A Light in the Dark (Taylor's Bend, #3)

by Elisabeth Rose

  Arlo: 11.15 Pick you up at hotel

  Mia: Fine

  The rest of the day went according to plan. Mia ate lunch and sat for another hour with her book in the snug warmth. She brought her laptop down to the bar and read through some work related documents then read one of the newspapers from the rack over a cup of tea.

  Rain began falling dismally and gradually the bar filled with cold, damp customers. The talk was all of the bombing. Surprisingly the tone was in favour of Arlo and how dare anyone do that to the town paper. People were taking it as a personal insult.

  Rupe came in at around five, looked round the bar and headed her way, chatting to people as he came, but not being deflected.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not at all.’

  He pulled out a chair, ignoring the curious looks from the surrounding customers. She closed her book.

  He spoke in a low voice. ‘What can you tell me, Mia?’

  ‘In regard to?’

  ‘What’s been going on. Do you think this explosion is connected to your father’s death?’

  ‘Is this the right place to be having this conversation?’

  ‘Would you prefer to go to the station?’

  She shrugged. ‘If it suits you, it’s fine.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘What’s Arlo told you?’

  ‘I want to know what you think.’

  ‘I think what he thinks. Yes, it is. We think Dad discovered that Greenhill was bribing and threatening councillors for their development approvals to go through and from there he may have also discovered that Greenhill is a money laundering venture.’

  Rupe studied her. ‘And that got him killed.’

  She nodded. ‘Or they stopped him before he went any further with it. Talked to you, for example. And now Arlo has been asking questions and hinting at corruption in the council. Did you get anywhere with that note?’

  ‘The man who gave it to Riley wasn’t a local but a café owner recognised him as having eaten there earlier. He told the waitress he was passing through. We’re tracking his movements but it’s not looking good. No-one saw him near the school beforehand, or with anyone else.’

  ‘We thought it may have been Carl from the real estate office but now we don’t think so.’

  ‘I doubt he’s involved.’

  ‘He stands to make a lot of money from the sales. So does Barry Greenberg but Arlo thinks he might just be the local front man and they’re using him. Dad could have confided in either one of them.’

  Rupe nodded. ‘Arlo’s smart but he’s playing a dangerous game here. He has to think about people other than himself now. Riley and you for starters.’

  ‘He’s sending Riley back to his mother tomorrow. I’m staying, Rupe. I have to have answers. I want to know who killed my father and Glenda and I don’t care if you still think it was suicide. Arlo and I both know it wasn’t.’

  Rupe nodded slowly. ‘I’m beginning to agree with you.’

  ‘That man is back in town, Carmody his name is—if that’s his real name. The one I think owns the silver Mercedes. I think he’s following me.’

  ‘Has he actually threatened you in any way? Harassed you?’

  ‘Not really but … he spoke to me at breakfast in the hotel last time and … it’s the way he speaks. He told me to take care. He’s unnerving.’

  ‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do, Mia.’

  ‘Until he harms me or Arlo? Kills me? What if he’s connected? What if he’s the murderer? And there’s another man with him, sort of. Sometimes. Lucian Farage, his name is and he was at the hotel, too, and he’s here again. He was also here when Dad and Glenda died. What if he’s the bomber?’

  Rupe smiled and shook his head. ‘I doubt the bomber would hang around town showing his face. If what you say is right, it was a professional hit on your father. Why come back to blow up Arlo’s office and then wander around here the next day for no good reason. Way too obvious for a professional.’

  ‘Don’t criminals return to the scene of the crime?’

  Rupe sighed.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But what about Farage?’

  ‘I doubt he’s involved.’

  Something in the way he spoke made her say, ‘Do you know something about him?’

  ‘Not a lot. He was involved in a car accident on the highway near here years ago, before my time. He’s never caused any trouble. He’s in town a few times a year but no-one really knows him.’

  ‘But he knows Carmody.’

  ‘So what? So do you. You know both of them. They may have met when they were staying at the hotel, when you saw them.’

  Mia sat back, unsatisfied but Rupe wasn’t going to indulge her suspicions. ‘Did you find anything out about my car? About the paint?’

