Just Business (25 page)

The lift arrived at the second floor. Helen made a beeline for Yoshi's office and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him behind his desk. He automatically rose to his feet when he saw the tears welling in her hazel eyes.

‘Helen? Why are you crying? What's happened?' He came around the desk to take her in his arms.

‘It's Phil,' her voice was muffled against his shoulder. ‘He cornered me in the carpark … he said he could kill me …'

‘Phil? You mean Phil Davis?'

Yoshi looked confused even when Helen nodded.

She stepped out of his embrace and sat on one of the visitors' seats. ‘There's something I've kept from you. Phil's been calling me … threatening me … saying that I've ruined his life …'

‘Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I thought I could handle it,' she shrugged.

‘I'm disappointed in you,' Yoshi said. ‘We're meant to have no secrets.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said again.

‘How could you not tell me this was happening?' he repeated and for the first time in their short courtship, Helen lost her temper with him.

‘Look, I said I was sorry. But I'm the one who should be upset, not you. And your role is to comfort me, not to make me feel even worse.' She walked out and slammed his door shut for good measure.

Much later that day Keith called Helen back. ‘Everything all right now?'

Helen had just sat down to dinner with Yoshi and her mother. It was the old lady's first day home from hospital. She barely glanced in her daughter's direction as she left the table. She was too caught up in Yoshi.

Helen opened the doors to the balcony. ‘Yes, everything's fine, and thanks for calling when you did this morning.'

‘I was ringing to tell you there appears to be a connection between Lucinda Armstrong and Denis Greene,' Keith explained. ‘In fact, I saw him going into her house.'

‘
Really?
' Helen leaned her arms on the railing and looked down on Darling Harbour. ‘I don't know much about Denis …'

‘He's a software engineer. His speciality is operating systems of large mainframes – like the one at AIZ. A few weeks ago, he gained unauthorised access to the bank's computer room.'

‘You mean after the date he left our employment?'

‘Yes.'

‘What on earth was he doing?'

‘That's what I've been thinking about all day – and I think Marcus Diddams might be part of the answer.'

‘Marcus … you mean Lucinda's husband?' Helen could see through the balcony doors that Yoshi was still in deep conversation with her mother.

‘Yes. I think I told you already that his company went bust in 2002 – it was called Virus Solutions – they manufactured antivirus software.'

‘What's this got to do with Denis?'

‘Marcus was the brains behind the company – he developed the software himself.' Keith paused and then revealed where his thoughts were heading. ‘Consider this for a scenario – what if Marcus was writing some software programme and using Denis to install it in AIZ?'

Alarm shot through Helen. ‘Don't even
say
that. We have a big contract with AIZ that's going to be announced tomorrow!'

‘Don't panic yet,' Keith warned. ‘My imagination can tend to run away with me – this is just a theory at this point.'

‘What do we do?'

‘Look, I'm breaking ranks here, but I believe the circumstances warrant it … I think you should talk to Niamh.'

Helen got distracted when she saw Yoshi leave the table. ‘Niamh? Why?'

‘She also asked me to follow Lucinda. She must suspect something too. We could see if she has another angle on this. If we put our heads together we might get somewhere.'

Helen gave Yoshi a tentative smile as he stepped out on the balcony. ‘Okay. I'll ask her about Lucinda in the morning – I'll call you as soon as I've spoken to her,' she promised and hung up.

‘Is everything all right?' Yoshi asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Your dinner is getting cold.'

‘I'm sorry. It was an important call.'

‘You're not keeping any more secrets from me, are you?' he asked with a wry smile.

‘Well …' she hesitated. ‘I do need to update you on something but it can keep until the morning.'

‘Not another lunatic stalking you?'

‘No,' she smiled.

They were both a little wary after the scene in his office that morning. It was the first time they had exchanged angry words.

‘You seem to be getting along famously with my mother,' Helen commented.

‘I was telling her who would come from Tokyo for the wedding. She wanted to know if it would be appropriate to organise their accommodation. She heard of some weddings in Bourke where visiting guests …'

Helen laughed out loud as Yoshi related the rest of the conversation. It seemed her mother had claimed him as a kindred spirit: they were two foreigners battling life in a big city far away from their homes. Tokyo and Bourke were hardly in
the same league but there was no point in telling her that.

