by Holly Watt
Zac smiled down at her, shifting his tone. ‘Just round the corner? How lovely, darling. I’ll come with you.’
‘She lives in Constantia, my love.’
The bellboy looked relieved by the change in mood, strolling back towards the entrance.
‘Camps Bay,’ Zac trilled back. ‘I popped over to her house while you were in Harare.’
‘She lives in Constantia,’ Casey said flatly, dropping the act.
‘She doesn’t.’ Zac was serious now too. ‘I did go to her house. While you were up at Njana, I bumped into her on the beach, and she invited me back for a braai. She’s got a lovely place there.’
Casey stared up at him, trying to read his face. ‘But … ’
‘What?’
Casey’s mind was racing. She sat down on one of the little benches scattered around the courtyard, and pulled out her phone.
‘Loelia.’ Casey’s voice was chatty. ‘How are you? I’m not interrupting you, am I?’
There was a pause as Loelia adjusted to Casey’s tone. ‘Not at all, Casey. How are you?’
There wasn’t much time for subtlety. ‘This is a ridiculous question, Loelia. But Delphine told me I had to try her yoga class while I was in Cape Town, and I’ve gone and lost the details. You don’t have them?’
‘Of course.’ Off the top of her head, Loelia recited the class times, the location, a chic Constantia yoga studio.
‘Oh, it’s in Constantia,’ said Casey. ‘I thought she went to a class in Camps Bay. That’s where I am staying, you see.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Loelia. ‘That’s a bit of a trek for a class, from Camps Bay to Constantia. I know some good studios that way too. I’ll text you the details.’
‘Great!’ Casey said. ‘Is that how you met Delphine originally? At your yoga class.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Casey could hear Loelia pouring a glass of wine. ‘Delphine joined the class just a few months back. We’ve become good friends. Great girl, don’t you think?’
‘Yes. Well, thanks for that,’ Casey chirped. ‘Speak soon.’
She hung up.
‘What?’ asked Zac. ‘What is going on? Why the hell does it matter that Delphine decided to go to a yoga class in Constantia?’
Casey didn’t respond, as another thought had struck her. She pulled up Twitter, searching for Flora Ashcroft. Flora had an account but hadn’t used it much; there were long periods of empty silence. All those empty weeks when she was stuck in the Royal Brompton, Casey thought. She scrolled down and down through the feed, and finally she saw it.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Zac asked again.
‘I don’t know.’ She stared across the courtyard. ‘But Delphine made contact with Flora Ashcroft months ago. Look. They’re chatting about having a coffee after a journalism lecture in this tweet. I bet it was Delphine who suggested to Ross that I speak to Flora. There are only about three people that man would call a friend, and he said it was a friend who gave him the tip about Flora.’
‘OK. I don’t know who Ross is, but OK.’
‘Delphine must have hoped that if I went to that hospital, I would bump into Noah Hart.’
‘What?’
‘She must have realised,’ Casey fitted the words together carefully, ‘that if I went to the hospital, I might get a hint of the story from Noah. She may even have asked Flora to tip me off about Corax, for all I know.’
‘That seems like a long shot.’
‘Yes, but I don’t know how many other breadcrumbs Delphine scattered. That could just have been the one tip I picked up on.’
Zac gave her an exasperated look. ‘Maybe.’
‘And she may have been feeding Flora snippets of information all along the way, that Flora passed on without even realising it probably. For all I know, it was Delphine who tracked down Bailey when he was talking at that wretched conference in Wrocław, for example. I could never work out how Flora had found out that he would be there. Flora was learning fast, but that was … That was Delphine. Delphine would just have told Flora they were helping us along, and they were, I suppose.’
‘If you say so.’
‘It was Delphine,’ Casey was still thinking aloud, ‘who told Miranda that Loelia had spoken to the Argus originally, and Delphine who told Miranda that they had ditched the story, too. And it was Delphine who told us that Bailey had been cheating on his wife. And that’s why you and I headed down to Cape Town.’
‘Why does that matter?’
