October (16 page)

‘But Cal, if he’s the one who has the Riddle and the Jewel, he doesn’t need you. What can he gain from meeting you?’

I shook my head. ‘There are still some things that he doesn’t have, and that he needs to know about the DMO. Like the missing two lines of the Riddle, like the link to the Keeper of Rare Books at Trinity College in Dublin. He doesn’t have the real drawings and he doesn’t know about the transparency with G’managh and Kilfane on it. I can use those to keep him interested.’

‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘So were you worried about me?’ she asked. ‘When you and Boges were
hiding
out in the shed.’

I nodded. ‘Of course. We both were.’

‘That’s nice of you,’ she said, playing with a loose thread on one of her cushions. ‘So nice.’

‘Are you OK, Winter? You sound a bit funny or something. What is it? What’s on your mind?’

‘Oh,’ she groaned, snapping the thread and tossing the cushion aside. ‘It’s this.’

She pulled a small writing pad out of her shoulder bag and threw it on the table in front of me. It landed with a clap. ‘I found it at the bottom of one of Sligo’s office drawers.’

I picked it up and looked at the first page of the pad. It was blank.

‘Go to the end of it,’ she said. ‘The last three or four pages.’

I did what she said and found that the last three pages were covered in signatures; the same signature, repeated over and over.

I looked up at her, puzzled. ‘Your dad?’

She nodded. ‘His surname was originally “Fong” but he changed it to Frey when he moved to this country. Charles G. Frey.’

I carefully examined the signatures. The first few were shakier than the later ones. I looked into Winter’s dark, troubled eyes.

‘So it wasn’t your dad practising his signature, it was Sligo.’

‘Exactly,’ she said, solemnly.

‘And there’s only one reason why Sligo would have practised your dad’s signature,’ I said.

‘Forgery,’ she said.

‘Forgery,’ I repeated.

Winter stared blankly at the floor. Everything seemed darker all of a sudden, like the moment immediately after a candle’s blown out. I wanted to say something to her—something that would make her feel better—but nothing would come to me.

Finally she pulled her legs up onto the couch, curled up, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

25 OCTOBER

68 days to go …

‘Rathbone will be out of the office between twelve and two today,’ Winter announced as she shook me awake. After she’d fallen asleep on the couch last night, I’d draped a blanket over her and crawled into her bed. It was funny waking up and looking at the flat from another perspective.

‘How do you know that?’ I asked as I rubbed my eyes.

‘Easy. His receptionist just told me. I rang his office to make an “urgent appointment” with him, and this super-chatty lady picked up the phone and went on to tell me how he was in this morning but he’d be ducking out for a meeting at twelve, and then he’d be back at two, but wouldn’t be able to see anyone because he had a bunch of conference calls to take with—wait for it—his associates who are currently interstate!’ Winter paused to take in an exasperated breath. ‘Cal, the office is practically empty!’

‘This is too good,’ I said, climbing out of bed. ‘What time is it?’

‘Half-past nine. Get ready, and let’s go.’

Rathbone trotted out of the building and hailed a taxi around a quarter to twelve. As soon as he was gone, Winter and I made our way inside and up the lift to level five. Winter told me to stay behind for a minute while she took care of the receptionist. I had no idea what she was planning as a distraction, but had to trust her. She turned and winked at me as she approached the glass doors of suite two.

My hands were sweaty and the parcel I was carrying, again in an effort to look like a courier, felt warm and awkward. I fumbled with my phone as I waited, keeping my head low.

There were only two businesses on level five, an accounting firm on the left, and Rathbone & Associates on the right. In the foyer between the two, in front of the lift, was a sleek, black leather lounge. I put the package down beside it, then bent down, pretending to tie my shoe, while I peered through to the reception area. Winter was talking to the woman behind the
counter. From the large nameplate on the
reception
desk I could just make out her name as Dorothy Noonan.

‘Yes, I’ve always known that I want to be a solicitor,’ I heard Winter say. ‘I thought it would be a good idea to try and get some experience, while I’m still a student, and visit some local firms to see if anyone would like my help after school, a couple of afternoons a week.’

A smile grew on my face—we were becoming experts in subterfuge. I checked no-one was
looking
, and made a hasty crawl through the doors, directly past Winter’s legs and the reception counter. My sudden confidence was quickly taken down a notch or two when I realised Rathbone’s personal office was walled in by glass—I’d be completely exposed.

Silently, I stood up, opened the glass door and stepped inside. Moving like a ghost, I crept behind the desk and crouched down.

I began working my way through the drawers, looking for any secret compartments, big enough to contain the Jewel and the Riddle. I could feel the sweat returning to my forehead and
trickling
down my back as I searched. If anything went wrong, and Rathbone came back early, I knew I’d be in the hands of the police within minutes. That’s if Rathbone didn’t do away with
me first. He was a mysterious guy—who knew what he was capable of?

A few minutes had passed and I hadn’t found anything. I hoped Winter would be able to keep the ‘chatty’ receptionist occupied. I snuck a look to check what was going on.

I could hear laughter! ‘Oh, love, I know,’ heard Dorothy say. ‘When I was about your age I did some work experience in a cosmetic
laboratory
and it was exactly the same!’

I had no idea what they were talking about, but all that mattered was that they were still talking.

I was searching Rathbone’s shelves, checking behind dozens of books, when my fingers
encountered
something metallic. I dug around and pulled it out. It was a small, metal box with a key left in the lock. I turned it and the lid opened. Inside was an envelope addressed to Sheldrake, with Irish stamps on it.

