‘Is there a difference?’
‘I used to think so. Now, I dunno.’ He drank again. ‘You can drive yourself crazy trying to work out those distinctions.’
The door to the pub opened. Maggie looked over. Three men had entered. They were large and bearded, and wore leather vests – their ‘cuts’ – adorned with dark red scorpions.
‘Bikies,’ Maggie said.
Cooper didn’t reply. Maggie glanced at him. He was watching the bikies, unblinking and intent. One of them looked back at him. A small nod. Maggie returned her attention to Cooper. His brow had knitted, just slightly.
‘Same again?’ Maggie asked.
‘I’ll get them,’ Cooper said.
He slid out of the booth and made for the bar. Maggie watched him go. One of the bikies had turned away from his mates and was watching her as he sipped his pint. He winked. Maggie turned her glass in her hands then knocked back the last of the beer.
How likely was it that Townsend had sent them after her? She felt like she would have noticed several bikes on their tail, but then the trip down had been largely a blur of unending road and little sleep. She hadn’t been at her most vigilant. She tilted the glass with a finger, balancing it on the edge of the base. She could throw it, hit one of them, then be out the door before they realised what had happened. She looked over at the bar again. Cooper was paying. The bikies were back to their conversation. They hadn’t acknowledged each other any further.
Cooper returned with two more pints. ‘So this is what I’m thinking,’ he said. ‘We’ll get into Melbourne tomorrow afternoon. I’d invite you to stay with me, but right now it’s a one-bedroom bachelor pad and the couch isn’t much fun.’
‘I’ll get a motel.’
‘I’ll arrange to meet the lawyer straight away,’ he said. ‘Find out what the process is, how quickly we can have everything sorted. If it goes smoothly, I should be able to get the money transferred and the papers signed overnight. Then we can get access to the house and the storage unit and we’re done.’
‘Storage unit?’ She was only barely listening. In her head, she was working through the layout of the pub and its immediate surrounds: entrances, exits.
‘Yeah, the contents of the house have been moved to one. Standard procedure, apparently.’
Maggie stopped listening, catching only snatches from Cooper about how much money she could expect. She eyed him as he spoke. She thought about the nod. Could have been nothing. Probably was. Cooper might not have been in uniform, but it would hardly be a surprise if men like that could recognise the way a cop looked and held himself. But she had not mistaken the slight bunching of his shoulders, nor the tension that had held him the moment the bikies walked in.
Maggie didn’t speak much as they headed back to the motel. She said a brief goodnight then headed to her room. She didn’t unpack or undress. She sat on the bed, looking at the curtains that hid the window.
Melbourne tomorrow. The trip had been long, but not enough. And in that time the certainty that she had hoped she would gain regarding Cooper’s intentions had not come. If anything, it had been shaken. Shaken through moments that could have meant nothing. His refusal to name the suspect. His reaction to the bikies. The way he had looked back even as they left the pub, glancing at the empty road behind them the whole way to the motel. There could easily have been a good explanation for his worry – Maggie could think of several – but what bothered her was the fact that he hadn’t shared it with her. That made her wonder if the nod had been not a casual acknowledgement but instead one of recognition. And if so, what that meant.
Holbrook did not seem like the kind of town that was home to bikies. It probably wasn’t; after all, bikies travelled. But why stop here, in this strange town off the main highway? Unless there was something they were looking for. Something they knew would be here.
If she got in the car with Cooper tomorrow morning, then that would be it. Her choice, which she now knew to be less certain than she had thought, would be entirely made. And if things went wrong, if she had let her tangled childhood feelings blind her judgement, then she really was fucked.
She picked up her bag and got to her feet. Hesitated by the door. Then opened it and moved quietly back up the hall and out into the parking lot and the cool night air. Clouds had crept across the dark sky. There was a bite to the wind, harder now that they were further south. Winter meant more down here than it did in Port Douglas, and winter was almost here.