‘And it was Delphine who actually got me into Loelia’s house.’ Casey put her hand to her forehead. ‘Loelia would never have spoken to me, left to her own devices. But Delphine had – quite coincidentally – joined Loelia’s yoga class a few months ago although it is nowhere near where she lives, and they became pals very quickly. Delphine said we were just round the corner from her home when I was walking along that road in Constantia, where she just happened to bump into me, and that was a straightforward lie.’
‘Stop,’ Zac interrupted her thoughts. ‘What are you going on about?’
‘It was Delphine,’ Casey said slowly. ‘All along. She was running this story, and we didn’t even notice.’
‘What?’
‘Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbs,’ said Casey. ‘She was dropping them every step of the way.’
Zac was looking at her, something close to concern in his eyes. ‘Casey, what are you going on about?’
‘It was Delphine,’ Casey repeated.
‘OK,’ said Zac. ‘She wanted you to do this story. But why? Why go to all that trouble?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I have absolutely no idea at all.’
70
‘Stop,’ said Miranda. ‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘Delphine’s gone to Elias Bailey’s house,’ Casey snapped. ‘I don’t know what she’s doing, but she’s at his house right now.’
Casey and Zac had raced back up to her hotel room. Zac was sitting on the window seat, listening as she talked to Miranda on speakerphone.
‘OK,’ said Miranda. ‘But why does that matter?’
‘What does Delphine want, Miranda? Is she working with Bailey?’
‘Of course not,’ Miranda said. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Why didn’t she tell us?’ demanded Casey. ‘Why didn’t she say she had a particular interest in Bailey?’
‘I don’t know.’ There was a hesitation in Miranda’s voice.
‘She’s working with Bailey,’ Casey insisted.
When you stop and think about it, it looks different.
‘Of course she isn’t,’ Miranda said. ‘I’ve known Delphine Black for years, and she would never work with Bailey. She’s … She’s not that kind of person.’
Delphine Black.
There was something rattling in Casey’s brain. An irritating feeling, like a label itching at the back of her neck. She pushed the sensation away, forced herself to think.
Delphine Black.
‘I know sure she’s lovely, Miranda.’ Casey softened her tone. ‘But she’s been lying to us all the way through. And she’s up at Bailey’s house right now and we have no idea what she’s—’
‘Casey, calm down … ’
The feeling was back, prickling and itching and insisting. Casey pressed her hands against her forehead, pushing against her skull.
Then she looked up sharply.
‘The Black Heart Fund,’ muttered Casey.
‘What?’ Miranda asked. Zac gave Casey a baffled look.
‘The Fitzgerald Brennan Trust.’
‘Casey, I’m really worried about—’
‘It’s what he does,’ said Casey slowly. ‘It’s what he does to atone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Bailey set up the Fitzgerald Brennan Trust after Ed and Professor Brennan died,’ said Casey carefully. ‘It funds scholarships. I think that’s his thing. When he does something terrible, he sets up a foundation, as if to make amends. Offset the guilt somehow.’
&nb
sp; ‘So what?’
‘It’s not the Black H-e-a-r-t Fund,’ said Casey. ‘We just assumed that’s what it was called. It’s the Black H-a-r-t Fund.’
Zac sat up abruptly. ‘But … ’
‘It was set up right after Abigail died,’ explained Casey.
‘Abigail?’ questioned Miranda.
‘Abigail Hart,’ said Casey. ‘She’s the sister of Noah Hart. The Black Hart fund must have been set up two years ago, right after Abigail died. And it funds research in a rundown hospital in Harare.’
‘Casey … ’
‘That woman I spoke to in Taunton … The Black Heart – H-e-a-r-t – Fund in Somerset gives books to local schools. It’s got nothing to do with Harare at all. It’s the Black Hart – H-a-r-t – Fund doing research in St Agnes.’
‘Maybe, but … ’
‘Who died a few years ago?’ Casey asked, already knowing the answer. ‘Who mattered to Delphine and died not long before Abigail Hart?’
There was a beat of silence.
‘Delphine’s husband died,’ Miranda said slowly, unwillingly. ‘Finlay Black died.’
‘How did he die?’
‘He was killed in a car crash,’ Miranda said.
‘Another car accident?’
