by Helene Young
‘Ms Fletcher?’ The closest man reached into his pocket and Darcy backed up a step.
‘Perhaps. Look, I’m just getting ready to go out—’
‘We’re police, ma’am. Witness Protection.’ He dragged a badge clear of his pocket and flashed it at her.
She grabbed it and turned it over in her hand. ‘Sergeant Phillips? New South Wales?’
He nodded, drew himself up to his full height and towered over her. ‘That’s correct. We’re here to escort Tyrone Hillsmith back to Sydney.’
‘Who? Are you looking for Noah?’
‘We’re here about the yachtsman who foundered out on the point last week.’
‘Oh, him. Noah said he was in hospital; going to be there for a while too by the sounds of it. Poor guy lost his memory. Imagine that.’
‘The information we’ve received from Sergeant Noah Moreton is that you are harbouring him in your house.’
‘Harbouring? There’s no harbour here.’ She frowned, hoping she looked baffled.
‘He’s staying with you, Ms Fletcher. That’s the information Sergeant Moreton supplied us with.’
‘Sergeant Moreton? Why would Noah say that? Are you sure he didn’t say that he stays here? I’m waiting for him now. He’s late again.’
‘Ms Fletcher, Sergeant Moreton very clearly told us Tyrone Hillsmith was staying here. We spoke to him a couple of hours ago.’ The second man spoke for the first time and Darcy turned her gaze on him. Brick outhouse sprang to mind. As wide as he was tall.
‘You went to the police station?’
A look passed between them that said enough was enough.
‘Yes. We served him with the required papers this afternoon so we could take custody of the man.’
‘Is that right?’ She was angry at their blatant lies, but she kept smiling even as her heart hammered. Noah had just told her that officers from Witness Protection were flying in tomorrow and he would have mentioned any other visitors from down south. She stood a little straighter and pulled Gypsy behind her leg. ‘Gentlemen, I think Noah would be the one doing any door knocking so you’re welcome to wait in your car until he arrives.’
She moved to close the door and the brick outhouse put a shoulder into it. She held her own but only just. ‘Major.’ The stocky dog lunged for an ankle. The man swore and stepped back, but Major had retreated before the swinging leg could connect with his solid head. The door slammed shut and Darcy rammed the old-fashioned bolt across. Something bounced off the thick oak, but she was already running down the corridor.
‘Come.’ The dogs scrabbled behind her as she grabbed her two bags and fled out the back door. The men were still banging on the front door; she hoped they didn’t have anyone else with them.
She ducked under the fence, giving Major a shove to keep him moving. In the dark she almost ran into Tyrone who was waiting on the boundary. She moved passed him, leading the way now. ‘Said they were New South Wales coppers. A Sergeant Phillips?’
‘They might be. Don’t recognise that name, but they were the ones providing protection.’
‘Oh. Well, they still don’t have the right to enter premises in Queensland. And they were way too aggressive. Come on.’ She crept further into the stand of trees. Tyrone shadowed her, Major snuffled along. Gypsy weaved ahead.
‘We could wait until Noah shows up.’
‘We could and they could come looking over the back fence,’ she hissed back. The thumping had stopped from the front of her house. She strained waiting to hear a car engine start up.
In the still night it was almost impossible to move silently, but Darcy led the way at a jog along a narrow trail which skirted the two empty properties, praying Major didn’t start grunting. Behind them the ground vibrated as the mob of roos bounded away with Gypsy in pursuit. The collie was usually banned from chasing roos, but tonight Darcy shooed her after them. The roos sounded like a football team. She could hear the voices of the two men. They were in her back yard now. Only a matter of time before they found a way through her fence. Hopefully the sounds of the roos would lead the pursuit in that direction.
Darcy peered ahead in the darkness. Muriel’s back fence was more solid than her own. Scaling it was not an option, but she knew there was a gate along it somewhere. The only other option was to try and cross the creek.
‘Shit, they’ve got torches.’ She felt Tyrone’s breath on the back of her neck.
Darcy didn’t glance behind. ‘Keep moving. Here.’ She found the hook on the gate. ‘You first, take Major. Head for the back stairs, but don’t go up them. They creak like crazy.’
