Brittle Shadows Read online

  Minutes later, she had powered up her computer and, thanks to the advances of mobile technology, connected to the Internet. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. She remembered hearing about an online login recovery service a while back. Now all she had to do was find it.

  Success. She scanned the site, her initial triumph dampened when she realized that if she wanted an immediate response, she would have to pay for it. That or wait 48 hours.

  Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. How desperate was she to access Tanya’s computer files? What difference would another two days make? Or rather, why pay for something she didn’t have to? Especially considering she couldn’t be sure where her next income would be coming from. Though technically still employed, she knew the generous compassionate leave allowed her couldn’t last forever. Besides, if she decided to stay on in Melbourne, she would have to resign her Perth job.

  Not bothering to untangle their lanyards, she grabbed the two memory sticks from the desk, one of which she plugged into the spare USB port at the back of her laptop. Except for the small security application that came with it, the 2GB drive was clean. She swapped it with the other stick. Any data, if it ever existed, had been erased from that, too.

  Following the online instructions, she downloaded the program from the site onto the memory stick, before using it to boot Tanya’s notebook and extract the encrypted passwords. She then plugged it back into her laptop and uploaded the file to the website for decryption, nominating the free service. With nothing else to do but wait, she opened her email Inbox.

  Receiving 1 of 18…

  She gulped down the rest of her cold coffee, spluttering on the dregs at the bottom as she read the arriving emails’ subject lines and sender names. Three diverted straight to her Spam folder; no doubt someone trying to sell her Viagra or a penis enlarger or something else equally appealing. She skipped over the IT newsletters and the jokes, not in the mood to read either. That left one from Gail Lyndon, the aunt who had raised the orphaned Jemma from a bratty 8-year-old through to adulthood, and… she counted them: six from Ross, two of which were time-stamped after her parting ‘have a good life’ retort the day before.

  She groaned. If nothing else, he was persistent. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to open his emails. Nor could she delete them. Instead, she shunted them unread into another folder. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Next, she double-clicked the header-line of her aunt’s email, opening the message to full screen. She skimmed over the first paragraph, feeling bad for not having returned Gail’s phone messages. Jemma might be a grown woman, but that didn’t stop her aunt from worrying about her every minute of the day. Still, with everything that had happened, she should have at least let Gail know she had arrived safely. She glanced at the bottom right of her screen: 6:26 AM. Too early to call, even without the time difference.

  The next paragraph brought her up short, her heart skipping a beat. An envelope from the State Coroner's Office of Victoria had arrived for her. Gail was asking what she wanted done with it. Jemma felt cold then hot. What did she have to fear? After all, she was the one who had requested a copy of her sister’s autopsy report.

  She needed air. Abandoning her laptop, she walked back through the apartment and outside onto the balcony. It was just starting to get light, the breeze still pleasantly cool. Looking down from the steel railing, she spotted a man in uniform patrolling the cobbled thoroughfare below.

  She watched him for a few moments, wondering if it was the same security guard who had claimed the surveillance tapes showed no one entering or leaving the building around the time of her intruder. Grieving or not, she knew she hadn’t imagined it. As if sensing her gaze, the man looked up. She shrank back.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Hello again,” said a cultured male voice from behind her.

  Jemma turned her head, coming face to face with the suited, dark-haired man from the property manager’s office. Until then, she hadn’t realized how inky-blue his eyes were.

  “Good choice,” he said.

  She blinked.

  He nodded at the cappuccino and plated muffin on the counter in front of her.

  “Oh.” Pocketing her change, she collected her purchases and stepped aside. “Sorry…” She paused a moment too long.

  “Ethan,” he said, extending his hand and then withdrawing it when he realized she had hers full. “Ethan Kelly.”

  “Sorry, Ethan, I really wasn’t trying to be rude.” She attempted a smile. “Jemma Dalton… but of course, you already know that.” In fact, he knew a great deal more about her than she did him, having taken a copy of her driver’s license when she had collected the apartment keys. “Actually, I was on my way to see you…”

  One dark eyebrow arched.

  “…about the apartment.”

  The eyebrow relaxed. “Not a problem,” he said as the cashier rang up a duplicate of Jemma’s breakfast order.

  Her eyes scanned the busy café for a free table. The homey smells of bacon and toast wafting from the kitchen at the rear were at odds with the décor’s bold colors and square lines. Everything from the bright yellow tables and red chairs to the bizarre light stands looked to have been constructed from a giant Lego set.

  She felt a touch at her elbow.

  “If you don’t mind sharing, come with me.” Not waiting for her response, Ethan walked around her and down the side of the chilled drinks cabinet at the far end of the counter.

  She followed, coming to a standstill when he disappeared. Seconds later, he reappeared, beckoning to her. Shielded behind a white semi-opaque screen, two blue Lego stools and a toy table were squeezed into an alcove barely large enough for one person, let alone two.

  “Staff table,” he said.

  Her turn to raise an eyebrow.

  He laughed and tapped the side of his nose. “Insider knowledge. My sister part-owns this place.”

