Not Dead Yet

CHAPTER 3

  Gary left Angelo's and went to his bank to get a special clearance of Barbara Thompson's cheque. As the money slid into his account, he promoted the search for Trixie Powell to the top of his agenda.

  Barbara Thompson had given him the key to her son's apartment in Potts Point. He drove over there and caught a lift to the top floor of an expensive four-storey block.

  While fishing around in his pocket for the key, he noticed the door was slightly ajar and jamb splintered. Shit. Barbara Thompson didn't mention a break-in. So it must have happened recently. Who'd have broken in? A burglar who discovered the apartment was vacant? Someone looking for Trixie? Was the intruder still inside?

  Gary wasn't armed. But curiosity overruled caution. He pushed open the door and slipped into a large living area with a high ornate ceiling and polished pine floor. Scattered around the room were white leather couches, art deco lamps and a black onyx coffee table. The far wall had a long window overlooking the harbour. All quite tasteful. They obviously paid a decorator who knew what he was doing.

  Everything looked neat and tidy. No signs of an intruder.

  Gary eased over to the marble fireplace, picked up a metal poker for protection and slowly prowled around the apartment, looking for a trespasser. It took him twenty minutes to search all the rooms and encounter no one.

  Back in the living area, he looked for clues where Trixie went. Barbara Thompson knew little about her background, but suspected Trixie was a hooker before teaming up with her son. She said Trixie was heavily into New Age beliefs. So Gary wasn't surprised to find the small corner bookcase was stuffed with books on aromatherapy, animism, shamanism, witchcraft, numerology, astrology and naturopathy.

  Further, in the large kitchen, the cupboards and fridge were stuffed with seaweed, garlic, ginger, cheese and yoghurt, and a variety of herbal teas. He went into the main bedroom. On top of the dresser were numerous bottles of oil: lavender, peppermint, chamomile, eucalyptus, yarrow, camphor …

  The wardrobe was almost empty, except for women's shoes and handbags strewn across the bottom. Gary rummaged through the handbags, finding some spare change and a few old ATM receipts that he slipped into the back pocket of his jeans.

  Finally, he wandered back into the living area and stared out over the harbour. Almost dark. The dancing lights of a Manly ferry passed in front of Fort Denison.

  These days, it was hard to disappear completely. Almost everyone left an electronic trail. He had to find Trixie's.

  When he became a private investigator, he asked a colleague to recommend a good computer hacker.

  The colleague said: "Information broker, mate. We call them information brokers."

  "OK. Know a good one?"

  "The best are hot-shot kids still in high school. Smart, enthusiastic and bloody cheap. But using them is kind of unethical. So I use a young guy called Vincent Drew. He's a dickhead and charges a bit, but knows what he's doing. Let me give you his phone number."

  Gary then telephoned Drew and arranged to meet him at his run-down terrace in Redfern. Like most computer nerds, he looked nerdy. He was a scrawny guy with frizzy hair, pimples, discoloured teeth and a far-off expression. Without embarrassment, he introduced himself as "Lone Wolf".

  His geeky appearance wasn't a professional mask. Gary soon discovered he had almost no social interface. He'd stared too long into a computer screen and it had stared back into him. His eyes kept shifting and he fidgeted with his hands.

  Lone Weirdo, more like it.

  Drew led Gary into a dusty lounge room jumbled with cheap furniture. "You used to be a cop, huh?"

  "How do you know?"

  "After you called, I looked you up on-line." Drew outlined Gary's police career, credit history and present financial commitments. "You're usually late paying the rent. That's OK. So am I."

  "You can access the police computer system?"

  "Most of it. Still a few areas I haven't cracked. But I will. For instance, I haven't found out why you resigned from the force. Want to tell me?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "You don't need to know."

  A shrug. "OK."

  "What other databases can you access?"

  "You name it: banks, credit card companies, telcos, data info companies, airlines ..."

  "Are those databases hard to crack?"

  "Not if you know what you're doing. Most companies don't really care if people like me access information about their clients - they just don't want the clients to know that's happening."

  "And the clients don't usually know?"

  A smile. "I don't tell them."

  "Any chance you'll get caught?"

  "Nope. Before I access anyone's system, I use a couple of VPNs to bounce my signals around the world. Don't worry. The Lone Wolf stays in the shadows."

  Gary shook his head. "Amazing."

  Drew smiled. "Listen, privacy is dead. There are no secrets left. You leave an electronic trail from birth to death, and it sits around waiting to be accessed."

  After that, Gary often used Drew to check criminal histories or credit card records. Though the guy never failed, he wasn't easy to deal with. He claimed to have an IQ of 160, but needed a lot of stroking.

  Gary phoned him from Tony Thompson's apartment.

  A tired voice answered: "Hi, Lone Wolf here."

  "Wolfie, this is Gary Maddox. How're you going?"

  "Tired man. Been up all night chatting on the internet to a chick in China. She wants to come out here and marry me. She sent me her photo. What a babe."

  "Hah. I bet she's a grandmother. Don't be stupid."

  A love-sick sigh. "You're probably right, man. What do ya want?"

  "I've got a job for you."

  "What?"

  "To find a woman called Tracey Powell, a.k.a Trixie Powell. Her boyfriend was murdered a couple of months ago and she's disappeared without a trace. I want to find out where she's gone."

  "Maybe she's dead."

  "Maybe. But I think she's alive and kicking."

  "Where do you want me to start looking?"

  Gary took the ATM slips from his back pocket. "She's got an account at the Metropolitan Bank. Find out if she's made any withdrawals during the last few months and where from."

  "That's a tough one man. The Metro's changed its access codes. Hard to get inside."

  "Wolfie, I'm very disappointed. I thought you were the best. You telling me I was wrong?"

  "No, no. You were right. It'll just take a bit longer than usual, and cost a bit more."

  "Don't worry, I'll pay. Maybe she's also collecting unemployment benefits or some other sort of welfare payment. Have a look in the Department of Social Security's system. Oh, and find out if she's been admitted to any hospitals recently, or made any Medicare claims."

  "Sure. That'll take a while. You're not my only client."

  "I know. But I'm the only one who respects your talent."

  "Hah. Bullshit. I'll do my best."

  Gary re-holstered his mobile and left the apartment.