by Helene Young
He felt down her arms. Nothing seemed broken but her scream of pain had been too great for just flesh wounds. Her right leg was intact but grubby. He touched her left leg and she moaned. He looked a little more closely, moving her skirt so he could see. They’d smashed her kneecap. Blood was pooling under the skin, the joint was doubled in size. There was a boot print on the inside of her leg.
‘Oh, Rosie, what the hell happened?’
‘Couldn’t let them get Darcy . . . livin’ to do. Me, I got nothin’ left.’
‘Shh, it’s okay. Don’t talk. Save it for later. I know who did this.’
‘Bastards,’ she croaked. Noah was desperate to check whether she had any other injuries but he didn’t want to take away any more of her dignity by removing her dress. About the only thing he could do was organise a helicopter. The cloud had lifted and he squinted up at the sun.
He got to his feet and walked away as he dialled base. ‘We need a medevac to get the patient to Brisbane. We need this one alive.’
‘Sorry, Noah. All the pilots are out of duty time after last night’s disaster on the highway. I’ve tried. Closest is one from the Sunshine Coast and they’re reluctant to come all this way without the say-so from a doctor. The ambulance should be there soon. See what we can do then.’
‘Damn it,’ he muttered after he hung up.
Rosie’s breathing was ragged and he checked her pulse again. It was racing, shallow. She’d lost a great deal of blood. He thought he heard a siren, but couldn’t be sure. The way the road twisted and turned it could still be a long way off. Rosie coughed and blood appeared on her lips. Noah wiped it away. It was bright, life-giving blood – she was haemorrhaging internally and there was nothing he could do.
He heard the siren again and sat down beside her. ‘Not long now. Hang in there, Rosie. Darcy got away, so your plan worked, but I’m going need your help to nail these bastards. We’ve got some work to do together.’
She grunted and the grip on his hand increased. More tears were escaping down her cheeks and he dabbed her nose and mouth with the cloth again to allow her to breathe more easily. ‘I know, I know. It hurts, but the ambos are almost here and we’ll have you tucked up in a clean bed in that new wing of the hospital before you can say crab pot. I just wish I knew why the hell this is happening here in Banksia Cove.’
‘Stirling.’ Rosie’s voice was barely a whisper.
‘Stirling Fletcher?’
Rosie squeezed his hand a little tighter. ‘Stirling’s secrets. Tell Darcy.’
The ambulance roared through the gates and within minutes Rosie was on a drip, on the trolley and being trundled into the back of the ambulance. Noah kept out of the way. Their voices were too quiet, their movements deft and quick. Rosie was in trouble and for so many reasons he wanted her to survive.
The back door closed, and one paramedic asked, ‘Noah, you want to escort us in?’
‘That necessary?’
The bob of the man’s head and the apologetic shrug was enough.
‘Of course. Let’s go.’
The fog was well and truly dispersing now and the volume of traffic had increased. Noah stayed ahead of the ambulance, slowing to clear the intersections. He waited at the entrance to the hospital to see the ambulance safely onto the ramp. Time to find Darcy and Conor now and work out if Stirling’s secret that Rosie was referring to was something different to drugs.
‘Rosie, just hang in there. Hang in there,’ he muttered as he joined the traffic and headed for Daisy Hill Farm. He drummed his fingers as he sat at a set of traffic lights. Something was niggling at the back of his mind. As the lights changed and he accelerated away, he saw a black four-wheel drive pass in the opposite direction.
‘Shit.’ He thumped the wheel. Of course there had to be more than two people up here looking for Conor. Rosie’s injuries were too severe for a quick beating. Someone had taken their time torturing her. If Darcy was sure a car followed her from the whaling station, then there was another team here in Bundaberg. Where the hell were they now?
He keyed the microphone. ‘Base, any news on Conor Stein?’
‘Negative. It’s still an all-stations alert.’
‘Roger.’
He disconnected. There was nothing he could do until later in the morning. He trusted the inspector in Brisbane to follow up on the questions he’d sent him last night. Until then all he could do was keep Conor out of sight. And keep Darcy safe.
