CHAPTER THREE
The front doors of Yarra Towers were still open; they weren't locked until 7 p.m. We went down to the basement car park, I unlocked my car and Frida slid into the passenger seat.
'I have to get the warehouse keys from my office,' I said. I took the elevator to the 12th floor, unlocked the front door of Palmer Packaging Products and went in.
The office was deserted, except for a light under the closed office door of Hugh Morrison, the Chief Financial Officer. He was probably working on another of his interminable risk analysis reports.
I went to my office and retrieved the warehouse keys from my desk drawer. On my way out, I heard muffled voices and a woman's giggle coming from Hugh's office. A giggle that I recognised, although I hadn't heard it for a long time.
I sto