‘Who
is
coming from Japan?' asked Helen. They had been dating less than two months and she was aware there were some things she didn't yet know about her future husband. But they had explored all the important issues of life: family, religion, politics, lifestyle. She wasn't worried if there were a few things they hadn't covered yet. But she should have told him about Phil, she acknowledged that.

‘There's my immediate family, my parents and my sister,' he replied. ‘And I will invite some people from the office in Tokyo – Nishikawa Shacho and maybe a few other colleagues. We shouldn't need to worry about their accommodation – it's not common to provide that in Japan.'

‘Well, we have to make sure we do whatever they do in Japan,' Helen mimicked her mother.

Old Mrs Barnes had been gobsmacked when she first met Yoshi at the hospital. A Japanese man was the last person she had expected to see come through the door and had Helen not risen to kiss his cheek, she would have assumed he was one of the hospital staff. Yet the old lady had adapted remarkably once she got over her astonishment. Yoshi had stayed in the hospital room for over an hour as she hounded him for details of his mother country, fascinated with his answers. She returned the favour by telling him all about Bourke.

Helen gave Yoshi a quick kiss. ‘Come on, let's go back inside and tell her that she'll have her own living room when we buy our big new house.'

Marcus was very tired. It had been a long and stressful flight. Jack hadn't slept well and was uncharacteristically troublesome. He kept asking where his mother was.

It was the early hours of the morning when they got to Paris and pitch black even though dawn wasn't far away. With the sudden rush to get out of Sydney, Marcus had forgotten to put winter coats in their hand luggage. Some parts of the airport were blasting with heat and others were cold to the bone.

Their luggage was slow to appear on the carousel. There was one bag missing, the one that had Jack's toys. Marcus was queuing in the line for missing baggage when he realised he was taking an enormous and unnecessary risk. They left the queue and went outside to get a taxi. Jack would be disappointed about his toys but there was nothing that could be realistically done to get them back without jeopardising their new life.

They checked into a popular hotel in the Marais area. It was booked under their new surname, Ryan. Marcus had explained to Jack a few times already that there would be no more Diddams and no more Armstrong. Everyone in the family had the same surname now. Wasn't that good? Jack wasn't convinced it was a good thing at all. He had just learned to say his old surname properly and he didn't want to change. He wasn't overly enamoured with Paris either. It was cold and dark. Jack wanted to go home. And he wanted his mother.

This was Marcus's second time in Paris. He had been in the autumn of last year but hadn't stopped to enjoy the charm of the city. His main purpose had been to set up an account with Banque De France. When that was done he had travelled to six other European cities and set up several bank accounts in each. Marcus Ryan made a modest deposit in each new bank account and the tellers barely glanced at his fake passport. Since then he had made a few more remote deposits. If the bank accounts had existed for some time and there was normal transactional
activity, then it wouldn't stand out as much when a large deposit was made.

As Marcus unpacked their bags his thoughts were with his beautiful wife. He hated leaving her behind and would be on edge until they were reunited. There was too much going on in Sydney. Even though Lucinda would lie low while she waited for her flight, there was an undeniable risk she wouldn't get out on time. It was a pity they couldn't all get on the same flight but they had booked the tickets at very short notice. He looked at his watch, working back to Australian time. Greene and the HR woman would be dealt with soon, if not already. He felt no remorse for Greene. He had found him to be a greedy loudmouthed man. It was Lucinda who had picked him. Without his knowing, she had matched up his qualifications and personality with their requirements. She had been confident that he would say yes when Marcus approached him. Marcus felt no remorse for the HR woman either. He had never met her. She was nothing to him.

They had travelled light and the unpacking was finished in no time. Marcus got his mobile phone and sat on the bed to type a text message to Kel Sheridan, the venture capitalist who wanted his money back.

20m will be in your bank account by close of business tomorrow.

Marcus looked at the message for a few moments before pressing send. Twenty million for Kel Sheridan. Ten million left over. That was all they needed. It was the price of freedom. It was the price of a new life without Kel Sheridan and all the other creditors who would stalk them for as long as they lived in Australia.