  “Oh.” That’s all her sleep-deprived brain could manage.

  They sat opposite each other, their knees almost kissing.

  “Thanks again for coming to my rescue yesterday,” she said, tearing apart her muffin. “You saved me from a cold night on the streets.”

  He beamed. “Anytime.”

  She attacked her muffin with gusto, not speaking again until she had demolished two-thirds of it. “Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”

  “No…” His gaze dropped to his plate. “Not at all.”

  Wiping her mouth, she said, “Talk about famished. The last time I ate was on the plane and that wasn’t anything to write home about.”

  He laughed.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Please forgive me if I say or do anything stupid. Lack of sleep has left me slightly delirious.”

  The faint lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “A problem with the apartment?”

  “Not the apartment, no…”

  Embarrassment flushed his face. “God, I didn’t… I mean… I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “It’s fine, really,” she said, waving away his words. “Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

  “Sure,” he said, his facial muscles relaxing.

  “Just say someone wanted to get into the apartment complex. First, is there any way they could get in without a swipe card, and second, is there a log of those entries?”

  “Hypothetical, uh?” He stroked his chin, his eyes narrowing. “Well, hypothetically speaking, you don’t need a security card to gain access through the basement garage. Residents with car bays are supplied with a secure remote garage opener. But…” Pausing, he supped his cappuccino. “And,” he said, setting his cup down again, “it’s a big but: to get out of the car park, he or she would need a card. Of course, someone could always buzz them in. Is there a log? There should be. Does that answer your questions?”

  Jemma licked cinnamon sugar from her lips. “Sort of. What about the security cameras?”
r />   “What about them?”

  “Could anyone get in or out without being picked up by them?”

  “What’s going on? Has something happened that I should know about?” He glanced at his watch and with a curse, jumped to his feet. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. My turn to open up. Don’t rush on my account,” he added as she moved to join him. “Finish your breakfast and call in when you’re ready.” Brushing his teal-blue tie with the back of his hand, he stepped away from the table. “See you soon.”

  Alone, she picked at the crumbed remains of her muffin and mulled over Ethan’s words. Could another resident on her floor have buzzed the intruder in? Possible but not likely, she decided. Her intruder had used a key to let himself into the apartment; ergo he also had a security card. That left her wondering how he could have eluded the security cameras. One she could understand, but not all of them.

  And what about the computer log data? She poked at the milk froth in the bottom of her cup with a teaspoon. She knew more than enough about computer systems to know they weren’t foolproof. The card reader could have malfunctioned or been offline during the time in question. Or perhaps the security guard had misread the log. That or he had lied.

  She pushed her cup and plate into the middle of the table and stood up. As much as she wanted answers, her first priority had to be organizing for the apartment’s locks to be changed. After that, she intended fronting up at the security office. Unless the guard Chris spoke to in the wee small hours had pulled a double-shift, she reckoned she stood a good chance at getting to the bottom of it. Because she sure as hell hadn’t dreamt the shadowy figure. Nor did she believe in ghosts.

  The wind had come up while she had been having breakfast, a southerly by the feel of it. Four seasons in one day: the locals weren’t wrong. She rubbed her arms, wishing she had donned something warmer than the thin cotton top she was wearing. She looked up the street. It would only take her a few minutes to return to the apartment, the same time it would take her to get to the property manager’s office in the opposite direction.

  Dalton women were bred tough. Ignoring the wind chill, she took off down the footpath to the glass-fronted office she had called in at the day before.

  A woman in her early to mid thirties, her glossy black hair cut in a bob and her plump lips painted a ruby red, smiled up from the front desk as Jemma barreled through the door.

  She didn’t pause for breath. “Ethan Kelly, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Kelly is out of the office. Can I help you?”

  Jemma’s mouth gaped. “But I was just speaking to him.”

  The woman glanced at her computer screen. “He’s not due in again until late this afternoon.”

  Now what? Jemma stared at the woman. Ethan had been expecting her. Hadn’t he? “Perhaps he left me a message,” she said, peering over the wide, raised counter. “Jemma Dalton. Apartment 367,” she added as an afterthought.

  The woman didn’t even check. “I’m sorry, Mr Kelly left no messages. Could someone else help?”

  “I need to arrange for the locks to be changed on apartment 367.”

  Tapping her keyboard, the woman said, “What did you say your name was?”

  Jemma repeated it.

  “I can organize that for you, but we’ll need written authorization from the lessee first.”

  “I don’t think there’s a mail service from the grave,” Jemma said, frustration driving her sarcasm.

  Black-lashed eyes widened. More tapping. “Then we’ll need to contact the owner.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “We’ll make every effort to contact him as soon as possible.”

  Today. Tomorrow. Next week. “The locks have to be changed today. Is there someone else I could speak to?”

  The woman gave her a look of daggers and rose from the desk. “One moment, please.”

  Seizing the opportunity, Jemma leaned over the counter, almost rupturing herself as she strained to reach the acrylic business card holders she had spotted at the end of the desk. She snaffled Ethan’s card, palming it before the woman could return.

