Sitting on the ground under a tree, the Wizard was nursing his leg, a handgun within easy reach on a rock beside him.
‘Help already. That was quick,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Hello Jack. Fancy meeting you out here. I’ve got a great story for you, mate, just look around.’
‘Get his gun, Jack,’ said Andrew, covering the Wizard with his rifle.
Jack walked over to the rock and picked up the gun.
‘What about him?’ he asked, pointing to Banjo, still strapped into the driver’s seat of the upturned vehicle.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ replied the Wizard breezily, ‘he’s dead.’
‘Where’s Zoran?’ asked Andrew.
‘He went to get help.’
‘Out here? Sure. Jack. Over there – the horse.’
Andrew pointed with his gun to the forbidding cliffs shimmering in the noonday sun like a mirage. A horse without a rider stood motionless under a tree.
‘That’s the entry to Tunnel Creek. Will, come over here,’ shouted Andrew.
Will got out of the car and hurried over to him.
‘Here, hold this and don’t take your eyes off him,’ said Andrew, handing his revolver to Will. ‘Jack, we’ll go and have a look. Everyone else stays here.’
Refreshed by the soothing water, Pigeon turned awkwardly onto his back, closed his eyes, and drifted into a restless slumber.
‘This is where Jandamarra died,’ he heard his father say. ‘He was killed, but never defeated – remember that. You have Jandamarra’s blood in your veins ... be proud of it. His spirit will live on in here forever.’
Woken by footsteps echoing through the cave, Pigeon opened his eye. A dark shadowy figure stood in front of him, backlit by shafts of bright light coming from outside. It was impossible to see if the figure had a face.
‘Jandamarra?’ whispered Pigeon.
‘Sorry mate, it’s me, Zoran,’ replied the shadow, moving closer. ‘Taking a bath? You’re one cunning little bastard, I’ll give you that.’ Zoran cleared his throat and spat into the sand.
‘Come over here where I can see you,’ croaked Pigeon, trying to prop himself up on his elbows to get a better look. But the pain in his shoulder was too severe and he slumped back into the water.
‘Get up, the Wizard’s waiting.’
Zoran raised his sawn-off shotgun and pointed it at Pigeon. ‘Or should I just blow your fucking head off and be done with it? What do you reckon? Shame we still have unfinished business to discuss, isn’t it? Move, you black mongrel!’
Lying perfectly still, Pigeon reached slowly for the knife stuck in his belt. First, he concealed the long blade in the palm of his hand, then he bent his arm just a little and rested it on his chest. ‘Jandamarra was killed, but never defeated,’ Pigeon heard his father whisper in his ear.
‘I don’t think you heard me,’ said Zoran angrily. ‘Get up, you lazy cunt.’
Pigeon laughed. ‘You should see yourself, Zoran. The Wizard’s lapdog, we used to call you. The only thing missing is the tail.’
‘What did you say?’ roared Zoran bending forward, his barrel chest presenting the perfect target. Pigeon lifted his right arm out of the water and, with a lightning-fast flick of the wrist, threw the knife at Zoran. As the blade pierced his heart, Zoran’s gun went off.
44
Tunnel Creek, 3 March, 12 noon
The sharp report of a single gunshot bounced off the limestone walls and rolled like thunder through the cave. The silence of the hot afternoon had been shattered.
‘Did you hear that?’ asked Andrew, breaking into a trot. ‘I hope we’re not too late. Stay behind me and be careful.’
Jack checked his rifle and followed Andrew to the cave’s entrance.
Ignoring the direction to stay behind, Cassandra limped after them. ‘I’ll come with you,’ Rebecca called out, hurrying after her.
Eyes wide open and unseeing, Zoran lay motionless on his back, still clutching the wooden handle of the knife with both hands.
‘This one’s gone,’ said Andrew.
Jack hurried past him to the pool. The water in the rock pool had turned red and cloudy, but Pigeon was still breathing. Every heartbeat was pumping new blood through the massive hole in his chest, the tiny bubbles rising to the surface forming a crimson foam around the wound.
‘This one isn’t far behind,’ said Jack, lowering his gun. ‘What a mess.’
