He wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already told myself.
‘Work with me,’ he goaded. ‘There’s more. By some dumb luck, you don’t seem to have anything to help us identify them.’ He waved a hand in the air dismissively. ‘The most expensive, highest tech security cameras conveniently don’t record the crucial moments.’
‘That’s exactly what happened,’ Collette argued. ‘You’re making it sound like –’
‘You are deliberately obstructing justice? Or conspired to kill Louise Simpson? That would make you an accessory, Ms …’
‘Lindman,’ she answered, voice wavering as her eyes appealed to me.
I needed to stay controlled. ‘He’s trying to upset you. We haven’t done anything wrong.’
Johnny appeared with all the information we had on the Finches, along with everything he’d collected on Louise Simpson. His presence eased some of the tension.
He explained, ‘The address and names they provided are fake, the number’s disconnected and the email bounces. They didn’t pay us. The invoice didn’t go through.’
‘No surprises there,’ Mark mumbled.
Thankfully, Johnny didn’t mention the envelope of cash Gus Finch had produced, as there was no proof I’d given it back.
Collette printed out a dozen copies of the computerised digifit of the suspects she and Johnny had compiled. They were amazingly accurate.
She also provided the files on a memory stick.
‘Is there anything else?’ I asked, trying to appear unfazed.
Mark dumped a number of photos on the reception desk.
‘I want you to look at these and never forget Louise Simpson’s lifeless face.’ He turned to his team. ‘That’s about it. For now.’
Chapter 28
THE THOUGHT I MAY have helped the killer find Louise Simpson began to fester.
I studied the photos back in my office. Mark had done me a favour by leaving them. I could go over the scene and see if we missed anything at the time.
I heard a noise and looked up. Mary was leaning against the doorframe.
‘That could have been worse,’ she said.
‘He’s threatening to charge me with conspiracy to commit murder, obstruction of justice.’ I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a wave of fatigue.
‘You haven’t been arrested yet. We can still prove him wrong.’
I sat back and focused on the ceiling. ‘Trouble is, I may be guilty.’
Mary came around and propped herself against my side of the desk, arms folded.
‘You didn’t beat that woman or stab her to death. If you hadn’t given them the address, they could have got it from any computer geek or hacker. If the killer plucked the number from the White Pages, you wouldn’t blame Telstra.’
Mary was right. Again.
‘This morning I did let emotion overtake logic. Look what it did to Louise Simpson, her kids. And it could cost all of us here at Private our jobs and reputations. Maybe more.’
‘All I know is, if you’re looking back, you’re going in the wrong direction.’ She leant closer. ‘A mother wants her child back. Louise’s family need justice. We can deliver both. Deal with the rest later.’
I splayed my fingers on the desk and stood, grateful to be working with such a professional team. Mary had made it clear this was no time for regrets.
‘You’re right. We put everything into finding baby Zoe. Non-urgent cases go on the backburner. We’ll refund any clients who aren’t happy about it.’
‘One more thing,’ Mary added. ‘Collette could use one of your pep talks.’
I’d known Mary long enough to understand what that meant. Mary had noticed Collette was upset, but talking emotions with a colleague wasn’t her forte.
‘Thanks for the heads-up – I’ll go see her. And we need everyone in the conference room. Five minutes.’
Chapter 29
I FOUND COLLETTE in the kitchenette. When I walked in, she quickly fussed over the coffee machine.
‘Thought we could all do with a caffeine hit,’ she managed.
The red, puffy eyes were impossible to hide. It was easy to forget Collette was only twenty-two and had no experience in the force or the legal profession. She had knocked on the door with enthusiasm and what Becky would have called ‘loads of gumption’.
She had drive, and a strong will to learn and take on extra tasks. And she was a good public face for the business. Caring, an attentive listener and a keen observer; the precision of the digifit images confirmed that.
‘Rough day,’ I said, popping a pod into one of the two machines. ‘We’ve got a staff meeting in the conference room in five.’
