The Soulmate, page 21
It was on that day – the day the accountant came to our house – that I found Max’s secret laptop on the floor of the walk-in wardrobe, next to the open safe. I hadn’t seen it in a while; I’d almost forgotten it existed. Max had probably come in to check something and then forgotten to put it away.
For over a minute, I just stared at it. After years of coveting this computer, or at least its contents, I suddenly felt reluctant to touch it. Max and I had been so settled. What if I discovered something I didn’t want to know? What would I do then?
Still, I found myself closing the door of the wardrobe and kneeling on the floor. I gently turned the screen to face me. A spreadsheet was open, one I couldn’t make heads nor tails of – but then spreadsheets were always like gibberish to me. I minimised it and opened the email inbox. That was where the interesting stuff would be found – or it was in the movies, at least.
But this wasn’t the movies. Most of the messages were years old and appeared technical – about servers and systems. There were a few from Arthur Spriggs which caught my eye, though the contents of these messages was disappointingly dull. More recently, I found emails from Baz and other members of the security detail.
To my relief, all the names in the inbox were male. I was about to pack it in when I noticed an email from someone by the name of Stef.
I clicked on it.
Consider it done.
An innocuous enough message, but I scrolled down anyway. It turned out Stef’s full name was Stefan, and he was the head of security at NewZ. Now I thought of it, I might have met Stef the day Arthur Spriggs’s men broke into our house – a stocky, intense little man, who Max insisted was very good at his job.
Evidently Stef was the type never to start a new email thread; he just replied to the message he’d received last, even if it was about an entirely different matter. Annoying trait, I imagined. As I scrolled down, I came across quotes for security systems, information about alarms, policies for security passes. Most of the messages originated from Stef, and Max’s replies were brief, along the lines of ‘sounds good’, ‘well done’, ‘great job’.
I was about close the computer when I came across a message from Max to Stef.
Hi Stef,
Need a quick chat about CCTV footage from my office last night.
Max
I scrolled up and saw that Stef had replied a few minutes later.
Sure. Call me anytime.
Then an hour and a half after that:
As per our discussion, please confirm that the attached is the section you would like deleted.
One minute later, a message from Max to Stef.
That’s it. Cheers.
I looked at the email. There was no attachment.
I sat back on my haunches. Why would Max want to delete footage from his office? Try as I might, I couldn’t think of a scenario that would explain it.
I glanced over my shoulder. Max could walk in any time; I didn’t have time to search the computer for it. Instead, I got out my keys and stuck the USB into the computer. Once the flash drive installed, I clicked ‘All Programs’ and then ‘Backup’. Once I was done, I replaced the computer exactly where it was on the floor, the spreadsheet maximised on the screen. If the footage was on this computer, I was going to find it.
73
PIPPA
NOW
I race towards The Drop with Gabe on my heels. The girls call and wave. The man turns to see us running towards him, then sprints away at a speed I wouldn’t have thought possible for someone so enormous. Gabe and I each seize a girl.
I clutch Freya so tightly she cries out. ‘Mummy! Stop that.’
In Gabe’s arms, Asha is also protesting. But we don’t release them until we are all back inside the house and the sliding door is closed and locked. I close the curtains too.
When I’m sure we’re safe, I drop to my knees. ‘What were you doing out there?’ I try not to shout but am only partly successful. I grip Freya’s little hand. ‘We’ve told you you’re not supposed to go near the cliff.’
The two of them look both defensive and guilty.
‘But we were with a grown-up!’ Asha says triumphantly, hopeful that this loophole will get them out of trouble. ‘We’re allowed to go there with a grown-up.’
‘No!’ I say. ‘No, Asha. You’re allowed to go out there with Mummy or Daddy, or Nana or Papa, or Kat or Mei. Not with any other grown-up. Definitely not with a stranger.’
She frowns crossly. ‘But he was super nice! He had jellybeans.’
