Nick laughed. “Third time this month. Either hide a key outside the apartment or learn how to pick it.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on.”
He stepped into his apartment and flipped on the lights. He slipped off his suit jacket and carefully hung it in the closet by the front door. He grabbed the small tool pouch that was on the top shelf and stepped across the hall.
“Timing it.”
“Piss off, Davie.” Nick crouched in front of the door and opened the tool pouch. He extracted a slim right-angled piece of metal and inserted it at the bottom of the keyhole and applied torsion. He followed with a long, thin, serrated needle-type blade and worked the pins. In less than twenty seconds the tension bar turned the tumbler and Nick stood. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
“That’s another beer you owe me, mate.”
Davie smiled. “Deal. Thanks. That was a shade over eighteen seconds. You’re getting slow.”
Nick zipped the tool pouch shut. “Not a competition. Catch you later, okay?”
He returned to his apartment and slid the tool pouch onto the closet top shelf.
The apartment was in an ideal location if, and only if, the amount you paid on the lease was your primary concern. Coming into the apartment, the coat closet was to the immediate left. Just beyond it, on the same wall, was a small stand for shoes and boots. A few steps in, and to the right, was the entrance to the small kitchen. The cooktop and oven were exactly opposite the entrance to the kitchen, the sink and small dishwasher on the left and the refrigerator and a short counter on the right.
Beyond the sink was a half wall/counter overlooking the small living room, where an old sofa, two easy chairs, and a coffee table were all arranged to focus on the small flatscreen television mounted on the wall. Beyond the living room to the left was the bedroom.
He reached in the fridge, hesitated by the beer, then grabbed a half empty litre of orange juice. He sat on the sofa, kicked up his feet up on the coffee table, slid his laptop to the left a bit with his foot, and turned on the television.
Sky News was just finishing their lead story, the brutal beating of Andy Goh and discussions about the future of his electric car company, Dvorak Kars. Nick swallowed a mouthful of juice. “All those billions of dollars and he ends up beat to death and left in a pool of blood. And I thought I was the unlucky one.”
He finished the juice and tossed the plastic bottle in the recycle bin. He turned on the electric kettle and stared into the cupboard above the cook top. “Prawn or chicken?” He sighed and pulled the top off of the tub of prawn flavoured instant noodles. He was stirring the boiled water in with a fork when someone knocked on his door.
He frowned and checked the time. “Hang on a second.”
He stirred his noodles as he slowly walked to the door. “Davie? You lock yourself out again?”
A woman’s voice called out. “You going to open up?”
Nick smiled and stuck the fork in the noodles and opened the door. “Kirra. You followed me? I’m flattered.” He held the door open. “Not as nice as your place, but I call it home. For now. Can I interest you in a faux-oriental noodle dish?”
She gave him an autopilot smile and took the chair he had just vacated. “As good as that smells, nothing for me, thanks.”
He grunted and shovelled another forkful of noodles in his mouth. “Are you sure?” he asked as he chewed. “I’ve got a chicken flavoured one left. I can get it for you if you want.”
Kirra shook her head. “I’m fine. Really.”
“If you didn’t come for my fantastic cooking, then what brings you here?” Nick sat on the sofa at right angles to her. His living room wasn’t even the size of her foyer, but she looked as comfortable in his domicile as he did in hers.
“I want to find out why my husband hired you.” She held up her hand. “Sorry. Wanted to hire you.”
Nick ate and shrugged. “I got an email. It was brief and to the point. Meet him for breakfast at your house to discuss a matter of grave importance to him.” He held up his fork and clarified. “Grave financial importance.”
“The missing money. That’s not what I meant.” Kirra looked around the apartment. The old sofa, scuffed coffee table, small television. “I know he wanted to find out why, and how, money was being siphoned out of the company. What I want to know why he thought you, specifically, could figure it out. Have you worked for him before? Had any other interactions with him?”
