‘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.