She avoided eye contact. ‘I’ll make sure everyone’s hydrated and fed.’
Her hands were shaking, so I offered to help.
‘You have a seat at the table and I’ll get this going.’
The simple offer was enough to break her resolve.
‘I’m so sorry about that poor woman. I keep seeing her face … What those people inflicted.’ Her voice rasped. ‘And the baby.’
Like a pressure valve releasing, she erupted into tears. I handed her the cup I’d made and grabbed some milk from the fridge. So far, I’d been careful to shield Collette from graphic crime scene photos. There was no need to see them in the jobs she did. But Mark leaving the photos had delivered the desired effect.
‘The Finches looked so harmless. I mean, I was totally taken in by the story. About how they lost all those pregnancies.’
You and me both, I thought.
I placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You aren’t responsible. None of us is.’
She stared at the milk carton. ‘That detective thinks we are.’
I didn’t want to go into the background, just gave her the essentials. ‘Mark Talbot and I have history. It’s policing 101. Shake a tree and see what falls out.’
Collette looked up, her brown eyes wet.
‘Are we the only tree he’s got?’
‘So far. Which is why I need you to step up. We all have to.’
She sniffed and wiped her eyes with a hanky.
‘I thought you were going to fire me.’
I moved my hand from her shoulder. ‘The virus could have happened to any of us, and we both fell for the couple’s sob-story.’
‘I’m sorry it happened to you, today.’
The comment was unexpected.
‘Why would you say that? Have you been talking to Mary?’
She waved both hands. ‘No. Before I came here the first time, I did some research. There were articles in the papers about the … I mean, your … terrible accident. I’m sorry you lost your family.’
I didn’t know whether to be offended or impressed by her initiative. I opted for the latter.
‘We can’t change what’s happened.’
‘I know.’ Her eyes were dry now.
‘We’re all going to be tied up with finding Zoe and Louise’s killer. I need you to get to work on Eric Moss. Everything you can get on him will be helpful. His daughter didn’t give me much to go on, just where and when he was born. Johnny can help you access all the relevant databases. If you can get me the basics, birth certificates, passports –’
‘I know exactly what you’re after.’ She smiled nervously. ‘I hope I don’t let you down.’
Chapter 30
THE TEAM WAS keen to be briefed. I kicked off.
‘Finding the baby is, obviously, our top priority.’
I made no mention of the search warrant or police visit.
‘Darlene. Anything so far in the evidence?’
She spread out the crime scene photos.
‘Louise put up a fight, despite being taken by surprise.’
Johnny scribbled notes. ‘Are we thinking she knew her killer then?’
Darlene continued, ‘She was in a quiet neighbourhood. No grilles on windows or security doors. My guess is she was pretty trusting and opened the door.’
That d
idn’t help us narrow the suspect list.
‘What else?’ Mary asked.
‘I thought this was interesting.’ Darlene referred to images of the face. ‘The victim’s face doesn’t appear to have been fractured.’ She pointed to the whites of the eyes. ‘Cheek fracture would cause haemorrhages in the lateral sclera.’
We all appreciated that was why one punch, or a ‘coward punch’ as it had become known, was so dangerous. The face and skull weren’t designed to be hit with such blunt force.
‘The cheeks, the left one in particular, is reddened and swollen,’ Darlene explained. ‘There are a couple of parallel scratches on the left cheek too. I swabbed them, which is our best chance for DNA so far.’
Collette appeared with a tray holding a coffee pot, milk jug, sugar and spoons, which she placed on the sideboard, alongside a box of pastries and upturned mugs.
She’d reapplied her eye make-up. You couldn’t tell she’d been upset. Johnny winked at her as she sat beside him.
‘What did I miss?’ she whispered.
Darlene recapped. ‘I think Louise was slapped multiple times, not punched, and the killer may have left behind DNA in scratch marks on that left cheek.’
