Chapter Sixty-three

Jack still felt jittery as he knocked on the door of Zoe’s apartment; he still hadn’t calmed down from his narrow escape from the Bruces. At the same time, he was looking forward to seeing Caitlin, and introducing her to Ricky.

It was Caitlin who opened the door. ‘Jack, where the hell have you been? Maybe just once in your life you could answer your phone when I call – I was worried about you.’

‘I was taken hostage in my father’s house. I escaped and they tried to beat me to a pulp …’

Caitlin wasn’t paying attention, just staring at the stranger standing behind Jack.

‘Caitlin, did you hear what I said? Two massive thugs tried to attack me.’

There was a pause before Caitlin looked back to Jack. ‘Are you going to introduce us?’

‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sorry. Caitlin, this is Ricky Martinelli.’

Caitlin’s eyes widened and there was a flicker of a smile. She seemed lost for words, even awestruck. Jack knew it wasn’t because of his friend’s good looks. Ricky was pasty and suffering from a resurgence of puppy fat – side effects of too much time in front of a computer. Then again, Ricky did constantly wear an infectious grin and an impish look in his eye. But Caitlin’s awe was more likely because she was meeting a Martinelli; the family had occupied a large part of her criminal law curriculum.

Caitlin had never been in awe of Jack as far as he could tell. Maybe that’s because she wanted to stab him when they first met. And maybe that was one of the reasons why he liked her so much. She didn’t give a rats that he was a Harris.

‘Come in,’ said Caitlin.

They followed her into the living area where Zoe sat at a small dining table covered with empty pizza boxes.

‘Hi, Zoe,’ said Jack, ‘this is Ricky.’

She rose and they shook hands, both recognising each other – one famous, one infamous.

‘I’m very sorry about your father, Caitlin,’ said Ricky, who knew what it felt like to lose a parent – he’d seen his father shot dead in front of him on the driveway to their house. ‘If the police don’t deliver, I’m happy to offer my family’s assistance to settle it privately.’

‘Thanks, but I’m a lawyer.’

‘A straight one?’

Caitlin nodded.

Ricky looked at Jack. ‘I can see why you’ve got the hots for her.’

Jack replied, ‘I never said that.’

‘You don’t have to, mate.’

Caitlin flushed a little and looked at her hands.

‘And,’ Ricky continued, ‘don’t believe Jack’s stories about massive thugs chasing him. They were pussycats. He’s always been a big sook.’

Jack shook his head. Then the doughy aroma of the pizza caught up with him, and his hunger. He stared at the empty boxes. ‘Is there any more food?’

Zoe collected the empty boxes. ‘I’ll get them to send some more up from downstairs.’

Ricky said to Caitlin, ‘I believe you’re having a little trouble with a memory stick. Shall we have a crack at it?’

Caitlin nodded and slid it across to him, along with her laptop. In no time, Ricky had started the TAILS boot sequence.

For the first time, with his old friend Ricky by his side again, Jack felt confident they would find the answers that had eluded them to date.

When the password dialogue popped up, Ricky asked, ‘So, the password you were given doesn’t work?’

‘Patrick gave each of us half the password,’ said Zoe.

‘The problem is,’ said Caitlin, ‘he gave us both the same password, “heroine”.’

‘As in smack or as in superhero?’ asked Ricky.

‘The “e” on the end version,’ said Caitlin. ‘We’ve tried every possibly combination of “heroineheroine” with upper case, lower case, abbreviations. Nothing works.’

‘That’s because “heroine” isn’t the password,’ said Ricky. ‘We’re looking for a password twenty-eight characters long. If you’ll excuse the pun, “heroine” doesn’t cut it. What were the exact words your father said?’

They both stared at each other, trying to recollect.

Zoe broke the impasse. ‘He said something like, “I’m telling the first half of the password to Caitlin and the second half to you. You’re ‘heroine’.”’

Ricky turned to Caitlin. ‘And to you?’

‘Pretty much the same.’

Ricky looked at Jack. ‘I’d stick to your day job, Jacko. Oh, yeah – you don’t have one now, do you?’ He smiled then turned back to Caitlin. ‘What if he didn’t mean “you’re heroine” as in “you are heroine”, but “your – y-o-u-r” heroine, as in the person you look up to and admire.’

Caitlin blanched and lowered her head into her hands. ‘Jesus, I can’t believe how stupid I am.’

Jack looked down at the tattoo staring back at him over the top of Caitlin’s Doc Martens, and also couldn’t believe he’d missed it. ‘Ruth Bader Ginsburg.’

Caitlin grinned. ‘Pretty much every female lawyer’s heroine.’

‘Mine,’ Zoe said, ‘is Evonne Goolagong Cawley. I took up tennis the day after she won Wimbledon.’

They counted out the letters: ‘BaderGinsburgGoolagong Cawley’. Twenty-eight.

There was absolute silence, apart from the sound of Ricky’s fingers flying across the keyboard. Until the laptop beeped and the ever so familiar error message popped up. They let out a collective groan.

Ricky made another attempt, and this time there was no beep, no error message. ‘We’re in,’ he said, ‘it was the other way around – GoolagongCawleyBaderGinsburg.’

