Private Sydney (Private 12)

The service would take place the next morning at the Northern Suburbs Memorial Gardens on Delhi Road, North Ryde. Ten am. It smacked of a rush job. Moss being dead clearly wasn’t good enough for some. They wanted him cremated as soon as physically possible.

I thought about what Mark had said. Was he trying to warn me, or protect me? Or both? He didn’t agree with what was happening but he had become more of a pragmatist lately. Every fibre in me sensed a cover-up by authorities and it

had to do with his supposedly secret contracts.

I stood in the lounge, watching Eliza for a moment. She had already been through so much, and I didn’t want anything to compromise her safety.

Time was running out to discover who, if anyone, had murdered her father. There were too many unanswered questions. Ambassador Roden’s determination to find Moss, the US Secretary of State’s close ties with Moss, who was really behind any fraud at Contigo and what the secret contracts involved.

First, I wanted to call Rex King and ask about the blood alcohol level in his system. It was a quick blood test and would confirm whether or not Moss had been drinking or was just acting drunk for the security guard.

Rex didn’t answer his phone. I left a message.

The best way to delay the service was to call the coroner and request a second, independent autopsy. As a family member, Eliza had that right. That way we could access any report on the cause of the boat explosion. Any physical evidence and test results would have to be kept until then. Eliza could make a public statement saying that if there was a fault with the boat the manufacturer needed to be aware and safety measures put in place to prevent another death. It sounded reasonable and focused on the mechanics of the boat, not the politics of the death.

I talked to her about making the calls. She agreed. It was our only chance to buy time and maybe get some answers.

Chapter 108

I COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time I’d slept in a bed. I dozed for short periods until morning, unable to shake the feeling Lang Gillies wasn’t doing Eliza any favours by rushing to put Moss to rest. Eliza had remained holed up in the spare bedroom since sending emails to the coroner’s office and the department of forensic science at the morgue. She was now leaving voicemail messages, stressing the urgency.

Time was running out for a response.

Darlene had kindly collected clothes from Eliza’s home for the funeral. Not knowing what she’d need, she brought multiple changes of outfit, some dark, with bright accessories.

By six am I had the desperate need to get out and clear my head. I changed into running clothes and left a note saying when I’d be back. Closing the door, I noticed dark grey clouds blanketing the sky. A cold front had hit and storms were brewing from the east.

I didn’t bother stretching, just began jogging. Soon I was sprinting along the beach. Waves pounded and sprayed me as my leg muscles contracted and extended against the sand’s resistance. Trying to make sense of the past few days, I pushed harder, until my body ached with fatigue and lactic acid. Short of breath, I stopped and bent over, hands on knees. My chest heaved trying to get air.

I had to face facts. Someone had attacked Eliza in her own home. She defended herself then, but opening up the mystery of Eric Moss to public scrutiny could get her hurt, or worse. Maybe Mark was right. I hadn’t been thinking clearly. What good was truth if it got people you cared about killed? Nothing would change who Eric Moss was to his daughter. Or how much he cared for her.

One thing I did know. I had feelings for Eliza and wanted to protect her from any more hurt. The cost of exposing any cover-up could be too great. And would it really do any good? Her father was still gone.

Chest still heaving, and shirt soaked with sweat, I headed back home, knowing what I had to do today.

Chapter 109

WE ARRIVED EARLY at the crematorium, hoping to avoid the media. Eliza met the minister who would conduct the brief service. As far as we knew, his would be the only eulogy, with a small group paying their respects.

As Eliza sat, one hand on the coffin, in a private moment, a man with a wreath asked to say goodbye to his old boss. Within seconds he’d pulled out a camera from inside the wreath and was photographing Eliza in her wheelchair beside the coffin.

I didn’t waste time evicting the man who, coincidentally, resembled a poorly fed vulture.

Eliza turned to me, barely holding it together. ‘Is this ever going to stop?’ I’d reluctantly talked her out of an inquest for that very reason. It would raise more questions than it answered and what was left of Eric and Eliza’s reputations would be destroyed by Gillies and his cronies.

I stood guard next to her from then on. A handful of people filtered through. Lang Gillies wasn’t one of them. Moss’s assistant, Oliver Driscoll, and the former financial officer, Renee Campbell, came forward and hugged Eliza. The pilot, Geoff Andren, took a seat without fuss.

Mary quietly let me know there was a horde of press outside, like red fire ants at a barbecue. I told her to remind them this was a private service, for family and close friends only.

I moved forward to take my seat next to Eliza and felt my phone buzz in my jacket pocket. I checked caller ID. It was Darlene. I walked towards the back of the church and answered.

‘Craig, we don’t have much time. I need to access the body.’

‘What?’ I couldn’t believe her timing. ‘The minister is about to start.’

‘I’m five minutes away. Trust me. You have got to stop the service!’

‘I need specifics, and they’d better be good,’ I told her.