He shovelled the last bit of noodles from the cardboard tub into his mouth. “Never met him before. Read lots about him. Successful immigrant does good. Makes a motzza with an electric car than can get over 600 km per charge. Living the dream. Gorgeous house, “ he pointed at Kirra, “gorgeous wife. Living. The. Dream. I was as surprised as you that he contacted me.” He walked the cardboard tub to the garbage bin and dropped the fork into the sink. “Mystery within a mystery.”
He sat back across from her. “How is it that you are showing no emotion about your husband being brutally murdered in front of your house?”
Kirra clenched her jaw and drew a deep breath in through her nose. “There’ll be time enough for that later.” She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. “Right now I’m trying to figure you out. Andy is — was — a shrewd man. He wouldn’t pick you to do this without a reason.” She waved her hand around the room. “You don’t seem like a successful investigator, if I’m honest.”
“I’m in a bit of a slump. I’m sure I’ll come out of it any day now.”
She frowned. “Maybe Andy saw you as a pet project.”
“I’d never met the man before. And my profile wasn’t large enough to grab his attention.” He grunted as he stood. “Wanna beer?”
“It’s a little early, but what the hell.”
Nick grabbed the last two from the fridge, twisted the top off one and handed it to Kirra. “Tell me about him.” He opened his and sat across from her. “What do you mean by me being his pet project?”
She took a sip and considered Nick. Took another sip and shook her head. “He told me, on many, many occasions, that he could pick diamonds from piles of shit, if you’ll excuse my language, with unerring accuracy.” She cleared her throat. “And he has — had — a pretty good hit rate. Some of the executive in his — my — company were in dead end jobs at other companies, some of them non-technical, and they all soared at Dvorak.” She picked at the label on the bottle. “I don’t have any idea how he knows you, but maybe he thought the same thing. We’ll never know.”
“Nope. Never will.” He chewed on the inside of his lip for a minute, considering how to broach the subject. “The hell with it. How did someone get past what I assume must be world class security to beat him to death at his front door? There’s an aggressively serious gate out front, Mike the mini mongrel who looks like he could chew the leg off a horse, and cameras all over the place.” He stood and paced. “I mean, there would have to be dozens of other places and times that should be easier.”
She watched him pace and let the silence build for a minute. “I know. Don’t you think I know?”
“Sorry. It’s not logical. Does security live on campus, as it were, or do they run shifts?”
She was shaking her head before he was finished. “The place is a fortress.”
Nick snorted.
She equivocated. “It’s supposed to be a fortress. We get tucked in at midnight, the alarms set, the cameras spying and the gate locked. Murphy starts the day at 6:00 a.m. The crew he brings in depends on what’s on the day’s schedule.”
“So, was this planned or was this a coincidence?”
Kirra placed her beer on the coffee table and stood. “The police will figure that out. I want you to find out where the money is going. That’s what he wanted you for.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.” He smiled. “I’m more of a ‘find evidence he’s cheating’ kinda PI. I certainly can’t manage my own finances. How does he think I can figure our corporate fina
ncial crimes?”
Kirra smiled and stood, leaving her beer on the coffee table. “Come to the office tomorrow morning. 10:00. You can meet some of the team. I’ll pay you well.” She rested her hand on the door. “It’s my company now, and I have a vested interest in making sure no more money disappears.”
Nick closed the door behind her and dropped in the chair she had warmed. He picked up the beer bottle she left, half full, and continued picking at the label. “No point wasting this.” He tipped back the bottle. “So she’s the owner now.”
He put the bottle back on the coffee table and grabbed his laptop. “Google, do your thing.”
* * *
Kirra stepped out of the old apartment building into the warming Australian late spring and nodded at the man who drove her there. He was closer to sixty than forty, wiry and bald as a cue ball. No special chauffeur’s hat, no special uniform, just a casual khakis and golf shirt combo, with ankle socks on feet stuffed into a new pair of low-cut Converse.
He held the back door open for her. “That was quick.”
