‘Finding your way is finding your own compass,’ said Frankie. ‘You must learn to trust yourself, find the parts of yourself you’ve ignored or repressed. I’ve done a lot of work over the years …’ She stopped herself, gave a small laugh. ‘Sorry. I realise how woo-woo this sounds, finding your way and all that, but I’ve put a lot of time and effort into freeing myself from what happened to me. I realised I couldn’t let it rule my life and, as I said, I had to let the past go. You’ve got to do that too. You said you’ve been living in your father’s shadow? Well, you need to get out into the light, and you need to do that on your own terms.’

  Jackie nodded slowly, thoughtfully. ‘I’m not sure I know how to do that. I guess I’m used to operating by other people’s rules. The righteous cop, the dutiful daughter …’

  ‘Time to break those rules then?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s just – it’s hard to do alone.’

  ‘You’re not alone,’ said Frankie, taking her hand. ‘I’m here.’

  22.

  Sunday evening. Usually Belle would spend it marking essays, but holidays meant a free night. She huddled in front of the heater, wondering whether her father could stop Richter. Would he even try? Probably not. She had to get hold of Trevor Curran. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

  She looked at the time. Trevor would be preparing for tonight’s broadcast. She dialled the studio’s number and someone went to find him. Belle hadn’t seen Trevor since that day in the pub, though she’d spotted his car around both Catherine Street and the tech. She also thought she saw him a couple of times in the street, but when she looked again there was nothing. Unsurprising, she told herself, because Trevor was an average-looking man; in fact, she conceded, he was average in every department, even bed. Now, when he answered the phone, she injected enthusiasm. ‘Trevor. Doing anything tonight?’

  ‘Belle?’ He sounded gobsmacked.

  ‘Yeah. Surprise! Feel like dinner?’

  ‘I thought I’d never see you again. Yes, of course. I know a place that’s open for drinks and we can decide where to go from there?’ He was gabbling with eagerness. ‘Or how about –’

  ‘No,’ Belle said, ‘I want somewhere away from big ears.’

  ‘This isn’t about Richter, is it? The development? Because –’

  ‘No,’ she lied. ‘I’ve got a hell of a scoop for you. I’ll organise dinner. My place, when you get off work?’

  As soon as she put down the phone it rang and, thinking it was Trevor calling to suggest another option, she answered it with ‘No, my place. It’s sorted.’

  It was Frances Rose. ‘Thought you’d got rid of me? When are we going to meet?’

  Belle felt her guts contract. The last thing she needed now was the wife scratching her eyes out. Again, a mixture of shame and anger made her hostile. ‘We don’t need to meet. You’ve got what you wanted. Stanton and I have broken up.’

  Frances said, ‘You think you can walk away like that, like nothing touches you? You can’t. You made this mess and you owe me. You talk to me, or I’ll find out where you live and I – I’ll follow you. I’ll haunt you. I’ll keep phoning you until you agree, and if you don’t, I’ll make your life the misery it should be.’ There was a beat, then Frances gave a half-laugh. ‘You have to meet me. Just to get me off your back.’

  True. Maybe she did owe this woman something, and if it would make her go away, then why not? Belle sighed. ‘When? It’ll have to be in the Cross.’

  Frances said, ‘Tomorrow. My daughter’s got flu and I have to find someone to look after her. I’ll phone you in the morning and arrange where and when.’

  ***

  In the end Belle ordered pizza from Pizza Hut. Trevor seemed not to mind. He arrived armed with a bunch of yellow roses, wrapped and beribboned, and a good bottle of red. It was cold, and they sat side by side on the couch, the bar heater close, eating from trays on their laps.

  Trevor was in a strange mood, manic and fidgety, and Belle thought he’d taken something, perhaps cocaine. He downed his first glass of wine in one go, poured another, showed little interest in eating. Belle had stopped drinking. She wanted a clear head.

  Neither of them mentioned the scene in the pub. For a while the atmosphere was strained, until Belle broke the impasse by asking Trevor about his job. He told her things were going well and then, with a journalist’s instinct, added, ‘Could always do with a good story. You said you had something for me?’