She was grateful he didn’t argue this time. She couldn’t risk calling the dog or whistling, but Gypsy didn’t usually stray from her side for long. She clicked her fingers once, twice. Nothing. The torchlights were moving down her back fence, pointing towards the embankment and the roos. She tried again. Once, twice. It sounded deafening to her. ‘Far out,’ she murmured, hoping she wouldn’t have to leave the gate open, when a shape shot out of the bushes and barrelled into her. She let out a relieved breath.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, but she didn’t pull it out. The light would be a beacon.
She thought they could hide under Muriel’s house until Noah turned up. It was wiser than trying to get back to her ute right now.
She closed the gate and headed towards the faint glow of light from Muriel’s kitchen window. The grass was springy underfoot. She remembered the Hills hoist and ducked just in time.
‘Over here.’ Tyrone was standing on the right side of the house away from the kitchen light. ‘They’re not heading this way yet.’
‘Maybe they won’t. But we still need wheels ourselves.’ She weighed it up silently. Wait for them to leave or knock on Muriel’s door and see if she’d lend them Reggie’s old car? Tyrone was focused on the back fence, looking for signs of torchlight.
‘Wait here.’ She slipped from his side with a stern hand signal to both dogs.
She could hear the ABC’s nightly news playing on the radio. Muriel would be cooking her dinner. Darcy didn’t want to startle her. She tapped on the door. ‘Muriel? It’s me, Darcy. Can I come in?’ She rapped again, a little more firmly.
The kitchen window opened a crack. ‘Who is it?’ Muriel’s voice quavered, as a smell of toast wafted out.
‘Muriel, it’s Darcy. You said to call if I needed you.’
‘Darcy? Hold on.’
The chain on the back door rattled and then the door opened wide enough to let Darcy slip into the dimly lit kitchen. ‘Come in, come in.’
‘Thank you,’ Darcy said, her hands clutched together. ‘I’m sorry for alarming you.’
‘Where is he?’ Muriel’s lips were pinched, her diminutive fists clenched. ‘What’s he done?’
‘He’s done nothing, Muriel. Those men came back claiming to be police. They aren’t police; they’re after Tyrone.’
Muriel clicked her tongue. ‘I knew he’d be trouble.’
‘Not his fault, but I’ll explain later. He’s out there with Gypsy and Major. We need a car, just for tonight. Can I . . .?’ She knew what a big favour she was asking.
‘Of course. If you’re sure. Where’s Noah?’
‘He’s on his way, but I don’t want to stay here and wait. I’ll call him once I get where I’m going.’
Muriel plucked a brass key ring from a hook on the kitchen wall. ‘Here. Treat her kindly. Reggie loved her almost more than he loved me.’ Her frail shoulders had straightened, her chin was up and determination burned bright in her faded eyes.
‘Thanks, Muriel. I’ll bring her back safe and sound. And one last thing: can I leave the dogs?’
‘Certainly. Bring them in.’
‘Thanks, I owe you one.’ She dropped a swift kiss on Muriel’s paper-thin skin.
With the dogs safely inside, Darcy slipped out again. Her phone vibrated one more time. She’d ring Noah as soon as they were on their way. He couldn’t be too far away.
<
br /> 14
Noah slammed the mobile phone onto the passenger seat. ‘Fuck it, Darcy, answer!’ He ran one hand through his already messed-up hair and stamped on the accelerator. No point in turning on the siren – the cows would do nothing but twitch their ears in annoyance. Now was not the time to be caught way up past Miriam Vale when the shit was hitting the fan in Banksia Cove. There was nothing predictable about a day in a life of a community policeman, but some days were crazier than others. Today was one of those.
‘Friggin’ protestors,’ he swore again. Coal seam gas was a contentious issue and as a farmer he supported the Shut the Gate movement, but as a policeman? It was a pain in the backside, sucking resources for crowd control and dragging police away from their communities. The issues needed to be addressed, but not on a day that he had a valuable witness under threat in Banksia Cove. He was certain now there was a link between Tyrone and last night’s drive-by and attempted break-in. Tyrone Hillsmith had clearly stirred up a nest of angry king browns.