  ‘We’re working on it. The results haven’t come back from the lab. That could take weeks.’

  ‘Right. Thank you.’

  ‘Tell Arlo to lay off for a while. I don’t want to be investigating your murders.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell him?’

  ‘He ignores me. He’ll listen to you.’ Rupe pushed the chair back and stood up.

  ‘He won’t,’ Mia said. ‘And I won’t.’

  ***

  On the way back from putting a subdued but resigned Riley on his Sydney flight on Sunday afternoon, Mia told Arlo about the conversation with Rupe.

  ‘He accepts it was murder now.’

  ‘About time.’

  ‘At least you got your car back,’ Mia said after a moment.

  ‘They cleared it pretty quickly and Stuey came good with a battery.’ Arlo sent her a smile. ‘Stuey’s what’s called a quiet achiever. He reckons he’ll have your car finished by Tuesday.’

  ‘I know, he rang me to say it was going well. He’s really good, isn’t he?’ She hadn’t been completely convinced at first sight.

  A few minutes later Arlo’s phone rang.

  ‘Can you check who it is, please? It might be Debra or Riley.’

  Mia picked up the phone from the cup holder compartment between them.

  ‘It’s Barry Greenberg. Shall I answer it?’

  ‘Might as well see what he wants.’

  ‘Hello, Arlo’s phone. Mia Petros speaking.’ She pressed ‘speaker’. Barry’s voice burst into the car.

  ‘Mia? Tony’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes. Arlo’s driving. Can I take a message?’

  ‘Ummm … I wanted a word with him. I’ll be in Taylor’s Bend later. When will you be home?’

  ‘We’re about halfway back from Wagga so give him forty-five minutes or thereabouts.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll call him,’ said Arlo softly.

  ‘Arlo said he’ll call you.’

  ‘Fine, fine. Thanks, Mia.’ He disconnected abruptly.

  Mia put the phone back. ‘Wonder what he wants.’

  ‘Probably to find out what else I’m going to say about his developments.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll offer you a bribe to shut up.’

  ‘He’s not that stupid, is he?’ Arlo laughed.

  ‘I don’t know how his brain works,’ Mia said.

  ‘His whole body runs on the smell of money.’

  The cloud cover increased along with the rain the closer Taylor’s Bend came and suddenly darkness descended as the sun gave up the struggle, casting a few last, weak shafts of light as it collapsed behind the distant hills.

  Arlo knew the road well and drove confidently around the twists and turns despite the rain which had settled to a steady fall.

  ‘Nearly home,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry. Shall we go to the pub and catch the last set of jazz with dinner?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  ‘I’m going to miss my boy.’

  ‘He’s good company.’

  ‘He is but he’s more than that.’ Arlo glanced in the rear-view mirror as bright headlights cut through the car from behind. ‘Don’t tell me they’re trying it again!’


  ‘What?’ Adrenaline coursed through Mia’s body. She knew what even before Arlo spoke.

  ‘To run us off the road.’

  He slowed. The car was right behind now, crowding close, a high set bank of lights illuminating the interior like a display. It was big, some sort of overgrown four-wheel drive.

  ‘Hold on. He’s going to ram … Christ!’

  The car gave a sickening lurch as the other vehicle smashed into the back.

  Another crash from behind and the car skewed sideways, sliding wildly on the rain washed surface as Arlo fought for control. He managed to straighten, and accelerated with a lunge forward. The big car behind followed, looming with menace, the lights slashing through the interior and bouncing off the rain drops on the windows in a nightmarish kaleidoscope.

  ‘Hang on,’ Arlo said.

  Mia stared panic stricken at the slick black road racing beneath their wheels. The turn-off to Rupe’s flashed by. The bridge was around the corner. Too fast, the car wouldn’t make the turn. Couldn’t. Her breath jammed in her lungs.

  Another almighty bash almost spun them off the road but somehow Arlo hung on, slowing slightly as the corner approached. The attacker took advantage and came right up behind, connecting with the rear bumper, forcing the pace, pushing Arlo’s car forward like a child’s toy.