‘It was an accident, Casey.’
‘I don’t think it was.’
‘It—’
‘There are a lot of crashes on the roads in South Africa,’ said Casey. ‘But I don’t think this one was an accident.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘No,’ said Casey. ‘I don’t. But I think that Delphine does.’
71
Casey stood up.
‘We have to get to Llandudno fast,’ she said to Zac, and he nodded.
‘I have a hire car. We can go straight away.’
‘Wait,’ said Miranda, voice echoing over the speaker.
‘Bailey’s expecting Isla Suchopar to arrive at his house,’ said Casey. ‘All set to write a nice little puff piece about him. But it’s Delphine going up there. And we don’t know what she wants.’
‘She won’t do anything.’
‘How do you know that, Miranda? She’s been manipulating us for weeks – months, even – to write a story about Bailey that finishes him off altogether. And I’ve just told her that her whole plan is going to come to nothing. That everything she’s done was for nothing.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Delphine is desperate for revenge,’ Casey interrupted. ‘She must believe that Bailey was involved in her husband’s death, and she wants to destroy him.’
‘She wouldn’t—’
‘How do you know? You don’t, Miranda. You don’t have a clue what that woman might do.’
‘But Finlay Black was an architect,’ Miranda protested. ‘He had nothing to do with Bailey at all. Why on earth would Bailey have had him killed?’
‘I don’t know.’ Casey clenched her fists.
‘Maybe she just wants to confront him?’ Miranda sounded desperate.
‘Maybe she does,’ said Casey. ‘But neither of us believes that, do we?’
Zac’s hire car raced along the coast road, beneath the disapproval of the Twelve Apostles.
‘Faster,’ muttered Casey. ‘Hurry up.’
‘I’m going as fast as I can.’
Casey was scrolling through the few brief articles about Elias Bailey for the hundredth time before she turned to Adsero’s financial statements, frantic for any clue about Bailey’s activities.
‘There’s nothing,’ she shouted at last. ‘There’s nothing out there about anything.’
‘Well, maybe there is nothing to find.’
‘There must be … There has to be something that convinced Delphine … ’
She had a photograph on her screen of a wrecked car, festooned in police tape. Architect killed in horror smash.
‘Try Loelia,’ Zac suggested. ‘She knows more about Elias Bailey than anyone else. Try Loelia.’
Casey looked sideways at him. ‘She’ll think I’m insane if I call her again.’
Zac met her eye. ‘You are insane.’
Her eyes on the ocean, Casey dialled the number, switching her voice to calm. ‘Loelia, I’m so sorry to bother you yet again, but I am just putting together a last bit of research on Elias.’
‘Yes, Casey?’ Brisk.
‘I’m just trying to piece together what he was up to three or four years ago. There doesn’t seem to be much in the public domain.’
‘Well, there wouldn’t be, would there?’
‘Why?’ Casey hesitated.
‘Casey, I really need to get on with my day … ’
‘Please, Loelia.’
‘Well, I would have thought it was obvious, Casey. Just over three years ago, he was having his heart transplant.’
A chill. ‘His heart transplant?’
‘You and I talked about it the first time.’ Loelia sounded irritable, ‘Elias had a heart transplant right here in Groote Schuur. He had to be especially careful during Covid for that reason, too. Transplant patients had to—’
‘A heart transplant … ’
‘Are you quite all right, Casey?’
But Casey was shutting down the phone, staring blankly through the windscreen.
‘What is it?’ Zac asked.
She couldn’t speak, the words tumbling through her mind and making no sense at all.
‘Casey?’ Zac sounded impatient. ‘What did Loelia say?’
‘Finlay Black died at the same time as Bailey had a heart transplant,’ Casey said. ‘What if Bailey arranged that car accident too?’
72
As Zac drove, Casey rang Delphine again and again.
‘Hurry, Zac.’
‘I am, Casey.’
Hessa had sent Bailey’s number to Casey again, but the phone rang out. The traffic was slowing on the coastal road, clotting like blood.
‘Call Garrick,’ she ordered.
‘I’ve tried. He doesn’t answer.’
‘Try him again.’
