Alex Palmer - The Labyrinth of Drowning

‘Well, he’s made fools of us, hasn’t he?’

‘Give me your opinion. Does he know this is a sting?’

‘Whatever he thinks, he’s playing his own game,’ she replied. ‘And whatever we’re doing, it’s not relevant to him. We’re just something he has to deal with. Probably keeping his activities very secret is something he does regardless of whether he thinks he’s being watched or not.’

‘We have to take the initiative. Take the car, keep the rendezvous. You’re wearing your wire. It has a GPS in it. Whatever happens, we can track you. Don’t let him take your firearm.’

‘You want me to go now?’

‘Yes. We’ll be listening to everything you say but I want you to maintain the blackout. But if at any time you want to pull out, say “Time to go” and we’ll be there.’

Grace finished her coffee. ‘I’d better go then. But there’s one thing I want you to do for me. Ring Harrigan and tell him I’m okay, and ask him to tell Ellie I’ll be home soon.’

‘I’ll do that,’ he replied. ‘Here’s Narelle’s ID. Don’t worry. We’re with you every step of the way.’

She prepared by scrubbing off her make-up and slicking back her hair as if she’d washed her face recently. Then she drove away along the Pacific Highway in the growing dusk, making the descent to the river. She had thought the operation would be over by now but it felt like it was just starting. She wanted to ring Harrigan herself and talk to him, wanted to hear his voice, wanted to know how Ellie was. At least they were home, safe.

The route to Turramurra on Sydney’s upper north shore took Harrigan to another boundary of the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park, to the west of Duffys Forest. He drove north along Bobbin Head Road into the suburb, a landscape of private hospitals and private schools. The streets were lined with well-grown trees giving shelter to expensive houses on large blocks. There was very little traffic; no one was behind him. The dwelling he was looking for was on the eastern side of Bobbin Head Road, in a cul-de-sac on the edge of the national park with a view over an expanse of bushland. There was no For Sale sign out the front. Maybe they hadn’t got here yet.

Harrigan reached for his backpack with its selection of tools and got out of his car. There was a high cyclone-wire fence identical to the one surrounding the Duffys Forest house. Again, trees and shrubs crowded against the fence and there was a Colorbond gate across the driveway, also locked. Harrigan looked through a gap between the fence and the gate, down the driveway to a house in the style of a suburban Spanish hacienda. The garden appeared overgrown and the property was enclosed by both the street trees and those growing on the block. Nearby was a mailbox combined with a doctor’s lantern, the red glass now largely broken. Despite this being a suburban street, there was a sense of isolation about the place. There was silence except for the sound of bird calls and the quiet hum of the day’s heat.

As far as he could tell, the fence surrounded the whole block. He was wondering where to start when a man in his sixties appeared in the opposite driveway and walked quickly across the road towards him.

‘Are you a real estate agent?’ he asked.

‘No, I’m not. Can you tell me who you are?’

‘My card. I came to ask you what you were doing here.’

He was a short man, a little overweight, bright-eyed and balding, casually dressed in expensive clothes.

‘Pleased to meet you, Adrian,’ Harrigan said, reading from the card that announced the bearer, an Adrian Mellish, to be a financial consultant. He offered his own card. ‘Paul Harrigan. Can I ask you why you have an interest in this place?’

‘Your name’s familiar,’ Mellish replied. ‘Weren’t you once a policeman? I seem to remember reading in the newspapers…Aren’t you a private investigator now?’

‘Not exactly. I’m a security consultant. If you want to know more about me, you can check my website. You didn’t answer my question.’

‘Our interest is that we live across the road,’ Mellish said. ‘We’ve been wishing ever since Amelie retired that this property would be sold and someone would do something with it. It’s been empty for at least fifteen years. One or two people have been looking at it lately. We were hoping that something might actually be happening.’

‘Do you know who these people were?’

‘No, not at all. You’re the first one I’ve spoken to.’

‘This was Dr Amelie Santos’s surgery, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. Did you know her?’

‘Only by reputation,’ Harrigan said. ‘It seems an out of the way place for a doctor’s surgery. Can you tell me anything about her?’

‘Actually Amelie was very successful. People trusted her and they came to her. We used to go to her and take our children. She was quite wonderful with children. But she was a very private woman. We always invited her over for Christmas drinks but she didn’t always come. I know she died about four years ago. There was an obituary in the paper. But still nothing’s happened.’

‘You’ve been here for a while,’ Harrigan said.

‘Helen and I moved into this street when we were first married. Best thing we ever did.’

‘How long has the fence been here?’

‘A long time. It went up when Amelie retired.’

‘She put the fence up?’

‘Oh, yes. She came and saw us. Apologised for the inconvenience, that sort of thing. At the time, she said it was just temporary. She didn’t want the place vandalised while it was empty. But once she retired, she never came back here. I don’t think she could bear to sell it. She’d spent so much of her life here. She left it in limbo and it’s been that way ever since.’

‘Addie.’

Across the road, Harrigan saw a thin middle-aged woman dressed in white. She was waving to her husband.

‘Have to go,’ he said. ‘A grandchild’s birthday party.’

‘Have a nice time,’ Harrigan said.

Mellish hesitated. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Just looking the place over.’

He glanced at the backpack Harrigan had over his shoulder. ‘You know, Helen and I…we’ve lived here for a long time. It’s a lovely suburb, really.’

‘Yes.’

‘But once or twice we’ve wondered if there’ve been people over here. At night.’

‘Did you ever report anything?’ Harrigan asked.

‘I did once. Just a month ago. We heard a scream, or we thought we did. I suppose it could have been in the park. I rang the police the next day but they just sent their community liaison officer around to patronise us.’ He looked at Harrigan, an odd expression on his face. ‘We’ve both really grown to wish this building wasn’t here. Most of the time, we ignore it. I don’t think anything would make me go inside. But if I were to, I’d look along the back boundary. There’s a gate. I’ve certainly never seen anyone go in through the front. Bye, now.’

Harrigan watched them back out of the driveway in a Volvo. Mellish leaned out of the window to call to him. ‘We’ll be gone for a while. You can park your car in our driveway if you like. Get you off the street.’ They both gave him a wave and drove away.

Harrigan decided he would move his car, and parked it in the Mellishes’ lengthy driveway, which was overhung with exotic trees, their leaves turning gold in the autumn. A pervasive sense of solitude settled on the street. He walked down to the furthest end of the cyclone fence and saw a track leading into the national park. He followed it down to the park boundary and looked along the line of the fence. Judging by the state of the vegetation, few people walked along here. About halfway along, he found what Mellish had sent him to find: a makeshift if secure gate cut into the fence. He took bolt cutters out of his backpack and went to work.