They were going to spend a week or so in Paris before
travelling around to the other European cities. Their schedule was flexible; they were in no hurry to settle. This was the holiday they had planned and waited for. It was going to be in the northern hemisphere's spring rather than summer, but what did that matter?

Room service delivered some toasted sandwiches which Marcus and Jack devoured. The child started to get sleepy and they curled up together on the bed. They didn't see the sun when it came up. They slept straight through the day and it was dusk when they woke.

Marcus rugged Jack up and they went out into the cold Parisian evening. They searched the locality for a suitable internet café. They needed somewhere that would be open in the early hours of the morning. They needed somewhere that would be busy, where they wouldn't be noticed. They needed somewhere with fax facilities.

For the second morning in a row, the black Honda was waiting for Niamh. It stayed close, never more than a few cars back. But she zoomed into the bus lane again and the driver had to make a quick decision. He changed lanes, pressing down heavily on the accelerator to catch up. It was too late when he realised that her car was stopped up ahead next to a flashing blue light. She was being booked. Willem Boelhoers followed her straight into the police trap, doing an unforgivable fifty kilometres over the speed limit.

Niamh pulled into the HDD carpark after earning three demerit points and a two-hundred-dollar fine. She was philosophical: she had got her dues. From now on she'd have to sit in the traffic just like everybody else.

She was making her way through the executive area when Bruce called out her name.

‘Niamh … can I have a minute?'

She changed direction and followed him inside his office. He shut the door and they both remained standing.

‘I need to tell you something.' His crinkled face was ill at ease. ‘It might explain why Willem thinks you're in danger.'

He opened the top drawer of his desk to take out a distinctive blue envelope.

‘Where did you get that?' she asked, her voice shaking as she looked around for the nearest chair. ‘Whose is it?'

‘It's mine,' he said quietly.

‘But who … has someone been taking them?'

Then something in his expression told her the truth. Bruce, of all people, was the joker. She couldn't believe it. Bruce. Her life seemed like a play where the people she knew and trusted were in fact only acting.

‘So you sent the notes,' she said flatly. ‘Why?'

His response was simple. ‘Because I saw what your husband did at the Christmas party.'

A blush crept across Niamh's face. She could kill Chris for humiliating her like this. ‘Why didn't you just come out and tell me what you saw? Why did you fool around sending stupid cryptic notes?'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't intend to cause you hurt.' He paused, seemingly overcome with emotion himself. ‘My wife cheated on me for years. All our friends knew but I was the last one to find out. I didn't want the same thing to happen to you. I thought you had the right to know – I just wasn't sure how to tell you. It's a hard thing to put into words – that's why my friends never told me about my wife.'

‘What did you see? What were they doing?' she asked, holding her breath for the answer.

‘They were kissing.'

Niamh studied the sad man who had lost everything in his divorce. There was no question that his intentions were honourable despite his misguided actions. ‘I should thank you, Bruce. Your notes did the job. Chris and I have split up.' His face filled with remorse. ‘Don't be sorry. You did me a favour. Lucinda wasn't the first.'

‘Lucinda?' Bruce looked confused. ‘No, it wasn't Lucinda. It was Helen.'

Niamh shook her head in disbelief. ‘Chris was with Helen? Kissing her?
Are you sure?
'

‘Yes.' Bruce sat down heavily. He stared at his trembling hands. It was as if Chris had been unfaithful to him rather than Niamh.

‘God, this just gets worse and worse. Why would Helen do this to me? I could understand Lucinda … but
Helen
?'

Bruce didn't respond; he seemed very shaken. Niamh had a thousand questions about what he had seen that night but she put them to one side. It was her problem, not his. And she couldn't bear to see him in such distress.

‘I assume from all this you think that Helen wants to harm me?' she said after a while.

He looked up from his hands. ‘I had the simplistic theory that she might want you out of the picture so she could have Chris all to herself.'

‘Commendable theory,' Niamh acknowledged with a weak smile, ‘but knowing them both, it seems highly improbable.'

‘I guess it was a little far-fetched,' Bruce admitted sheepishly. ‘Assuming Willem is right, who do
you
think is trying to harm you?'

‘You said yesterday that Willem also shares a duct with Lucinda?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's where I'd put my money – Lucinda.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I know too much,' Niamh said, getting to her feet. ‘I'm getting closer and closer to unravelling her motives. Problem is that neither she nor Willem came to work yesterday and I don't know how I'm going to get to the bottom of this if I can't talk to them.'

