“Anything I can do?”
He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of his rucksack. “You could get the laptop out and see what’s going on with the tracking devices.”
She did as he requested, confirming that Mickey Bird’s truck appeared to be stationary out near the building where she and Royle had found the cockatoos, though the data from Sam’s watch appeared to be playing up.
Sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, Campbell seemed more relaxed now it looked like he could trust his precious helicopter to Royle’s tender care. “You know where these people are from that computer?”
Charlie rotated the screen so he could watch what was happening down on the ground, at the same time opening the rifle case and reassembling the weapon, before inserting the magazine, loading a shell into the breach and applying the safety catch.
Campbell watched her before turning to Royle. “What’s the story with this feller? How come he’s holding your daughter?”
It was Charlie who responded. “He thinks he can obstruct our enquiries, but he doesn’t know the game’s already up.”
Campbell glanced around at her again, sitting quietly, knees together, loaded rifle on her lap in the middle of the rear seats – looking like one scary Sheila.
Coming up to two hours out from Broken Hill, Charlie rechecked the computer. “Mickey Bird’s truck’s now on its way north up the main Strzelecki Track, presumably heading back to the Corner, but Sam seems to have gone walkabout.”
Royle thought this development through, aware the satellite information updated every few minutes. It seemed likely Mickey would be driving the vehicle, though that failed to explain his daughter’s movements. Interestingly, it did not worry him unduly that Sam might be out there on her own, though if she was now free it was difficult understanding why she had not headed for the nearby Strzelecki Track, given the possibility of an occasional passing truck.
“We only have one sensible course of action,” he decided. “First, we check the building, then we see if we can overtake Sam and find out why she’s out there. Then we head Mickey Bird off somewhere up the track.”
Arriving over the Strzelecki Track, Royle and Campbell discussed landing the helicopter. Royle’s suggestion of setting the Gazelle down on the track itself did not gain favour with Campbell, who was quick to point out the damage any passing road train might do. They eventually agreed on a patch of desert several hundred metres to the south.
Campbell offered to stay and take care of their only means of transport out, whilst Royle and Charlie prepared to approach the building. Royle realised they might be taking a risk in agreeing to this – if Campbell decided to leave in the helicopter then he and Charlie were in big trouble. But he was counting on the fact that the man had not yet been paid, besides which Campbell might be pushing his luck flying around out here on his own with a now limited fuel load.
Despite what the computer was telling them, the pair realised they could not be certain about Mickey’s whereabouts; there was an outside chance some third person could be driving the truck. One thing that did seem clear, though, as they approached the building was the absence of any parrot noise. After a brief discussion they decided to approach the shack from opposite sides. Neither, though, was prepared for what confronted them as they met opposite the entrance doorway, the experience being not dissimilar to their supposed earlier discovery of Dan’s body in the tiger pen. They were acutely aware of the sound of flies, lots of flies.
Placing one hand over his mouth and holding the faithful Browning in front of him, Royle leapt through the doorway, all but disappearing in a black cloud of insects. Charlie, though, decided on a more sensible approach, pulling the neck of her tee-shirt up to cover her mouth before charging through. Both were momentarily lost for words, for attached to the inside of the door, upright by some as yet mysterious means, hung what they guessed must be Mickey Bird. A very dead Mickey Bird. Quickly, Royle checked the building for any additional occupants.
“Someone’s been tied to the bed upstairs but there’s no one there now.”
Mikey had obviously been speared through the chest. They could see where the spear’s shaft had been broken off, leaving him impaled on the door. Although no closer to locating his daughter, Royle’s relief was nevertheless obvious.
“Any thoughts on what happened here?” Charlie wondered, aware a further change of plan must be due.
“How Mickey died is obvious; we’ll hopefully know by whom and why once we catch up with Sam. Though if it is her driving the truck, what’s her watch doing way out there?” he queried, pointing to the far horizon.
The route from the old building back towards Sydney by vehicle involved a forty-kilometre drive north as far as the turn-off, followed by a further hundred and fifty kilometres east to the Corner. Through remote country all the way. The good news, though, was that in the helicopter they could take the shortcut and probably intercept Mickey’s truck in less than twenty minutes.
* * *
During yesterday’s long drive out from Sydney, Sam Royle had been kept shut inside the same converted water tank Mickey Bird used to transport trapped parrots. Mickey had previously cut rough ventilation holes in the tank, so she had a limited view of what was happening outside and had tried making a mental note of their route. Nevertheless, it had been hot and dirty, and she was close to collapse when they finally arrived at the derelict building. But regardless of her already helpless state, Mickey kept her tied to the bed.
The two Aboriginal boys appeared yesterday evening while Mickey was fetching water from a borehole. Hearing whispered voices downstairs she had feared the worst and was even more concerned when one of the boys appeared in the bedroom doorway. But she need not have worried; he was obviously concerned at her predicament and immediately set about untying her. Unfortunately, that was when her captor chose to return.