‘Is he dead?’ cried Cassandra, hobbling across to the pool.
Dropping her walking stick, she waded into the water and knelt down beside Pigeon.
‘Can you hear me?’ she whispered, placing her hand on Pigeon’s burning forehead. ‘It’s me, Cassandra. ‘Talk to me! Please.’
Pigeon could hear a familiar voice somewhere in the distance. It sounded like someone was talking to him through cottonwool.
‘Stay with me, Pigeon,’ the voice continued. ‘Is Anna alive? Is she still alive?’
Anna, thought Pigeon, remembering the promise he had made on his mother’s grave. I must set things right!
‘Can’t we do something?’ cried Cassandra, looking pleadingly up at Jack watching her from the pool’s edge. ‘He’s slipping away.’
Jack shook his head.
Then, as sometimes happens just before death, Pigeon’s brain produced something extraordinary: a painless moment of clarity. Opening his eye, he looked at Cassandra. Recognition.
‘Is Anna alive?’ Cassandra asked again.
Pigeon nodded ever so slightly.
‘Yes?’ asked Cassandra, not quite trusting what she had just witnessed.
Pigeon nodded again.
‘Where is she?’ Cassandra was shouting now, her voice trembling with frustration and fear.
Pigeon opened his mouth just a little, his chest heaving for the last time, and slowly moved his lips.
Cassandra bent down lower still until her ear almost touched Pigeon’s chin. ‘Please, Pigeon, for Anna’s sake ... tell me!’ she cried, tears streaming down her blood-splattered face.
‘Kalumburu,’ Pigeon sighed, his voice barely audible.
‘He’s gone,’ said Cassandra sadly. Rebecca waded into the pool and helped her stand up.
‘What did he say?’ she asked.
‘Only one word; it sounded like ‘Kalambaru’ ... something like that ...’
‘Come again?’ said Andrew, an edge of excitement in his voice.
‘Kalambaru.’
Jack looked at Andrew. ‘Does that mean something to you?’ he asked.
‘Sure does,’ replied Andrew, putting his hand on Cassandra’s shoulder.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘It’s a Benedictine Mission ... it’s way up north on the King Edward River,’ said Andrew. ‘A remote place ... and well, it’s got a painful past. It’s unbearably hot, there are crocodiles and in the wet season ... they have unbelievably violent storms.’
‘Do you think ... it could be ...?’ asked Cassandra hopefully, wiping Pigeon’s blood from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
‘Would a dying man lie?’ he asked. ‘I think not. He’s certainly telling us something. We’ll have to go up there and find out what it is.’
Cassandra wanted to be alone. Still haunted by Pigeon’s last word – Kalumburu – she hurried out of the cave and sat down on a rock.
Turning her face towards the sun, she closed her eyes, hoping that the warm rays would banish the horror she’d just witnessed.
This is where Jandamarra died, she thought, and now Pigeon too. There has to be a connection! Wondering if the spirit would speak to her again, she listened to the breeze gently moving the dry blades of the tall grass surrounding her on all sides like waves of an ocean long gone.
Many try to listen, but few know how to hear, she heard Andrew tell her over and over. I know how to hear, she thought. Jandamarra, speak to me!
‘It’s difficult to explain to the living what it’s like to turn into a spirit. To begin with ... imagine that you ha
ve no body,’ whispered Jandamarra’s spirit voice. ‘There’s no pain, no fear, no longing and no desire. There’s no joy, either. No love, nor laughter. There are no feelings, only a sense of detachment and a great awareness of right and wrong. Yet there is more, a great deal more ... Everything is different, but there are rules; strict ones. The best way I can describe it, I suppose, is to tell you that it’s liberating. You are no longer part of the physical and emotional world, yet you are aware of it and can enter it at will ...’
Suddenly, the breeze picked up. The voice became fainter and almost disappeared. ‘Don’t go,’ pleaded Cassandra and opened her eyes. Changing direction, the breeze calmed down and the voice returned.
