzzer. Brinsmead got up, and after some minutes more there was the sound of the doorbell. The voices were distant. Grace stepped out of the wardrobe to hear them.

‘—waiting for you for over an hour, Dr Brinsmead. Do you still want the car?’

‘My painkillers immobilised me. I couldn’t move very easily. I’ll meet the cost. I just have to get something. Please wait, I’ll be down soon. Leave the door open.’

He came back to the bedroom. It was still almost another ten minutes before he left the penthouse. Finally, there was the sound of the front door being shut.

Grace waited for a few minutes more before leaving the wardrobe. The small photograph album she had seen in the drawer was lying face down on the bed. She picked it up. It wasn’t open at any of the pictures of Brinsmead and Elena Calvo but at the black and white photograph at the end, of the couple and their child in the ruined city.

The apartment was silent and empty, the bathroom door left open and the lights turned off. All the cages were gone and whatever had been inside the steel cabinet had been emptied out.

Grace took out her mobile phone and rang Harrigan. She didn’t even get his voicemail, only a message saying the caller wasn’t answering. She tried Trevor. No response there either. She thought of who else she might ring but decided it would be too hard to explain to anyone else. If they were going to find Toby alive, she couldn’t waste time convincing people that her information was reliable. She rang for a taxi as an emergency and headed for the door.

It hadn’t been deadlocked. Maybe Brinsmead’s mind was so clouded he’d forgotten to do it. She returned the key to the drawer before leaving. Outside, she quickly checked the swimming pool, climbing over the low fence to get inside the enclosure. Looking down into its blue-painted expanse, she saw empty plant trays, both wide and deep, covering the pool floor. Nothing remained of what might have been growing in them except for scraps of dirt and a scattering of unidentifiable plant matter. She climbed back over the fence.

Suddenly, she needed a cigarette badly. The smell of those tiny, dead animals was still with her. Anything to wipe that stink away. On the street, she smoked while she waited for the taxi to arrive. It was getting on to peak hour. Finally it was there.

‘Are you the lady who ran for a taxi to police headquarters?’ the driver said. ‘I can’t take you there, the streets are closed off. There’s been a disturbance of some kind.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t tell you. It’s just happened. It’s complete mayhem up there. Now’s the time to rob a bank. They’re all looking the other way.’

‘This is urgent and official business. Get me as close as you can.’

‘I’m telling you, you can’t get in there. All the streets are blocked off.’

‘Do you know a long-stay car park not far from Redfern station called Prestige Car Parking?’ Grace asked.

‘Yeah, I know that.’

‘Get me there then, as soon as you can.’

They were away, jerking in and out of the traffic. Grace called Harrigan again but there was still no answer. Were the phones out? Was he preoccupied? Or was he some kind of a casualty?

As they approached the city, the taxi driver avoided the area near police headquarters. The traffic was heavy. Grace saw fire engines racing through the cross streets but put any speculation of what might have happened out of her thoughts. One step at a time, she told herself, her mind on Toby.