  Here was her chance. ‘You know Richter …’

  Trevor groaned, ‘Belle!’

  ‘What would you say if I told you Russell Monroe, or most probably Maurie Bensimon, was lending money to Richter for the development?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’d say it made sense. Everyone knows Richter’s run out of money.’

  ‘I didn’t. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  He shook his head hard, like a wet dog. ‘I’m not getting into this again. Besides, it’s not illegal to lend someone money.’

  ‘Wait. What if I told you Richter wasn’t the only one? That our glorious premier, Mr Doug Foley, was also borrowing money from them, Monroe and Bensimon?’

  That got him. He stopped fidgeting. ‘You got proof?’

  ‘Not exactly, but I know someone who found records in Monroe’s briefcase. Copies of a ledger showing it all. And if you dug around …’ Belle heard how lame she sounded, trailed off.

  Trevor looked disgusted. ‘I can’t use that. It’s bullshit!’ He added, desperation in his voice, ‘This is about Richter again, isn’t it? I told you before I’m not prepared to go there. You want to get me killed? My mother?’

  ‘But this is a bombshell,’ Belle cried, her hand on his arm. ‘The top politician in the state on the payroll of organised crime?’ She remembered something else. ‘Think about it. What was Monroe doing with those photocopies in the first place? Is he planning to dob in Bensimon? Or maybe a coup? You’re an investigative journalist, for God’s sake. For one of the leading current affairs programs in the country. You can make a difference. Aren’t you interested in getting rid of the crooks who run everything?’

  ‘The crooks who run everything?’ Trevor was fired up now. Belle hadn’t seen him so resolute before, so aggressive. ‘Like your boyfriend?’

  That stopped her in her tracks. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean the cop you’ve been slinking off with, creeping into that house in Forbes Street, fucking each other’s brains out. Rosie Rose, one of Monroe’s boys. You’re on some sort of white-knight crusade against Richter – I don’t know why, by the way, this street could use some money pumped into it – and meanwhile here you are, down with the dregs. Don’t give me your high and mighty sermons about getting rid of the crooks running the city while at the same time you’re screwing them as hard as they’re screwing everyone else. Is he at least paying you for it?’

  Belle slapped him so hard his head snapped sideways. Suddenly he was weeping, trying to put his arms around her. ‘Oh God, Belle, I’m sorry, I should never have said those things. I’ve drunk too much, I’m high, oh God –’

  ‘Keep away from me, you slimy bastard!’ Belle was on her feet now, pacing the tiny room. ‘How dare you say those things!’ Suddenly she halted. ‘Wait. How do you know about Stanton?’ She looked down at Trevor, who turned his head away. Pieces slotted into place. She spoke slowly. ‘You’ve been following me, haven’t you? That’s why I kept seeing your car, kept thinking I saw you in the street. Ugh, awful.’ She gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘I don’t want you here anymore. Get out!’

  Trevor came close, tried to catch her hands in his. ‘But you don’t understand, Belle,’ he cried, the words tumbling out. ‘You don’t know how much I love you. From the moment you came into my life, you’ve been … I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted and I think underneath you feel the same way about me. It’s just, since you started this development business, the way you’ve gone up against Richter, it’s like you’re on a suicide mission.’

  He drew in a ragged breath. ‘I don’t think you understand the enemies you’ve made. Richter’s got friends all over the place. Including top politicians, including Bensimon. And to go against them so publicly, the way you’ve done? I’m surprised you’re still in one piece.’

  He moved closer to Belle, trying to bring her body against his. She backed away, but there wasn’t far to go and she found herself up against the bookcase. Trevor said, ‘Yes, Belle, I won’t deny it. I have been keeping an eye on you. But only because I love you. I want to protect you. And when I saw you and Stanton Rose – well, you know. That’s hard to forgive, you and that cop.’