  The bridge appeared, a narrow path across the swollen river, its white-painted wooden railings shining dimly in the headlights.

  ‘The potholes,’ screamed Mia. Arlo gripped the wheel, white knuckled, dragging the car to the left but only managing to turn the front wheels so they slid at an angle, dropping into the hole with a thud that jerked Mia hard against the seat and forward again locking the seatbelt. With a screech of tortured metal the car hit the edge of the bridge surface—a sickening, bone-jarring jolt. The rear end slewed round and in an endless moment of horrifying inevitability, smashed into the guard rail. The other vehicle crunched into the rear passenger side, twisted and slid, pushing the car along the railing, ripping the wooden supports away as it went.

  Then the rail gave way and suddenly the other vehicle was gone. The engine died. Darkness fell like a shroud. Rain drummed down.

  Mia sat stunned, immobile, hands still gripping the seatbelt, adrenaline powering through her body. Slowly she turned her head. Water dripped onto her face. The window was broken. A deflated airbag lay across her lap amongst pieces of glass. She slowly unclenched her fingers. Arlo?

  His head rested against the side window. A jagged piece of wood lay on the dashboard inches from his chest having smashed its way through the windscreen and finished draped in the remains of the airbag.

  ‘Arlo?’ Her voice was a croak. She reached out her hand but gasped as pain shot through her shoulder. ‘Arlo?’

  He didn’t stir, didn’t react at all. She couldn’t see more than his dim outline and the white glimmer of the airbags. Phone. Gingerly she groped for his in the cup holder but it was gone. Her bag was on the back seat. Useless. Tears mingled with the rain drops. She felt for the seatbelt, ignoring the spasms of pain in her shoulder, and unclipped it.

  ‘Arlo.’ No response. Unconscious. Not dead. Definitely not dead. Not Arlo. No.

  She fumbled for the door handle but the door wouldn’t open. The car lay at an odd angle. Arlo’s side was lower than hers and the crushed back section … something was wrong. Very wrong. She couldn’t see, couldn’t think. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily as she tried to sort it out, to remember. Where was the other car?

  Her eyes popped open. Behind them, ramming, deliberately trying to push them off the road. Off the bridge. To kill them.

  Where was it now? Waiting in the darkness? Waiting to finish them off? A wave of panic shot through her body like molten lava. She was trapped. Arlo was injured, unconscious and helpless.

  Where was that car? Who was in it? Carmody? Farage?

  She strained to see out the shattered windscreen but the rain had increased and the cracked, broken glass was opaque. The engine had died and with it the headlights. Or they were broken. Her side window was cracked and leaking but all she could see was darkness. All she could hear was the hiss of rain plummeting down and the drumming on the roof.

  Why hadn’t that car finished the job and pushed them over the edge into the river? Why had it just gone like that? Maybe it had been damaged as well and couldn’t risk another try. Maybe they were deciding what to do.

  Lights flashed ahead, dazzling in the darkness. A car engine sounded faintly above the rain.

  Her breath stalled. Who was it? The engine stopped but the lights remained. A shadow blocked the light momentarily. A figure coming towards the car. She gasped for air, her heart pounding. She closed her eyes, head resting against the seat, face averted. Pretend to be dead, unconscious. They’d go away.

  Footsteps sounded. Fast moving. Close. She shivered, steeled herself for the end.

  ‘Mia?’

  She knew the voice, and a whimper of fear escaped.

  Lucian Farage.

  Chapter 22

  She lay still.

  ‘Mia. What happened? Are you hurt? Who’s with you?’

  He sounded concerned, frantic even. Wouldn’t he know Arlo was driving if he—

  ‘I need police and an ambulance. It’s a car crash on the Willoughby Taylor’s Bend road on the bridge near Taylor’s Bend.’ His voice was different. Authoritative.

  She turned her head slowly. He crowded over the window. Water dripped from his umbrella.

  ‘Mia. Are you hurt? Can you speak? Is that Arlo?’

  ‘Yes. Unconscious.’

