She could hear Cherie approaching from the far end of the office. She grabbed one of the thick folders from behind her and put it down on top of the tablet, then cocked her head to listen. As much as she wanted to, Casey resisted the urge to back up from the desk and peer around the edge of the divider.
Turning back to the terminal, she quickly logged out of the system and returned to the entry screen. Lifting the bulging folder, Casey scanned the tablet’s display, desperately searching through the information until she found what she was looking for.
She could hear Cherie’s high-pitched laugh not more than a dozen feet away.
She stabbed the password into the login and hit ‘Enter.’
The computer flashed up a notification window.
‘Logging in. Please Wait…’
“You’re filthy, Paul!” Cherie cackled from behind the cubicle divider.
She was coming!
Approaching footsteps.
And then she was there. Casey froze.
“Okay,” Cherie said, entering the cubicle and setting a cup down on the desk beside Casey. “I didn’t ask you if you wanted sugar, so I just grabbed a couple of sachets. I’m so rude.”
Casey turned in her seat and looked up at Cherie with a gracious smile.
“That’s fine. You’re very kind.”
Cherie returned Casey’s smile with her own then flicked her eyes at the computer’s screen.
The intranet window she had logged Casey into was there, a cursor blinking in the search pane.
“Now, do let me know if you get stuck at all,” Cherie said happily. “I’m just a few feet away.”
Casey nodded quickly, nervously tugging at her earlobe.
Cherie stepped back then turned and left. Casey closed her eyes, listened to the heart beating rapidly inside her and willed it to slow down.
Calming herself, she carefully extracted her notebook from underneath the folder and set it down in front of her. She entered the file number into the search pane on screen.
‘SX801244’
A terse tone sounded from the computer’s speaker and a notification popped up.
‘Restricted File Access. Contact S. Schutz, Department of Immigration & Border Protection Immediately. Entry Requested Logged.’
Casey frowned.
“What the…?”
She backed up to the search pane and went to the second number on the list. She entered it in.
‘SX708937’
Again, the notification flashed, accompanied by the abrupt tone.
‘Restricted File Access. Contact S. Schutz, Department of Immigration & Border Protection Immediately. Entry Requested Logged.’
Casey snarled at the computer as she set her finger on the third entry Saskia had scrawled.
‘SX394923’
Again, the notification. Again the tone.
Something was wrong.
Casey lifted the folder away from the tablet and checked the credentials of the identification card she had cloned, confirming she had the highest access available to her. Josephine Catea’s credentials were sound.
And yet she couldn’t access the files.
They had been marked as restricted.
What could that mean?
Casey already feared she knew the answer. There was nothing more she could do here.
She had to get out.
Shoving her gear back into her bag, Casey reached down and yanked the power cord from its socket. The computer’s screen went dark.
Casey stepped out into the aisle just as Cherie swivelled in her chair and glanced up at her.
Casey clutched at her stomach and adopted a pained expression, but she didn’t stop.
With a concerned look on her face, Cherie stood.
“Are you all right?” she gulped.
Casey stopped in mid stride and hesitated before shaking her head.
“I think…I’m getting my period,” she croaked, before pushing past Cherie and making for the door.
“Oh no. Well, we have a bathroom just back this way.”
Tripping on her heels, Casey almost broke into a jog as she arrived at the door and pushed her way through it.
Cherie turned to follow her but stopped once Casey disappeared from view.
She glanced sideways at a male colleague who shook his head disinterestedly as he snapped a piece of gum.
“Chicks,” he said.
“You’re an arsehole, Paul,” Cherie retorted.
When the temp hadn’t returned, Cherie checked her watch then turned in the direction of the cubicle where she had stationed her. Frowning, she got up from her chair and went to the cubicle to find the darkened computer screen and the pile of folders on the desk untouched.
Annoyed, she headed back to her desk to sort this mess out.
Keeping her head down, Casey left the toilets and stepped toward the foyer. The security guards, who appeared to be checking IDs, had moved away from the entrance and there were now enough people moving back and forth that she could blend in. She reached for her sunglasses and shoved them in place as she walked briskly across the foyer.
Looking out of the corner of her eye, Casey spied the secretary named Cherie standing at the Administrative entrance talking to a pair of male colleagues, one of whom had their arms folded tightly. His expression was stony.
Casey quickened her step and staggered awkwardly on one of her heels. The doors were just a few feet from her.
Cherie’s eyes fell across Casey’s rear and she frowned.
The doors slid across and Casey was out.
She reached down and kicked off her shoes, grabbing them up in her hand as she broke into a half-walk/half-run along the path towards the car park. She kept her head down. She knew the alarm was probably being raised but she no longer cared.
Looking back over her shoulder, she crossed over the path and onto the bitumen surface.
Without warning, the piercing sound of a car’s horn erupted, followed by the screeching of tyres. Casey panicked and stopped in the middle of the road.
She felt the touch of something hard against her legs and she gasped, blinking behind her glasses as she turned to face a burgundy sports car.