She would feel bad about leaving Cooper. But he could get a bus home or something. If he had meant everything he had said, then he would have every right to hate her. But that risk, to her, seemed safer than the alternative. She moved for her car, eyes forward, not giving herself the chance to reconsider.
Then.
An explosion of pain behind her eyes, spiralling through her head from the place where something had hit her. Her vision blurred. She felt hot blood running down the back of her neck. She tried to turn. She staggered, then her face was in the dust.
A voice in her ear.
‘You made it pretty fucking easy for me there.’
Hands rolled her over. She was on her back, looking at the sky, but something blocked her view. A face, narrow and pockmarked, nicotine-stained teeth bared in a grin. Something pulled tight around her wrists, something biting that did not give when she tried to pull free. The face vanished and she felt her ankles bound too. She tried to struggle but her body was reacting far too slowly. The face was back. Something musty smelling was shoved into her mouth. She tried to bite his fingers, but he pulled them clear, leaving the gag.
‘This is some fucking luck,’ he said, eyes moving over her. ‘Your picture’s been doing the rounds. Big reward for whoever finds you and makes the call. I couldn’t fucking believe it when I saw you wandering over to the pub. You know how much you’re worth?’ He shook his head. ‘The fucking chances.’ He stood, taking out his phone. ‘Gotta work out where to keep you, but that should be fine. Mr Townsend’s gonna send someone quick when I tell him.’
The consistency of the eyes on her in Port Douglas. Of course it hadn’t just been Cooper.
‘And if you try to fuck with me . . .’ He kicked her hard in the stomach. Maggie snapped inwards. Pain reverberated through her gut. She didn’t make a sound.
‘Nice and quiet,’ the man said. ‘A quiet little bitch.’
A creak. The man looked up.
Maggie rolled over. Cooper stood in the doorway of the motel.
He held up his badge. ‘I figure Len Townsend sent word out through the usual channels?’
‘That’s none of your fucking business,’ the man spat.
‘Sure.’ Cooper pocketed the badge. ‘But she is. You can tell me to fuck myself. Except I’m pretty sure you’re not carrying a gun and I am. I’m well within my rights to intervene.’
‘Show me.’ There was a waver in the man’s voice. ‘Show me your gun.’
‘Or maybe I don’t have one,’ Cooper said. ‘But, given that she’s part of an important case, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t try to step in. You and Townsend directly interfering in a case is one thing, but hurting a cop? How has that ever worked out for anyone?’
The man said nothing.
‘You can be stupid if you want,’ Cooper said. ‘But that’s a big, brave gamble, my friend. How much is Townsend offering? Fifty grand? Less? Worth jail time? Or being cornered in an alley and kicked to death by a gang of detectives?’ Cooper took a step forward.
‘Stay back!’ the man snarled.
Maggie turned her head. He was holding a knife.
Cooper took another step forward. ‘You want to try this? Really?’ Another step. He was close now. ‘Or do you want to cut her loose and walk away?’
The man didn’t reply.
Cooper stopped. ‘Your choice, mate.’
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then a tug at her wrists as the man cut the zip ties, followed by the one
s at her feet.
With some difficulty, Maggie stood. She pulled the filthy rag from her mouth. Her head throbbed. She put her hand to where she’d been hit and it came away sticky with blood. She looked at the man. He was staring at her, open-mouthed, as if he had no clue of what he was supposed to say or do now.
Then Cooper stepped past her and punched the man in the face.
He went flying with a squawk. He hit the ground and Cooper was on him, punching again and again, his fist coming back bloody until the man was still.
Unsteady, Cooper stood, shaking his hand. He turned to Maggie. ‘You okay?’
She said nothing. Her eyes moved to the fallen knife.
‘No.’ Cooper’s voice was hard. ‘He’s more use to us alive. If word gets out that you’re under police protection, fuckwit thugs like him are gonna think twice.’ Cooper glanced at the dumpster. ‘So let’s just inconvenience him overnight.’