‘Willem called in sick yesterday morning.' Bruce was looking even more worried. ‘And I haven't seen him yet today.'

‘I'll keep an eye out for him.' Niamh walked over to the door but paused before opening it. ‘Will you be okay, Bruce?'

He was back to looking at his hands. ‘Yes, I'll be fine. This has just brought back some unpleasant memories, that's all.'

Niamh still lingered at the door. ‘Have I ever told you that you remind me of my dad?'

‘No.'

‘Don't end up like him, Bruce,' she said gently. ‘Don't let the grief consume you so much you don't want to live.'

Denis was on his way to the airport, the traffic moving well on this glorious Friday morning. The top of the Saab was down and Lily's blonde-grey hair blew in the wind. Denis slowed to stop at the lights of a major junction.

‘I need to call that lawyer,' he told his wife. ‘Can you hand me the mobile?'

Paul Jacobsen's number was stored in the phone and Denis called it up. The lawyer answered after the first ring.

‘I'm pulling out,' Denis said, forgetting to introduce himself.

‘Pardon?'

‘It's Denis Greene,' he backtracked. ‘I'm going back to Yorkshire with my wife.'

Lily's eyes met his and she smiled. She was truly delighted to be on her way back home.

Paul Jacobsen immediately tried to sway his client. ‘But our submission to the Industrial Relations Commission is ready to go. All we need is Lily's statutory declaration.'

‘Lily won't be signing any declaration,' Denis said firmly. ‘We're going back to Yorkshire for good. Lily's mother is ailing.'

Lily's mother was disappointingly healthy but Denis felt the lie was necessary to make his decision sound more believable to the lawyer. Lily didn't seem to mind the fib.

The car behind him honked; the lights had changed to green. ‘I have to go now,' he said, putting the Saab into gear and handing the mobile over to Lily.

‘Switch it off, Lil,' he told her. ‘We'll get a new sim card in England.'

Denis had arranged to meet a friend at the Qantas terminal to hand over the keys to the Saab. His friend would sell it and keep half the cash for his trouble. The house was more straightforward. They had handed the keys back to the landlord that morning. They had lost their bond due to the lack of notice but Denis didn't care – it was a small price to pay.

Lily couldn't stop smiling and now he was smiling himself as well. He was getting out, starting anew. He had a second chance, not just with Lily, with everything. This time he wasn't going to blow it. He became conscious of a motorbike in the lane to his right. It was very close, the passenger level with Denis and holding something white in his hand. Denis took his eyes off the road to have a better look. The passenger extended his hand, draped with a white cloth, and aimed at him.

‘
Fuck!
' Denis braked hard and the bullet missed the side
window, slicing across the windscreen instead. The glass caved in and Lily screamed, shielding her face. There was a smell of burning rubber as the car behind reacted to the sudden slowing in pace. The motorbike still hovered, disadvantaged by being slightly ahead. The passenger turned around; his beanie covered his head to eye level. Denis realised the gunman was about to have another go. He yanked the steering wheel to the left, lucky enough to find a gap in the traffic of that lane. He made it across to the hard shoulder and pulled Lily down below the dash while the Saab was still coming to a stop. He prayed for the first time in his adult life. Someone heard him and the second bullet didn't hit its target.

He was shaking uncontrollably. Cars whizzed past.

‘Why aren't they stopping?' Lily screamed, too scared to come up above the dash level. ‘Why won't someone help us?'

‘It's okay. We're okay.' He tried to calm her but didn't explain that anybody who had seen anything would have been caught up in the flow of the traffic. And the motorbike was gone; it would have been easy for it to get away.

‘Call the police. We must call the police,' she sobbed. There was blood on her hand as she tried to reach for the mobile.

‘No, Lil.' Denis grasped her hand, forcing it to be still. ‘We'd miss the plane. We can't miss that plane.'

He brushed the fragments of glass off her clothes and squeezed her hand with his until she was ready to sit upright.

‘See, it's all right.' He indicated the flowing traffic with his free hand. ‘Now, I want to get off this hard shoulder. It's not safe to be parked here. Okay?'