‘And he had a picture of a snake on his neck,’ Freya adds. ‘His name was Ralph.’
Both girls are smiling. I am shaking.
‘The man’s name was Ralph?’ I ask, thinking this might be useful to tell the police. But, then, we can’t tell the police about this, can we?
‘No, silly,’ Asha says, laughing. ‘The snake’s name was Ralph.’
Freya slides her hand from my grip. Asha tries to do the same with Gabe, but he holds her tight. ‘What did he say to you? You need to tell us everything, do you understand?’
‘He was very big man,’ Asha says, after a moment’s thought. ‘Even bigger than you, Daddy.’
‘I thought he was a giant,’ Freya adds.
‘Me too!’ Asha says.
They don’t seem the least bit intimidated. It’s as if they’ve had a visit from Mickey Mouse. I can’t decide if I should be relieved or if this makes it more chilling. I notice, suddenly, that Asha is holding a small piece of lined paper, the type that you tear out of a notebook. ‘What’s that, Asha?’
I reach for it, but Asha yanks it back.
‘The giant man gave it to me. But he said I had to give it to Daddy.’ She hands it to Gabe. ‘He said he might come back and visit again, to make sure you got the message.’
Gabe looks at the note for a second, then closes his eyes. I snatch it out of his hands and read it.
Last chance to play nice.
74
AMANDA
AFTER
Max is standing at the window, looking out over the vast, blue ocean. It’s obvious to me he’s thinking about Baz, and the note he’s instructed him to give the little girls. Max may have been a hard-nosed businessman in a lot of ways, but he wasn’t cut out for the criminal life. He never wanted anyone to get hurt – not even Arthur Spriggs. He certainly didn’t want anything to happen to Pippa, or her little girls.
He is so lost in thought that the sound of his phone ringing startles him. He turns and sees it on the dining table.
‘Max Cameron,’ he says, lifting it to his ear.
‘Mr Cameron, it’s Detective Sergeant Conroy. We spoke the other day.’
If Max is rattled to hear from the police, it’s not apparent. He seems calmer than the last time they talked. As if he’s in control again. ‘Yes, Detective. I believe my lawyer has set up a meeting with you for tomorrow, correct?’
‘That’s right. But there is another matter I wanted to discuss with you. It concerns a former employee of yours – Gabriel Gerard. I understand he was the person responsible for recruiting A.S. Holdings as an investor?’
‘If you say so,’ Max says neutrally.
‘According to our records, Mr Gerard was let go shortly after Arthur Spriggs, of A.S. Holdings, was murdered.’ He lets that hang there for a moment. ‘What’s most interesting is that Mr Gerard was also the last person to talk to your wife, Amanda, before she jumped off the cliff.’
Max doesn’t respond. It’s hard to tell if this is strategic or not.
‘This isn’t a surprise to you?’ Detective Conroy asks.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I see. Well, I must admit we are a little curious as to why Mr Gerard never mentioned that he was a former employee of yours in his statement to police. Which makes me wonder . . .’
‘Wonder what?’ Max’s question is tinged with frustration. I have the impression he wishes Detective Conroy would dispense with the theatrics and just spit it out.
‘It makes me wonder if Mr Gerard had more to do with your wife’s death than originally reported.’
‘I’m sorry, Detective,’ Max says. ‘The other day you said you were investigating NewZ’s relationship with Arthur Spriggs?’
‘I am. But there is a clear overlap here. Mr Gerard was fired from your organisation after bringing Arthur Spriggs on board. Arthur Spriggs was murdered shortly thereafter. A year later, your wife is found at the bottom of a cliff outside this same employee’s home. You’ll understand our interest, I’m sure.’
Again, Max opts for silence. I wonder what is going through his mind.
‘Listen, Mr Cameron,’ the detective says finally. ‘I get it. It’s clear that you and Gabriel Gerard have dirt on each other. But in these kinds of situations someone always talks. If that person is you, your journey through the courts will be looked on a little more favourably. If it’s not, that benefit will be offered to Mr Gerard. The choice is yours.’