‘Fine by me,’ Maggie said. Her head really hurt.
The man was unmoving but breathing. They found the zip ties in the pockets of his torn, faded jeans. He stank like old booze and weed. Maggie bound his wrists while Cooper did the ankles. Then he tied the rag tight around the man’s mouth. He groaned slightly but didn’t rouse.
Cooper lifted the lid of the dumpster. Maggie met his eye, he nodded, and together they lifted the man’s limp form and dropped him in. Maggie slammed the lid. They stepped back together.
‘The people you worked with in the bar,’ Cooper said. ‘Would they have given Townsend your photo?’
Did Evie or Andrew have her photo? She had tried to avoid cameras but maybe she’d missed some promotional shot of the venue, maybe . . .
Heat raced through her as realisation hit.
‘He wouldn’t have hurt them,’ Cooper said, seeing her expression. ‘Not badly, anyway. With all the attention, he can’t afford an investigation into a civilian death. He would have scared them, maybe, but that’s it.’
The pain felt distant and dull. Maggie exhaled. She wasn’t sure she entirely believed Cooper, but for now she’d take it.
Townsend was hunting her. In the midst of everything else, this fact felt almost insignificant. Despite the throb in her head Maggie’s awareness of her surrounds seemed sharper, keener. She cast an eye over the parking lot, as if searching for another attacker lunging out of the dark. But the night stayed quiet. For now. If word of Townsend’s bounty had reached this far south, then there would almost certainly be opportunistic thugs in Melbourne who would take their chance if they saw her.
‘We should get clear before someone finds him,’ Cooper said. ‘As much as I was looking forward to a bed for the night. How’s the head?’
‘I’ve had worse.’
‘No concussion?’
‘Don’t think so. Just a nasty headache.’
Cooper nodded. ‘Good. Let’s move.’
Maggie hesitated. Then she followed him to the car.
The pain in her head had subsided, but she was still resisting falling asleep. Not that resisting was too hard. She lay back on the seat, eyes out the window on the dark trees rushing past. She glanced at Cooper. He was focused on the road. His brow was furrowed. She thought of the violence with which Cooper had set upon her attacker, the protective rage in his expression.
Sometimes, as a kid, lying in bed listening to the buzz of the television and her father’s occasional hoarse yells at whatever had so grievously offended him, she would imagine that she was in a different house listening to a different TV. It was warmer there, and beneath the TV she would hear the current of quiet conversation and laughter. She would close her eyes as the door opened and Cooper stood there, watching to make sure she was safe. In the mornings he would take her to school, hugging her as she left, telling her that he loved her and was proud of her, telling her without having to say the words that he would be there no matter what happened.
She would open her eyes hoping that she had willed herself into this different life, that if she wanted it enough it would happen. She would let herself believe that she had, until the next yell from downstairs.
Maggie knew that the gap between dreams and reality could never be closed. But now Cooper was here, and as hard as she might try to keep her guard up, she couldn’t chase away that aching sense that maybe, finally, some long-accepted injustice was going to be put at least a little bit right.
CHAPTER SIX
Maggie had tried at uni. After barely scraping through high school, it had seemed a chance for a fresh start. Something almost like freedom shot through with the potential of a new start. The chance to be anyone. The chance for a normal life. And after all those years of foster homes and shitty schools, hadn’t that been the thing she had wanted most?
She’d got into a basic arts degree, signed up for classes and done all the readings. She lived in a tiny apartment without windows and worked in a faded old suburban restaurant, living frugally. When she had enough money, she would go out with Ness, the friend she’d made during O-week, to bars with student discounts, bars that were loud and dingy and served beer that was clearly watered down. But none of that mattered because this was what people did. Maggie had never been great with flirting or making friends, but Ness, with her cascading blonde hair and booming laugh, had all of that covered. Maggie stuck close to her and occasionally got talking to someone who’d been drawn by Ness but wasn’t getting her attention.