‘Let me tell you what happened to my head,’ the spirit voice continued. ‘The man who killed me was Micki, a black trooper from the Pilbara with a fearsome reputation. He was a Jalngangurru, a medicine man specifically recruited by the Kimberley police to hunt me down. For years, I’d been a great embarrassment to the colonial authorities, especially the Kimberley police who had failed time and time again to crush the Bunuba Resistance. To them, and to the white settlers pushing north with their eye on the fertile land of my ancestors, I was the Bunuba Resistance.
‘I have no specific recollection of my death. But after I was shot, I fell down from the pillar. Before I even hit the ground, I found myself outside my body, floating. I know this sounds strange, but that’s exactly how it was. I could see everything, but felt nothing. Soon, two white troopers arrived on horseback: Buckland and Anderson. They examined my body and began to argue. They said that without evidence nobody would believe them that Jandamarra was dead. I was right there, you see, and overheard them. So, what did they do? They hacked off my head with a tomahawk and took it with them as proof. My head went on a long journey.
‘First, it was taken to Derby where it was displayed during a drunken victory celebration for all to see. It was the ultimate proof that the elusive Jandamarra, notorious leader of the Bunuba Resistance, was no more. But this was just the beginning. My head became a celebrity, a macabre travelling trophy and a testament to the white man’s victory over my people. After Derby, it was taken to Perth. There, the good citizens paid their money and queued for hours to see my skull, or so they thought. But I still had the last laugh. It wasn’t really my skull at all, but that of Wisego, a black servant I had killed during an ambush. The good citizens of Perth had been deceived.
‘Oh, you’re smiling ... Do you want to find out what really happened?’’
‘Yes please,’ said Cassandra.
‘Well, my skull was sent to England and presented to a notorious arms manufacturer as a gift. A bit gruesome, don’t you think?’
Cassandra nodded.
‘But arms manufacturers obviously like things like that. After all, dealing in death is their trade. It probably ended up as a paperweight on a partner’s desk somewhere, or in a display cabinet in an arms dealer’s study as a curiosity. I’m not sure because I never bothered to find out.
‘You want to know what happened to the rest of my body, correct?’’
Cassandra nodded again.
‘My relatives came looking for it. They found my headless corpse where the troopers had left it rotting in the sun. After wrapping it in paperbark, they placed it in a cave high up in the sandstone cliffs, right next to my ancestors. Peace at last, I thought. I was wrong ...’
As Jandamarra’s last words were carried away by the breeze, Cassandra opened her eyes. Deeply moved by what she had just heard, she let her eyes roam over the ancient land Jandamarra had called home, the beauty of it filling her heavy heart with peace and joy she couldn’t quite explain.
45
Tunnel Creek, 3 March, 1 p.m.
Andrew called Fitzroy Crossing police station on his satellite phone and reported what had happened at Tunnel Creek. A police vehicle was patrolling the Gibb River Road close by and would reach Tunnel Creek within the hour, he was told. The desk sergeant reminded Andrew not to interfere with the crime scene and asked him to wait for the police to arrive.
‘Am I under arrest, Mr Simpson?’ asked the Wizard, massaging his aching leg.
‘You are,’ replied Andrew.
‘In that case, I need urgent medical attention, water and some food.’
‘Fuck off! The police will be here shortly. They’ll look after you, the Outback way.’
‘I’ll take that as a refusal then.’
‘Take it any way you like.’
‘Just for the record,’ continued the Wizard undeterred, ‘as you can see, I had nothing to do with the killing ... I was injured in an accident.’
‘Sure, you can explain all that to the magistrate.’
‘Can you believe this mongrel?’ asked Jack, turning to Cassandra.
Cassandra shrugged. ‘Don’t underestimate him,’ she warned. ‘He’ll make a nuisance of himself just to annoy us, but what he’s really doing is manoeuvring to improve his position. He’s preparing his case.’
‘You mean as in legal position? Evidence, stuff like that?’
‘Precisely. He’s cunning; he’s a brilliant manipulator. Andrew should be careful.’
‘I see you have a satellite phone, Mr Simpson. I’d like to call my lawyer,’ said the Wizard.
‘Get lost!’
‘In that case, Mr Simpson,’ said the Wizard, reaching into his pocket, ‘would you be so kind and pass this to the police when they arrive?’ The Wizard opened his wallet, pulled out something and held it up.