When the message from the New South Wales cops came through on his phone just before lunch at Darcy’s house, he hadn’t expected it to be a missing witness issue. His best guess had been that Tyrone was an undercover Fed. Everything about the man screamed ‘in-control overachiever’. A yacht was the perfect cover for one of the Feds’ drug-smuggling stings. By the time he’d finished playing phone tag with the guy from Witness Protection in New South Wales it was almost five o’clock.
He’d just about choked on his mouthful of Coke when Senior Sergeant O’Day explained Tyrone was a protected witness who’d gone AWOL. O’Day was so cagey that Noah quickly realised they had a live one on their hands. Then O’Day got all agitated at the mention of last night’s attempted break-in. Noah hadn’t managed a smile since.
Noah was trying to ignore the thought that anything bad could happen to Darcy. She’d been through too much to end up in the firing line of a royal fuck-up that he was responsible for. To hell with niceties, Tyrone should have slept in the cells until they’d found out more about him.
When it came to Darcy he had a bad track record of causing her pain when all he wanted to do was keep her safe. And that all started sixteen years ago.
He rubbed his hand down his face, feeling the stubble rasp under his palm. If he had his time again, he would have handled things differently, would have tried a softer tack with Grant, a conciliatory approach, not the head-on confrontation his ego demanded.
Noah had bailed Grant up in the car park of the gym the day after he’d discovered there was something going on. He’d been worried about his friend for weeks. Grant was becoming increasingly aggressive, hair-trigger temper. When Noah had overheard a conversation between Grant and Stirling he finally had his answer.
‘Hey, Grant, I want to talk to you!’ he’d called, striding across to his friend, anger in his voice.
Cocky as always, Grant turned to him with a smile, clearly not expecting anything out of the ordinary. ‘Noah, buddy, what’re you up to?’
‘Not the same thing as you, mate,’ Noah spat, watching for any flash of understanding in Grant’s eyes.
‘What?’ Grant frowned as Noah stepped closer. ‘What the fuck’s up?’
‘Supplements, drugs, steroids. What the fuck are you doing?’ he’d demanded.
Grant threw up his hands. ‘Supplement, not drugs, you loser.’ He glared at Noah.
‘You and Stirling are the losers. It’s cheating. You’ll get caught.’
Grant laughed at that. ‘By who? You reckon sport in Australia has its shit together with drug testing, even at a national level? You’re kidding me. Anyway, Stirling says it’s clear.’
‘It is fucking Clear, you idiot. It’s the name of the drug. He’s importing it. It makes your body produce more testosterone. It’s got side effects.’
‘Bullshit. He wouldn’t give me something that’s going to hurt me.’
‘You reckon? This stuff isn’t approved for animals, let alone humans.’ Noah wasn’t about to admit he was making educated guesses based on a couple of hours searching newspaper articles on the microfilm reader in the Bundaberg library.
‘You’re just fucking jealous.’
‘Jealous? Of a cheating jerk who’s risking his life and his career? You’re stupid. You’re acting crazy, mate.’
‘Ha,’ Grant laughed in his face. ‘You’re jealous that Darcy chose me not you. She knows you’re a loser too, cowboy. She’s mine, all mine, and she’s grown up into a tasty little thing.’
Rage and grief misted Noah’s vision. Grant can’t even see what the drugs are doing to him, he thought, as he swung his fist at his friend. Grant responded, laughing like a crazy man as they grappled, landing blows before they ended up on the ground.
Noah eventually gained the upper hand, all the hours in a boxing ring at the gym paying off, and with a last punch got to his feet, gasping for air.
‘Fuck it. You’re finished. You and Stirling. I’m going to report you.’
Grant was lying on his back, chest heaving and blood in the corner of his mouth. ‘Fuck off,’ he said. ‘Fuck off and don’t come near me again. You have no fucking idea what it’s like, no fucking idea.’
The defeated look on his friend’s face should have made Noah think twice, but he’d been too angry for that, too hurt and angry to admit most of his pain was about Darcy, about Grant and Darcy. The next day Grant had taken Darcy for a spin in the Fletchers’ boat on a day when no one should have been on the water.
