The Cooktown Grave

by Carney Vaughan

  “When Detective Byers first interviewed me he shocked me with the fact that you were a killer, Mac, but next time at my house he seemed to me to be a bit soft on you.” Helen said.

  “That’s how he came on to me, too.” said Sep. “He wanted me to know that you were a killer. He just dropped it on me and then stared at me.”

  “Could these two be responsible for all the murders?” Helen asked anyone who was listening, “If Detective Byers confronted all of the people he interviewed with the news Mac was a killer then perhaps these two were trying to alienate Mac from his friends. Maybe hoping he’d eventually have no hiding place.”

  “If that’s true then except for you three they seem to have succeeded. At least judging by the television news,” said Mac. “But these two wouldn’t know how Russ Byers conducted an interview, or who he interviewed.”

  “That’s right but these two, if they are killers, would’ve talked to their victims. And Harry didn’t you say once that there seemed to be a list?” Helen asked.

  “All right!” Jan interrupted. “What about this? Why would a supposedly respectable man like John Cade be in Cairns with this man who we think is a murderer? The police think he’s a murderer, too. And we think it’s possible he could be responsible for all of the killings. And why or how would he have my suitcase in his possession?

  “David, it’s got to have something to do with the past and I’m sure it’s connected with Danny’s death. We both have some hazy recollection of seeing this character before. The only shady thing John Cade has been connected with prior to this was his association with Valbac Pty. Ltd. And that was only in Danny’s eyes.”

  “What about Danny’s death?” asked Mac. “What about Mitchell’s?”

  “Yes,” said Jan, “poor Danny was of the opinion Mister Cade was a weak person. He was sure Mister Cade couldn’t kill any one and wondered if there was someone else. If Valbac was the reason Mister Mitchell was killed then it’s also the reason Danny was killed. He started asking questions and put himself in the spotlight. Now if Danny was right and Mister Mitchell was murdered, what about this other character who’s with Mister Cade now? David I think you were caught up in some complicated plot.” Jan was breathless, her eyes blazed, she hadn’t had reason to speak so analytically since her days with Danny and she was excited.

  An ashen faced Helen gave her glass to Sep for another refill. “Jan, listen,” she said with a shudder. “Have you thought about what might’ve happened if I hadn’t forgotten to bring the tea from the supermarket on the day we saw them at my front door?”

  Jan didn’t answer but offered Sep her glass for a refill.

  “Let’s look at this from arm’s length. Do you realise we’re implicating one of the largest cut-price chain stores in the country in murder, at least. And whatever else dark secret that’s being protected,” Mac sounded incredulous. “It’s a national icon, I can’t see past the innocent friendly faces I see whenever I shop in one of the stores. The mothers and fathers behind the counters and the kids who get jobs there for pocket money in the school holidays.”

  “Don’t think about them, David, think about Danny and us,” said Jan and added, “I need to sleep.” She ducked under the blanket room divider and disappeared from view. Helen was already asleep on Mac’s bunk. He tried to get her to her feet but she collapsed against him and they tumbled together back on to the bed. She slept soundly with her head on his lap. Mac bent his head and kissed her softly on the cheek and sat long into the night stroking her hair. He dozed fitfully while Sep snored lightly from the top bunk.

  In his motel room Salazar spread the chart and studied it. He compared it with a tourist map of the same area and noted an airstrip at Portland Roads. It was about sixty kilometres south of the old shooters hut the luckless deckhand had marked on the chart. Salazar’s plan was to charter a light plane to the airstrip and posing as holiday trekkers go overland to the hut. As tourists, fishing and hunting should be a good cover. Next morning the Colombian sent Cade to the airport.

  “We’ve got a Cessna and a pilot booked for nine tomorrow morning, it’s about five hundred and fifty kilometres, it’ll take a couple of hours. We’ll be there by lunch,” Cade reported on his return.

  “Good. Now go and purchase camping equipment, and fishing gear,” Salazar ordered. “Be sure it is functional.”

  Chapter

  71

  “I got a report back from Sydney today on the DNA comparison I had made of the semen samples from the Johnson girl.”

  “Comparison? With what?” Parsons asked.

  “It seems our Sydney sex murderer is here in Cairns, Warren.” Byers studied the hole in his Foster’s can. “Elaine Johnson may find justice after all. We seem to have a film clip of the man as well, even if it’s only black and white security film. It’s the sort of break we couldn’t have hoped for down south. I’m very excited, Warren.”

  “Muriel Payne rang in today,” Parsons said following the hissing opening of his own can. “Haines and Jacobs went to interview her this afternoon. I’ll get the story tomorrow.”

  “Who’s she, again?”

  “She was Elaine Johnson’s buddy at the hospital reception desk. She said that the bloke in the Palm Cove film was the one who was talking to the Johnson girl on the morning of the murder. She also said that he looked Italian or Spanish.”

  “I remember her. Jesus! Warren, that’s terrific. I’ve come a long way in a short time up here.” Byers upended his can. “What are you doing for dinner?”

  “Dunno.” Parsons shrugged.

  “Let’s eat out and have a few grogs. My shout.”

  “Great. What’s doing with Brannigan, Russ?”

