Private Sydney Read online

  His wife added, ‘And we have to know she’s a good mother.’ She squeezed her husband’s hand, pale grey eyes boring into mine.

  ‘Yes,’ Finch confirmed. ‘If we’re going to trust her with our children.’ The inflection in his voice went up a notch at the end of this comment. He was lying, and he wasn’t very good at it.

  Today, I didn’t really care to know why. ‘Agencies routinely do employment checks and they charge a lot less than us. To be honest, you’d be better going through one of them.’

  Finch slapped an envelope on the table. Hundred-dollar notes spilled out.

  ‘We want you, not anyone else, to do the check. You guarantee confidentiality.’

  I didn’t like people assuming I could be bought. Not everyone has a price. Whatever they wanted kept secret didn’t sit right.

  Maybe it was just my mood, but it didn’t seem worth the hassle.

  ‘That isn’t how we do business, Mr Finch. I’m afraid we can’t help you.’

  I stood to usher them out the door.

  They remained seated.

  ‘Walk away and you’ll regret it,’ the man said calmly. ‘You do the right thing by us and we can boost your business. Turn us away and I can guarantee Private will suffer.’

  Chapter 5

  I SWUNG AROUND. This guy had picked the wrong day to tick me off. ‘I don’t answer to threats.’ I took a step forward. ‘Or deal with liars.’

  Finch now stood and his wife quickly stepped between us. The guy was volatile and she knew it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she interjected. ‘We’re not being truthful. I – we – can’t have children so we’re looking at a surrogate.’

  Suddenly the couple’s questions made sense. I relaxed a little.

  Finch’s bluster evaporated. ‘We didn’t know if you’d agree to help us if we told you the truth. We have to know if she’s likely to extort us for more money, and that we won’t be dragged into legal fights down the track.’

  This was obviously difficult for them, but there was no point continuing the conversation. Commercial surrogacy was illegal in every Australian state. Carrying a baby out of kindness, known as altruistic surrogacy, was permitted but fraught with potential legal complications.

  ‘We didn’t mean to threaten you,’ she added. ‘It’s just that there are many of us in the same situation and we could bring you a lot of business. Most of us would pay whatever it took to have our own children.’

  ‘We work closely with law enforcement,’ I explained, ‘and what you’re proposing is illegal. You’re obviously planning on paying for this baby. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Mr Gisto.’ The woman touched my arm. ‘Do you have children?’

  The question stopped me cold.

  ‘I’ve had eight miscarriages and we had a daughter, Caroline …’

  ‘Stillborn,’ the husband almost whispered.

  She held my gaze. ‘We’ve tried everything natural, multiple rounds of IVF. And now my husband’s too old at forty-eight to adopt. This isn’t a whim. We can give a child a wonderful life.’

  It was impossible not to feel for what they had been through, but I was responsible for this business. I certainly couldn’t let emotion sway my decision.

  She paused. ‘Doctors have told us it isn’t possible, so we are turning to a surrogate who says she just wants medical costs covered. That’s all.’

  A stranger becoming pregnant and not wanting anything in return sounded risky.

  ‘We could have gone to somewhere like India or Thailand, but that doesn’t seem right.’

  Not to mention the practice was outlawed there now too, I thought. We moved back inside the office. ‘How did you hear about this woman?’

  ‘Her name’s Louise Simpson. She advertised on a surrogacy website. We just want to know if she’s genuine.’

  A background check could only give her credit rating and criminal history. She would have to approve of them accessing her medical information, and I told them that.

  ‘We understand. But this is our last chance,’ Mrs Finch pleaded.

  Despite reservations, I agreed to help.

  Chapter 6

  HE WAS WOKEN by burning in his wrist and forearm, and a deeper, bone-like pain in his right shoulder. He took a gasp and inhaled smoke, as sun peeked through the canopy directly above.

  Disorientated, he struggled to sit up. Sweat dripped off him. He cradled his right arm, which provided some relief. The shoulder was out of its socket, down and forward. Then he remembered something had brushed him when he’d reached for the sensor device.

  Peeling off the right glove, he saw the curled-up body of a spider. A centimetre long, black with a red patch on its back. A red-back.

  The welt on his wrist was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Hospitals had antivenom, but it had to be administered quickly to be effective. That wasn’t an option given the nearest hospital was two hours by road. He moved his other limbs and ankles. The shoulder had taken the brunt of the fall. It had to be put back in place. Then he could at least get to safety and take his chances with the bite.

  The sound of a distant siren echoed in the valley. The cabin had gone up in flames and the flames must have spread to surrounding bush. The ‘cleaners’ should be long gone, but the area would be swarming with locals and emergency services volunteers, and the police.

  He pulled himself to his feet and took some breaths. It was now or never. With all the strength he could muster, he ran and slammed his shoulder into a tree. Pain exploded through his shoulder and arm as he suppressed a scream. A few seconds later, it eased. The shoulder was in place but he could feel the lymph nodes under the arm were swollen and tender. The poison was spreading.

  Using a spare shirt as a sling, he struggled to recall everything he’d ever learnt about red-back spiders. No one had died from their bite in years. But if the toxin didn’t kill, it could debilitate and affect nerves for up to a week.