Collette volunteered, ‘The woman this morning had long manicured nails. She kept clicking them as she waited.’
‘I didn’t find any broken nails at the scene,’ Darlene said. ‘That could explain the slapping. It’s something a woman with nails might do.’
‘Or a man who wanted to inflict pain without leaving obvious bruising,’ Mary added. ‘Typical in domestic violence.’
We needed to concentrate our efforts to be most efficient. I listed tasks in order of importance. ‘We can’t rule out two people at the scene. Mary, can you talk to Louise’s brother and track down her close friends? See if she had any previous surrogate pregnancies, and if she told anyone about using that site.’
‘On it,’ Mary said. ‘And if there was a man on the scene, requited or otherwise. Young widows are pretty vulnerable.’
‘You read my mind,’ I said. ‘Johnny, can you go through Louise’s phone and bank records? Emails too. Check whether she contacted our couple, visited outside her area. Anything to help us narrow the part of Sydney we’re looking at.’
Johnny raised another issue. ‘If Zoe Ruffalo had been at the Simpson house on three consecutive Tuesdays, it’s possible the baby was the target and Louise was collateral damage.’
I agreed. ‘We can’t afford to narrow our thinking too early.’
‘While I’m at it, I’ll look into the Ruffalos and their finances,’ he said. ‘Miners make good money. It’s possible there’ll be a ransom demand.’
The police, I knew, were preparing for that possibility. Mary raised an index finger. ‘What about Eric Moss? Can we risk losing time on that one?’
I gestured towards Collette. ‘We’ve got it covered.’
Our receptionist stared at her notebook. No one batted an eyelid.
‘How far are we on identifying the origin of the email sent to Louise Simpson? If the surrogacy site is protected by a firewall, can we trace the email?’
Darlene was the one to speak. ‘Johnny and I tried that a few minutes ago. Our suspects used a VPN address, so the IP turned up as coming from America.’
‘So they’re au fait with hiding?’ Mary commented.
‘Not necessarily,’ Collette offered. ‘Heaps of people use VPNs. It’s how you download shows from American Netflix and Hulu.’
All I wanted to know was whether they could work backwards from the VPN to pin down the local address. Darlene knew that was what I wanted to hear.
‘There’s a guy I know who can try it for a grand.’
Darlene had some ‘interesting’ contacts who often challenged technical boundaries of the law.
‘Let’s get him on it.’
Unless someone identified the Finches from the digifit images soon, the mysterious computer expert was our best hope of finding baby Zoe.
Chapter 31
TWO HOURS LATER, there’d been no word about Zoe and no ransom call. The police had set up at the Ruffalo home, around the corner from the Simpson scene.
Our friendly deputy commissioner had given us the information gleaned from Zoe’s mother. We took that and collected more. Nothing stood out as particularly useful.
Geoff and Courtney Ruffalo appeared happy to their neighbours, owed six hundred thousand on a mortgage but paid their credit cards off on time. There were no withdrawals from bank accounts apart from small, consistent amounts of cash each week and direct deposits to pay the regular bills. The husband wasn’t in debt. There was always the possibility of an affair with a colleague at the mine.
They’d been together eight years and married for three.
Courtney Ruffalo and Louise Simpson met at the local park and struck up a friendship. When Zoe was born, Louise offered to babysit while Geoff was away. The new mother used that time to attend a postnatal yoga class.
The instructor confirmed Courtney was in class at the time Louise’s body was found.
I remembered how challenging Cal’s first few months were, especially for Becky. When days and nights all blurred into one.
I felt a deep ache in my chest and took a slug of Chivas Regal that lived in the locked top drawer of my desk, in the flask Becky had given me on our wedding day. Right now it was the closest I could get to her and Cal.
But we still had to find baby Zoe.
I placed it back in the drawer.
In the lab, Darlene was busy processing samples. There was no word yet from her mystery friend.