Hearing the vehicle, the young man descended the stairs in a rush and appeared to have been hit by a bullet from Mickey’s battered old rifle. Seeing his friend in a heap at the foot of the stairs, the second lad appeared, throwing his spear at Mickey and impaling him on the entrance door. Still tethered upstairs, Sam heard first the shot and then Mickey’s shout as the spear hit him. She was still struggling with the rope when the second young Aborigine appeared, quickly coming to her aid and cutting her free.
He smiled at her. An obviously friendly smile. “Bad fella’s dead,” he said, motioning for her to follow.
Descending the stairs, Sam was unsure what she felt. There was no doubting Mickey must be dead; his head was slumped forwards and blood flowed from the wound in his chest. The other young Aborigine, the one who first tried to help her, now lay in the hallway, clearly in pain.
“Him hurt bad.”
She looked at the speaker. “You understand what I’m saying?”
“Good enough, Mrs, him hurt bad.”
Reared on a working ranch, Sam was no stranger to the occasional serious injury. The boy pointed to his foot which was already badly swollen, though it seemed the gunshot had missed him.
“I think he’s hurt his ankle,” she suggested, seeing the other young Aborigine smiling at her. “Are you sure you understand?”
The lad nodded his head enthusiastically. “Him hurt bad.”
It occurred to her there should be fresh water in the truck, so the least she could do was provide the patient with a cold bandage to try and relieve the pain. Throughout the night she took care of him, changing the bandage and inspecting the swelling, which did seem to be going down. Most of that time his young companion sat silently watching, apparently unmoved by events, or so Sam thought. Though she quickly changed her mind when this morning he produced a crutch he’d made from a piece of wood he’d found around the building.
“We go home now,” he said, before pointing to the truck. “You can go longaway in that.”
S
am saw that the key was still in the ignition. It seemed more than a little bizarre, but there was no denying that she and the two young men had very different agendas. She needed to get herself back to what she considered civilisation, whereas they were clearly headed for the dry country. Even so, she felt the need to somehow show her gratitude. Going over to the injured young man she removed her watch and strapped it to his wrist, his face breaking into a broad grin as he reached out and touched her.
She stood watching them for a long while, heading out into the broad expanse of apparently endless desert. Then, having started driving her captor’s vehicle back up the track the way they had come the previous day, she saw the helicopter landing on the track up ahead. Whoever it was, they were more than welcome.
* * *
“So, this is the young lady you were threatening to blow my brains out for,” Campbell said.
Charlie wiped away her tears. “We’ll never know if I would really have done it.”
Sam briefly outlined the details of her capture, including the death of Mickey Bird and the injury to one of the two Aborigine boys.
“Sounds like a couple of lads out hunting kangaroos,” Campbell suggested. “We’ll probably never hear any more about it; some of these Aboriginal guys never come near the white communities.”
They were now only an hour’s drive away from The Corner Roadhouse, and since only Royle could fly the helicopter Charlie and Sam agreed to take the vehicle and meet the two men there. Back in the air, Royle got Campbell to connect him with the police in Broken Hill, asking for a senior officer and spending some time explaining what had occurred, concluding with the death of Mickey Bird.
Although obviously interested, the officer seemed at pains to point out what Royle already knew, that Broken Hill was in New South Wales, whereas the building containing Mickey Bird’s body was well inside South Australia – in a different police area. But Royle also knew that, given the remoteness of much of the outback, this kind of situation must often occur, so there surely had to be established procedures. And anyway, it was not his problem.
“I’ll tell you one thing, though,” he suggested, perhaps a touch irritably. “If someone doesn’t quickly collect Mickey’s body it will soon be able to crawl out of there on its own. You realise how many flies there are out here?”
That difficult matter dealt with, or at least for the moment, he next got Campbell to connect him to someone at the airport who might be able to fly the three of them back to Sydney that same afternoon.
* * *
With Royle, Sam, Walt Campbell and her all now reunited at The Corner Roadhouse, Charlie organised a couple of cabins so they could shower. She also attended to Sam’s swollen wrists. Arrangements were then made to leave the truck for the police to collect, whoever agreed to assume responsibility. Following this, Royle used the roadhouse’s phone to make calls, letting Whitland and Angie Watts know Sam was safe, before they were all four in the air and heading for Broken Hill.
Back at the airport Royle sorted out the finances with Campbell, even negotiating a small reduction on account of him flying the helicopter. He thanked Campbell for his help and Charlie apologised again for pulling Royle’s gun on him.
The man appeared to take it all in his stride. “You two buggers certainly livened things up. We don’t get too much excitement out this way.”
He gave Royle a pat on the back. “You ever get tired of dashing about the world killing folks I could always use a good bush pilot. Don’t know what the US government’s paying you pair but it’s not enough.”
Next, Campbell turned his attention to Sam, giving her a hug. “Been a real pleasure, young lady. Come and see us again sometime.”