“I’m confused, Marty.” She ducked into the back seat and pulled her seatbelt on.
Marty hopped around the front of the car and into the driver’s seat. “A permanent state for me, I’m afraid.“ He tapped the side of his head. “It’s starting to go, I think.”
Distracted, she shook her head. “That’s not something I want to hear my lawyer say. What in the hell has happened to my life? It was sweet. A man I love who loves me for me, not my money.” She sighed. “Now he’s gone. It looks like maybe the company is haemorrhaging, and I don’t know where to turn.”
Marty looked at her in the rear-view mirror, a small smile on his face. “You’ll figure it out. You have before. Every time.” He pulled into traffic. He nodded toward the apartment building that was receding behind them. “You think he’s going to get involved?”
“Hard to say. Andy wanted him. I told him to come by tomorrow at 10. We’ll see if he shows.”
3
Dvorak’s lobby was on the 13th floor of a new, twenty-five-storey building in North Sydney. The lift doors opened and Nick stepped into a large open area with three of the more popular models of Dvorak electric vehicles on display. Up front was the two-seater convertible sports car in a bright fire-engine red, facing the lifts straight on, the stem of the letter ‘Y’ formed by the cars. The left arm of the ‘Y’ was a starter sedan and the right, a family station wagon. The nose of each of the cars faced outward.
The area was well-let, but not garish. A matrix of screens on the left wall played Dvorak television commercials on a loop, all of them emphasising the incredible lifestyle available to anyone smart enough to purchase one of these bleeding-edged wonders of technology.
At the far side of the cars was a reception counter staffed by a severely thin elderly woman with her hair in a bun, wearing a very modest dress.
Nick leaned into the cabin and coveted the sports car. With a vengeance. The seats and dashboard were covered with a light tan leather. The centre console curved up to the dashboard with a flexible touch screen. The screen was powered up with the local area map on the top half, and current speed, battery charge and other measurements he didn’t recognise below. The seats looked to Nick like Recaro racing seats, or an incredibly accurate knock off. Close to $2,500 per seat, if real. “Nice.”
He walked past the other two cars and leaned on the counter. He tilted his head and read the name on the ID card hanging off a Dvorak Kars lanyard. “Hi there, Doris. I’m - ”
“Nick Harding, and you’re waiting for Ms Roach,” said Doris. “Have a seat and I’ll let her know you’re here.” She cracked a very small smile. “You’re three minutes early.”
Nick waited for the rest of that sentence, either a compliment or admonition, but none came. He nodded and eased into a seat that looked like a spherical cup. As soon as he sat, he regretted it. “Dammit.”
His feet were off the ground and his arse lower than his knees, which were currently knocked together. He grabbed the edges of the seat and pulled himself forward, grunting as he attempted to get his balance. “Jesus.”
Kirra approached laughing. “Not very practical, are they? One of my husband’s less than brilliant ideas.” She watched him struggle to his feet, offering absolutely no assistance.
“You ready?” She handed him a ‘escorted visitor’ pass on a lanyard.
Nick adjusted his shirt and put the lanyard around his neck. “Thanks for the no help. How much is that sporty little thing by the lifts?”
Kirra cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve seen your flat. You can’t afford it.” She headed to the interior of the office. “This way.”
Nick followed her to an interior staircase and walked up three floors. She waved her pass in front of the reader and pressed her thumb on the fingerprint reader. “Dual authentication. This is the finance floor.” She held the door open. “Stick close to me. You’re not permitted on this floor unescorted.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. “Security is staffed by angry young women and men who are frustrated at not being able punch more people. Don’t give them an outlet.”
“Message received.”
She led him into a small meeting room. “Our conference room is tied up with a massive process mapping exercise we should have finished weeks ago. Needs to be completed before our annual audit in three weeks’ time. Don’t want you in there.”
“I wouldn’t understand much of anything, anyway.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” She sent a text on her phone. “Sam will set you up.”
“What’s he going to set me up with?” ask Nick.