Johnny and Mary were collating information. I decided to see how Collette had fared with her assignment.
I found her at her desk, face red and flustered.
‘Everything all right?’ I pulled up a chair by her side.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘You may want to sack me now.’
Before I could ask why, she blurted her explanation. ‘I haven’t found anything yet.’ She nervously checked her watch. It was nearing nine o’clock.
‘You must have found something in two hours.’ I couldn’t hide my frustration. Time was critical and I’d given her basic facts to gather.
‘I couldn’t even find a clear photo.’ She began to tear up again. ‘I promise I tried. I promise, I’ll be in super early tomorrow.’
Today had been tough on all of us, including Collette.
‘You should go home and get some rest.’
Collette looked relieved. She picked up her phone and bag and let herself out the new glass door, locking it behind her.
The pounding in my head returned. Collette’s task had been simple. Any of the others would have had a dossier on Moss by now. I began to wonder if I’d overestimated her potential.
I checked my phone for any messages from Brett Thorogood and Jack Morgan. Nothing so far.
Sitting at reception, I started with the list Eliza Moss had provided. Friends of her father, where he’d lived, been born.
Movement on the surveillance monitor caught my attention. A man greeted Collette. He was stocky, muscular. He had his back to the camera so I couldn’t see his face, only the bunch of roses he was hiding. He reached forward and kissed her on the cheek as he presented the bouquet.
As far as I’d seen, Collette’s relationships were frequent and short-lived. This one appeared to be in an embryonic stage.
I flicked through what Collette had recorded so far. There were question marks against passport, registration of birth, bank account.
While the others worked on identifying the mystery pair, I made a strong black coffee and prepared for a long night.
Chapter 32
I STARTED WITH the usual databases. There was no one with a name even resembling Eric Moss born on or around the date Eliza provided.
Even allowing for misspellings, typographical errors and flawed transcribing, his birth wasn’t registered in New South Wales. Definitely not in the sm
all town of Jerilderie or the nearby, larger town of Deniliquin. Jerilderie, in the state’s west, was famous for being raided by the country’s most notorious bushranger, Ned Kelly.
Searching the electoral rolls, there was no Moss registered in Echuca, Victoria, or Moama across the border, for the decade he and his parents supposedly lived there. Eliza had made a note about her grandfather drowning in the Murray River when the paddle-steamer he crewed for the sawmill caught fire. A quick search of cemeteries in the area proved futile. There was no record of Eric’s mother, Margaret, or grand parents living or dying in the area.
Eric Moss didn’t appear on the current electoral roll. He hadn’t requested a silent listing. From what I could tell, he had never voted, enrolled or been married.
He wasn’t listed in Who’s Who, despite being CEO of the largest Australian-based non-profit organisation. Infopedia only mentioned him in a page on Sir Lang Gillies, with no accompanying link to his name.
I began to wonder if records for Moss had been wiped. Or if they had ever existed. No tax file number, no Medicare number and no digital imprint. Scores of articles on Contigo Valley quoted Gillies and mentioned Moss in passing. He was rarely photographed without dark glasses.
What struck me most was he didn’t have a passport or driver’s licence.
The man known as Eric Moss was a ghost.
Chapter 33
I DECIDED TO do what I should have done with Gus and Jennifer Finch and double-check who our clients were and what they claimed to be.
I refused to be played again so this time I searched for Eliza Moss. An abundance of photographs of her appeared in business and social pages. She talked with pride about her father, but there was no mention of a mother.
She claimed she’d been born in Lithgow, not far from Contigo Valley. Only there was no birth record for Eliza Moss. By now, my patience was at breaking point.
What were these people playing at? If they wanted their true identities to be secret, it was beyond bizarre that they would both hold high-profile jobs. I had to wonder what sort of fraud the two could have been perpetrating. Was Moss siphoning money from Contigo or its donors? One thing was certain, I wouldn’t be party to it.
Private Sydney Page 6