What the hell?
Casey looked at the windshield of the BMW. It was completely reflective, giving no indication of who might be inside. Her eyes lingered on the car. The driver’s side door clicked open.
She gulped fearfully.
Without thinking, Casey bolted, sprinting across the car park, hissing as she rose onto her tiptoes against the hot bitumen underneath her feet. She made for the line of cars farthest from her. Beyond that was bushland that separated the car park and fence from the road.
Behind her, the driver stepped from the vehicle and looked urgently in her direction.
“Wait!” the driver called after her.
Casey ducked, ignoring the voice as she leapt over a squat barrier. She glanced back fearfully before lurching sideways, making for the cover of a group of eucalyptus.
The heart pounded.
The driver’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you all right?” the driver called again, stepping around the front of the car, shielding his eyes from the sun.
The female figure disappeared behind a tree and was gone.
___
At the sound of a loud and persistent knock at the door, Peter looked up from the newspaper spread out on the table before him.
“Can you get that, love?” Edie called from the bedroom. “I’m still wet from the shower.”
Another salvo of knocking caused his hackles to rise, and he stood, grimacing darkly as he marched through the hallway.
“If it’s bloody Prishna again…” he grumbled warningly, grabbing the door handle.
Pulling the door open, Peter blinked.
It was Casey.
His eyes narrowed in confusion as Casey stood up straighter. She was clutching a thick notebook in her hand. Father and daughter faced one another in an
awkward silence, the memory of Peter’s distressed outburst at the warehouse still fresh for each of them.
Casey looked beyond Peter into the house. “I need to speak to Edie,” she said flatly.
Hesitating, Casey stepped forward and around her father as he stood aside, allowing her entry.
He followed her into the living room as Edie emerged from the bedroom dressed in a bathrobe. Her hair was still wet. She and Peter exchanged a puzzled glance as Casey stopped in the living room and set the notebook down on the coffee table. Placing her hands on her hips, she paced back and forth. Her agitation was clearly evident. She considered her words.
“What’s going on, Casey?” Peter ventured suspiciously.
Casey stopped and looked up, directing her gaze solely at her mother. Without speaking, she bent down to the notebook and unclipped a piece of paper from inside. She held it out towards Edie.
Glancing worriedly at Peter, Edie took it and examined it. “What are these?”
“You tell me,” Casey challenged malevolently. “That’s Slattery & Gerard letterhead, isn’t it?”
Turning the paper in her hands, Edie tilted her head. Her mouth parted slightly and she nodded. “Yes it is. Where did you get this?”
“Saskia Andrutsiv,” Casey answered. She placed her hands on her hips.
Peter rolled his eyes and scratched his head. Edie remained still.
“Your donor?” she said.
Casey nodded. “Saskia had these numbers with her on the night she died. I’ve since discovered that she was detained temporarily at the Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility over a visa dispute. We think these are file numbers for detainees. You told me your firm represents immigration detainees.”
Edie glared incredulously at her daughter. “We?” she blurted. “You mean my father?”
Casey ignored her reaction. “Did you know her, Edie? Did Bill Slattery represent Saskia when she was in trouble?”
Peter hissed audibly and turned away from them both. “Jesus Christ.”
Edie’s features paled. “What do you think you’re doing, Casey?”
“I’m asking questions,” Casey snarled. Leaning forward, she plucked the photograph of Saskia and Shelley and tossed it down on the glass surface of the table before her parents.
“Look at her. That photo was taken the night she died. Did you know her?”
Edie gulped with barely-contained anger. She looked down at the image, then thrust her hands out defensively towards Casey.
“I have never met this woman in my life and even if I had, you know full well I can’t breach the confidentiality of individual clients. Besides which, what are you trying to suggest?”
When Casey didn’t answer immediately, Edie felt sickened. She sensed where her daughter was heading. Her lip quivered and she turned away.
“Saskia gave these to a friend on the night of her accident,” Casey continued. “Her friend said that she was afraid.”
When Edie turned back to face her daughter, her expression was apoplectic.
“And you think that I might know something about it? This is what you’ve managed to come up with whilst you and your grandfather have been running around out there playing detective?”
Edie’s voice shook. She pressed her hands to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut.
“They should never have released you from the hospital,” she whispered angrily. “You’re clearly not well.”
“I am fine,” Casey retorted petulantly. “And I know that I am on to something—something big. I will find out what it is.”
Peter glared at his daughter. “I think you had better leave,” he rumbled warningly. “Right now.”
“Dad—” Casey began to protest.
Thrusting his finger towards the front door, Peter started forward. “Get out!” he thundered. “Before I call someone to come and take you out.”
Casey wilted before him. She tried to work her voice, but no sound would come out. Edie turned away from both of them and withdrew into the sunroom, cradling her arms against her chest, her eyes swollen and red.
Casey retrieved the notebook, the photograph and the numbers from the table and retreated from the living room into the hall.
