Reaching up to the shelf nearest his desk, Harrigan took down a facsimile of Goya’s series of etchings Los Caprichos, a catalogue of human folly and vice, venality and deceit. He opened the book to the sixth print. It had the caption: Nobody knows himself. In the foreground, a masked man seemed to bow to a masked woman, both dressed as if they were at a masquerade ball. He seemed to want something from her, to search her face for some response; but her thoughts were unreadable. Perhaps she smiled but who knew what her smile might mean. Other shadowy figures, both grotesque and menacing, watched from the soft, dark wash of the background. All deceive, the text continued, and do not know themselves. Harrigan wondered if the print portrayed where he and Grace were themselves right now.
He left these shadows and began to search through those on the net. He sent an email to a retainer of his, a university student who found carrying out research for Harrigan a more rewarding job than waiting on tables. He had several subjects for her tonight: Amelie Santos, Ian Blackmore, Jennifer Shillingworth, Camp Sunshine charity. As an afterthought he added the name of the sanatorium in Frank Wells’s letter. If the baby had been sent from there to his adoptive parents, then that must have been where the birth had taken place. Anything she could find out about any of them. Normally he would also have asked her to check out the Shillingworth Trust, but if the Ponticellis were involved, he didn’t want her anywhere near them. He would do that himself.
He had just pressed ‘send’ when his phone announced an SMS message. When he opened it, he saw a photograph of Grace at their front gate, holding Ellie by the hand, apparently just leaving the house to go down to the park. He spent some moments looking at it. It was a recent photograph, probably taken sometime in the last fortnight. He put the phone down and got to his feet.
He glanced at the safe but decided against taking out his gun. He didn’t want to be pushed into always doing that. Instead he walked through to the front of the house, stopping to listen at Ellie’s door. There was only the sound of her quiet breathing. In the spare front room, he didn’t turn on the light but went and stood at the dark window. Grace had put new curtains in here which were only partially closed. He stood next to the drapes and looked out. Was there anyone out there? If so, could they see him?
They could only reach into his mind if he let them. No point in physically locking them out and then letting them in by proxy. In his mind, he drew a line, pushing his stalkers to the outer edge. Then he went back to his study where he forwarded the SMS message on to Orion. The organisation had supplied a phone number for this purpose. He could only hope they would deal with it effectively.
He heard Grace arrive and went down to meet her. In the kitchen, she was standing with both hands holding the back of a chair, as if too tired to move. The sight of her face when she looked up shocked him. She was exhausted; she didn’t smile and her make-up had the pallor of a death mask. He put his arms around her without speaking. She leaned against him; she was almost rigid with tension.
‘Bad day,’ she said. ‘I have to go and shower. I feel dirty.’
‘What happened?’
‘I’m not supposed to tell you.’
‘Just tell me. Where do you think it’s going to go?’
‘We found a dead woman today. Shot in the back of the head. The second woman we’ve found like that in a few days. I didn’t tell you any of that.’
‘Come on, babe. Just relax. Sit down and get it out of your head. I’ll make you some coffee.’
‘I’m still armed.’
‘Just sit down. Ellie’s asleep,’ he said.
‘Did she miss me?’
‘Yeah, but we sorted that out.’
If she drank alcohol, he’d have got her a whisky. Instead he made coffee, strong the way she liked it. She drank it and some life seemed to come into her face. He decided he wouldn’t tell her about the SMS message, or not just yet. It was the last thing she needed now.
‘It’s so sordid, you know,’ she said. ‘This woman’s life looked like shit. I thought, why would you want to live like this? I know people don’t always get a choice but it felt like the end of the world.’
‘It’s her life, not yours. You can’t forget that in this business. She made her own decisions, right? That’s why you were there. It must have been.’
‘She almost certainly took a bribe. And because she did, someone died. From the looks of how she lived, she needed the money. Then they killed her when they thought she might be a weak link.’
‘Find the person who killed her and take him off the streets. That’s the best you can do.’
‘I’m going to put my gun away,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back.’
When she came downstairs again, she had showered and changed, even going so far as to wash her hair. He had heated the food and set it on the table.
‘I said not to wait for me.’
‘I know you did. Don’t worry about it.’
They sat down to eat. She took a mouthful and stopped.
‘I didn’t want to cut you out like that,’ she said. ‘Clive ambushed me.’
‘Yeah, he’s a bastard,’ Harrigan said. ‘I’ve worked with people like him in the past. He probably doesn’t have anything else in his life.’
‘I just have to stay on this tightrope,’ she went on. ‘If I don’t separate life and work like this, I won’t be able to handle it. It’s my way of protecting what we have from what’s out there.’
‘It’s a hard ask from your boss. He’s asking you to treat me and Ellie like we don’t matter. He should be thinking about what that’s doing to you.’
‘When this operation’s finished, we’ll still be here,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter what Clive does. Nothing’s going to change that.’
When they went to bed that night, Grace fell asleep almost immediately. Slept until Ellie woke her in the morning, crying. Heavy-eyed, in her nightdress, Grace hurried to her room. Ellie was lying soaked in her nappy.
‘Look at you, sweetie. We’ll get you dry, okay?’
How small she was. How perfect. How new and unmarked the skin. With her daughter changed, she picked her up. Ellie touched her face and Grace kissed her. How clean she smelled, after what Grace had seen yesterday. How clean and new. Her daughter had no scars. She wanted it to stay that way; for Ellie to grow with no scars on her body or her mind, whatever it cost.
13
By ten in the morning, Grace was walking in Parramatta Park near the pavilion, not far from the Macquarie Street gatehouse. It was a clear, sunny day and the light gave a yellow wash to the grass and the trees beyond. She had left her car in the parking area and seen a sleek, grey Mercedes already parked there. She knew this was Kidd’s car; or more accurately these days, the finance company’s. While she walked, a cyclist cruised slowly along the path in front of her. Nearby, a couple were strolling casually across the grass. They spread out a blanket and sat down, seemingly for morning tea. Her backup was in position. Then she saw Kidd, sitting on a bench waiting for her. She stopped for a few moments. I am not myself. I want everything this man has to give because in my own head I have nothing. Whatever he says, it doesn’t matter to me. Remember that.
She went to meet him. When she sat down beside him, he didn’t speak. He had his hands folded in his lap. It was an odd look.
‘How are you, Jon?’ she said sweetly. ‘Nice of you to take some time off work to see me.’
He spoke without looking at her. ‘I don’t want to spend any more time than I have to talking to you. Would you get to the point?’
‘What sort of person are you?’
‘What sort of person am I? What sort of person are you?’