“She is going to get you a company laptop with access to our accounts. Read only. You’re not going to be able to transfer anything to your personal bank account, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She had a small smile on her face.
Nick held up his hands. “Dammit. There go my retirement plans. What makes you think I can help?”
“I’ve done research on you. You, as the Americans say, are hiding your light under a bushel. Your background in financial crime with the federal police came with a number of high-profile cases. Fifteen years, right out of school. Then you left. I can’t find out why, so I expect it’s something unsavoury. But Andy trusts you to do the job, so I guess I can trust you, too.”
Nick grunted. “Thanks. I think. Boredom.”
“What about it?”
“I left because of boredom. Intense boredom.”
“Sounds like an oxymoron to me.”
The meeting room door opened and a head poked in. “Hi Kirra. Boss, I mean. That feels weird in my mouth. Sorry about Andy. Are you okay?” The door pushed open and a mid-30s woman with a buzzcut, overalls and a t-shirt, clomped in on Doc Martins. She slid a laptop across the table. It came to rest in front of Nick. A Post-It note stuck to the lid had the username and password.
Nick slowly stood. “Samantha Epping?”
“Nick. How are you doing? I was little surprised when Mr Goh asked me to set up a laptop for you.”
“You two know each other, I take it,” said Kirra.
“Undergrad classes together. You didn’t keep in touch, Nicky.”
He slowly sat. “Yeah. Drifted apart. It’s been well over a decade. Good to see you again.”
Sam cleared her throat and nodded. “Find me in the company directory and ping me if you have any questions. Our financial software packages are all industry standard. Based on your background, you shouldn’t have any problems navigating them.” She smiled. “I don’t know what it is you’re supposed to be doing, but boss lady here had me in at 6:00 this morning to confirm everything was set up. Must be important. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Sam. I’m not sure it was necessary,” said Nick. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
She smiled and nodded at the laptop. “I’ll bring the carry case with the charger and mouse around a bit later. First time you log in you’re going to be pr
ompted to change your password. At least eight characters, at least one number and one special character.” She smiled. “If you use ‘Passwerd!23’ I’ll personally punch you in the throat.” She continued smiling and backed out of the door, letting it swing shut behind her.
Nick picked the Post-It note off the lid, read it and chuckled. “Temporary password is D0wnTownD!ck. She’s funny.” He opened the lid, and the laptop woke to a login window. He looked at it, folded the Post-It in half and slid it in his shirt pocket. He slowly closed the laptop.
“Sam’s been here for almost a decade now. The network runs on her shoulders. Very smart and quirky. And funny.” Kirra sat across from him. “I’m getting the sense you’re not really on board.”
He slid his hands over the lid of the closed laptop. Looked around the meeting room. It could hold ten people comfortably. A large monitor spanned on the wall opposite the door, with a three-camera webcam mounted on the top. A tablet on a stand in the middle of the table advertised a meeting coming up at 11:30.
He leaned back in the chair. “It’s not like my calendar is full. And I definitely need the money. But, I don’t know. I left the financial crimes world. It is mind-numbingly boring. And predictable. Someone sets up a fake supplier company, invoices for services not rendered or products not delivered, and has an underling process the paperwork so they can approve it. It’s usually small amounts at first, then after a few months of not being detected they go for a big score. And that trips a ton of internal alarms, and they get caught. Or they attract suspicion by never taking a sick day or annual leave because they’re afraid the fraud will be detected while they’re gone. Or they buy really expensive cars and boats, well beyond their means.” He pushed the laptop away. “Boring, predictable and barely worth my time.”
Kirra shrugged. “Andy said money was being siphoned off by the litre and no alarms have triggered yet. And he thought you were the guy.” She looked at her watch. “We’re going to be kicked out in about five minutes. Strategy has a team meeting in here. I’ll make you a deal. Grab the laptop and come with me to lunch. If I can’t convince you over a meal, I’ll find somebody else to do this.”
Batteries Not Included Page 2