“You won’t be satisfied until you’ve broken us completely,” Peter said desolately as she stopped to open the door.
Casey faltered there, feeling her own sobs rushing up to overwhelm her. Before they could consume her in front of her parents, she slipped out through the door and shut it behind her.
Peter returned to the kitchen to find Edie still standing in the centre, seemingly frozen on the spot. As he came up beside her, he could see the turmoil etched into her features. Tears streamed down her cheeks and he felt sick. He reached out gingerly, placing his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off. It startled him.
“Edie?” he said, his voice cracking.
Edie turned slightly, standing full before him and it made him shiver.
Without speaking, Edie turned on her heel and strode into the hall, where she stopped before the telephone. Peter watched her as her hand went to the receiver and she paused, looking up at her husband.
Her face had become ashen.
“I have to make a call,” she said, her voice quivering.
CHAPTER 27.
Casey stepped softly up to her apartment door and paused, closing her eyes. Leaning her head against the steel plating, she felt a wash of exhaustion. Everything felt as though it were spinning out of control and she was collapsing under the weight of it. The day had been a disaster. The damage she had wrought seemed irreparable.
As she appraised the door, a sharp twinge of fear prickled across the back of her neck. She wondered if her grandfather had actually heeded her request to leave her alone.
Turning her ear to the door, she listened for signs of life from inside, but could hear nothing.
He’s not here!
She almost couldn’t bear to open the door. Her arm twitching, she raised her hand and gripped the handle. Sliding the door aside, Casey stepped in and closed it behind her.
Casey could see Lionel reclining in a chair on the balcony. He was holding a book in his hands; the rim of his glasses was visible. Evidently, he was engrossed in the pages.
Relief flooded her, sweeping aside her fear. She was grateful that he had opted not to listen to her. Gulping, Casey set her shoes and bag down on the floor beside the kitchen counter. She looked at her grandfather, assessing whether she should approach him.
Padding on tiptoe through the apartment, she was about to divert to her right and slip soundlessly into the bathroom, but Lionel cocked his head. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Casey stiffened. Heat flushed her cheeks.
There was no hint of anger in his expression, just concern and relief. Casey began to quiver. Her shoulders slumped and she went limp where she stood. Her eyes bulged with tears.
“I…”
She stepped forward onto the balcony where she dropped to her knees before her grandfather. Her face twisted with sorrow and relief.
“I’m sorry, Pa,” she choked.
Lionel sat forward, setting the book aside and he left the chair to gather her in an embrace.
Burying her face into his chest, Casey sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Lionel clucked gently and pursed his lips. “Sssh,” he whispered gently, stroking her hair. “It would take a damned sight more than that to hurt me, young lady.”
Through her tears, Casey managed a tortured laugh at Lionel’s comically gruff tone. She drew back and looked up into his wizened eyes. Though she could sense a residual hurt in them, he was clearly relieved to see her. That went a long way to assuaging her guilt.
“I am so stubborn,” she said. “Especially when I grab onto something. I’m like a dog with a bone. I just won’t let it go.”
“That stubborn streak,” Lionel observed. Casey nodded as she wiped her eyes.
/> Lionel cupped her cheeks in his hands. Any thoughts of anger or frustration he might have felt were swamped by relief that she was here. That she was okay.
“I meant what I said,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You have got to slow down. You can’t just barge forward. I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
Casey nodded stiffly. “I know. I know.”
She breathed, allowing her pent-up emotions to flow from her.
“Look,” he said, sensing the right moment to move the subject to one side. “The important thing is—apart from your safety—did you gain access? Did you find anything?”
Casey frowned, her gaze drifting away from him. “No,” she began.
Curiously, she tilted her head as recollections of her sortie came back to her. She focused on a memory of the computer she’d accessed. Lionel noted her quizzical expression.
“Actually, I don’t know. I mean, I got in, but when I entered the file numbers, I kept getting an alert saying that they were restricted.”
“Restricted?”
He rose from his haunches and resumed his seat. Squeezing his hand affectionately, Casey let go then took up the seat opposite. She drew her legs up and hugged them to her chest.
“Each time I keyed in the numbers, I kept getting the same message. The files were restricted. It also logged the fact that I entered the file numbers and instructed me to contact the Department of Immigration immediately.”
Lionel studied Casey. “But weren’t you already in the Department of Immigration or, at the very least, in an Immigration facility?”
“Yeah, and I used Admin level credentials. I should have had access to pretty much anything I wanted.”
“Yet you couldn’t access those files.”
“No,” Casey whispered dejectedly. “They may as well have been deleted.” Her voice drifted away.
Lionel looked back at her and tilted his neck. “This message,” he quizzed. “Did it happen just the once?”
Casey shock her head, studying her grandfather’s visage. “It happened for all of them.”
“Well,” he ventured thoughtfully. “That doesn’t mean that there was nothing there. You said they were restricted—not deleted. If that is the case, perhaps someone doesn’t want anyone looking at those files. Certainly no one at the level of your administrator.”