  “Let’s deal with this first.” Byers produced a quartered sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it; it was a copy of the list found under Miller’s body. The bloodstains had been reproduced in dark grey making the writing hard to read. “I’ve seen Jennison and warned him. Even though he’s not on the list. The chopper pilot wasn’t either. But being a police roundsman Jennison’s close to protection all the time. He’s seen enough of the bad side of life to take the danger seriously so I think he’s safe.

  “Now this list, Warren, if I make just one assumption this list virtually exonerates Brannigan in all of the killings. Unless he created the list. But we are all agreed that it was most likely compiled by the Johnson girl judging by the intimate little footnote and the hospital letterhead. It was found as we know under the body of the fourth victim. It is four if we include the helicopter pilot in the tally. And I think we can by the coroner’s report on the identical profile of the knife wound in his body and those in the bodies of the two aides.

  “Now once more, back to this list. On the side with the letterhead the list is typewritten. And there are seven names plus the little footnote from E who we are reasonably sure was Elaine Johnson. On the reverse side there are fourteen handwritten names including all of the names on the front of the sheet except Miller’s. I’m willing to bet that the handwritten part was compiled by Miller as a result of his torture. So there was no reason for him to include his own name. Now this Muriel Payne has alerted us to a bogus police investigation being carried out. And just here is where I’m going to make the assumption that exonerates Brannigan based on certain facts that my logic interprets.

  “The Payne woman has identified the suspected killer of the callgirl at the Palm Cove motel as the man that the Johnson girl said was a policeman. The assumption is this, Elaine Johnson gave this man the list – and the scribbling is Miller’s because he is not on the list. We know from the DNA checks that the man who murdered Elaine is our Sydney serial killer. The only strong suspect in the Palm Cove murder is also a person of interest in Elaine’s murder. My contention is that he had the list and he lost it at the Miller house. But I believe that there were two involved in the Miller murder, and I believe that t
hey, and not Brannigan, are responsible for all of these killings. But as far as motive goes, I’m bushed.

  “I haven’t been able to find Helen Bell or the aide Bernard. And in the light of what’s happened to Smith and Miller I’m a bit worried about them. They’ve been absent from their work and their homes for a few days.”

  Byers was making imaginary ticks with a finger, “There’s the doctor Bramble and the nurse, Cable, and Muriel Payne and you say they’re under guard so they’re OK. Salvatore Bernardini, and Harry Rigby and his wife are living together at the Bernardini cane farm. By the way did you know that Bernardini is Harry Bernard’s father?” Parsons shook his head, Byers continued. “Apart from Bell and Bernard, that leaves young Rigby and Williamson on their trawlers wherever they might be. Parker, Soames, Jackson and McCarthy, I can’t find them.”

  “McCarthy, you’ll find in the Harbourmaster’s office, while you’re talking to him you can find out where Rigby’s and Williamson’s boats are. The other three are waterfront scum from the south,” said Parsons and then pleaded, “Can we talk at the restaurant Russ I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby monkey. C’mon let’s go. I’ll even shout.”

  They settled for a two hour seafood dinner and and a couple of carafes of wine and then walked the few kilometres back to Parsons’ house. On the way Byers again audibly mulled over the case. His final assessment was that Brannigan was not responsible for any of the brutal killings and young Parsons couldn’t raise a plausible argument against his conclusions. It did seem that the Johnson girl and the girl at the motel were killed by the same person. And Byers DNA report from Sydney, if it was correct, laid the blame on the Sydney deviate. Now this shadowy figure was taking on substance. Firstly a vague description then a set of fingerprints and the DNA printout. Tomorrow, probably, there would be a computer generated coloured photograph of the suspect. It would be based on the security film together with Muriel Payne’s description when Haines and Jacobs are finished with her. Byers was pleased, he could hardly contain his excitement. For years this bastard had been killing women in Sydney and before that on the other side of the world. The moving finger had decreed that he and the killer should collide in Byers search for Brannigan. It seemed to Byers there was a connection between Brannigan and this phantom. Some chain of coincidence which had not become apparent. He fell asleep no closer to that solution.

  Chapter

  72

  “What’s on the agenda today?” Sep asked on a glorious North Queensland morning.

  “What’s the time?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is we’ve got till sundown to do it,” Sep answered over his shoulder as he threw the dishwater from the cabin doorway onto the small beach.

  “I think whatever we do we had better do it together, at least until we have a good look around.” Mac was folding the partitioning blankets while the women were tidying up. “We should take the rifle and the fishing gear wherever we go,” he added.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Me too,” was a feminine chorus.

  The runabout was tied to the jetty facing the incoming tide. Sep hauled it in and they climbed in. Mac was at the outboard tiller and Helen sat beside him. Jan was in the centre and Sep at the prow. There was an old army gas mask bag full of fishing gear between Sep’s feet. The .303 rifle was leaning like a bowsprit over the front of the dinghy. Mac had two full magazines in his pocket. “And don’t forget,” he warned, “even if there’s not, there’s always a slug up the spout That’s the forgotten one that kills.” They headed upstream.

  “What about the crocodiles?” Helen asked nervously.