  Either way, the odds of making it through today were worse than even he’d imagined.

  Chapter 7

  WITH THE FINCHES sorted, I could concentrate on more pressing issues. Johnny Ishmah had begun trying the computers and backup systems, starting at reception.

  The young investigator was completing a degree in criminal psychology. Brought up in a rough part of the western suburbs, his school mates included the son of a leading underworld figure. Those contacts had proved helpful more than once.

  Dust swirled into the entrance as two men manoeuvred a large pane of glass towards the door.

  I asked Johnny what he had so far.

  ‘I ran a virus scan on the entire system. Nothing showed up. The cameras didn’t record because Collette’s computer was shut down.’

  The video feed was accessed on her station. One of her tasks was to fast-forward through the footage each morning.

  I turned to Collette, who was anxiously picking at bright red fingernails.

  ‘Could you have accidentally shut it down instead of logging off last night?’

  ‘No. I did what I do every night. Log off.’

  Whatever happened, the footage didn’t exist.

  Next to arrive was Darlene Cooper, her usual immaculate ponytail and wrinkle-free shirt and jeans replaced with a baggy top and crinkled pants. Nothing about today seemed routine.

  ‘Sorry, boss. I came as quickly as I could.’

  I explained the situation and she told us not to turn anything on until she’d had a chance to update the virus library. Meanwhile, I went to find Mary in her office. She could start on the Finch job.

  After filling her in, I suggested she use her phone until online access was restored. Instead, she stood, arms folded across her chest. The former military police officer and kickboxer was formidable at the best of times. The stance emphasised her biceps and was designed to intimidate. ‘You can get someone else.’

  Her reaction took me completely by surprise. My most experienced investigator and right hand in the business, Mary Clark
e pulled more than her weight in the agency.

  ‘Today’s not started well. We need to function even more efficiently as a team. None of us gets to pick and choose cases. The others are tied up with the computers –’

  She stood, arms still folded, like a bouncer blocking a nightclub entrance. ‘You don’t need to remind me about teamwork.’

  That was true. Mary had put herself on the line many times, including for my safety. I closed the door so we could speak in private.

  ‘Is there something going on I need to know about?’

  ‘I don’t want to be a part of this. Johnny can do it.’

  Darlene interrupted with a knock. ‘Thought you’d want to know. I updated the virus library and tracked the source to Collette’s computer. Going through the log files, the system shut down at midnight.’

  ‘It was programmed to switch us off in the night?’ I asked.

  ‘Could have been in an email attachment or a bogus web link. I’m still running diagnostics, so if you give me an hour, I’ll do a full sweep of the backups too.’

  I wondered how long it would have taken if Darlene wasn’t on the job. And what sort of thrill led people to design viruses which destroyed strangers’ computers. Our business relied on confidentiality and with high-profile clients we needed to guarantee information security.

  Right now, that was at risk.

  ‘Can you double-check for spyware? We can’t afford to have anyone access the systems.’

  Darlene looked from Mary to me, obviously sensing the tension. ‘On it.’

  I thanked Darlene and watched her leave.

  Mary’s finger was already poking my chest.

  ‘You ever dare question my loyalty again, I’m out.’

  She pushed past me and slammed the door.

  Chapter 8

  MARY’S REACTION LEFT me stunned. She was the calm, measured one of the team.

  I followed her into Kent Street where she continued to weave through workers heading to their offices.

  I just missed colliding with a man in a suit, eyes down on his phone. ‘What’s really going on?’

  She kept walking. ‘I won’t be a party to buying and selling babies.’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? It’s one background check, an hour’s work, maybe two.’

  The pedestrian lights went green and we crossed, passing behind a taxi blocking the intersection. She stopped at the other side.

  Frustration mounting, I tried to understand her problem. ‘What am I missing here?’

  ‘You let Cal affect your judgement.’

  Mary could hit hard, and with precision.

  We stood on the kerb in silence as a wave of people swept past, juggling coffees and briefcases.

  Mary spoke first. ‘I know today is his birthday.’

  We were on the corner outside the Queen Victoria Building’s Market Street entrance. A homeless man with a cardboard sign sat begging for spare change.

  ‘I’m not seeing your point, Mary.’

  ‘This couple come to you with a sob-story about wanting a child. Like they have a God-given right to breed.’

  So that was it. Mary had a problem with surrogacy.

  A woman with twins in a double stroller approached. We stepped out of the way, beside a cart that sold snacks and magazines. I ordered two coffees and some fruit.

  Mary wasn’t finished. ‘What happens if the surrogate is carrying twins? These people target poverty-stricken women in South-East Asia. They act like it’s mail order, and they have every right to a refund if the result isn’t to their liking –’

  I’d never seen Mary so worked up about a single issue, and she hadn’t even met the Finches to form an opinion of them.

  ‘I get it. And it’s tragic when that happens. Sometimes you have to trust your instincts and believe in the good in people. A woman is volunteering to become pregnant, for no profit. Isn’t that between her and the Finches?’

  ‘Do you really think a stranger will risk her health and her own family for nothing? This is baby trading no matter how you spin it.’