  ‘That cop,’ Belle sneered, her anger at Stanton momentarily forgotten, ‘that cop is twice the man you’ll ever be. I don’t need you to protect me. And I don’t need your forgiveness. Christ, Trevor, you’re a fucking creep. You stay away from me, you hear? I never want to see you again, not here and not anywhere else, not behind me in the street or parked at the corner or at the same restaurant … nowhere! Now go away!’ And she shoved him hard.

  He staggered, but held his ground. He stood in the middle of the room and she saw he was trembling from head to foot. ‘You don’t mean it.’

  ‘You bet I mean it. If you don’t get out of here right away –’ Belle looked around wildly, spotted the phone ‘– I’m going to phone my cop mates and get them to come over and make you.’

  ‘You won’t let me look after you. You won’t listen to me. If you don’t have me to look after you, who knows what will happen, the enemies you’ve made.’

  She picked up the receiver, began to key in numbers. Trevor threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender and stumbled out, leaving the front door open. Belle threw the roses after him and slammed it shut.

  23.

  Tuesday morning. Jackie was at the pool when it opened, hoping a swim would release inspiration and she’d find a way to handle the coming session with Harwood. Nothing presented itself. The only thing she could think of was to tell the truth and wear the consequences.

  She arrived at work to find Bennie ensconced behind his monitor. No sign of Kinsella. ‘He’s with the strike force, back on the drive-bys,’ Bennie said, anticipating the question. Jackie felt a rush of irritation. Why hadn’t Kinsella told her he’d been reassigned? Then she remembered his unanswered text from the day before.

  Bennie had swivelled his chair to face her. He gave her a huge smile. ‘Great work on solving the case, boss. Plus the television. Everyone’s talking about it.’

  ‘You should take credit, too, Bennie. I’ll make sure the chief inspector knows.’ She looked at her watch. Eight-thirty. ‘Time to see him, anyway.’

  She knocked, waited for the pompous ‘Come.’ She shut the door behind her, stepped up to the desk. Harwood had been reading, or pretending to read, a sheaf of papers in a manilla folder. He made Jackie wait while he finished the page he was working on, initialled the bottom with a blue Sharpie, and shut the folder. He recapped the Sharpie and set it parallel to the folder, straightening both of them until he was satisfied. Then he looked up and Jackie knew she was in trouble.

  ‘Family emergency sorted?’ he asked, his whole attitude disbelieving.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Jackie. Harwood hadn’t indicated she could sit and so she remained standing, more or less at attention, in front of his desk.

  Now he steepled his fingers. ‘You know what this is about?’

  Jackie hesitated. Admit she did, or play for time? She kept her answer vague. ‘The Belle Fitzgerald case?’

  Harwood, for once, kept his body still. ‘You suppressed evidence pertinent to the case. Not only that, but you got your father to cover it up.’

  ‘My father?’ Jackie, stunned, tried to process what she was hearing.

  ‘Your father. Apparently he phoned the commissioner last night, gave her a long sad story about how you took a book with his signature in it from a jeweller without declaring it, and when you showed it to him he made you hold it back. Even though you said you wanted to hand it in. What a load of bullshit. And what sort of person are you, to hide behind your bloody father!’

  So this was Stanton’s idea of fixing things. Jackie didn’t know what to say. She blurted, ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  Harwood had had enough of sitting still. He jumped up and began to pace behind his desk, two steps one way, two steps the other. ‘I couldn’t give two shits what it was like, but you’ll be delighted to know the commissioner fell for it.’ Harwood gave a convincing imitation of Liddell’s flat delivery. ‘Inspector Rose was faced with conflicting loyalties. Stanton Rose was a consultant on the case, remember? And look how well she performed last night. In the circumstances …’ Harwood gave up, reverting to his own voice. ‘You know what, Rose? The only person who looks a fool in this affair is me!’ He stabbed a forefinger into his chest. ‘I’m the one who has to sit like an idiot in the audience while one of my reports pretends they’re a TV star. I’m the one who just got blindsided by the commissioner. And why? Because although I’ve been asking for an explanation for days now, I’ve heard nothing. Nothing!’

