CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was like Cairns all over again. Together Maggie and Cooper approached the bustling, up-market pub – all porthole windows and maritime imagery. Maggie didn’t look at him as they went.
She couldn’t say why she hadn’t run. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t holding a gun. Or else the look on his face: one of absolute, bone-deep weariness.
So she had agreed to talk, but on the proviso that they went somewhere public, somewhere Cooper couldn’t easily shed that worn-out, almost benevolent guise. But as they sat together at the most isolated circular table in the dimly lit room, a table uncleared of the wine glasses from its last group and just a few metres from what seemed like a raucous staff party, the sense of being all too exposed grew.
‘How did you know?’ Maggie asked.
‘I knew Eric had a boat shed down here,’ Cooper said. ‘He brought me here once, so I ran surveillance until I saw you.’ He laid his hands on the table and looked at them, as if a script was written on the backs. Maggie, for her part, kept her gaze on him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Cooper said finally. ‘For everything.’
Maggie didn’t reply.
Cooper looked up at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks hollow. He almost certainly hadn’t slept for days. ‘I owe you an explanation.’
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ Maggie said. ‘I never should have listened to you.’
‘But you did, and for that I think I need to clear up at least a couple of things. It won’t . . . it won’t excuse anything. But maybe it can explain it, a bit.’
‘I know you’re taking money from the Scorpions,’ she said. Then, with an unexpected pang, ‘Jack Carlin told me.’
A flustered waitress was delivering more drinks to the staff party table, prompting a round of catcalls and cheers.
Cooper blinked, looking surprised even in the low light. ‘Jack?’
‘He found me after Darch’s office,’ she said. ‘He’s dead now. Townsend.’
Cooper stared at her, then looked away. It was hard to read the expression on his face. It wasn’t quite pain, but it wasn’t quite not either. ‘I always thought Jack Carlin was invincible,’ he said quietly.
‘You don’t need to explain, Harrison,’ Maggie said.
Cooper shook his head, wildly. ‘Jack didn’t know all of it.’ There was something new in Cooper’s expression, some desperation, as if he needed Maggie to understand. ‘Yeah, I sold out to the Scorpions. I cut ties eventually. But before I did’ – a deep breath – ‘they told me to feed Eric evidence that Terrence Adams was the killer he was looking for.’
Somebody at the staff party table cheered. Maggie stared at Cooper.
He closed his eyes. ‘I did it. God help me, I did it. I did it because if the Scorpions went down, so did we. Jack had cut things off with the gang by then and I didn’t think Eric would stop digging if he realised the killer he was looking for was a gang member. Back then he was too . . .’ Cooper waved a hand, looking for the word. ‘Too fucking noble. Or reckless or whatever. So when Rook promised me he would deal with it, I figured Adams was the perfect solution. But then Eric killed him and the murders kept happening and . . .’ He rested his head in a trembling hand. ‘So I told Rook. Deal with it or I would. Rook got rid of his man, whoever it was, and I was out. Eric fell apart. And I never told him. Never told him it was me who . . .’ He swallowed. ‘Maybe I would have, eventually. But at that point I told myself the lie was better. Then Jack started digging.’
‘And you planted evidence. Again.’
Cooper’s laugh was ragged. ‘Hardly. I just pointed the police towards shit that was already there. Jack was no saint. But by then the dominoes had started to fall. Olivia Dean picked up the slack. And Rook got back in touch.’
There were tears in Cooper’s eyes now.
‘My son, Aaron, has a problem.’ His voice was thick. ‘Drugs. Not uncommon, among cop’s kids. Jack’s daughter . . .’ He faltered. ‘He was in deep. Owed money to a really nasty figure. The Scorpions got wind of this and bought his debt. Suddenly, he’s in their pocket. And for a long time, they did nothing about it. Until they found out Dean was trying to get the case reopened. Then they called. They’d heard that Eric had evidence on a hard drive. They said they’d consider the debt paid if I found it for them. I had no idea where to look. And then I saw the footage of you.’
‘Seems to me that all this was your son’s problem to deal with,’ Maggie said.
