Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  stopped. He got out, leaving the engine running and swung the big rural gate back to the post and looped the chain through securing the end onto the bulky coach-screw. Second nature: always shut the gate.

  Darren slid onto the passenger side of the bench-seat in the Holden. “Do you want to tell me how all this shit happened.”

  “It’s a long story.” Nick said as he negotiated the old Holden one-tonner down the steep track. The lights highlighted the barking dog running up towards the utility.

  “Blue dog.” Darren remarked. “Who’s dog?”

  “Patch was Peter’s dog. I guess he’s on his own now,” Nick lamented.

  “Patch? Is that his name?” Darren’s eyes lit up.

  “Yeah. Pretty sure,” Nick didn’t know whether he was Arthur or Martha. The night’s drive from Sydney, lack of sleep and the life-draining emotion of losing his best friend had taken its toll.

  “I knew a dog named Patch once. A long time ago. He was my old man’s dog,” Darren reminisced. His comments didn’t register with Nick, as the headlights closed in on the lifeless figure perched against the Kombi.

  Even Darren was shocked by the gruesome sight.

  Both men stood in silence. After a few minutes, Nick tapped his mate lightly and beckoned him to follow. “This is Peter. Rafe’s mate. I’ll tell you after. You know, the story. Anyway, mate, what are we going to do? We can’t leave them here like this. It’s awful, what are we going to do? God, I can’t believe this has happened.”

  “Nick, take it easy, mate. No. We can’t leave them like this,” Darren agreed.

  Little was said while ideas were being concocted in Darren’s mind.

  Nick broke the brief spell, “I didn’t know who else to call, I’m sorry to ring you and get you tied up in this.”

  “I’m good. We’re mates. Although I didn’t know Rafe all that well, I liked him. A friend of yours is a friend of mine. So let’s figure out what’s next.” Darren put his arm around Nick’s shoulder for a brief moment.

  “I didn’t know who else to ring, mate.” Tears were rolling down Nick’s cheeks.

  “It’s okay. We’ll sort this, mate.” Darren wanted to comfort the sobbing man, but his mind was already a step further. One step closer. I was right. He was always going to kill again. Carnage. He leaves nothing but carnage. I have to find him. I have to deal with him. My way. “Come on, let’s get you back to the car.” Darren put his arm under Nick’s and led him away from the gruesome scene of the crimes.

  The mobile sent vibrations over the bed-side table. Cate had switched the ringer to ‘silent’, wanting to catch up on some sleep. Her early night had already been interrupted by her partner, spinning some story about feeling a flu coming on and going back to his place, so as not to pass it on to her. Since when? Whatever.

  The bedside table was still buzzing. “What!” she bellowed as she answered the phone, recognising the caller. “It’s so fucking early. I thought you were sick.”

  “Ah, yeah. I sort of made that up.” Excusing himself, Darren continued, “There’s been some bad shit happening where I am at the moment. You will want to hear this. Promise.”

  Yawning, trying to gather her thoughts, she sat up in bed. “Okay, I’m all ears.” She rubbed her sleepy eyes with her fingers as she listened to Darren’s first words.

  “There’s two dead bodies here.” That’ll get her attention. Darren mused.

  “What? Where?” Cate was now very much awake.

  Darren started filling in the blank spaces.

  “What the hell are you doing on the South Coast? Jesus Christ. I can’t keep up with you.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean about not involving the coppers? I am one.”

  “I want to keep the part about Martin under wraps,” Darren stated.

  Cate didn’t respond. She sat on the bed, thinking. That would be a hard call. She would be so in breach of everything her job stood for. “We need to talk this out and not over the phone.”

  “Okay. Just for now, can we keep Martin out of the equation?” Darren pleaded.

  She sighed and reluctantly gave in to his request.

  “Now before you call in the troops, I better fill you in on how this shit happened. It might be better if you came down here first,” Darren explained.

  “Tell me as much as you know, right now, right here. Because it sounds like the hole you are digging for you and for me is getting bigger and deeper.”

  It took nearly forty-five minutes. The gist of the tale was reasonably straightforward. The details were unravelled by cumbersome back and forth questioning, Darren asking Nick, then Darren telling Cate, then Cate asking Darren, Darren back to Nick, who didn’t know.

  An ugly and explosive picture was painted with a little scrawny psychopath killer in the middle of it.

  “He’s like a cyclone. Wreaks havoc everywhere he touches down,” Cate commented.