‘What’s that?’ asked Andrew.
‘My lawyer’s business card.’
‘Give it to them yourself,’ barked Andrew, turning away.
‘As you wish. It’s just that I won’t be saying anything to the police until he gets here. Bearing in mind he’s in Sydney, that may take some time. Well ...’ he added, ‘I tried.’
The Wizard dropped the business card in the sand, folded his arms across his chest like a petulant schoolboy and sat back.
Everyone moved away from the Wizard after that. Jack found some shade under a tree and handed his water bottle to Rebecca. Andrew sat down next to him and reached for his tobacco pouch.
‘What now?’ asked Will.
‘We wait for the coppers,’ said Andrew, rolling a cigarette. ‘Smoko time. Relax.’
When Cassandra went back to the car to fetch her bag, she had to pass within earshot of the Wizard.
‘Great news about the boy,’ he called out. Cassandra hurried past him and didn’t reply. ‘Coming out of the coma like that ...’
Cassandra stopped in her tracks, turned around slowly, and looked at the Wizard.
‘You don’t know, do you?’ he asked.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘He woke up two days ago.’
‘Liar!’
‘Why would I lie about something like that? All you have to do is call Bleak House. Simpson has a satellite phone. Why don’t you ask him?’
Cassandra’s stomach churned and a cold shiver rippled down her spine. She recognised the feeling only too well – fear. The Wizard’s point was compelling. He wouldn’t waste his time with a silly prank like that.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ continued the Wizard. ‘He’s all right – I’ve made sure of that.’
‘What do you mean?’ croaked Cassandra.
‘We’ve taken him back to the compound. He’ll be far more comfortable there now that he’s woken up, don’t you think?’
The sick feeling in Cassandra’s stomach began to rise. It took all her self control not to throw up.
‘After you’ve made the call, come back here,’ hissed the Wizard, lowering his voice. ‘We have a few things to discuss ... And not a word of this to the others – the boy’s life depends on it.’
The nurse at Bleak House sounded tense and apprehensive. She confirmed most of what the Wizard had said but sounded vague about the coma. Just before the police arrived, Cassandra went back to the Wizard, doubts niggl
ing in the back of her mind.
‘Anna’s alive, isn’t she?’ said the Wizard, watching Cassandra carefully.
Cassandra didn’t reply.
‘And I think you know where she is. After all, that’s why you came up here and made contact with Simpson, right?’
Cassandra tried to contradict him, but the Wizard held up his hand to stop her. He wasn’t convinced.
‘You will help me find her,’ he stated calmly. ‘If you want to see Tristan again, you’ll do exactly as I tell you. Do I make myself clear?’
Cassandra nodded.
‘Good. Now, listen carefully. This is what I want you to do.’
46
On the way back to Fitzroy Crossing, 3 March, 4 p.m.
Three hours later, two young constables arrived, irritable and tired. Their shift had started at five in the morning. They were used to dealing with road accidents, pub brawls and domestic violence, but were not experienced enough to investigate a complicated double murder. Andrew radioed the police station and asked for urgent backup. Anxious to return to Fitzroy Crossing before dark, he wanted to leave Tunnel Creek as soon as possible.
‘Are we just going to leave these two kids alone with him?’ asked Jack, taking Andrew aside.
‘He can’t cause too much mischief with a broken leg, and I did warn them about him. All they have to do is keep an eye on him, and wait. The others should get here within a couple of hours,’ replied Andrew.
‘If you really think so ...’ Jack was unconvinced.
‘We can’t stay here overnight with Cassandra and Rebecca. Not after what happened in the cave and with a dead body in the car over there ...’ Andrew pointed over his shoulder to the wreck. ‘This is a matter for the police. Let them sort out the mess. We’ve got more important things to do. We’ll call into Fitzroy Crossing police station in the morning and make our statements then.’
‘You just want to get to Kalumburu, don’t you?’ said Jack.
‘Yep. We’ll fly up there tomorrow.’
‘Are we getting any closer, do you think?’
‘Not sure, but I want to find out, don’t you?’
The Disappearance of Anna Popov: A supernatural suspense thriller (Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 2) Page 20