Caitlin jumped up and down in her eagerness, then grabbed the laptop from Ricky and sat down to finally discover what secretive project her father had been up to, the one that had cost him his life. The others gathered around.

She scrolled through lists and lists of documents, then looked up at Jack and smiled. She returned her attention to the laptop and navigated to a folder called ‘Bank statements’ and randomly opened one. It was headed ‘Banque de Luxembourg’ and dated January 1990. The account was in the name of Tom Bradshaw.

Caitlin beamed at Jack. ‘We’ve done it. Ricky’s done it. It’s Tom Bradshaw. Not Lars Nielsen. And not your nudist friend.’ She stood up, danced a little jig and then turned to Jack.

To his surprise, she stepped towards him and extended her arms, but the hug he had long waited for was never delivered. There was a knock at the door. Caitlin lowered her arms. ‘That’ll be the food.’ She disappeared off to the front door.

Jack returned his attention to the screen. True to form, Patrick’s file structure was impeccably organised. One direc­tory was called ‘Jetty Hotel’, another ‘Tom Bradshaw’. But it was a different directory that really caught his attention – ‘Malcolm Harris’. Jack was shocked. Surely his father wasn’t involved. Perhaps Patrick made a mistake. Or, during the initial investigation, was casting his net widely. Maybe his father had been assisting Patrick.

Jack was so focused he didn’t notice Maguire and Duffy burst into the room until they shouted, ‘Police!’

Caitlin quickly followed them, her face reddening with anger. ‘You have no right to enter private property. I did not give you permission.’

The detectives ignored her, both staring intently at Jack.

Caitlin continued. ‘I demand you both leave at once.’

Duffy turned to glare at her, placed his hand on his gun in its holster and stayed where he was.

Maguire shouted, ‘Everybody stand slowly, and move away from the table.’

Zoe had lost all her colour. She stood abruptly and stepped away. Jack and Ricky didn’t move.

Instead, Ricky smiled and said, ‘I assume you have a warrant?’

The open documents on the laptop made Jack feel uneasy. He remembered how the detectives had shown an inordinate interest in what Patrick had been investigating, as did Chowdhury, his father’s lawyer. Worse, the memory stick protruding from the laptop seemed to be shouting for attention.

‘We don’t need a warrant,’ Maguire replied. ‘Jack Harris, we arrest you for the assault today on Bruce Smith. You don’t have to say anything if you do not want to. Do you understand?’

Caitlin’s eyes widened, her voice full of concern. ‘Jack?’

Ricky turned to Jack. ‘Who’s Bruce Smith?’

Jack shrugged. ‘The security guards were called Bruce.’

‘Both of them?’

‘Uh huh.’

Ricky laughed. ‘So these detectives are charging you with assaulting those two thugs who chased you through the jungle this afternoon wanting to beat the shit out of you?’

Jack just shrugged.

‘That’s like a toy poodle attacking a Great Dane.’ Ricky patted Jack on the shoulder. ‘Proud of you, Jacko.’

Maguire had lost patience. He yelled, ‘Jack Harris, stand up and turn around slowly!’

Jack didn’t move.

Ricky was still smiling. ‘I’m sorry, Constable, his English is very poor. You may need an interpreter.’

As Duffy took out his handcuffs and walked towards Jack, Maguire asked, ‘Whose laptop is that?’

Jack and Ricky glanced at each other. Both knew what they had to do. Ricky grabbed the laptop and started punching keys. Jack ripped out the memory stick just before Duffy’s hand grabbed his and slapped it in a handcuff.

Maguire lunged for the laptop, but it was already shutting down when he yanked it from Ricky’s grasp. Duffy roughly twisted Jack’s other arm behind him and locked it into the handcuffs.

Maguire looked furious. ‘Whose laptop is this?’ There was no answer, so he shook his head, pulled an evidence bag from his jacket and placed the laptop inside. To Jack’s dismay, Maguire prised the memory stick out of his hand and also placed it in the bag.

Duffy looked at Jack, satisfaction written across his face in big letters.

Jack said, ‘Seems like he does all the thinking, and you do all the manual labour, Duffy. Does he make you iron his shirts and fold his underwear?’

Duffy scowled back.

Maguire barked, ‘Okay, let’s move.’

Jack looked around. Caitlin, seething with anger, stared with hostility at Maguire. Zoe, sickly white, was as still as a statue.

Ricky peeled off his white T-shirt as Duffy shoved Jack forwards. When they reached the door and Maguire turned the handle, Jack’s vision was whited-out by something coming over his head and then he was blinded through the cloth by dozens of camera flashes. As Jack was manhandled down the stairs, one of the detectives was trying to pull off the T-shirt while someone else, presumably Ricky, was following behind holding it on.

The circus somehow made it to the ground with everybody still on their feet and Jack was jostled the short distance to the paddy wagon. He was bundled into the prisoner pod on the back and the door was slammed and locked.

Ricky called to him through the grate. ‘Jacko, it’s so awesome having the band back together.’

The pod only had a smooth shelf to sit on. Against the rules, Duffy had deliberately left Jack with his hands cuffed behind him, which could only mean one thing. He separated his feet, planted them firmly on the floor and pressed his back hard against the wall. The detectives would be repeatedly stomping hard on the brakes to avoid hitting black dogs crossing the road in the dark.