Private Sydney (Private 12)

The LA-based owner of Private spoke quickly. ‘Craig, I’m on a helicopter so we may lose connection. I’m asking for a favour. Eric Moss is the CEO of a company named Contigo Valley.’ The background noise made it difficult to hear.

‘You’re fading,’ I said into the hands-free microphone.

He shouted over the din. ‘He and his daughter are old friends. Moss was at the top of his field and disappeared two days ago. Emailed a resignation with no explanation.’

‘Do you suspect foul play?’

Jack gave directions to the pilot then returned. ‘This is a billion-dollar company with international contracts. It needs Moss.’

I knew some of the work the company did with safety and medical equipment. So the CEO resigned on Friday and hadn’t been heard of over the weekend. He could have been drinking away his sorrows or celebrating with a young fling.

I braked as a BMW cut into my lane on the approach to the Harbour Bridge.

‘Is the daughter high-profile?’

Most of Private’s clients were either famous, wealthy, or both, and wanted scandals kept out of the tabloids.

‘She’s special, Craig. I’m asking you to do this for her. Her name’s Eliza Moss. She owns Shine Management.’

The phone crackled again.

‘I’ve been a big supporter of Eric Moss,’ Jack continued. ‘Trust me, this isn’t like him. Eliza and the company are his life. He wouldn’t walk away without a fight. And he’d never do this to his only child.’

I wondered what sort of daughter panicked when her father didn’t contact her over the weekend. But if Jack thought it worth looking into, I’d do it, despite this week’s heavy workload.

‘Thanks, Craig,’ he finished. ‘Let me know if I can help in any way.’

When the line went silent, I replayed the conversation in my mind. Jack mentioned Eliza was special to him. I wondered how special.

After pulling into the car park just after seven am, I took the stairs to street level.

First thing I saw was shattered glass.

The ground-to-ceiling door to Private had been smashed.

Chapter 3

I STEPPED PAST the two young men working on the glass repairs and was greeted by our receptionist thrusting forward a handful of messages. Collette Lindman hadn’t been with us long, and seemed overly eager at times, but had skills that I believed would come in handy one day.

‘These are the important calls on the machine. And there’s a married couple waiting in your office. They were supposed to see Johnny at eight but came early to beat the traffic and had a good run. I couldn’t leave them in the waiting area with all that broken glass and without the door, it’s been pretty breezy –’

Collette barely drew breath. First thing was the door, which she still hadn’t explained.

‘What happened? I didn’t get a call.’

‘Oh, that? I didn’t want to bother you. The security company phoned me at home and said our door had been smashed by vandals. Anyway, I rang the glass repairers, who came straight out. They said other businesses had breakages too. I hope it was the right thing to do. Before you ask, the door was shattered but unopened. No one got inside.’

Given the amount of high-tech equipment in the place, that was one positive. It was difficult to take it personally when other businesses had been affected.

I stepped further inside so the workmen couldn’t hear. ‘Who exactly are the people in my office?’

‘Mr and Mrs Finch. It’s heartbreaking what they’ve been through. I didn’t think you’d mind, under the circumstances.’

Getting to the point was not Collette’s strong suit. ‘That’s fine. What are they here for?’

‘A background check. I assured them the name “Private” means their information stays that way, ’cause they seemed pretty nervous about confidentiality.’

I felt a pounding in my head. ‘You did the right thing, Collette. The police will need the security footage from last night. We’ll have good images of the door being hit and who did it.’