  He tugged at the door handle but the movement made the car rock. Why did it do that? Was she hallucinating? She closed and opened her eyes. The car was still.

  ‘I can’t budge it, and it’s too dangerous,’ he said. ‘The back wheel of the car is hanging over the side of the bridge.’

  He disappeared. Over the bridge? Is that where the other car went?

  Lucian came back.

  ‘There’s a car in the water,’ he said. ‘Did you hit it?’

  ‘It rammed us … from the back. Deliberately pushed us.’

  He spoke into his phone again but turned away, huddled under the umbrella. She didn’t try to listen. He wasn’t the enemy. Who was he?

  Arlo groaned.

  ‘Arlo. Speak to me.’

  She reached across with her left hand and touched his arm. Her right shoulder screamed but she twisted her body in the seat and the pain eased.

  ‘Mia? Are you okay?’ His voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘Yes. What about you?’

  Blood stained his cheek and hair, showing black in the light from Lucian’s headlights.

  ‘I’m breathing.’

  He reached out his hand and she clutched it, held on.

  ‘Lucian is here,’ she said. ‘He called the ambulance and police.’

  ‘How …?’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t move.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘We’re hanging … over the side of the … bridge,’ she said in slow gasps.

  He exhaled a sighing hiss of air then winced. ‘Headache.’

  ‘The other car is in the river.’

  ‘Are they alive?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  The wail of a siren sounded faintly.

  Lucian came to the window. ‘That’ll be Rupe,’ he said. ‘He was at home.’

  Five minutes away, if that.

  He knew Rupe.

  Blue lights flashed across the bridge and headlights streamed into the car from the rear.

  ‘Saved,’ said Arlo softly.

  Rupe’s face appeared at the window, framed by a dripping hood.

  ‘We’ll get you out as fast as we can but for the moment don’t move around. We have to get the car back onto the bridge before we try to open it up. Stuey’s on his way.’

  ‘Stuey to the rescue,’ she said and it seemed funny for no reason at all but then tears came and sudd
enly the cold bit into her body and she began shivering violently.

  ‘Shock,’ said a voice. Then another voice said, ‘Turn your head away, Mia. I’m going to break the glass.’

  She turned to Arlo as the window cracked and shattered. Rain dashed in but someone held an umbrella over the space. A silver blanket came through the gap.

  ‘Put this around Arlo. Can you undo his seatbelt?’ the voice said slowly and clearly. She knew the voice. Rupe. It was Rupe.

  She tried to find the seatbelt catch but her arm wouldn’t co-operate and her fingers shook.

  ‘Don’t worry. Put the blanket on Arlo.’

  She managed to drape some of the shiny silver fabric over him and he dragged it across his body.

  ‘Now you. Put this over yourself. You’ll be fine.’

  Another blanket came through the window and she fumbled it into a semblance of cover to block the chill, wet air. The shivering eased. Someone put something over the broken window. She closed her eyes. Arlo’s hand closed over hers and she held on tight.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured.

  ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘It is.’

  Later, how long she had no idea, another siren and more flashing lights broke open the night. The grinding roar of a larger engine sounded. A truck edged slowly onto the bridge. Figures went into a huddle. Bright lights suddenly lit up the scene like a stage. Shadowy shapes moved around the car, talking and calling instructions. Clanking and scraping at the rear.

  The cover was removed from the window replaced by blinding white light.

  ‘They’re going to winch the back of the car onto the bridge.’ Rupe’s voice, reassuring and calm. ‘They’ve secured the front so it’s perfectly safe. You’ll be out in no time.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Two engines revved in unison. The front of the car creaked and complained as it took the strain. With a tortured screech the rear of the car began to move slowly. The piece of splintered railing shifted on the dashboard, shattering the remains of the windscreen. Voices yelled and the movement stopped.

  ‘Are you okay in there?’ Rupe called through the window.

  ‘Yes, but there’s a piece of wood … near Arlo.’

  A man in a bright yellow slicker edged in front of the car. A chainsaw burst into life and the wood fell away with a harsh scraping sound.