The police officer Royle had earlier spoken to then arrived as arranged, and the four of them spent time going through the usual formalities. Then late afternoon they boarded another charter jet and were soon safely back in Royle’s house overlooking Sydney’s inner harbour. Bearing in mind the combined mental and physical demands of the past few days, after an early meal in one of the harbour restaurants all three were in bed; it was also true that the girls were booked on early flights back across the Pacific the next morning, Sam through to Miami, Charlie only as far as LA.
Next morning saw Royle seated in Angie Watts’ office in Sydney Airport.
“Sounds like you had a busy time in Queensland, and not without its problems?”
He pretended to concentrate on stirring his coffee. “I might as well tell you, the body count’s up to ten now.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Shows there’s big money in wildlife crime.”
“So, where are we at with this business?”
“We’re on a roll. Charlie’s on her way to California to help Mindy recover the eggs and any hatched young from the desert bird site.”
“And you’re off back to Florida this evening?”
“Overnight flight. We need to organise a raid on the birds in quarantine in Miami, find out what drugs are involved, if any, and bring in Gus Winnings.”
“What about the Indonesian bit, where the birds went to after New Guinea?”
“We need to hold back on that until we recover the birds and the eggs, or word will get back and the evidence will start disappearing.”
“I understand all that but are you happy with me handling the Australian and Indonesian ends?”
“If I’m honest I rather hoped you might.”
She grinned at him across the desk. “Tell Charlie she has my sympathy. Who else would let his colleague shoot her former partner, without saying who she was killing?”
“Charlie thinks I need treatment for putting a trace on Sam.”
“You’re weird, Phil, but there’s no denying your methods work.”
Keen to change the subject, he explained what they had done with the money from the sheep station. “Once you and Whitland agree who gets what, I’ll transfer the money accordingly.”
Eighteen
Charlie understood the purpose of Royle’s pre-arranged meeting between her and Mindy, though she had been puzzled by his mention of a possible third participant, which he only informed her of as she was checking in for the Los Angeles flight.
“Want to tell me more?”
“Her name’s Roxie, and she does occasional work for me. She knows all about the Big Experience set-up,” he had briefly explained, before turning to attend to his daughter, who was also checking in.
* * *
At the LA Federal Building, Charlie was introduced to Roxie Meadows, an attractive girl in her early twenties with an obvious liking for fashionable, if somewhat risqué, clothes. Although not ‘revealing’ in the accepted sense, her tight top left very little to the imagination.
There was something vaguely familiar about Roxie. “Have we met?” Charlie asked.
She smiled. “I’m the receptionist at Big Experience, where you came with Phil.”
“What’s going on?”
“Why don’t we let Roxie explain,” Mindy suggested, nodding her head in the girl’s direction.
“I’m studying drama. Phil and my dad worked on a big investigation; he’s my godfather.”
Roxie paused, anticipating a question.
“Go on,” Mindy urged.
“Phil rang a few weeks back. He wanted me to apply for the vacancy of receptionist at Big Experience.”
Charlie had already identified what to her was the main point in all of this. “You mean when Phil and I came to Big Experience with Deming Akroyd, you were already working for us, but he never told me?”
“Perhaps he was worried staff might get suspicious if we risked talking.”
Roxie, though, had missed the point, and anyway Charlie was not buying that. “I don’t mean he should have told me while we were there. I mean in our office in Florida, or on the plane coming acros
s.”
“I can see why he might want to do that,” Mindy intervened. “But we need to hear what Roxie says.”
“Three days ago,” the girl continued, “a shipment of eggs arrived hidden in a sheep crate. I think from Australia. They were transferred into our incubators, but then yesterday there was a big panic. All the incubators and any hatched birds were loaded into a truck and taken away.”
“What do we make of that, Charlie?” Mindy asked.
“There is only one explanation – they somehow got word we’re onto them. Which raises two questions. How did they know and, more importantly, where are the eggs now?”
Roxie seemed unconcerned. “I can probably answer that. One of the reasons Phil wanted me there was to record all telephone numbers called or received.”
“And you have that list with you?”
The girl nodded. “I also recorded the licence plates of any vehicles.”
Charlie found herself momentarily speechless, desperately trying to imagine what gave Royle this ability to anticipate the future, at the same time realising that she and Mindy had urgent work to do checking the phone and vehicle numbers on Roxie’s list. It looked like being a long night.
However, it was at this point that the girl dropped her bombshell.
“There’s something else. That California state man, Deming Akroyd, he’s in it with them. He knows everything that goes on there.”
This time it was Mindy who responded. “From the top, Roxie. Everything.”
Removing the gum from her mouth and attaching it to the underside of the desk, the girl explained how that same afternoon after Charlie and Royle had been out at the breeding facility, she had put through a call from Akroyd. And how Akroyd had later driven back out to the site and spent an hour shut away with O’Reilly in his office. As an apparent consequence of that meeting Roxie had handled a large volume of calls, mostly to or from numbers she’d had no previous contact with, including several in the Florida and New York areas. Details of those calls were on the list she had provided, along with dates and times.
The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan Page 20