Cooper’s smile was sad. ‘It’s not that simple. Not when it’s your kid. Not when you’d do anything to keep them safe.’
Something inside Maggie wrenched. From the nearby table came a wave of laughter.
‘I tried to pay Rook off, but he wasn’t interested,’ Cooper said. ‘I tried to reason with him, but that had been off the table the moment I told him I was out. So it was simple. I had to do whatever I could to stop Dean’s investigation, or Aaron . . .’ He let out a deep breath. ‘But now things have changed. Maggie, if you have the hard drive, I need you to give it to me. I know there might be some information on there but—’
A shadow fell over them as another seat was pulled out. Maggie went to rise but a hard hand on her shoulder forced her down as somebody sat.
It took Maggie a moment to place him, but even before she did the leather cut told her all she needed to know, as did the click under the table.
‘No fast movements, you hear?’ He was looking quickly between them, eyes wide and excited, straw-like hair hanging in his face.
‘Nipper,’ Maggie said, remembering him from Darch’s office.
‘Shut up, bitch,’ he said.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Cooper said.
‘Was tailing you, wasn’t I?’ Nipper said. ‘What, you thought we were gonna let you fuck around after that shit at the lawyer’s office?’
‘And they sent a prospect to do the job?’ Cooper replied.
‘I won’t be a prospect after this.’ Nipper’s grin was savage. ‘Won’t be called fucking Nipper no more neither. That fucking prick who joined up this year, got his patch straight away; he’ll look fucking stupid once I’ve given Rook that hard drive.’
He had taken his hand off Maggie’s shoulder, but not too soon for Maggie to feel the trembling.
‘Neither of us have it,’ Maggie said.
‘Prove it.’
‘How?’
Momentarily, Nipper looked confused.
‘Rook didn’t send you,’ Cooper said. ‘Neither did Byrne. This was your idea, wasn’t it?’
‘And it was a good fucking idea,’ Nipper snarled. ‘Wasn’t it? Otherwise that bitch would have slipped away again. She’s gotta answer for Brew going down.’
‘From memory, you’re the one who shot him,’ Maggie said.
‘Listen,’ Cooper said. ‘It’s under control, okay? This isn’t helping anyone. I’m doing what you want.’
Nipper’s bulging eyes were on Cooper. Maggie slipped one of the empty wine glasses off the table.
‘But if you make a scene here, you lose your chance,’ Cooper said. ‘The police will be on you in seconds.’
‘This gun’s silenced, dipshit,’ Nipper said. ‘With those pricks carrying on over there, I could kill you both now and nobody would notice.’
The staff party had all started singing something off-key and awful. Under the table, Maggie squeezed the stem of the wine glass and pressed the top with her thumb. It snapped off; she caught it before it shattered on the ground.
I don’t think it’ll be that simple,’ Cooper said. ‘You shoot me, you’d better hope you can do it before Maggie or I get to you. Then what? Even if you survive, the cops will be on you in minutes. You want to hand them the Scorpions on a silver platter?’
Nipper was shaking his head. ‘Nah. Nah, that’s not gonna happen. We got out of that lawyer’s office shit.’
‘You got out of that because Byrne knew when to drop the guns,’ Cooper said. ‘Think you’re g
onna do as well without him?’
‘Yes!’ Saliva flew from Nipper’s mouth. ‘Yes, I will, because I’m a fucking Scorpion and that’s what we do. Nothing will ever bring us down.’
‘Mate,’ Cooper said gently. ‘You’re a prospect.’
Maggie knew it was a mistake before the words had fully left his mouth, before she heard the pop from under the table and Cooper jerked back in his seat.
Maggie slammed the broken stem of the wine glass hard into Nipper’s windpipe.
A brief, choked gasp from Nipper. Under the table, Maggie snatched the still-hot pistol from his loose grip, spun it and shot him three times in the gut.
The other table was still singing. Nipper slumped in his seat, blood tricking from behind the embedded base of the wine glass.
