by John Bishop
you something. If there’s anyone with you, don’t let on who really rang—it was darling, okay? I’ve already seen one of Brody’s crew. Good-looking bird but I’m afraid she’s on her way to hospital. In case you’ve forgotten the voice, the name’s Lenny d’Aratzio. Mrs Kingsley and I are currently the sole occupants of Banabrook. It’s a long story—evacuation because of toxic spill will do for now. This is a once only offer to swap her life for yours. If I can’t get you, I’ll have to be content to know you came home to find darling with a hole in her head. We are in a large room with a big picture window. The doors are closed. When you get here—and you’d better be alone if you want to see her alive—knock and identify yourself. I have a gun and I can take her out before anyone gets to me. Lose whoever’s guarding you and come straight here. If I think it’s taking you too long, be prepared for darling to be dead. I have an impressive record, so don’t try anything. End of story.’ The call terminated.
Ziggy came out of the washroom at the end of the vestry and put his book down on the bench. Max should have been in the vestry with the door closed. This was the agreed procedure. But Max had become less cautious since Tom Jones had been disabled. Ziggy went to the door of the vestry. Finding the church empty, he moved to the main entrance, ready to retreat if Max was talking to a legitimate visitor. All was quiet. He stood in the doorway, listening; he must have done so a dozen times since arriving at St Mark’s. Always he assumed there might be something wrong. Moving warily he emerged into the car park. There was nothing there. Max’s truck was gone.
‘Shit,’ he murmured. ‘What’s the bugger doing now?’
He unclipped the two-way radio from his belt, held down the speak button and yelled, ‘Max, are you there? Over.’ He listened for a few seconds. Not even interference. He took out his mobile telephone and hit the speed dial for Max. There was no response, not even a message bank. With growing anger and frustration, he hit the speed dial for Eamon. After several rings, he was about to end the call when Megan came on the line. ‘Hi Ziggy.’
‘You with Eamon?’
‘Yes he’s taking me to hospital.’
‘I’ll ask why later. Max has disappeared.’
Eamon came on the line. They briefed each other quickly. Eamon told Ziggy to stay put in case Max came back, and to call people who knew enough about what was going on to help look for Max or his truck.
‘Forget Gerado, for now. He’s on his way to Calway. Long story. Ring Judith in case something has taken Max there.’
Out on the highway, Max tried to order his thoughts. Lenny’s offer to swap his life for Judith’s might be a lie, but there was no choice other than to present himself at Banabrook. On the other hand, he trusted his police minders and he should alert them if possible. The two-way radio was clipped to his belt, but he might already be out of range of Ziggy. Conscious of the risk while driving at speed, he took out his mobile telephone and scrolled through the numbers. Eamon was the first to come up. He pressed call and waited. The signal was engaged. He scrolled further and tried Meg. After a few rings he got her message bank. By that time he was negotiating the road system around the outskirts of the town. He put the mobile on the passenger seat. As he took a right-hand bend faster than usual, the telephone slid off the seat and onto the floor. It stayed there.
When Max arrived at Banabrook he found the driveway beside the homestead enclosed in plastic tape. A notice board from the reception area had been propped against the verandah. It carried the briefest of messages. DANGER. TOXIC SPILL. Skirting the taped area, he got to the verandah stairs, entered the homestead by the main door, and made his way to the family room. The doors, which were usually folded back, had been closed. He knocked and identified himself. A male voice called, ‘Enter. Slowly!’ He did so.
‘Reverend Kingsley. We meet again, how nice; but don’t come any closer. You can start by shutting the door. Make sure it’s fully closed. I know it doesn’t lock, because I checked, but it has a rattly old handle to forewarn us of any new arrival. When you’ve done that turn to face me. No sudden movements or I might get trigger happy.’
Max did as he was told. The smiling Lenny d’Aratzio, armed with a handgun, was seated in an easy chair in a corner; he had an uninterrupted view of the room.
‘Are you all right?’ Max asked Judith, who was secured by handcuffs to a chair in the middle of the room. She nodded, unable to speak because of a gag.