Letters from Ireland to Sheldrake Rathbone!

I skim-read the letter and one word jumped out at me: Graignamanagh. The letter was from someone in Graignamanagh, Tipperary, Ireland.
G’managh
had been marked on the transparency from Dad’s suitcase!

‘I’ll just photocopy it for you, love,’ came
Dorothy
’s voice, as she suddenly walked into view.
I dropped to the floor, but accidentally knocked over a glass filled with pens and pencils!

‘What was that?’ asked Dorothy, quickly approaching Rathbone’s desk.

‘That’s nothing,’ I heard Winter say. The pair were now standing in the room with me, as I huddled under the desk. ‘Look, Dot, how about I clean this up while you make the photocopy?’

‘Thanks, pet. Sheldrake likes his desk tidy.’ I watched the floor as Dorothy’s feet walked away again.

Winter dropped to her hands and knees, and picked up the stray pens and pencils. Her face suddenly met mine. ‘Get out,’ she whispered. ‘Rathbone’s on his way back already and I can’t keep this up for much longer! Plus I can’t let Rathbone see me! What if he recognises me? What then?’

‘Did you say something, love?’ Dorothy called out.

‘No, no, I’ll be out in a sec,’ said Winter,
standing
up and returning the glass to the desk. She left the room.

I was getting out from my hiding place when I banged my head and looked up to see what I’d hit. It was a metal lever. What was that doing there? It looked like some kind of handle. I backed out then pulled down on it as hard as I could.
Something
clicked then whirred. Then, from under the desktop, a large drawer descended.

A secret drawer! I felt around, trying to work out how to open it, my hands trembling and fumbling in my haste. I finally found another small handle, which I pulled. The drawer slid open, revealing one very fat file. I blinked. ‘Ormond family genealogy’, I read.

Feverishly, I hauled it out, shuffling for more light as I flicked through its contents.

Rathbone must have been gathering
information
on my family for decades! There were handwritten histories from generations ago, and family trees following the descendants of Black Tom’s son, Piers Duiske of Duiske Abbey. There were letters from solicitors and lawyers from Ireland. I fumbled all the contents back into the folder, knowing that I’d have to scram, and as I did this, my eyes fell on some lines in one of the letters: ‘… too difficult to access all the coded information, it is suggested instead that a search through the remnants of any forts or houses built by the tenth Earl in the area of Carrick on Suir, be undertaken instead. In this way, we cut the Gordian knot, avoid wasting time with decoding and move straight to searching possible locations.’

My fingers shook as I tried to silently squeeze
the file back into its secret compartment. couldn’t work it out and was running out of time, so I left it in its lowered position and crawled out backwards from under the desk.

I looked out and saw Dorothy fussing over the photocopier. She was still rattling on about
something
as Winter nodded nearby. Winter caught my eye, and looked furious. ‘What are you doing?’ she mouthed, desperately. ‘Get out!’

It was a risk, but there was something else I wanted to do. I re-opened the filing cabinet
containing
Rathbone’s clients’ records, and began flicking through the names. I skipped ahead to the surnames beginning with an ‘F’. It was a crazy idea, but Rathbone and Sligo were clearly in cahoots, so I needed to make sure that there wasn’t a file in there concerning the Frey family—Winter’s family.

There was a Fredericks, a Freeman and a French, but no Frey. I glanced over at the
photocopier
again and Winter was staring at me. ‘I’m going!’ she mouthed again. This time she ran a finger across her throat to emphasise the danger.

I heard the lift coming. Was Rathbone on his way up? But then, like a bolt of lightning, another idea came to mind. My fingertips scrambled along the tops of the files, flying over more surnames. Fisher, Fitzpatrick, Foley, Fong …

Fong!
Charles G. Fong! I almost couldn’t believe my eyes as I wrenched the file out and shoved it into my backpack.

I thought I could hear the lift stopping at the floor below so I raced to the door. Winter was gone, and I could see Dorothy typing away at her desk. A single scrunched-up ball of paper in the rubbish bin caught my eye. I grabbed it, shoved it into my pocket, then fell to my knees, crawling, once more, past reception.

I heard the lift locking into position on this floor. I had to move fast!

I scampered through the foyer and past the lift, just as it opened. I stood up and ran into the neighbouring accountant’s office, throwing myself down on a chair in their waiting room. I watched through the doorway as Rathbone stepped out of the lift and into his office, but not before he threw a sideways glance my way.

‘How may I help you?’ asked a man in reception.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Sorry. I think I’m on the wrong level.’ With that, I got up and hurried to the lift.

I swore when the lift was suddenly called down to the ground floor. I hit the down button, taking sideways looks at Rathbone’s office, wondering how long it would take him to notice the hidden drawer’s position.

I jiggled with impatience, listening to the lift
doors opening downstairs and to the silence coming from Rathbone’s offices. I prayed this would continue a while longer.

Come on,
come on
, I muttered to the lift through clenched teeth, hearing its doors close downstairs, and the whining of its ascent to the first and second floors.

A sudden eruption of sound came from
Rathbone
& Associates. I heard loud cursing and then suddenly Rathbone appeared behind the double glass doors, heading straight for me, one fist raised in the air and his face contorted with rage. The lift doors opened and I jumped in, punching the ‘close doors’ button.

‘You! Come back here, you little thug! You
criminal
!’ he shouted.