  ‘OK. You don’t agree with what the couple is doing. But if we only accepted clients whose life choices we agreed with, we’d be out of business.’

  ‘Today you let emotion override reason. Once you start doing that, Private will suffer.’

  ‘Mary, this is one background check.’

  The vendor handed over the coffees. Mary took a cup, a concession of sorts towards peace.

  ‘I just hope this one doesn’t come back to bite us.’ She had the final say and headed back to the office.

  I gave the other coffee, banana and apple to the homeless man and looked up Eliza Moss’s company on my smartphone. She worked just a block away.

  I decided to make a detour there before facing any more complications at the office.

  Chapter 9

  SO FAR, I HADN’T found much on Eric Moss, CEO of Contigo Valley. The name sounded more like an orchard than a development and training organisation. From a quick search, again on my phone, there were no public scandals. Moss had never married.

  I headed into the Market Street building, scanned the directory and took the elevator to the thirty-fifth floor. Inside double doors to the left was a glass desk with a twenty-something woman poring over photo proofs.

  Behind her was a giant canvas print of female rock climbers, giving those below a hand up.

  The young woman looked up.

  ‘I’m here to see Ms Moss.’

  ‘You must be the private detective.’ She gave a megawatt smile as she came out from behind the desk. ‘Eliza’s working in the conference room. At the end there. You can’t miss it.’

  I moved to where she’d pointed. In the room, two women sat at one end of a long wooden table surrounded by computers and diaries. The one at the end spoke assertively into a phone.

  ‘There is no way the budget can reach to ten! Eight thousand or we’ll have to cancel.’ After a pause, she nodded and gave the thumbs up to her colleague, who smiled. ‘Ramone, you are a genius. I’ll make sure all our members know how incredible you are.’

  I wondered if Ramone would stay in business long if he dropped his prices so easily.

  Off the phone, the pair high-fived and paused when they saw me.

  I entered the room. ‘Craig Gisto. Jack Morgan said we should speak?’

  The negotiator tapped the other lightly with a finger. ‘Can you give us a few minutes?’

  ‘Of course.’ The colleague collected some paperwork and excused herself. ‘If you need anything …’

  ‘We’ll let you know.’ Eliza remained sitting and gestured for me to have a seat. There was no hint of despair or anxiety about her father.

  ‘Thank you for coming. Jack speaks highly of you.’

  ‘He mentioned you were concerned about the whereabouts of your father.’

  She stroked the face of a diamond-encrusted watch on her left wrist. The only other piece of jewellery was an infinity ring on her right hand.

  ‘He is supposed to have resigned – by email – last Friday and hasn’t been seen since. He would never leave Contigo. He turned it from a handful of search-and-rescue volunteers into a multibillion-dollar organisation with an international reputation.’

  I studied her face as she spoke. Blonde, shoulder-length hair with a cowlick on one side of her fringe, pale green eyes, enough make-up to look natural but highlight her fine features.

  The woman from the front desk interrupted us with a document in hand. ‘I’m sorry, but the florist wants to know – Singapore orchids dyed blue or violet?’

  Eliza Moss waved her in.

  ‘Blue.’ Eliza initialled the page and clicked off her pen. ‘We recruit for over a thousand companies, working to increase women’s representation at executive and board levels.’

  ‘Dyed orchids?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re holding a major charity fundraiser at the Park Hyatt tonight and I need to make sure it’s a success. A l
ot of people are taking note of how we do.’

  Being the boss meant travelling a fine line between delegating and micromanaging. I wondered if she was an overly protective daughter or justified in raising the alarm.

  ‘Is it possible your father simply went away for a few days? Wanted to have some time out after making a rash decision? Or maybe spend time in a new relationship?’

  The list of possibilities was endless, especially with middle-aged men who had resources at their disposal.

  ‘There’s no woman.’ She was adamant. ‘He’d have told me. His work is everything. He even sleeps at the company base, near the Blue Mountains.’

  I sat forward. ‘Does he have any medical history or a condition that worries you if he goes without treatment? Physical or –’

  ‘Why does everyone assume someone who commits themselves to work is either lonely, depressed or suicidal?’

  I suspected she was referring to comments made about her. ‘You’ve already flagged this as aberrant behaviour, for him. We need to know his routine before pinpointing when and what changed.’

  ‘And how to find him. I’m sorry. This is just … He’s very private. We both are.’

  In my business, private was a euphemism for keeping secrets. Eliza obviously idolised her father. If I started digging …

  ‘I need to explain something before we start. In the course of an investigation, we may discover information you didn’t expect. It could change your impression of him and possibly alter your relationship.’

  She thought for a moment and came back to the watch.

  ‘He knows I’d worry, so do what you have to. Keep me completely informed. I’ll pay whatever it takes. Just find him.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘I’LL NEED MORE than we have so far,’ I said as there were further interruptions by staff. I wanted her complete focus. ‘Is there anywhere quieter we could speak? To clarify personal details.’

  ‘Here suits me better,’ she said, matter of factly. ‘I can handle any last-minute issues. Like I said, tonight’s important.’