  “And by the way, we need to look for a house,” Darren said out of the blue.

  “What? What for?”

  “Can’t have a dog in a unit.”

  “What dog?” Cate was confounded.

  “His name is Patch and he needs a new home. A new best friend. He lost his mate.”

  Cate sat on the bed, rolled her eyes and said, “Life with you is never going to be boring, is it?” She hung up, took a deep breath, anticipating a wild, chaotic and very long day ahead. And it was a Saturday. Supposedly her day off.

  CHAPTER 83

  HIDE AND SEEK GAMES

  A white Commodore wagon drove past the Devil’s Sinners clubhouse in Warraba Road. The vehicle was travelling at a slow speed. Not so slow as to be suspicious, but at a speed that would allow an observant person to take in some relevant details.

  It was late. In this street, eleven at night was late. The factories were closed and the homes up further were mostly occupied by hard-working nine-to-fivers, too tired to play up and party on a Friday night. But Paul was not tired, he was at the top of his game.

  He U-turned at the top of the street and drove back slowing a little more. At thirty kilometres per hour, it was probably too slow. Passing the clubhouse once more, he met with a fortuitous coincidence – a club member leaving on his Harley. Paul kept his speed unchanged, pretending not to have noticed the motorbike and rider in the driveway as he passed. As he predicted, the bikie wouldn’t sit behind a slow vehicle very long. The Harley thundered past the white Commodore wagon. He guessed the speed to be in excess of eighty kilometres per hour. That was okay, because at the lights the bike-rider would stop or at least slow. On Pittwater Road, if he had any sense, he would only travel at the posted speed limit. This would provide Paul with an opportunity to follow his new target.

  “I want you to leave the scene, leave Nick to meet with the local constabulary,” Cate instructed Darren. She was dressed after a mind-sobering shower. "Can you run that by him? Make sure he’s okay with that. This could get really messy, Darren. I’m not happy with all of this dodging.” She tried to convey her discomfort without voicing her absolute fury at the whole charade.

  “Maybe we should just leave Nick out of this all together. He’s a mess. Not sure if he could cope with an interrogation,” Darren answered.

  “I think it’s too late for that.”

  Daybreak had come. Nick was sitting on the veranda deck with Patch at his side, one arm over the dog’s back, the other with an elbow resting on his knee was supporting his weary head.

  “Mate, you are going to have to stay here. Meet with the local coppers. Cate doesn’t want me around. Don’t tell them too much.” Darren was trying to convey the instructions, but by the look on Nick’s horrified face he saw a flawed proposal.

  “If you don’t want to stay then these bodies will remain undiscovered until someone comes into the property.”

  “It’s so fucked up.” Nick buried his head into his knees.

  The valley went peaceful for a few minutes. Some currawongs made their early morning so
ng. The air up high was fresh.

  Darren rang Cate. “We’ve decided to leave. Let someone else discover the bodies. It might be the best option for now. Not real nice for Rafe and his mate, but less messy, maybe. What do you think?”

  “Make sure you take Rafe’s phone,” Cate instructed, “Leave now.” Fuck. Now I’m into this up to my neck. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Martin’s neck was stiff and sore. At Wandandian, he’d turned off the highway in a westward direction down a dirt road, as far as he could drive. Not remote, but definitely away from prying eyes he parked in scrubland to rest and figure out his immediate future. Daylight revealed a not so remote area, where he spent the night in the Corolla. In the rear-view mirror he inspected his bruised chin, which was decorated with an abrasion still caked with some dry blood. His cheek was bruised as well as swollen. He was hungry and thirsty.

  Martin turned the key in the ignition. Albion Park would be his next stop. And then, further north. Very far north. Queensland. No one would find him there.

  CHAPTER 84

  FAMILY OUTING

  The missus wasn’t going to be happy with him, but customers needed their cars for the weekend, so it wasn’t the case of leaving an hour’s work until Monday morning. Sometimes you just had to bite the bullet and you finished the job. And that sort of thinking brought a lot of customers back. Today was another long Friday afternoon which turned into a late Friday evening; a very un-Australian one, being a far cry from an early Friday knock-off, straight to the pub and then home late for tea. Mick polished the last of the ring spanners and placed them on the rubber underlay on the tray of the tool-box trolley. Old habits die hard.