22
The suspension in the old car couldn’t cope with the potholes littering the narrow road. ‘Can you slow down before something breaks,’ Darcy complained. Tension and lack of sleep had made her feel sick long before they started bouncing along at high speed. The knuckles on Conor’s fingers were white as he hauled the steering wheel around.
‘How much further?’
‘Over the next rise.’ Darcy shot a look at him, but his foot didn’t ease off the accelerator.
He grunted. After they’d turned off the main highway, Darcy had climbed into the front seat. She was itching to drive, but Conor refused to stop. As they’d rocketed past Daisy Hill’s whitewashed gate she’d glimpsed a white sedan parked under the carport. Mrs Moreton was home. Five kilometres further down the road and they were close to their destination. Very soon she was going to demand some answers.
‘There! Stop!’
Conor swore and braked, but they sailed past the disused entrance.
Darcy resisted the temptation to snap at him. She was wearing the worry about Rosie too heavily. It wasn’t Conor’s fault the old lady had made the choice she did.
He turned the car around and they jolted over the cattle grid and stopped. Darcy had to yank the weathered gate hard to get it to open, then rammed it closed again once Conor had driven through.
Grass and saplings scraped along the underbelly of the car forcing Conor to slow down. The dilapidated buildings huddled together. The barn was missing half its roof. The fibro shack, which had seemed like a palace to Darcy when she was a child, leant away from the prevailing wind. Its sloped roof and faded walls reminded her of a cubby house. She checked her phone. It was back to full service, but only one bar of battery left.
The old dairy hadn’t been used in thirty years, but Brett Moreton was a sentimental bloke who saw no need to knock it down. Anything of value had already migrated to the current dairy. Darcy knew electricity had never been run to the old place and the generator stopped working years ago.
‘Park behind the cottage. There’s a flat area with an old water tank.’
The spindly legs had toppled and the tank stand now lay like a giant praying mantis, its rusting water tank a belly sinking into the bright red earth. Conor pulled on the handbrake and looked around. When he turned off the ignition, the silence was deafening. The wind had picked up enough to rustle the top of the golden grass, dusted with the first grey of winter frosts.
‘This is it?’
‘Afraid so.’ Darcy felt defensive. Maybe this was the dumbest idea she’d had in two days. Darcy opened the door and checked over the ground before she put her foot out. Snakes weren’t uncommon, though the chilly mornings would make them sluggish.
‘We can’t stay here.’ Conor stood with the door still open, his gaze roaming across the landscape.
‘No, you’re right. But it will give us breathing space and give Noah time to catch up with us.’
‘I’d rather hit the road.’
‘You keep saying that, but you have no way of getting out of this area now there’s an alert out. You’ll end up in a police cell. So cut the crap. It’s a bit bloody late to worry about the consequences of your actions now.’ She regretted the outburst as soon as she saw the crumpled look on his face. She knew nothing about the pain of losing a child or a partner, let alone surrendering one’s identity.
‘You’re probably right.’ His brown eyes were drowning in regret. Her words had hit home. His face looked more haggard than austere, his shoulders stooped. ‘I just
wish it was all over.’ The finality of the last word jerked Darcy back half a pace.
‘What happens once you’ve given evidence?’
He lifted a shoulder. ‘Back into protection, leave the country. I don’t know.’
‘Back into the grey world of no identity.’
‘Pretty much.’
Darcy leant on the car, folded her arms on the roof, the warmth of the metal seeping through the light cotton of her shirt. She softened her tone a touch. ‘How long did you know about this crime before you decided to act?’
He ran a hand down his face and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Twelve months.’
‘And how much did you gain?’
A frown flittered across his face. ‘Two overseas holidays for the family. Maybe forty thousand dollars’ worth.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing else.’
‘So, let’s start at the beginning. The truth this time.’