‘If you’ve hurt her–’
‘If I’ve hurt her, you’ll what?’ said d’Aratzio, his smile broadening. ‘Cry maybe? You certainly won’t be doing anything to me. I can use this you know.’ He waved the handgun. ‘I prefer to have someone else do the unsavoury jobs. But I’ve kept my hand in, so don’t try me, I’m a very good shot!’ He paused to let his message register. ‘This is what I want you to do. When I say move, and not before, you may approach your wife, slowly, from the far side, and remove her gag. I do enjoy good conversation. It is one of the few pleasures left to me. But I didn’t want her interrupting while I got you here. You will remove the gag, back away, and sit over there. Clear enough? Okay, move!’
Max did as instructed. As soon as he removed the gag, Judith licked her lips and blew some fibres from her mouth. Max reached out and wiped her chin with the gag.
‘Thanks. I’m okay,’ she said softly.
‘Enough!’ Lenny interjected sharply. ‘Do as I told you!’
The chair Max had been directed to had been pulled away from its usual position near the door. He assumed Lenny had chosen the spot for a reason, perhaps it provided a comfortable angle for him to fire a shot.
‘That’s a good distance,’ Lenny said. ‘I recognize you from there, despite our both being older. It’s about how far you were from the dock when you told the court some damaging things about me. I can admit, now, most of those things were substantially true; but the personal commentary you added at the time was unnecessary and hurtful, as well as being inadmissible, as the judge duly informed you. As a holy man, you should be above gratuitous insults. Still, you had your moment of fame.’
There was a long pause. Neither Max nor Judith said anything.
After a while, Lenny said, ‘Admirable. Both of you. I’m impressed. Usually the trapped victims talk loads. How you love each other. How it will be all right. How on earth did this man get in here with the property under evacuation? Now that’s a story. It was helpful of you to leave all the doors unlocked. It is the country way, I suppose. It’s catching, too. As you can see, I’ve left the verandah door open. But don’t get your hopes up. Anyone fool enough to approach from that direction would be easy pickings.’
Max and Judith remained silent. A mobile telephone on the table next to Lenny started to warble. He picked it up and looked at the screen.
‘Whoever this Zig character is, he’s now got two missed call messages. Was he your glimmer of hope, I wonder? If so, it’s far too late I’m afraid.’ He waved the gun again. ‘Where were we? Ah yes, for the record, Reverendness, I resent the suggestion I might have hurt the lovely Mrs Kingsley. I’m sure she will attest… well maybe she won’t, but she could attest to my having been quite gentle—and gentlemanly too. Handcuffs are a wonderful invention. In my experience they remain the best way to get one’s captives to secure themselves, while keeping at a safe distance. Ropes or gaffer tape are a real nuisance when you’re trying to hold someone at gunpoint. An added advantage is that when the captive has a delicate bone structure, like your lovely wife, you can safely direct them to use handcuffs to secure their ankles to a chair—as you see. The wrists I had to secure myself, but I did so with much sensitivity. Lenny d’Aratzio has never hurt a lady—well not directly; I have had to have one or two put down, but I’ve always insisted on a quick and painless end… for a lady. Anyway, she knows where I’ve put the keys and someone will find her and set her free after we’ve gone.’
‘After we’ve gone where?’ Max asked.
‘To hell, probably. Me certainly. You, I expect to s
ee in the queue down there. I’m sure we’ll be close enough to wave. Priests, lawyers, and politicians, you’ll all be in the mix with chaps like me. Boozy old Ma Quigley from the back bar of the Sail and Anchor will be in the arms of St Peter, while you and I are lining up to be toasted.’
‘Are you saying you expect to die—I mean, here and now?’ Judith asked.
‘Here and soon would be more accurate. It wasn’t my original plan, but the last twenty-four hours has taken a toll. I’m weary. I don’t have anything to look forward to other than disposing of His Reverendness. A year ago I would have backed myself to get away afterwards, but I doubt if I’m up to it now. I’d rather end it all in the proverbial hail of bullets than return to Sydney in a paddy wagon to be paraded before the beak. Bad thing, loss of face. I’d rather go like Butch Cassidy and Sundance. That’s why I’m hoping somebody might try to rescue you. With any luck I might take a copper or two with me. Perhaps next time this Zig person calls, I’ll answer.’ A frown crossed Lenny’s face and he shifted uncomfortably. ‘I had to give up the idea of eliminating your friend Brody. The committee doesn’t think it’s a good time to go that far. Which is why it would be nice to clean up some of his