Not taking his eyes off the road, Zac dialled again and again, and finally, the phone was answered.
‘Stop calling me!’ Garrick’s voice was panicky, echoing out of the loudspeaker. ‘Are you with that other journalist? I can’t … I can’t talk to another bloody journalist today!’
‘What do you mean?’ There was an urgency in Zac’s voice. ‘What other journalist?’
‘Some woman turned up on my doorstep this morning.’ Garrick sounded almost hysterical, ‘I told her to bugger off too. I can’t … ’
‘Who?’ Casey mouthed.
‘Which journalist?’ asked Zac.
‘She said she was called Jessica Miller,’ Garrick grumbled. ‘From the Argus.’
Jessica Miller, who ran a rival investigations team. Casey was texting Miranda as fast as she could. Find out if Jessica Miller is in Cape Town right now.
‘What did you say to her?’ Zac asked. ‘To this Jessica person.’
‘Nothing, of course.’ Garrick sounded scornful. ‘I called my father. He sent his bodyguards over right away.’
Casey pictured the bodyguards racing away from the house in Llandudno, rushing to Garrick’s assistance.
And leaving the house unprotected.
‘So you’re talking to Bailey again?’ said Zac.
‘Yes.’ Defiant.
A text back from Miranda. I just rang the Argus switchboard. They put me straight through to Jessica. It def sounded like she was sitting at her desk.
‘Jessica Miller’s nowhere near Cape Town,’ Casey murmured to Zac. ‘I reckon it was Delphine who knocked on Garrick’s door, on her way out to Llandudno.’
‘Where is your father right now?’ Zac asked. ‘I need to know, Garrick.’
‘At the house in Llandudno?’ Garrick guessed. ‘I don’t know. Didn’t ask. Why?’ An edge of panic. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We think he’s in danger, Garrick. You have to call him.’
‘How? What?’ Casey could feel Garrick scrambling to catch up. She stayed silent. ‘What’s going on, Zac?’
‘Can you get hold of him, Garrick? It’s important.’
‘I can try … I don’t understand—’
‘Do it. Right now.’
‘Zac.’ There was an edge of apology in Garrick’s tone. ‘He called me, and we spoke. And I know he’s done terrible things … But … ’
The weakness, the indecision, echoed in his voice.
‘So you told him everything,’ said Zac coldly.
A pause. ‘He’s my father.’
And abruptly, Casey knew how Bailey had pulled Garrick back into his circle.
‘What did you tell him exactly?’ Zac asked.
‘He wanted to know about the girl at the Llandudno house,’ Garrick went on sullenly. ‘I told him that she was a journalist, an undercover one. I described her. And a few minutes later, he sent me a photograph of Carrie, with blonde hair now, up in Njana.’
There would have been security cameras at the ranch, thought Casey. She had been lucky, so lucky, to get off that reserve.
‘What else did you tell him?’ Zac asked again.
‘He guessed about that politician Drummond being involved, too.’ Garrick sounded pleading, ‘I am sorry, Zac. I am so sorry about everything.’
‘Call him, Garrick. At once. Your father may be in serious danger.’
The phone went dead without a goodbye.
Zac glanced sideways at Casey. ‘Bailey turned him again.’
‘Garrick is the sort of person,’ Casey said slowly, ‘who is persuaded by whoever is in front of him at the time. Insecure, indecisive. Inadequate,’ she spat the words out. ‘When Garrick helped me break into the Llandudno house, it was because we had fired him up with a sense of doing the right thing. But that meant it only took Bailey a few minutes to turn him again.’
‘Garrick found out about the heart transplant, didn’t he?’ said Zac. ‘That’s why he left Adsero to set up Pergamex.’
‘I think so. It fits in with the timeline.’
‘Well, what the hell do you think Bailey offered him this time? After all that. Do you think he threatened Jeanie again? Or warned Garrick that he would be cut out of the will altogether.’
‘Bailey might have threatened you,’ said Casey thoughtfully. ‘Adsero’s mob might have worked out you weren’t in Mauritius, and then Bailey just told Garrick he would hunt you down if he didn’t start talking. I think that might have worked.’