Her phone beeped before he could answer. ‘Noah,’ she said, reading the message aloud. See you in half an hour. I’ve found Rosie. Relief flooded through her with a tingling rush. She breathed deeply. Rosie was safe. She pocketed the phone and looked at Conor again. ‘The truth.’
‘Can we go inside first?’ He looked hunted, haunted. Maybe he was nervous outside, but they could see for miles. No one had followed them.
‘Sure.’ Darcy walked to the front door of the cottage. In the past it had never been locked. ‘It’ll be musty.’ The handle turned easily enough and the hinges squeaked as a shower of rust and debris scattered from the frame. It was worse than musty. It smelt as though a family of bush rats had moved in. The shadows of collapsed spiders’ webs filled the corners. Dust blown in from the paddocks had settled on the furniture and the floor in a pale pink mantle that blurred the scuffs and scars. Darcy looked down at her clothes. More dirt wasn’t going to make a whole lot of difference. She pulled out a chair and sat.
‘So?’
Conor slumped into the chair opposite. The broken sleep seemed to have taken its toll. He traced a pattern in the dust on the table, his fingers restless. It was a series of boxes. ‘I used to play AFL in Melbourne. Years ago. Did my knee and surgery was never going to fix it completely. I’d done a degree in finance. You still needed a part-time job, at least back then. The club looked after me, got me a job. I loved numbers, calculating the odds. Maybe that’s why I was good at the game. Eventually I moved to Sydney, to the head office. Plenty of friends from sport already lived there. I met Stirling. We had mutual friends, had both played elite. He wasn’t just another wannabe, he was a successful coach. I think maybe I saw him as an older me. Someone who’d worked hard to achieve success, wasn’t born with a silver spoon.
‘Then I met Rod Reeves. One thing led to another and he offered me a job. Annabel was always so busy at the hospital. She was a doctor, a good one. Lily and I used to hang out a bit but I wanted my whole family to have a better lifestyle. Annabel and I both needed to slow down, take a holiday, but even though we earned good money it all went on living expenses, school fees, ballet lessons . . .’ His eyes fluttered closed, his fingers clenched. ‘I knew Rod Reeves had a reputation, but the package he was offering was too good to turn down. Not long after I started working for him I realised he wanted me for my footy contacts, introductions to my friends. I didn’t mind. I figured he hadn’t made it on the footy field but he wanted to share the glory.’ He stopped talking, tipped his head back and swallowed convulsively.
Darcy waited as he composed himself. She wasn’t letting him off the hook.
‘I knew Rod bet a lot, big bets. Part of my job was to make sure those transactions were absorbed by the company. Tax minimisation. That bit was easy. I knew he drank with players and ex-players, I knew he could access drugs, recreational drugs, coke, meth. He threw legendary parties. There was never an expectation that I’d use drugs, and I didn’t. Never have. Then I heard a whisper that he’d blackmailed a player. Someone I knew well. The story went he’d slipped him something, then followed up with a fake drug test. Told him he’d been busted, but that Rod could do something about it. The player was already up to his neck in debt, his marriage was strained. All he had to do was make sure there were a couple of penalties in a certain game. Rod would look after the rest. He did what Rod wanted and his team still won.’
‘So, no biggie, then?’ Darcy couldn’t see where this was leading.
‘No biggie except that now Rod had two things on the player. Rod would bet on two flies crawling up a wall. He’d made a lot of money betting on that game. I found out later. I wasn’t in the habit of questioning what bets were generating the income I was covering up. Then he paid for us all to go on another holiday. He’d given us one the Christmas before. It’s was magic. Mauritius – one of those houses out over the lagoon. Annabel and Lily were like kids together. We hadn’t laughed so much in . . .’ His jaw tensed. He cleared his throat and met her gaze again, his lids red-rimmed.
‘The day we left to come home I found out my mate had died from a drug overdose. He’d sent me a letter that was waiting for me at our house. It was suicide. His wife had left him, his career was teetering and Rod Reeves had asked him for another little favour. He couldn’t see any way out. He wanted me to do something. He claimed Rod had boasted that he’d got the banned drugs from a mate who was a league coach. I did a bit of digging and by the time my mate’s funeral came around I’d narrowed it down to two people. Stirling drinks like a fish and it didn’t take much to get him talking about the old days and how he used to coach. What he was prepared to do for his club. He realised too late he’d said too much. He left in a hurry and I’m positive he tipped off Rod that I was asking questions.’