Detective Conroy waits. I wait. Max will not be hurried as he weighs up his next move. Eventually, he lets out a long sigh.
‘Fine,’ Max says. And he starts to talk.
75
AMANDA
BEFORE
It took over an hour to go through the files that I’d imported onto my USB from Max’s laptop. I loaded them onto my own computer and went through it all in my study. Max was busy with the accountant, totally preoccupied, but I kept the screen facing away from the door just in case.
I thought it would be simple to find it. I searched file by file. I found some interesting stuff, no question. Invoices made out to Arthur Spriggs’s company. Spreadsheets and profit-and-loss statements from Max’s early years in business – ones he was so desperate to hide he kept them on a laptop locked in a safe. I found letters from lawyers pertaining to individuals who needed to be silenced. Reports from detectives who’d undertaken surveillance jobs. But no video. I couldn’t decide if I was annoyed or relieved.
Suddenly, I remembered something Max had told me once about hidden files. I opened a Google browser, typed in ‘How to find hidden files’, and Google produced some very straightforward instructions. And just like that, there it was. A video. It was four minutes long, saved by the date.
It worried me, I’ll admit, that Max would leave incriminating emails with Arthur Spriggs where they could be easily found yet hide the contents of this video. What did that mean? As my mouse hovered over the file, I registered the date. It was the night he’d taken me to the bridge his brother had jumped from. The night that Max had been called away . . . by Pippa Gerard.
I remember the way Max’s face had changed when he answered the call.
‘Of course. I’ll meet you at the office.’
When he’d explained why he had to go, I understood. He was apologetic, of course. He called the car around and asked Baz to see me home.
He got home a couple of hours later. I roused as he slid into bed.
‘Everything all right?’ I asked.
I couldn’t remember if he responded, but I remembered that he’d fallen asleep with his arms around me that night, and we stayed like that until morning. That was the image in my head when I clicked on the file and the grainy footage appeared on the screen. It showed Max in his office, standing next to a woman who I dimly recognised as Pippa Gerard. He appeared to be hugging her. Then they shifted. Pippa lifted her chin. Her hands moved down his back. And she kissed him.
I reached for my wastepaper basket and vomited.
76
PIPPA
NOW
I follow Gabe as he stalks to the bedroom.
‘What are you doing?’ I say to him. ‘Are you calling Max?’
He holds a palm up, silencing me. I remain in the doorway, my gaze darting back and forth between him – pacing with the phone pressed to his ear – and the girls, who I will never take my eyes off ever again.
‘Max,’ Gabe says after a couple of seconds. ‘Yes, my four-year-old daughters passed that message along. What kind of person would –’
Gabe is quiet so I assume Max has cut him off. The hand holding the phone is shaking – whether in fear or anger, I don’t know.
‘In that case, you might as well come and get it,’ Gabe says.
I stare at him. Come and get it? The USB? But we don’t have it!
‘Will you be coming in person or sending one of your thugs?’ Gabe asks. ‘Fine. Give me half an hour to get my family out of the house. I assume you’ll understand if I don’t want them around.’
‘What the hell are you doing?’ I say, when he hangs up.
‘I’m meeting Max,’ he says. ‘To give him the USB.’
‘But you don’t have the USB.’ I steal a glance at the girls, sitting open-mouthed in front of the television. They haven’t moved a muscle.
Gabe walks to the window, looks out. ‘Take the girls to your parents’ house, Pip. Stay there until I let you know it’s safe to come back.’
‘Not until you tell me what you’re going to do.’
He turns and looks me in the eye. ‘I’m going to fix it.’
77
AMANDA
BEFORE
Max was still in his office with the accountant. Down the hall, my whole world had fallen apart. The image would forever be burned into my mind. Pippa kissing Max. Pippa taking off her top and pressing herself against him. That’s where the video ended. Part of me was glad I didn’t have to watch any more than that. If I had, I was sure I’d be sick again.
