Private Sydney
James Patterson
About the Book
Even for Private Investigations, the world’s top detective agency, it’s tough to find a man who doesn’t exist …
Craig Gisto has promised Eliza Moss that his elite team at Private Sydney will investigate the disappearance of her father. After all, as the CEO of a high-profile research company, Eric Moss shouldn’t be difficult to find.
Except it’s not just the man who’s gone missing, all evidence he ever existed has vanished too. And there are powerful figures pulling the strings who want Moss to stay ‘lost’.
But when a woman is found brutally murdered and a baby is missing, Private are suddenly drawn into another frantic search. And this is a case Craig has to throw everything into, because he may well be responsible for sending the killer straight to the victim’s door …
The world’s most popular thriller writer teams up with Australia’s bestselling crime writer for the latest action-packed novel in the Private series.
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
About the Authors
Also James Patterson
Murder House extract
Copyright Notice
Chapter 1
BRANCHES FROM THE eucalypts and blue gums cracked as they whipped the electrically charged air.
A storm from the east would hit soon and cover his tracks through the dense bushland. The cabin was isolated and close to a river, with a 270-degree vantage of the valley below, but that was in daylight.
Every sense on heightened alert, he scanned the doorframe with his night-vision goggles for the two strands of hair he’d positioned in the jamb days before. Locating both, he exhaled as the door eased open.
The urn over the fireplace was exactly as he’d left it too, the tiny notches in the wood lined up precisely with its rim. He checked his watch. Ninety seconds.
He unscrewed the base of the urn and located the USB device, which he secured inside his zippered jacket pocket.
His watch buzzed with a slow pulse. Someone had infiltrated his perimeter. With no road access from the north, they had to be on foot.
The pulsing sound doubled. Now two people headed towards the cabin. Cleaners. Men whose job it was to clean up mess and make sure nothing was left behind.
It confirmed he was a priority. If they had made it here, a hell of a lot of manpower was being invested in hunting him down.
He snatched his backpack and headed for the bedroom. Sliding back a rug at the foot of the bed exposed the trap door.
With the alarm pulsing on his wrist, he grabbed a bowie knife from his pack and dug it into the narrow space between the hatch and floor, dislodging caked dirt.
Summoning all his strength, he grunted and yanked. The hatch gave way. He squeezed through and lowered himself feet first. With a hook and wire he’d screwed into the cavity years before, he reached up, replaced the handle in its recess and repositioned the rug before lowering the hatch.
Sweat dripped from his forehead. He checked his watch again and listened.
No other sensors had been tripped. Instinct told him there were still just two men out there.
On his elbows and stomach the fit was tight, but at least he could propel backwards. After a few metres he removed a rope and screw-top tin from his pack. He unwound the line of rope before topping it with a thin layer of magnesium powder.
Fifteen more metres back and his boots should reach the removable panels at the rear of the wood shed.
The sound of feet clomping inside the cabin was suddenly paralysing. There were two male voices, then glass smashed.
He lit the rope and reverse commando-crawled as fast as his elbows, toes and knees could manage.
Flame ripped along the tunnel to the base of the cabin. As he kicked out the shed boards and escaped the tunnel, yelling pierced the night.
By the time they’d dealt with the flaring caused by the water, he’d be long gone.
Goggles fixed and backpack secure, he jogged along one of the paths he’d previously mapped out, careful to stay close to the gully on his left.
Fifty metres along, one of his motion detectors was attached to the base of a tree. It had already saved his life and could come in handy next time.
As he bent down and unstrapped the cord, something brushed his
right wrist. Instinctively, he slapped it hard with his other gloved hand before pocketing the device and running on.
Within minutes, pain tore through his wrist, like a nail had been hammered into it.
He could hear voices in the distance.
Sweat poured from his face as the burning in his wrist intensified. Nausea rose in his gullet but he had to keep moving. He was light-headed.
Wind howled as the storm moved in. The sooner it came, the less likely they’d find him before daylight. He headed off again and stumbled on a rock formation. Reeling back, he staggered, unable to maintain his footing. He reached for something to grab. Anything.
Agonising pain shot through his side as he hit the rocks below. The world went black.
Chapter 2
THE EARLY MORNING temperature was crisp as I stretched aching muscles. Even a punishing run couldn’t lessen the grief that today brought. I watched the flaming sun rising above the north and south heads, as a mammoth cruise ship glided into Sydney Harbour. It took me back to my honeymoon when Becky and I sailed home from Noumea.
The spectacle of passing through those heads as the sun lit the city was one of our most treasured memories. It was the moment she told me she wanted to be known as Mrs Craig Gisto.
It had been eight years now, and a song, a smell, even a sound, could still trigger a volcanic release of pain from my core.
If Cal had lived, he would be eleven today.
The car accident that took their lives trapped Cal as an eternal three-year-old and me as a widower. I wondered why there was a word for children who lost parents, but not one for parents who had suffered the greatest loss of all.
After a quick shower and breakfast, I was comfortably heading to the city in my Ferrari Spider. On Military Road, I stopped at the traffic lights just before the turn-off to Taronga Zoo. Cal’s favourite place.
Memories of him hanging off a gorilla statue were interrupted by a call. Jack Morgan. It had to be late morning on the west coast.
‘Hi, Jack, what can I do for you?’
