It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the only way they could prove what they knew was true, that Hugh Thorburn and Ashworth Property used bribery to do their deals and intimidation to make people too scared to blow the whistle for fear of retribution. People like Robbie Baxter, Dan James, Joel Hardy and even gutless Adrian Gorecki at the council.
Pete didn’t like it. He’d spent half an hour pointing out everything that could go wrong. Eventually, they’d agreed to sleep on it. That morning, she told him she was going ahead with the plan with or without him, so he’d agreed to help. He’d argued that he should be the one to go to the factory instead of Meg, but she’d objected. They were tracking Meg, not Pete, so they needed to believe it was her at the factory. It wouldn’t work if they could look around and see that she was still at the launch.
She left her car in front of the gates—where no one could miss it if they came looking—and got out, patting her pocket again. Working quickly, she started on the fence, snipping the wire just to the left of where it met the gate pole. Once she’d made the final cut, she tossed the wire cutters on the grass, pulled out the section of wire to make a large hole and slipped through.
Heart racing, she hurried between towering tanks to a large open space surrounded by warehouses, looking for somewhere to plant the tracker. Somewhere open enough that she would see anyone who traced her there, but where she could conceal it from view. It was so sparse, though, just metal walls and concrete underfoot.
A rusty staircase flanked the building opposite. She checked if she could see under it. No. Good. She would hide there. But where could she put the tracker? There was a small metal awning over a door on a building nearby—maybe she could fasten it underneath. She reached up, but it was too high. And how would she attach it? She should have got Pete to buy gaffer tape.
She checked the time on her phone. Thirteen minutes had passed since she’d left Hartwell Gaol. If someone was monitoring the tracker, they would be here any minute. A hot gust of wind picked up the dust, swirling it around. A glint of red sunlight bounced off something lying in a corner where two walls met.
A Coke can. That was it! She ran back between the towers, heart pounding as she grabbed the wire cutters. The street was deserted. Thank God. She hurried back to the Coke can and cut the top, making the hole bigger. She shoved the tracker inside, slicing her thumb on the razor-sharp aluminium. Damn it. She sucked the blood, tangy and metallic, as she lay the can back on the ground with the tracker inside, then raced towards the rusty stairs and slipped into the pocket under the lowest steps.
Chapter 54
Issy stood by the stage where the audio engineer was setting up, pretending to be busy overseeing the final preparations. Actually, she was watching her mother make dazzling conversation with a vaguely familiar, pasty-faced man in a navy suit. He had the soulless look of a politician. A surge of disgust rippled through Issy as she watched Heather throw her head back, laughing at something he said, her hand on his forearm. Had they paid him off, too? Put his children through private school? Funded a beach house?
Near the entrance, Malcolm shook hands with Tony Skelton and a couple of other grey-haired men. Lindsay councillors, probably. He hadn’t even glanced in her direction, still angry. She pictured him, the day before, red-faced, his words charged with fury. ‘I had a vasectomy when your mother was pregnant with you!’ She’d rarely seen him so uncontained, so incensed.
When she’d returned to the apartment, she’d replayed the conversation over and over, each time more convinced he was telling the truth. And then there was Rosa’s response when Issy had told her she had a half-sister. The confused frown, the distant gaze, as though something wasn’t making sense. Was her father’s anger a result of being exposed? Or was it indignation, outrage, at being accused of something he didn’t do? If what he said was true—if he did have a vasectomy—he couldn’t possibly be Meg’s father. The timing didn’t work.
Since her post in the Facebook DNA group the night before, she’d been consumed by theories. Spencer was eighteen when she was born. She looked over to where he sat with Hugh, who was on the phone.
‘Got you a coffee.’
She turned to see Felix, a takeaway cup in each hand. ‘Thanks.’ She took the cup.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah, fine. Do you remember my night nurse when I was a baby? Anna?’
Felix looked away, squinting, as though he was trying to see her in his memory. ‘Yeah, she was nice. What happened to her?’
‘She left town and had a baby.’
Felix nodded, not understanding.
‘She had a baby … not long after she left our home,’ Issy added.
His eyes widened. ‘You mean, she …’
‘She was assaulted, Felix. I thought it must be Dad, but apparently he had a vasectomy when Mum got pregnant with me.’
‘Assaulted?’
Issy nodded. ‘It must have been Spencer.’
She looked over at Heather, who had moved on to a group of women who all looked exactly like her: Eastern Suburbs socialites with puffy faces and quilted Chanel bags and oversized diamonds on their manicured hands. There was something grotesque about them. How had she never noticed that before?
Felix followed her line of sight to their mother, then looked back at her. ‘Are you sure you’re right?’
Issy nodded. ‘I bet she knows what happened, and I’m going to find out.’
Chapter 55
‘There’s no one here,’ a voice said. Deep, male.
Meg waited for a reply, but none came. There was rattling—a door opening?—then a clunk. Meg moved her head, trying to see through a small gap, but the angle was wrong. Had he gone inside?