  “They’re pretty shy creatures, they’ll stay away from us for a few days until they begin to view us as food and then they’ll become, if not aggressive, at least curious,” Mac said. He could see that Helen and Jan were not completely convinced and Sep was a little nervous. “Anyway the outboard makes enough racket to frighten all the crocs on the Peninsula.” He added. The day was one for Mac’s memories. He hadn’t let his guard down and so enjoyed himself since his escape from the prison farm. He used the confines of the little runabout to encircle Helen with his arms under the pretence of baiting her fish-hook and removing her catch. Helen made an effort to fumble everything she did so she could enjoy the closeness of his strong arms and his hard muscular body. At the upper reaches of the creek there was a substantial freshwater wetland. They explored a little of the fringe areas until they came across an animal spoor as wide as a country lane.

  “We’d better be getting back,” Mac said. “Wild pigs and lots of ‘em. They’ll tear you apart as quick as the crocs if they get you down and they’re nearly as dangerous when they’re in a mob. Anyway we’ve got to get back before the fish spoil.”

  An hour later Sep tied up at the jetty. He and Mac remained in the boat to clean the catch. The women climbed the steps to the boardwalk and Jan shouted excitedly, “Hey! Look! There’s been a boat on our little beach.” The men looked furtively up and down the creek and then bounded to her side.

  “Just there. See?” She pointed. There was a track slightly less than a metre wide in the mud, it continued up the bank and across the sand to where the hut was sitting on its wooden pylons. It then returned and disappeared into the creek. The track could have been made by a couple dragging a flat bottomed dinghy up and then back into the water except that in the soft mud at the water’s edge it became as deep as it was wide.

  “Jesus!” was all that Sep could say.

  “Holy hell! It must be five or six metres long.” Mac’s mouth remained open until he felt a hand on his arm. “It’s a croc Helen. I think it must be that big bugger we saw from the end of the jetty last night.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be nervous about us,” she said.

  “It’s big enough to be not nervous about anything,” said Sep. “Let’s go inside, I’ll get the fish.”

  The meal was taken in comparative silence and in definite contrast to their earlier mood. Each was wrestling with their own thoughts. Mac’s worry was for their immediate safety. He wanted to impress indelibly on their minds the need for extreme care when outside the shack.

  “They’re not like sharks, you know,” he said, “these blokes are cunning thinkers and they’ll chase you around on land as well. They’re pretty swift, you won’t outrun them. And you’ve got to get a fair way up a tree in a hurry to be safe. I really don’t think the raised walkway would offer any security at all against the bloke that left his tracks on the beach. And remember, the longer we’re here the bolder they’ll get.”

  Up until now Helen had been preoccupied with thoughts of what might eventuate while living in close proximity to Sep. She didn’t want to hurt him in any way; he’d been a good friend to her when she’d really needed one. She knew there was a time when he wanted more than friendship but for her the chemistry wasn’t there. She was relieved to discover her anxiety was completely unnecessary. Any fool could see that Sep was totally infatuated with Jan. He absolutely doted on her and she was beginning to respond to his advances as coy as they were. Helen became his discreet ally in his campaign of the heart.

  Jan felt slightly uncomfortable because it was obvious to all that Sep was more than a little attracted to her. She accepted his attention gladly. It had been so long since even a hint of romance had entered her life. She wanted to respond openly but she worried that David might feel she was being disloyal to Danny’s memory. Sep’s thoughts were centred entirely on Jan and his shy attempts to draw her to him. He was getting mixed signals, enthusiasm and, alternately, indifference. He was happy then miserable. His mind was in turmoil.

  Chapter

  73

  Salazar waited in the street outside the police station with the haversacks until he was joined by Cade. “The cop said we have to head a bit south to get across the Pascoe River. He said the crossing is signposted. It’s a causeway and sometimes it’s
got to be waded but it should be OK at the present time. He said to be careful of crocodiles, they’re pretty active just now.”

  The Colombian fixed him with a pathetic stare. “Crocodiles?” His experience of crocodiles was with the skinny little freshwater one’s he’d encountered in the highland waters of the Andean rivers. He immediately dismissed them for more important information, “You didn’t tell him where we were going?”

  “No. I said we were heading for Fair Cape across the bay and intended to camp there and fish. Here’s your licence.”

  The chartered Cessna had set them down on the Iron Range airstrip. Consulting the map Salazar could see that to reach Glennie Creek and the shack it was about a sixty kilometres hike to the northeast. They would first have to cross the Pascoe and to do this would mean a thirty kilometre hike to the southwest. They arrived at the Pascoe crossing at sundown on the following day and pitched their tent. Too much city living had left them exhausted after a long footslog through rough terrain. Neither had the will to open a can nor to light a fire.

  Waking hungry in the morning they breakfasted on cold beans, packed up their gear and then negotiated the causeway. The clear, crisply cool water flowed gently and reached only to their knees at the deepest point.

  Cade was loath to leave the comfort of the river because it felt so good on his blistered feet. “My feet are sore,” he complained as they sat donning their socks and boots.

  “Hurry! We need to make up time,” was the only response from Salazar as he stood to go.