Cooper’s face was pale and pained. Maggie stood, sticking the gun down the back of her jeans as she did. She tilted Nipper’s head forward – to a passing glance he’d look like a drunk sleeping it off – then moved fast to Cooper and got his arm over her shoulder. He tried to stand and staggered. His other hand was clenched at his stomach, blood running between his fingers. Maggie managed to get him up and together they shuffled past the bellowing table and through to the front door of the pub, Cooper’s weight almost pulling her down as they went.
Nobody paid them any attention as they stepped out into the cool night and moved across the road. Maggie was aware of all the loud-talking, laughing drinkers clustered around tables out the front, of the people passing them by, of the way with every step Cooper’s feet dragged more. They had maybe minutes before somebody noticed the dead prospect.
Back down towards the beach, into the dark between the sheds, Cooper heavier by the second, until finally Maggie guided him to the door of her father’s boathouse. Again she got it open, pulling the roller door back up. Inside Cooper collapsed against the wall. Even in the dark Maggie could see how pale his face was, how his eyelids fluttered and his mouth feebly attempted to form words.
‘Give me your phone,’ Maggie said. ‘I’ll call an ambulance.’ Her voice sounded high-pitched, childlike, scared. She didn’t want to look at why that might be, at what she knew was building inside her every second she looked at the man she had so deeply wished to be her father, the man she still loved despite everything, the man who had failed her so many times.
Cooper shook his head. ‘Too late.’ His voice was barely a breath. ‘Maggie, you need . . . you . . .’ His eyes briefly closed.
Maggie grabbed him by the arms, her fingers digging into flesh. ‘Harrison, no. No. Please, let me call someone, let me . . .’
‘No.’ His voice, briefly, was hard and strong. ‘It’s you now. It has to be you.’
He was lifting his phone in his loose fingers. Maggie took it, went to dial triple-0.
‘No ambulance,’ Cooper said. ‘Too many . . . too many questions. Just l-look. Look on there and you’ll . . .’ A tear ran down his bone-white cheek. He recited a number, a passcode. His shirt was soaked in blood. ‘Help him. Please.’
Cooper’s hand dropped. His head fell to the side. His eyes were empty.
Maggie shook him. Gently at first, then harder. Cooper didn’t move.
‘Harrison, come on. Please. Wake up. Come on!’
But it was pointless.
Gently, she rested her head against his and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In the van she took hold of the wheel but didn’t start the engine. She knew that she had to move. Knew that already police would be on their way, scouring the area. The black panel van was hardly going to absolve her of suspicion. And yet she couldn’t move.
Both Cooper and Carlin were gone now. The two men who, along with her father, had made the choice that had set all of this in motion, the choice Maggie was now paying for so many years later. The fucked-up part was, for all that they had done, those two were the closest things to allies Maggie had had in all of this mess.
And Cooper. The one positive thing from her childhood; he’d been a complicated positive, sure, but the only one she had, as fucked-up as that was. Dead in seconds because some shithead thought he deserved more than he had.
She had to move. Whatever had happened, she had the hard drive and that was that. Her only goal now was to vanish from Melbourne before anyone managed to find her. Be on the highway tonight and vanish somewhere random and untraceable, somewhere she could lie low, go through the contents of the drive and work out her next step. Part of her – a big part – wanted to search it tonight, to find a computer and go through everything on it. But it was too dangerous. Sooner or later somebody, probably Olivia Dean, would start joining dots. Maggie had to vanish before that happened.
She turned the key, but as the engine came to life below her she remembered Cooper’s phone. Its weight in her pocket seemed suddenly pronounced. She took it out.
Just look. Look on there and you’ll . . .
Cooper had fucked her over and let her down; if not for him she wouldn’t even be here in the first place. She owed him nothing. Leaving had to be her only focus.
But she still held the phone.
She unlocked it, using the code he had given her. The background was a generic photo of a lake somewhere.
Look on there. She opened up the camera roll. There wasn’t much. A few shots of pretty trees, a couple of sunsets, some photos of Cooper with a young man she guessed must be Aaron, with a sour face and dirty blonde hair.