The ache of it was physical. I’d heard people talk about having a sick feeling or a heaviness in their belly when they were heartbroken, but this wasn’t just in my belly – it was in every single cell. Max was in every single cell. It’s one thing finding out your husband is unfaithful when you are primed for it. Expecting it. But after all I’d done to avoid this exact situation – the years of eavesdropping, the spying – I’d been caught unawares. How could I have been so stupid?
I desperately wanted to make sense of it. Was it a chance encounter? An affair? As far as I knew, Max hadn’t anticipated Pippa’s call on the night in question. It had come out of the blue. Pippa had claimed to be worried about her husband’s mental state, I recalled. Was that the truth? Or was it all part of a ruse to get Max to come to her?
And was Max in on the ruse?
I was still staring at the screen when Max stuck his head into my office. I stared at him anew, changed somehow in the wake of what he’d done. He looked different to me. Like an imposter. A wax statue of my husband.
‘We have to head to the office for a couple of hours,’ he said. ‘I’ll be home for dinner, though.’
I nodded. Smiled. I might have waved. It all felt robotic. But Max didn’t seem to notice. Funny to think that this was the last time I ever laid eyes on him.
After he was gone, I looked back at the screen. Did he love Pippa Gerard? Was that what this was about? Pippa and Gabe had moved away very soon after the night of the video. To Portsea – a lovely spot. We had a beach house there ourselves, which we used for a month each summer. Max said he was glad Gabe was able to make a fresh start. Was he also glad because it meant he didn’t need to live with the guilt of his affair with Gabe’s wife?
Only a week or two ago Max had showed me an article about how Gabe had earned himself a reputation as a ‘suicide whisperer’, talking to people who came to the cliff outside his house, convincing them that they had something left to live for. I thought it was a lovely full-circle moment. I’d been happy for him. Now I was sad for him. Sad for me.
I needed answers, and I wasn’t going to get them from Max.
I saved the incriminating files from the USB to my computer’s desktop, picked it up, carried it to the dining room table and left it there, open, where he would see it. Why bother with a note when this would tell him everything he needed to know? Then I removed the USB.
Now, I needed to speak to Pippa.
78
PIPPA
THEN
It took me a couple of minutes to realise that Max wasn’t responding to me. I’d been too wrapped up in my own rebellion, throwing off the shackles of the perfect wife. But gradually I became aware of Max’s stillness, and I stepped back.
‘I’m sorry, Pippa,’ he said. ‘I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression. But I love my wife.’
I was mortified, but Max seemed even more embarrassed than me. He could barely meet my eyes.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, hurriedly retrieving my bra and T-shirt from the floor. ‘I’ll leave now.’
‘I’ll call security and let them know you’re coming down,’ he said, when I was dressed. Polite to the end.
I travelled down in the elevator alone.
I was almost home when I received a phone call from Max’s security guard saying Gabe had tried to break in to the NewZ offices. He’d been in a highly agitated state, and Max had called an ambulance. I was stunned that, after everything, Max was still helping Gabe.
I turned the car around and drove to the hospital.
79
AMANDA
AFTER
As Max talks to Detective Conroy, a sense of peace washes over him. I feel it too, even though I’m still not sure where I am, or what I’m doing here, on this strange threshold between the universe and beyond. What I do know is that while I’ve been in this liminal space, I’ve discovered things that most people never get to see. Things which have altered my perspective on the messiness of humanity.
It’s as if, while living your life, you view the world through a straw. You see only the tiniest sliver, all of it from your own perspective. Other people have their motives, their backstories, their feelings, but you don’t know that unless they share them with you, and even then there’s every chance they’re lying or prevaricating. What strikes me most now is the audacity of people, walking around with such certainty while armed with only the scantest information. I’m ashamed to say I was one of those people.