On other nights, the nights Maggie preferred, she and Ness would hang out alone. They would sit in Ness’s room on campus, drinking cheap wine and talking. Occasionally they’d share a joint, but Maggie soon found she hated weed. What alcohol dulled, weed heightened. One night, after a particularly rough episode of unstoppable recurring thoughts and the shakes Maggie tried so desperately to hide, Ness promised they’d stay away from weed in future. She told Maggie she didn’t need to know what was going on, but she would listen if Maggie wanted to talk.
Which, Maggie found to her own surprise, she did. She told Ness about her father, the foster homes and the rest. About the persistent worry that she could never be normal. And Ness hadn’t tried to talk her out of thinking that way or told her she was wrong but instead just gave her a hug and said sorry and asked if she wanted more wine.
For a while, that was enough. Better than enough. Then came the prick.
His real name was Elliot. He dressed well and, by the looks of it, visited an expensive hairdresser every couple of weeks. The way he carried himself, not to mention his lazy smirk, screamed rich kid. But Maggie seemed to be the only one to notice. Because Elliot had the kind of charm that offset questions of class. He had the ability to seem at ease wherever he was. He was good-looking with a deep voice that made him come across older than he was. And Ness, with her atrocious taste in men, had fallen for him quickly. Maggie had seen it coming the first time they’d met at the campus bar. But she had figured – hoped – it would be a one-night stand and nothing more.
The next time she saw him, he was sitting in their usual booth with his gaggle of mates, arm slung around Ness, holding court and talking to Maggie as if she was the one who had to win him over.
‘So what are you studying?’ he’d asked with an indulgent smile, as if Maggie was lucky to be receiving any of his attention.
‘Arts.’
‘Anything specific in there?’ He laughed, so loud that anything specific Maggie might have said would have been drowned out. So she just shrugged.
‘Maggie’s sussing out her options,’ Ness said.
‘I had this English teacher,’ Elliot said, ‘who told me that any story that is about everything is really about nothing. That’s basically the deal with arts degrees, right? People do them to keep their options open, then end up working at Maccas. Except for you of course.’ He said the last part to Ness as his cronies guffawed. ‘You’ve got that particular focus. That drive. It’s what I like about you.’
Ness had blushed as Maggie sipped her beer and wondered whether she could make
smashing it over his head look like an accident.
‘But no, seriously, I envy you,’ he’d said to Maggie, taking on a conspiratorial tone. ‘Doing science just kind of locks you into one career path, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s what I want, but I wish I could just, you know, go with the flow. See where life takes me. I think it’s really cool to not care about the future until it arrives.’
The prick moved fast. Within the fortnight of what could loosely be called their relationship, he had convinced Ness that this was love, that they didn’t need more time to think it through or test it out. When you knew, he would say, you knew.
Ness had laughed about his request at first. She said it as an aside to Maggie as they grabbed a coffee after the one class they had together – if you were trying to offload MDMA, where would you go? She tried to treat it almost as a joke. But Maggie heard the unsteadiness in her voice. And while she knew better than to lecture Ness, she wasn’t about to let it drop. A couple of quiet prods and Ness came clean.
‘It’s not much,’ she said. ‘You know, he deals a bit to pay for uni.’
His parents clearly paid for uni, but Maggie didn’t point that out.
‘And why shouldn’t he?’ Ness had said, sounding like she was trying to justify it to herself. ‘I mean, students will always want to get high, right? And if El can make sure the stuff they get is pure, then that seems fair enough.’
‘What’s not fair enough is him pulling you into it,’ Maggie had said.
‘That’s not . . .’ Ness shook her head wildly. ‘No. It’s not that. He just had a meet that fell through and needs to move some stuff to make rent. He needs someone he can trust and . . . it’s nothing. Really.’
But then he had asked again.
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