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as a barrier between them, something to lean on. Today Clive had brought a folder with him; this meant he had plans of his own.
    ‘What did our informant have to say?’ he asked.
    ‘A bit more than he told the police. You didn’t have to wear a condom when you had sex with Coco. The brothel put out a teaser on the net for clients. Which means our informant also surfs the net.’
    ‘We’re not interested in his tastes. Are there any other workers there with that same job description?’
    ‘He didn’t know about them if there were.’
    ‘Is this man telling the truth?’
    ‘Oh, I think so. It’s cost him a lot to come forward. He’s the perfect informant for us. All he wants is complete secrecy, particularly from his family.’
    ‘His wife really doesn’t know?’
    ‘Of course she knows,’ Grace replied briskly. ‘She probably knows down to the last cent what he spends. And whatever he says, he probably knows exactly how much she’s prepared to tolerate. It’s the lack of a condom she won’t know about, and that’s what he doesn’t want her to find out. He’d be in the family court the next day.’
    Clive smiled with scorn and turned his attention to her interim report.
    ‘It’s interesting what you have to say about Kidd from this morning’s meeting.’
    ‘There’s a possibility of corruption here,’ she said. ‘If Kidd was involved in this woman’s escape in any way, that’s a weakness we need to identify.’
    Clive was looking at her distantly. He had a red-covered document in his hand. ‘Is it only that? I’d say you haven’t forgiven him for saying you were responsible for Coco’s death. In the meantime, read that. When she supposedly escaped, I decided we should follow your judgement and have a good look at this Mr Kidd. That’s what the finance people came up with.’
    His comment had caught her off guard, wounding her a little. She flicked open the dossier on Jon Kidd. A single man in his late forties and a long-term employee with the Department of Immigration, based at their Parramatta offices. Once a wealthy man, his financial records indicated a constant and substantial drain of money over the last three years, including the sale of shares and investments, culminating in a 100 per cent mortgage on his house in Mosman, where he lived with his mother. There was also a large personal loan with his car, a Mercedes, as surety. Previously he had been a regular visitor to Thailand and Cambodia and, until recently, a generous donor to orphanages in Bangkok and Phnom Penh. Those trips had stopped in recent months, presumably due to a lack of funds.
    ‘Looking at his travel records, he mainly preferred the Cambodian orphanage,’ Clive said, ‘but he still spent time in Thailand.’
    ‘What did he do with these children from the orphanages?’ Grace said. ‘Take them away on holiday with him? Whatever it was, he doesn’t do it now. He’s almost bankrupt. He’s being blackmailed.’
    ‘Bled dry,’ Clive agreed. ‘I’ve directed our IT people to trace his computer traffic and, if they can, to hack into his own computer. I’ve also put out a “don’t touch” order on him just in case any other agency knows about his existence. The Thai woman’s escape was interesting. An act of desperation if ever I saw one, and Kidd was the person best placed to make it happen. I want to know if he is in fact responsible and what’s behind it.’
    ‘Does this mean we’ve decided once and for all that Coco is Jirawan Sanders, as the initials on her wedding ring would suggest?’
    He leaned over the table towards her. Grace sat upright, preventing herself from drawing back. ‘Did you at any time tell Jon Kidd or the police that we were seeking a woman of that name?’
    ‘No, of course I didn’t.’
    ‘Then this is for you.’ He pushed a photograph across the table. It was sourced from Interpol and labelled as top secret. The Thai woman, Coco, was sitting at a table somewhere shyly smiling