She opened the web browser. The last site Cooper had visited had been about boating sheds in Williamstown. She checked for other tabs. There weren’t any.
He didn’t have any social media apps on here. So she went to text messages.
The first was from an unknown number. She opened it.
Immediately she saw a photo. It was grainy and dark, but it depicted somebody slumped in the corner of a filthy room. His white shirt was bloody. His hands in his lap were bound. His fair hair was long and hung in his face.
Maggie lowered the phone. Her ears were ringing. Her mind stumbled as snatches of Cooper’s final words fell into place around the photo.
Now things have changed.
I’m doing what you want.
Help him. Please.
The Scorpions had Cooper’s son.
It had nothing to do with her. None of this was her fault or her choice. She hadn’t wanted to be a part of any of it. Aaron had made his own choices. He had got himself into this mess. Maggie owed neither him nor his father a damn thing.
There was one other message from the same number.
Be at the BD joint with the hard drive or he dies. Bring anyone else, he dies. Tell the cops, he dies. Reply to this message, try to negotiate, he dies.
Following was a time and date.
Which gave Aaron something like twenty hours.
She could call the police. But Cooper had avoided doing just that. He hadn’t even allowed Maggie to call an ambulance that might have saved his life. And Cooper, who had been involved with the Scorpions for years, clearly knew better than anyone just how ruthless and connected they were. What was to say that they hadn’t replaced Cooper with another mole in the force? Somebody who would alert the bikies the moment the cops found out about Aaron?
The rest of Cooper’s messages held very little that shed any light, apart from the fact that it didn’t seem anybody else knew about this. So there was no-one else who could pick up the slack; no-one else to help Cooper’s son. Either Maggie stepped in, or Aaron died.
She slammed the wheel. Again and again, Cooper dragged her into the fucked-up web he had created. Again and again, it was she who suffered for those stupid, long-ago decisions.
Except it wasn’t just her. Aaron, too, had been forced to answer for the mistakes of his father. And unlike her, he didn’t have a choice.
She leaned back in the front seat. Ringing in her mind now were different words, older words, words that came back to her often late at night and sometimes, unbidden, in the middle
of the day. Words that reminded her of the last time she had ignored somebody in danger, the last time she had focused on what mattered to her over somebody else’s very real fears.
She exhaled. All that rage had given way to something like grim acceptance. The knowledge that whatever she tried to tell herself, there was no choice. Not for her.
In the distance, she could hear sirens. She glanced at the hard drive, sitting on the passenger seat. At the phone, now resting on the dashboard. She pressed down the accelerator.
What did she have?
It took Maggie a while to find a payphone. She’d parked in a rough and rundown part of the suburb of Footscray, all washed-out shopfronts, cracked windows and uneven roads. Even the early-morning air had a faint tinge of urine and neglect. She had slept briefly and badly, knowing she’d need it, but hit the streets as soon as the sun began to rise. There was barely anyone else around; a couple of homeless people were slumped in corners, some straggling drunks. Nobody who’d notice or remember her.
She’d figured Footscray was the kind of place likely to still have a payphone somewhere and she was right; she found one, heavily graffitied, tucked away behind a supermarket. She moved under the slightly askew shelter and took out Cooper’s phone. She checked the number again then gave herself just a moment to ask, one last time, if this was really how she wanted to play things.
She dialled the number.
Two rings before an answer. The woman’s voice was low and expressionless, giving away nothing, not even whether she had been woken by the call. ‘Hello.’
‘Detective Olivia Dean,’ Maggie said.
Silence on the other end.
‘I want to make a deal,’ Maggie said.
Silence, still. Maggie didn’t push on. Just waited.
Finally, ‘Maggie.’
It wasn’t a question so Maggie didn’t answer. ‘I have Eric’s hard drive.’
Maggie was ready for the feigned ignorance, but Dean apparently was smarter than that. ‘And what do you plan on doing with it?’
‘That depends,’ Maggie said. ‘There’s information on it that I want. But I’d be willing to hand it over in exchange for something.’
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