By the time anyone realised the powerboat was gone, the weather had turned to shit. There were only three Volunteer Marine Rescue crew available – Roger, Steve and himself – and he was brand new at it, a barely tested greenhorn.
They’d found the vessel dead in the water at the mercy of the raging storm seas off One Tree Point, close to where they discovered Tyrone sixteen years later. Darcy’s face was pale in the spotlight as she raised a hand, her long hair whipping around her.
He’d swum the towrope over, fear turning his blood to ice, his head gripped by the vicious cold. He’d reached the vessel only to be confronted by a belligerent Grant and a cowering Darcy. He didn’t know what was more frightening – the unhinged look in his old friend’s eye or the shudders of cold wracking Darcy’s slim frame. Noah’s temper raged. He’d shoved Grant aside and stormed to the bow of the vessel. Darcy followed, a torch in her hand.
‘I’m sorry, Noah. I’m sorry.’ Her words disappeared in the gale. ‘I knew he was acting crazy. I should have stopped him.’
‘Bit bloody late now, Darce. Just shine the torch.’ Noah didn’t dare look at her. She didn’t need to see his anger, or his fear.
Grant stumbled up the deck, a half-empty bottle of whisky in his hands. ‘You’re a fucking loser, Moreton. A fucking cowcatcher, that’s all you’ll ever fucking be. Stirling knows that, so does Darcy.’ His slurred words had hit Noah like spiteful spears of hurt.
‘Shut up,’ Darcy had hissed. ‘You’re drunk. You’re an idiot. I hate you.’
‘You didn’t say that this afternoon when I took your panties off, did you?’
‘Shut up!’ she’d yelled and pushed him hard in the middle of his chest. He’d staggered and fallen, the bottle tumbling from his hand before the next surge lifted the bow and stood the vessel on its tail. Noah had grabbed Grant’s leg.
‘Stop it,’ he’d snarled at the fallen man who was rolling his head from side to side and groaning. ‘I don’t want to die here as well, you stupid prick. Darcy! The torch!’
Shaking, she’d provided enough light so he could secure the towrope. Waving both hands above his head, he’d felt the vessel start to move sluggishly under tow. The next wave buried them in a white torrent that swept the bottle from the deck and left Grant clinging to a stanchion. He was laughing manically.
Noah had resisted the urge to kick him. ‘Fuck, this isn’t going to work. What’s wrong with the steering? We’re going sidewards!’
‘It’s jammed,’
Darcy had replied, fear bright in her eyes.
‘Shit.’ Noah stumbled to the cockpit and tried to turn the wheel. Nothing. It wouldn’t move. ‘Is the motor working?’
‘No,’ Darcy had replied with a shake of her head, strands of auburn hair plastered across her face. ‘I think there’s rope wrapped around the props.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Don’t, don’t,’ she’d pleaded. ‘He’s crazy, more crazy than he was yesterday. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Please, don’t yell at me.’ The tears had spilled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Noah had swallowed his anger.
‘It’s okay. He’s not himself.’ Before he could say anything else a wave broadsided them and for a few perilous seconds they hung on at an impossible tilt. With a sharp crack the vessel broke free of the tow and tossed her bow high.
‘Oh my god.’ Noah had scrambled to the front. The float on the towrope glowed fluorescent in the torchlight more than fifteen metres away. He remembered diving over the side to retrieve the rope, the boom, boom, boom of the waves as they ricocheted off the vertical cliff face echoing the pounding of his heart. He remembered clambering back aboard and taking two attempts to tie a bowline around Darcy, her skin alabaster in the darkness, knowing hyperthermia would kill her if he didn’t get her to the rescue boat soon.
He remembered Darcy’s bright yellow life jacket as it inflated, cradling her against his chest as the rope pulled tight. He could see her still vomiting seawater as they dragged her aboard.
Steve returned to the stricken vessel, this time with both towropes. Noah was sure he would always remember with frame-by-frame clarity the moment when one of the winches, motors jammed, leaving Grant thrashing around like a madman without his life jacket.