Free The Labyrinth of Drowning by Alex Palmer Page B

if we can. We also need to notify the police. Can you forward them a transcript of everything that was said tonight? And we need to check Jacqueline Ryan’s mobile phone records for any calls to Thailand.’
    ‘Will do,’ the operative said. ‘I’ll send that request for a team through now.’
    ‘Thanks. I’m off duty. You can close my wire down. Call me if you need me.’
    ‘Okay.’
    Grace was tired and it was late. She hadn’t seen Ellie that evening and by now she would be in bed, hopefully asleep. She felt jaded; she didn’t like badgering worn-out, middle-aged women in desperate circumstances, it made her feel grubby. When she gothome she would wash off her make-up and become herself. But wasn’t this who she was, with or without the pancake? The hard-faced operative? Orion had extraordinary powers. Those powers were hers to exercise even if they broke people’s lives apart. This was the tightrope she had to walk: find the killers without doing too much damage to herself or anyone else.
    She began the drive home, to Harrigan’s Victorian terrace in Birchgrove. His haunted house, she called it; ghosts from his past lived in every room. He had told her to change it as much as she wanted—repaint it, redecorate, whatever she liked. Make it her own. She was working on it, room by room.
    It was only after she’d crossed the Gladesville Bridge that she began to wonder if she was being followed. A single light as if from a motorbike seemed to be always at the same distance behind her. Then the light grew closer—a small, agile bike, the kind that slips easily in and out of the traffic. Was it Newell? It couldn’t be. Every police officer in New South Wales would be looking for him. Even he wouldn’t be so mad as to show himself in public right now. And how could he know where she was?
    Her mind kept her driving under control but it didn’t stop her fear from growing. The bike came closer; it seemed to be letting her know it was there. She turned on her phone and rang the Orion control centre.
    ‘I’m fairly certain I’m being followed,’ she said. ‘A bike, small. I can’t see any registration and I’ve got no description of the rider.’
    ‘Where from?’
    ‘I first noticed it coming over the Gladesville Bridge. I’m on Victoria Road coming up to Darling Street where I’m turning left. It’s accelerating, coming up beside me, swerving in close.’
    ‘Take evasive action now.’
    ‘It’s gone,’ she said.
    Suddenly the road was clear. The rider had swerved in dangerously towards her car, then sped past her through the orange light at the intersection of Victoria Road and Darling Street. She hoped her voice hadn’t sounded panicky; it seemed as if it had.
    ‘Are you there?’ the operative asked.
    ‘Yes. I don’t know what that was about. Whether it was someone’s idea of a joke or if someone was following me from my op. Can you report it? And make my request for a team to pick up Jacqueline Ryan urgent. Just in case they were following me all the way from Parramatta.’
    ‘Will do.’
    She hung up. She was shaky, tired.
    When she turned off Darling Street and was on her way down the hill, she noticed a car behind her. It was still with her when she reached Snails Bay. As she was backing down the steep driveway of her house, the car passed her, turning into Wharf Road. It was a red Saab, a car she’d often seen speeding up the street. She turned off the ignition and sat looking around her. Everything was peaceful. Maybe no one was out there and she could just relax.
    Could she tell Paul what had just happened or was it work? No, it was work. Another secret between them. At least she was home, she thought, looking at the lighted windows with relief.

5
    I n the silence of the house, Harrigan, standing by Ellie’s open doorway, could hear only the quiet breathing of his daughter while she slept. If Grace were home, she’d have put on some music; the jazz she loved so much, singers and