  Spittle had appeared in the corners of his lips. ‘Nothing except for the guy Levy, the jeweller, claiming Kinsella told him the book was top secret. You get Kinsella to do that? No, don’t say anything. You’ll just dig yourself deeper.’

  Harwood stopped pacing. He sat down carefully, adjusting himself in his chair, straightening his back. He clasped his hands on the desktop and, looking straight up at Jackie, said, his voice formal, ‘Suppressing evidence is a sackable offence. You know that?’

  Jackie’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t tell what was coming next.

  ‘I wanted to throw the book at both of you, you and your buddy Kinsella. But the commissioner had other ideas. Your father did his job well. Plus she doesn’t want the case attracting any scrutiny. She wants the thing signed and sealed. Reasons unknown; no doubt to do with the top-secret conference I was kicked out of the other night. The one you got to cosy up at. So I’ve got orders now, to bury your little I did what my daddy told me episode. You’re the luckiest cop in New South Wales, Rose. In Australia. You get to hang on to your job.’

  Harwood jabbed a finger at his desk, kept jabbing to make points. ‘Let me make myself clear. This wasn’t my decision. If I had my way, you’d be gone. In fact, my advice is to find yourself a job as far away from Homicide as you can. Because, by “hanging on to your job”, I mean as a sergeant. There’s no way I’ll recommend you for promotion, not now, not ever. As long as I’m behind this desk you’ll stay a sergeant. Galanis returns to duty next month, and when he does, you’ll step down. He’ll have instructions to keep a tight rein on you, and, Rose, I’ll be watching you. Closely. Don’t think for a moment you’ve got away with anything just because, courtesy of the commissioner, none of it goes on your record. There are records and records. You should know that.’

  ‘I do, sir,’ said Jackie, relief and anger coursing through her in equal measure. Not trusting herself to speak, she turned to leave.

  ‘I haven’t dismissed you yet,’ barked Harwood. He sat rigid, his face tense. ‘What’s more, you’ll keep this whole matter to yourself. We don’t want every cop in the country doing what they like with whatever they find at a crime scene. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Dismissed. Oh, and Rose –’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Return whatever you took from that jeweller. In person. Immediately.’

  ***

  By the time Jackie got back from the jeweller it was midday. She wasn’t sure whether Simon Levy believed Kinsella’s story about the need to keep the book secret, but he was gracious enough not to press the point and thanked her for its safe return. He told her he’d seen her on television and congratulated her on solving the case. The moment she left, Jackie knew, he’d leaf through the pages and find her father’s name, wonder what the story was.

  Jackie went looking for Kinsella. She found him on Level 14, in the corner near the lift, where Phil de Bruin was talking to a bunch of strike force officers perched on desks or leaning against office dividers. Kinsella was among them, angled into an office chair, his back to Jackie.

  De Bruin noticed her approach. He called out, ‘Hey, movie star, too famous to talk to us now?’

  The group turned towards her, broke into whistles and clapping. All except one, the cop she’d caught fiddling with the sports bags on the strike force raid. What was his name again? Lindsay Gillespie. Jackie hadn’t had time to talk to de Bruin about him. She wouldn’t do it now. Give the poor sod the benefit of the doubt. If he was bent, he’d get caught sooner or later. Or not. She’d lost the right to take the high road.

  She met Kinsella’s eyes. He glanced towards the lift. She returned with an almost imperceptible nod, asked de Bruin, ‘Mind if I borrow that one? You can have him back after lunch.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said de Bruin. ‘Make sure you return him in good condition.’

  ***

  Jackie and Kinsella walked out into Charles Street. The day had started clear, but the air was heavy now and it felt like rain. La Niña or El Niño, Jackie couldn’t remember which was which. ‘Sandwich?’ she asked. Kinsella nodded.

  By unspoken agreement they took their sandwiches down Macquarie Street and into James Ruse Reserve. They sat on the grass. They’d done this a hundred times, but today felt different, awkward.

  Jackie, wanting to break the tension, said, ‘So, I’ve still got a job. I –’

  Kinsella stopped her. ‘Me first. I need to tell you something. I’m going to Perth.’