‘How do you know that?’ Darcy was scrabbling to build the outline in her head. It was a tenuous connection.
‘I was so angry about my mate’s death I leaked some information to ASADA anonymously, via their website. After I spoke to Stirling I realised I had to contact them in person. Because of the nature of the information they handed it to the Australian Crime Commission and they in turn called in other levels of law enforcement, including the New South Wales police. When the story broke about the drug company that was supplying the supplements, the ACC were concerned for my safety, for my family, but I knew best. I hadn’t told Annabel and didn’t want to. There was nothing to link me to the reports and I was well placed to see how Rod reacted in case he started trying to destroy evidence.’
He stopped talking, shifted in his seat and Darcy held her peace. He was holding it together remarkably well.
‘And did he start to destroy evidence?’ she finally asked.
Conor shook his head. ‘No, another player died in a high-speed car crash. I knew he’d had a meeting with Rod the day before. I passed those suspicions on as well and I know ACC interviewed Rod. The next day he appeared in my office and asked if I knew the guy who’d been killed. I know a warning when I’m given one. He was telling me that accidents happen, anytime, anywhere, to anyone. He’s an intimidating man.’
‘While he was in my office, he took a phone call from Stirling. I knew they were old friends, although I didn’t get a sense that Stirling liked Rod. He organised a dinner meeting with him. The whole while he was eyeballing me. He hung up and his words were, “Anyone who fucks with me better kiss their family goodbye.”’ Conor looked at his hands, at the boxes he’d drawn in the dust, at the tips of his fingers as if he were seeing them for the first time.
‘Did you tell the crime commission or ASADA? Your family?’
‘No.’ He shook his head, tipped back on the chair. ‘Annabel was working late. I drank more than was good for me that night and left early for work in the morning. I couldn’t face her. I was trying to work out what to do, who to tell first. I was worried I was starting to get neurotic.’
‘Can’t imagine why.’ Who am I to judge? she thought, keeping her voice sympathetic.
He looked up, gratitude in his eyes. ‘When
I arrived at work my office had been searched. Nothing too obvious, but little things had moved. Then I realised someone had accessed my computer, used my login. I rang a mate. He emailed me some software that turned up a keystroke tracker. It had been there for a few days. Rod came in for another chat. It was even uglier. He pointed out that I was the one who’d been hiding his money, which could be construed as theft as well as tax evasion. He also made it very clear that he could produce evidence that I’d supplied my friend with peptides as well as heroin. It wasn’t an idle threat.’
‘He tried to blackmail you?’
Conor nodded. ‘I guess it was blackmail. I was stupid enough to try and bluff it out, I laughed at him. Said it wouldn’t stick. Then he said he knew all about Annabel’s work and it would be the easiest thing in the world to make sure the drugs appeared to come from her.’
He sighed, shifted in his seat, continued. ‘I went home that night and she knew something was wrong. I told her what I knew, much like I’m laying it out for you now. She was angry, with me, but also with Rod Reeves. She said I had no option but to continue providing evidence. We made the decision that I’d meet the Crime Commission that night and agree to testify. I had a copy of everything I’d worked on, but my testimony was going to make it stick. I knew how to find the money trail.’
His voice was scratchy and his words dried up. Darcy knew what was coming and part of her wanted to hear it and part of her wanted to leave it there. His distress was clear, his hands shaking as he clasped them together. She waited as he fought his memories.
‘The police came to my office the next afternoon. I was working late so Annabel was collecting Lily.’ His voice broke and tears coursed down his cheeks. He made no move to brush them away. ‘They never came home. They’d been gunned down at the school gate.’ His chest heaved as he tried in vain to stifle the harsh sobs that shook his body.