Chapter Forty-two

Tuesday, 12th November

Jack was looking forward to the day ahead, especially to seeing Caitlin. His session in the pool the previous night had been a big one, swimming clockwork lap after clockwork lap, all the while thinking of Caitlin. He’d put his arm around her to comfort her, but was it more than that? Thoughts of her, pleasant thoughts, seemed to bump into his consciousness unbidden all hours of the day and night. Was her attraction because she was so inaccessible? He’d never experienced that before. He’d only ever had the opposite. When a woman found out who he was or, more specifically, how much he might inherit, he couldn’t keep them away. It took a court order to stop his last date, the pathologically persistent Coralee, from stalking him night and day. And so he’d resolved, for the moment at least, to distance himself from new relationships, especially romantic ones – there’d be plenty of time later. But was now later? Caitlin not only showed zero interest in him, but had impregnable defences keeping him away, at least until last night.

Later, as he’d slowly drifted towards sleep, he’d hoped those thoughts of holding Caitlin would keep him company, but dark thoughts of Patrick’s killers pushed them aside and he tossed and turned restlessly until the early hours. It seemed as though he had only just drifted into deep sleep when the shrill of his ringtone woke him. He fumbled around the bedside table and found the phone.

‘Yep.’

‘Jacko, what’s happening?’

‘Ricky, mate. You woke me.’

‘It’s half past seven, you lazy bastard. That file you sent me – the hash is twenty-eight characters long. That is one serious password – that file is meant to stay secret.’

‘But can you crack it?’

‘Twenty-eight is pushing it. But it’s doable, depending on how much computer time you’re prepared to buy.’

‘What’s your guess?’

Jack heard an intake of breath. ‘Half a mill, maybe more.’

‘Fuck a duck. And how long?’

‘Depending on how many processor cores you throw at it, I’d say weeks if you get lucky, but more likely months.’

‘We haven’t got that long.’

‘Then you’ll need the password. Look for a Post-it note on the keyboard. It’ll be bright yellow.’

‘Haha.’

Ricky hung up.

Jack dragged himself out of bed, dressed and headed downstairs, where the aroma of coffee announced somebody had beaten him to the kitchen. It was Tony, perched at the kitchen bench, reading one of the Harris newspapers, The National. He greeted Jack with a beaming smile. ‘You’ve only been here a week and I’m still getting used to it. What would you like first, coffee or to read some very dodgy reporting?’ Tony slid the paper towards Jack.

The headline was ‘Shark Declared Innocent’. Underneath was a colour photo of Rosco and Stefano Conte aboard their fishing boat, dressed in diving gear and grinning at the camera. Rosco was quoted as having had to dive in ‘dangerous, shark-infested waters’ to retrieve the leg from ‘the depths of the ocean’. Jack was relieved his name wasn’t mentioned but, even so, he still anticipated a thunderous reception from Begley when next he saw him. He checked the by-line – ‘Angus Bain’. Of course it was.

Footsteps were heard heading their way. Tony glanced at Jack, his lips firmly pressed together. ‘I’ll see you at the car.’ He promptly rose and slipped out of the kitchen through a side door just as Don entered the room.

He saw Jack, and simply nodded in greeting.

‘Good morning, Don.’

Jack had noticed the brevity of Don’s greeting. And he was walking perceptibly slower as he went to the fridge and removed a bottle.

‘Okay, Don, what’s up?’

‘Nothing.’ He removed a glass from a cupboard and looked as if he was going to leave the room, but changed his mind and sat opposite Jack.

‘Yeah, right. If you’ll excuse me for saying, I think aliens have abducted Don and replaced him with Mr Grumpy.’

Don poured himself a pinky-purple smoothie from the bottle, then just stared at the drink. ‘I should be happy.’ Don shot a glance at Jack, then his eyes returned to the gloop in his glass. ‘I met someone.’ There was a long pause that Jack didn’t fill. Don took a drink from his glass and pulled a face. ‘You know, for thirty years I’ve lived here, alone, and been very happy.’ He gestured around him. ‘What’s not to like? Your father has always been very kind to me, and there are always interesting people coming through here. I’ve loved this job. But now I’ve met someone, and I don’t want to be here anymore. He lives in Perth.’

‘Don, I’m pleased for you. Not the grumpy bit, of course.’

The man shrugged. ‘I think, after all this time, I’m going to have to leave.’

A car horn sounded loudly.

Don stood up. ‘You’d better go.’ He downed the rest of his smoothie and walked slowly from the room.

Tony drove Jack into town. Today the Kingswood served up the Choirboys’ ‘Run to Paradise’ as they reminisced about the time a red-bellied black snake had found its way into Jack’s bedroom in the old house, terrifying him, and Tony had to catch it in an old sack.

As they got closer to town, Tony said, ‘After I’ve dropped you, I might take Millie for a spin up the coast.’ He glanced across at Jack. ‘Get a few hours break from Don. He’s become a right pain in the arse.’

‘Maybe he’s got something on his mind.’

‘Well, whatever it is, I’m too old for this shit.’