Page 59 of The Meaning Of You

“The what?”

He waved dismissively. “You don’t want to know. Suffice to say even the workbench lighting is designed to ensure the right angle and distance to ascertain textural and colour changes. The room is kept to an even temperature of around 16 to 21 degreesCelsius with low humidity. We use fume hoods for certain processes and a lot of the chemicals require special storage. We have drying racks, book cradles, laying presses, board cutters, light boxes, mobile trolleys, bolts of linen and leather and cloth, and areas for gold tooling and photography. There’s fire suppression equipment, a separately monitored security system, a wash-up area, and tons of storage sealed against dust. On top of all that, there’s enough electrical sockets to satisfy a small hospital.”

“I had no idea.” I walked slowly around the room with fresh eyes, taking a closer look at some of the equipment.

Madigan shrugged. “It took me six months working with an architect to get the space exactly right, but I couldn’t afford to make a mistake.”

I snorted. “I bet he just loved seeingyourname in the appointment book.”

Madigan chuckled. “Pretty much. But without the right environment, I may as well not bother. No one would entrust me with an important document or book. And even with all of this at my fingertips, there’s still some stuff I need to use the university studio for. Hence, a little lecturing in return for access.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m guessing you won’t be moving anytime soon.”

Madigan trailed his hand over the closest workbench, a caress as much as anything, and I couldn’t look away. “And you’d be right,” he answered simply. “A lot of people envision book restorers working in dusty old basements, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Clean, dry, cool, well-ventilated spaces with no natural light are an absolute must. UV is like cancer to old documents and books. That’s not to say it doesn’t have its uses, but we control exactly what wavelength we use and for how long.” His cheeks flushed bright. “You shouldn’t let me go on.Let’s have a look at that passport.” He held out his hand. “A little UV light should bring some of its security features to life.”

I handed over the passport and followed him to a worktable. “Is this your spot?”

He nodded distractedly. “Gazza’s bench is over there.” He tipped his head toward a corner where three tables formed a U. “When he first started working for me, he was a lot closer. Now he prefers to keep me at arm’s length so I don’t offer unsolicited advice.”

I chuckled. “You? Never.”

“Smart-arse.” Madigan opened a drawer and fished out a small handheld unit that I guessed was a UV light source. “This’ll do the trick.” He plugged it in, killed the rest of the studio lighting, and then began running the light over the passport pages.

I moved closer so I could peer over his shoulder. “Holy shit.” I stared in wonder at the various elements of the passport that had suddenly come to life. A kiwi and silver fern sat to the right of the photo, and many other designs popped up as Madigan flicked through the pages.

“Pretty cool, huh?” He glanced over his shoulder, putting us almost nose to nose. He blinked and quickly turned back, clearing his throat. “They change some of the design features every few years to keep ahead of forgers. At one time, they used a special ink that disappeared at 27 degrees. A border agent could put his finger over it and check if it disappeared when it warmed up. The very idea punched all my book conservator nerd buttons, I can tell you that much.”

I stood to the side and caught the boyish grin on his face. He was so obviously in his element that it was almost impossible not to smile as I watched him work, muttering to himself and making notes.

“So, what do you think?” I asked when he finally turned the studio lights back on and spun to face me.

“I don’t know what the recent security markers are, but I can say the passport has all the major ones I do know about, and a few I don’t. It’s either the real deal done through the passport office with fraudulent documents and a carefully crafted identity history, or it’s a really good forgery. And I meanreallygood.”

“How so?” I leaned against the table with my arms folded.

Madigan rolled back on his stool, his hand lightly resting on the passport. “These days you can’t get away with simply using a dead person’s identity. It’s way more complicated than that. The embedded chip and other security markers are highly technical and shrouded in secrecy. The New Zealand passport is one of the most highly valued passports to hold in the world. Kiwis can mostly travel anywhere without raising too many suspicions, so the passport office takes security seriously. If this is a fake, then it hasn’t been done by some weekend hobbyist looking to make an extra buck. This is skilled professional work, and that comes at a price.”

I thought about the new credit card Davis had and all the other weird shit I’d discovered, and something cold wormed its way through my belly. “It doesn’t make sense. Even if Davis was having an affair, why would he need these?”

Madigan shrugged. “I don’t know. Identity fraud is a big business. Steal someone’s identity and you can steal their entire lives, digitally at least.”

I shook my head. “But these aren’t Davis’s details against someone else’s photo. These are new details againsthisphoto. He created a new identity forhimself.” My throat closed over. “Why would he do that?”

Madigan sighed. “Again, I don’t know. But a good place to start might be getting them properly checked out. Samuel could help you with that.” He clearly read my expression because headded, “Or maybe someone from your financial unit? They could point you in the right direction.”

I slow blinked and shook my head. “Yeah, right. Can you just imagine how that conversation would go? Lots of questions that I have no answers for, like why did your husband have a forged passport and driver’s licence in his possession, and how long have you known about it? Not the best look for one of their forensic accountants. Especially since I don’t know the why behind it all. I don’t want to think Davis was involved in anything illegal, but I’m starting to wonder if I even knew him at all. And now that he’s dead, I don’t want to stir something up that might come back and bite me on the arse.”

Madigan studied me. “So you ask Samuel. Because if you don’t do anything, it might come back to bite you anyway. Then you’ll be accused of hiding it as well.”

“Samuel’s already checking with the traffic case officer. He said he’d go over the details of the crash and what they found, again.” I remembered my promise to call him when I was done at the caravan and silently cursed.

“But he doesn’t know about all this, does he?” Madigan pointed out.

“No.” I pulled out my phone, winced at the number of missed calls, and left it on the coffee table.

Madigan glanced at the screen, his expression impassive. “Seems you have a habit of ignoring people. I guess that should make me feel better.”

And there it was. The awkward subject we’d been avoiding all evening. But instead of being a grownup about it, I rolled my eyes and said, “I don’t, as it happens. Only when it comes to you.” I regretted the outburst the instant the words came out of my mouth, even more so when the sting of them hit Madigan’s eyes.

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