It was only when she gave him an uncertain nod that he finally let go of her hand. She studied the minor cuts on her fingers. He could feel stinging skin on his face and assumed he had
some cuts too. His knee wobbled as he released the clutch and rejoined the traffic. He was angry with himself. The motorbike must have followed him all the way from the house and he should have been more vigilant. This was the caller's way of terminating their relationship after the failed Westbank installation. It was obvious now that today was the day of the crash. The digital clock on the dashboard told him their flight was leaving in two hours. They had to get on that plane to London. It was their only chance to walk away from this terrible mess.

Helen was reading the
Sydney Morning Herald
and enjoying her morning coffee when she heard her door click shut. She looked up to see Yoshi and almost dropped the cup of coffee with shock. His right eye was a reddish purple, the swollen lid half shut.

‘My God! What happened to you?'

‘I went to see Phil after our dinner last night,' he replied with a casual shrug.

‘You did
what
?' she spluttered. ‘Are you crazy? He's twice the size of you!'

‘But not half as fit as me,' he grinned as he pointed to his busted eye. ‘This is nothing next to what I did to him.'

‘But why?' Helen looked at his face in dismay. ‘Why did you go looking for trouble?'

‘I wanted to reinforce what you said to him – to keep away or else. He took the first punch, caught me by surprise. But I sorted him out fairly quickly once it became a purely physical argument.'

‘Have you put ice on it? Did you go to a hospital?'

‘There's no need to fuss, Helen. It will heal soon enough.'

She shook her head in amazement. ‘You're full of surprises, Yoshi.'

‘I have my secrets too,' he smiled, tongue in cheek. ‘I used to do kick-boxing in my youth.'

As Helen gazed at him wordlessly, he sat down and said, ‘Now, you have something else to tell me, remember? Last night on the balcony? That phone call?'

‘Oh, yes.' She found her voice. ‘It's a long story, one that you might find a little hard to take in.'

‘I heard the end of your conversation last night,' he prompted. ‘You mentioned Lucinda's name.'

‘Yes. I was talking to a man called Keith Longmore. He's a private investigator – he's been following Lucinda for me.'

‘Following Lucinda? For you?'

Helen resisted a bizarre urge to giggle. Yoshi's speech became very stilted when he was upset or uncomfortable. He sounded like a very untalented actor in a B grade movie. ‘Lucinda called me the evening I lost my job,' she said when she had regained her composure. ‘We had a strange conversation. She implied that she thought I was hard done by and seemed, in a very roundabout way, to be saying that if I sued she would agree to a settlement. I wasn't sure if I was hearing right. It was a very mixed-up day. I avoided her after that, trying to deal with Niamh wherever possible. Once she realised I was giving her the cold shoulder, she became rather hostile to me.'

‘Niamh mentioned that she wasn't happy with the way Lucinda behaved towards you,' Yoshi told her, feeling the same anger he had felt when he first learned that Helen had been badly treated.

‘Once I got my job back, I promised myself that I would look into Lucinda Armstrong,' Helen continued. ‘It was extremely unethical for her to call me like she did. She's the company's legal counsel, for goodness sake. She's meant to prevent litigation, not encourage it. I couldn't help thinking that she had some
other agenda.' She stopped when she saw realisation dawn on Yoshi's face.

‘Niamh says that Lucinda has been lying about Denis Greene. But why would she want him, and you, to sue the company?'

Helen could only offer half an answer. ‘Apparently, Denis has been to Lucinda's house and there's a connection there that the investigator is trying to understand. But, as for me, I have no idea why she phoned that night.'

‘This is all very confusing!' Yoshi took a few moments to gather his thoughts. ‘It seems you were just a – what do you call it? A red fish?'

‘You mean a red herring – why do you say that?'

‘She didn't speak to you about the matter again. She'd achieved what she wanted.'

‘And what was that?'

‘Something to distract us all from Denis Greene. Something to distract us from the fact his claim against the company was invalid …'

‘Christ – the conniving bitch!' Helen apologised when she saw him flinch at her choice of language. ‘Sorry … I'm going to ring Keith Longmore right now to tell him this.' She picked up the phone but Yoshi caught her wrist.

‘Don't do that just yet,' he cautioned her. ‘Let's talk to Niamh first and put what we know together.'