Private Sydney (Private 12)

‘How long have you worked with Mr Moss?’ I asked.

‘Two years.’ He seemed focused on the piece of rug. ‘I can’t believe he just walked out. Without telling me.’

‘Have you cleared out his things or is this how Mr Moss likes to keep it?’

‘Eric’s fastidious. He writes everything in the diary. Calls, meetings, functions. I don’t get why he’d ever leave it behind.’

Mary wandered around the room. ‘Does he have a problem with computers o

r smartphone calendars?’

‘He’s just old-school and likes to have everything written down.’

Mary wondered, ‘Doesn’t that reduce efficiency?’

‘In the afternoons I fill in his upcoming appointments. If he’s at the base, I phone him and he writes it all down. He always has it with him.’

I moved around to the desk. ‘May I?’

‘Sure.’

I opened the diary. It had functions organised for the next six months. Fundraisers, training courses, and a list of everyone he called. From the volume of calls listed each day, Moss seemed averse to emails as well, yet that was how he’d chosen to resign.

The assistant hovered. ‘If Eliza is asking you to help, she must be worried too.’

‘Too?’ I looked across at Driscoll.

‘Something stinks. Eric would never walk away. This was his life, and we were like family. He’d work from six in the morning until midnight. Even slept on the fold-out couch when he was in town.’ Driscoll moved to the other door and opened it. ‘This is his bathroom.’

A toothbrush and razor were still in place in the shower recess.

Mary quietly checked out the bookshelf then tried to open a credenza beneath the desk. It was locked.

‘Do you have a key?’ she asked.

‘No. Eric is the only one with that. Why would he keep an office key and leave his personal belongings? None of this makes sense.’ Driscoll sat on the sofa, face in his hands. I had to wonder about how close the assistant was to his boss.

‘Did Eric have problems or disagreements with any of the staff?’

Driscoll shook his head. ‘He gets on with everyone, knows everyone’s names. Even kept paying one woman who had cancer and ran out of sick leave.’

He smoothed his skinny trousers. ‘Eric believes you can tell a man’s character by the way he treats people who can’t further your career.’

It sounded as if Moss and his daughter shared philosophies.

I sat beside him.

‘How are the staff taking the news?’

‘Donors are panicking, groups are cancelling training camps … It’s exactly what Eric wouldn’t want to happen. And none of us wants to work for –’

‘Driscoll!’ a voice snapped.

The assistant sat to attention. ‘Quick, hide Eric’s diary,’ he whispered.

Mary dropped it to the floor and pushed it under the desk with her feet.

Chapter 13