CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
LILAC
Following the disastrous appointment,I part with Zach and return to my flat. Half of me wants to curl up and lick my wounds while the rest of me insists on tackling my to-do list. If I’m going to be busted for skipping school—no matter how often Zach insists he’s covered our tracks—I need to make it worthwhile and nothing about the meeting with the lawyer was that.
Since meeting with arseholes is the theme of the day, I finally get around to making a time with Elaine McClure’s private investigator, Jimmy Riley. Saturday at midday. I’d prefer to put it off forever, but being in a foul mood, I have a wriggle of anticipation as well.
I also schedule a meeting afterwards with Sierra’s foster dad. That leaves me even more uneasy.
Aaron hadn’t told me anything I didn’t already know. There should be some measure of reassurance in that—at least I’ve done my homework—but there isn’t. Just a heavy sadness that no matter what I do, it’ll never be good enough.
If even Zach’s money can’t move the needle, I have no chance.
My only option is to appeal directly to the foster parents—orparent, since only one of them will speak to me—and that shot is so long I can’t imagine a scenario where it gets me anywhere.
I still have to try.
After a lazy afternoon, work starts Friday evening and drags into the early hours of Saturday morning. Zach isn’t at the club, but Trent pulls guard duty, so during my breaks, I chat with him.
I’m still not one hundred percent certain of what I’m doing. The instructions included a lot of references to trusting my instincts and going with my gut—none of which sound like good advice to me.
Still, there’re a few conversations I gesture to the monitors to record, just in case. One about a financing project that fell through, leaving the client without his expected return, and another about a share offer that’s probably insider trading, but since it’s not my money, it’s not my lookout.
When Stefan enters the building, it’s like everyone’s nerves stand to attention, though to outside eyes, there isn’t a visible change. More like a pulse that jumps from employee to employee until we’re all synched.
This is only the second time I’ve met him. To my surprise, he’s actually based in Auckland, so not only is Christchurch not high on his list of priorities, but the club is only a small part of his focus when he’s in town.
Given there must be forty people on his payroll, it doesn’t feel good when he gestures to me from the doorway, and I follow him to the upstairs office.
“You recorded Sven Annsson?”
The names are a jumble to me; I can barely hold on to them during an active conversation, let alone recall them once the member is out of sight. When my face remains blank, Stefan brings his image up on a laptop and I nod.
“He told me about getting everything sorted for a construction project, but then it fell through.” I shift my weight from foot to foot, trying to read the inscrutable man’s expression, to no avail. My words limp into the defensive phrase, “I just thought it might be helpful.”
“Why?”
I close my eyes, trying to remember. “Someone talked earlier in the week about an Auckland Waterfront project you were managing. I don’t know why, but it just seemed…” I trail off, at a loss.
“Someone talked, did they?”
“I’m not good with names.”
“No kidding. Thanks.”
He swivels to type on his laptop while I wonder if that was a dismissal or if he’s cueing up another image. A few seconds later, he frowns at me and points to the door. “You can go.”
“Sure. Yes. Sure,” I say, blushing furiously and feeling like an idiot. Between this job and my classes, it feels like points are being deducted from my IQ every day.
It’s a relief to get home and fall into bed, waking what seems like minutes later to find it’s just gone ten and it’s time to get ready for the PI.
The moment I walk through Jimmy Riley’s door, I realise my concerns have been wasted. Much like the man himself. I hope Elaine McClure is paying him a lot less than I took for our two meetings because I can smell the intoxicating stench of weed and alcohol. Both are strong enough I’m getting a contact high just from being in the room. My twelve steps are going to take a pounding.
His questions are as loose as his inhibitions as I dash through the alternate scenario I concocted for the occasion. A few pokes at who I was, why I’d ever met Robbie, and most of all about what I’d heard since the last known contact between the long-lost son and his mother.
Ten minutes all up. For three hundred dollars? That seems like a good deal.
And I no longer care about the follow-up if it even happens. The next meeting seems like the kind of thing that might slip the investigator’s mind and I’m in no hurry to remind him.