The LA-based owner of Private spoke quickly. ‘Craig, I’m on a helicopter so we may lose connection. I’m asking for a favour. Eric Moss is the CEO of a company named Contigo Valley.’ The background noise made it difficult to hear.
‘You’re fading,’ I said into the hands-free microphone.
He shouted over the din. ‘He and his daughter are old friends. Moss was at the top of his field and disappeared two days ago. Emailed a resignation with no explanation.’
‘Do you suspect foul play?’
Jack gave directions to the pilot then returned. ‘This is a billion-dollar company with international contracts. It needs Moss.’
I knew some of the work the company did with safety and medical equipment. So the CEO resigned on Friday and hadn’t been heard of over the weekend. He could have been drinking away his sorrows or celebrating with a young fling.
I braked as a BMW cut into my lane on the approach to the Harbour Bridge.
‘Is the daughter high-profile?’
Most of Private’s clients were either famous, wealthy, or both, and wanted scandals kept out of the tabloids.
‘She’s special, Craig. I’m asking you to do this for her. Her name’s Eliza Moss. She owns Shine Management.’
The phone crackled again.
‘I’ve been a big supporter of Eric Moss,’ Jack continued. ‘Trust me, this isn’t like him. Eliza and the company are his life. He wouldn’t walk away without a fight. And he’d never do this to his only child.’
I wondered what sort of daughter panicked when her father didn’t contact her over the weekend. But if Jack thought it worth looking into, I’d do it, despite this week’s heavy workload.
‘Thanks, Craig,’ he finished. ‘Let me know if I can help in any way.’
When the line went silent, I replayed the conversation in my mind. Jack mentioned Eliza was special to him. I wondered how special.
After pulling into the car park just after seven am, I took the stairs to street level.
First thing I saw was shattered glass.
The ground-to-ceiling door to Private had been smashed.
Chapter 3
I STEPPED PAST the two young men working on the glass repairs and was greeted by our receptionist thrusting forward a handful of messages. Collette Lindman hadn’t been with us long, and seemed overly eager at times, but had skills that I believed would come in handy one day.
‘These are the important calls on the machine. And there’s a married couple waiting in your office. They were supposed to see Johnny at eight but came early to beat the traffic and had a good run. I couldn’t leave them in the waiting area with all that broken glass and without the door, it’s been pretty breezy –’
Collette barely drew breath. First thing was the door, which she still hadn’t explained.
‘What happened? I didn’t get a call.’
‘Oh, that? I didn’t want to bother you. The security company phoned me at home and said our door had been smashed by vandals. Anyway, I rang the glass repairers, who came straight out. They said other businesses had breakages too. I hope it was the right thing to do. Before you ask, the door was shattered but unopened. No one got inside.’
Given the amount of high-tech equipment in the place, that was one positive. It was difficult to take it personally when other businesses had been affected.
I stepped further inside so the workmen couldn’t hear. ‘Who exactly are the people in my office?’
‘Mr and Mrs Finch. It’s heartbreaking what they’ve been through. I didn’t think you’d mind, under the circumstances.’
Getting to the point was not Collette’s strong suit. ‘That’s fine. What are they here for?’
‘A background check. I assured them the name “Private” means their information stays that way, ’cause they seemed pretty nervous about confidentiality.’
I felt a pounding in my head. ‘You did the right thing, Collette. The police will need the security footage from last night. We’ll have good images of the door being hit and who did it.’
She hesitated. ‘That’s another thing I didn’t want to bother you with yet.’
‘Tell me now.’
‘The computers are down. I mean, that might be why there isn’t actually any vision of what happened overnight.’ She touched my arm. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve called the technicians. They’ll be here in a couple of hours.’
Technicians would take far too long. Without computers we couldn’t work.
‘Get Darlene to come in early. If she can’t fix the problem, she’ll know who can.’
I took stock of Monday morning so far: a favour for Jack Morgan, a smashed door, no computers and an anxious couple in my office, all by seven am. Cal’s birthday was shaping up to be one hell of a day.
Chapter 4
I COULD SEE the pair through the glass wall to my office. The man paced while his wife sat twisting the rings on her left hand.
I entered, introduced myself. The husband was late forties. The cut of his suit, along with the white shirt and pale blue tie, suggested middle management, or a small business operator.
‘Gus. Finch.’ He shook my hand vigorously. ‘And this is my wife, Jennifer.’
I greeted the woman, who wore a crimson silk shirt with a black skirt. She had to be at least ten years younger than Gus.
I took a seat at my desk. Finch sat next to his wife and held her hand.
‘How can we help you?’ I asked.
‘We want a background check on someone. A potential employee.’
With the computers down, I opened a journal and started taking notes as Finch began rattling off his requirements.
‘You should check she is healthy, no mental illness, has no criminal past, and that includes charges for DUI. I don’t just mean convictions in case she got off on some technicality, I’m talking charges, any history of affairs …’ He ticked off the list on his fingers. ‘Doesn’t abuse drugs or alco
hol, is clear of any sexually transmitted infections, has a mortgage to show she’s committed to staying locally and isn’t in more than$200,000 debt.’
This was clearly no ordinary pre-employment check, unless the job was for a childcare worker. The mortgage question threw me. Not many nannies in Sydney had paid off mortgages to the last $200K. Nannying jobs were something students or new graduates sought.