  From the snippets of conversation filtering through from the back office, the person the woman had gone to confer with wasn’t going to be of much help to Jemma either. Glancing down at the card in her hand, she made a split-second decision not to hang around any longer. Ethan owed her some answers.

  She waited until she was back in the apartment before trying the mobile number listed on Ethan’s business card. Voicemail.

  “Ethan, it’s Jemma Dalton. Can you please phone me back on this number when you have a minute?” She paused. “We had breakfast together this morning,” she added, in case he needed reminding.

  On the off chance the login recovery service had processed her request earlier than the 48 hours stated on the website, she booted up her laptop and checked her emails. No new emails of interest. Not even one from Ross.

  She checked the time. Still early in Perth, but she hoped not too early. If she thought her aunt would be waiting by the phone for her call, she thought wrong: the phone went unanswered.

  Making a mental note to try again later, she dragged her suitcase into the study, unzipped it and spent the next hour unpacking her clothes, hanging what she could in the narrow built-in-robe. To have utilized the space in the master bedroom’s walk-in-robe would have felt too sacrilegious. She could deal with that later, if need be.

  When she had finished, she slotted the suitcase, empty except for underwear and a couple of T-shirts, into the bottom of the wardrobe next to her shoes, concealing it all behind sliding mirrored doors. Pulling a face at the pallid, hollow-eyed creature reflected back at her, she ran a hand through her long, tousled hair and walked away.

  She tried phoning her aunt again. Still no answer.

  Then she redialed Ethan’s number. It rang twice then diverted to voicemail. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was avoiding her. Not that she and Ethan were anything more than passing acquaintances, but it gave her some inkling to how Ross must have felt. Except Ethan hadn’t told her he never wanted to see her again. Quite the contrary, unless she had misread the signals. She waited until the end of the recorded message and then not knowing what to say, hung up.

  Shedding her jeans and cotton top, she changed into the one suit she had brought with her, a summer-weight navy jacket and tailored trousers, swapping her strappy sandals for formal mid-heeled pumps. Next, she attempted to tame her hair, pulling it into an austere knot at the back of her head. A hint of mascara and lipgloss added the finishing touches. Almost.

  She delved into her handbag, pulled out her company photo-ID card and slipped the chain around her neck. If no one was going to help, she would just have to do it herself. She only hoped she could pull it off.

  CHAPTER 5

  Jemma sucked in her breath and before she could lose her nerve, pushed through the heavy black-glass door.

  No larger than a cubicle, the security office’s drab grey walls and vinyl floor were more utilitarian than decorative. Somehow, three timber-veneer desks and two four-drawer steel filing cabinets had been squeezed into the space behind the gated front counter. A keyboard and old-style CRT computer monitor, its screen dark, dominated the corner desk. A set of keys, a blue-and-orange coffee mug and a half-drunk bottle of water – the only evidence that anyone worked there – sat next to the mouse pad. Mounted on the wall to her left, was a bank of flat-panel monitors. From where she stood, she could see flickering shapes, but no detail.

  An ajar door to her right caught her attention. “Hello,” she called, “Anyone there?”

  Seconds later, a uniformed, ginger-haired man barely out of his teens emerged. His pale lips twitched in a tentative smile. “Yes?”

  She swung into action. “Jemma Dalton, Information Systems Auditor,” she said, patting the file in her arms. “I believe you were expecting me.”

  He frowned.

  “Not again,”
she groaned. “Do you know this is the second time today this has happened?” She made a pretence of checking her watch. “I’m here to check the integrity of your data systems. It’ll only take a few minutes and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  He didn’t look convinced. Nor did he have much hair.

  “Promise,” she said, tilting her head to the side and stretching her mouth in the widest smile she could muster. She bustled forward as if it were fait accompli.

  Letting her through, he said, “What do you need to know?”

  “Now, let’s see,” she said, unclipping her pen and opening the file. She motioned at the monitors. “First, how often is footage from these cameras backed up?”

  The young security guard shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. It happens automatically.”

  She made a show of noting that down. “And how would you know if there were any faults, like a camera not recording, for example?”

  “A message flashes on the screen.”

  Another notation. “To your knowledge, has there ever been more than one camera down at the same time?”

  He thought for a moment. “Last year, there was an electrical fault that cost the company three cameras. But other than that, they’re pretty reliable.”

  “I have a note here that’s says an operator can override the system. In what circumstances would that be necessary?”

  Lips pressed together, he rolled his eyes up. “Um, you’ve got me there. I don’t know. Maybe you should be talking to Gerry. He knows more about this stuff than I do.”

  “What shift does this Gerry work?” She chewed the top of her pen, waiting for him to confirm what she already suspected.

  “Graveyard – 11pm to 7am. Too early for you, I suppose.”

  “That’s all right. I just need to verify the audit trails and then I’m done.” From the expression on his face, she might as well have been speaking Martian. Exactly what she had hoped for. She smiled. “If you could just log me on, I can print them out.”