  Through the shopfront window he looked at the Pantec where it still sat from the morning’s drop off. Shaking his head in ‘that’ll be right’ fashion, because the bikers hadn’t come back with any keys for the truck. At least, he wouldn’t have to work on it on the weekend. The bride would be happy about that. One by one, he flicked the switches up to the ‘off’ position and the lights went off as he did so.

  Mick walked past the Pantec. Bet ya I can guess who’s picking up those bloody keys.

  On Sunday morning Mick’s wife suggested he take the kids for a family outing. She was going shopping in Canberra with her best friend. Girls only. Mick obliged but after an hour of futile entertainment the kids were bored with the lake, the wind was cold and the fish weren’t biting. His boys wanted some action. So he packed up the snacks and poppers, strapped the two kids into their child-restraint seats and excited them with the promise of a bush-drive. “You know what boys, let’s go to Uncle Ronnie’s old place. Sounds like fun?”

  The four-wheel drive family wagon set off on a Sunday afternoon adventure. On the drive over to the old property, Mick was pleased with his decision. The kids could run around a bit while he collected the keys for the Pantec from his customer, a strange bloke named Matt. On the way he would provide some entertainment for them, by way of crossing a creek, or mud-hole. A fitting end to a week-end.

  As the wagon shook from side to side, the giggling from the back seat was infectious. “One more time, hold on tight.”

  Mick drove through the rutted mud-hole one more time, splashing the liquid mud over the windscreen, jolting the heavy wagon from side to side, sending the medicine for laughter into the back seat.

  In unison, the twin boys screamed out,” Daddy, daddy, do it again.”

  Okay enough entertainment. Mick pointed the Patrol down the track to the cottage. Relieved to see the Land Cruiser parked in front of the old cottage, he brought the Patrol to a stop on the only bit of grass in the clearing. He expected his customer to emerge soon, particularly after letting his noisy two boys have the run of the place.

  “Don’t be runnin’ off in the bush. I don’t want to be chasing ya everywhere. Watch out for snakes.” He watched the hyper-active seven-year olds scatter and chase each other around the clearing. It reminded him of his childhood days.

  Something odd caught his attention. The front door of the cabin was partly askew and there was no sign of life other than the distant noise of two little boys who had disobeyed their father, by going into the bush anyway. As he drew closer to the cottage a weird feeling overcame him. Something was wrong. A strong smell suddenly wafted from the direction of the cottage. He recognised that smell. It was the fume of death. He stopped. He had to get the kids out of here! Mick ran back to his car and then towards the bush, frantically searching for his two boys, yelling out, “Come on, lads, we’re leaving. Daddy is leaving right now. If you don’t come now, you’ll be spending the night with the forest ghosts. Hurry up.”

  Within minutes, two scruffy brown-haired rug-rats exploded from their forest hide-out, screaming and laughing. “Harry’s tickling me daddy!” The anxious father scooped both of them up in his arms, swung them around, all the while hugging them tight against his body.

  “Want to go through the puddle again?” he asked them excitedly and in unison the twins replied, “Yesss!”

  “Okay, just sit quiet for a few minutes.” Mick looked to the cottage. Duty bound. I have to go and see. I can’t just go. He steeled himself for a gruesome find.

  His boots made a heavy clunking as he stepped onto the creaky veranda boards. He held his breath. The stench was bad. Even holding his breath and pinching his nose did little to lessen the pervasive odour.

  The sight of a decomposing body was bad enough. But the discovery of one without much face and head was truly obscene. It was nauseating and he retreated quickly running from the horror.

  CHAPTER 85

  RATTLE OF THE CAGE

  The lack of sleep was showing. The tell-tale bags under her eyes told the truth. The ‘hole’ as Cate called it, was widening and deepening. The anxiety of knowing the whereabouts of at least three dead bodies ‘undiscovered’, or more aptly, ‘unreported’, was grinding at the centre of her universe.

  The mirror reflected a still beautiful woman with long brown hair, a flawless olive complexion. Darren appeared behind her and kissed her neck after gently re-arranging her hair. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, responding to his affections and wishing they were on a beach under swaying palm trees. “I think we better stop that.”

  “Why, we only just started.” His lips moved further around her smooth skin.

  Abruptly, she turned around. Interrupting his advances she responded with a quick peck on his lips. “Have to get ready. So out of the bathroom.”

  “Bossy, bossy.” He retreated from the ensuite.

  Cate often gauged the start of a new week by the mood of the traffic on the road. Catching all the red lights and winding up behind an eighty-year-old with a white bowling hat on the rear console pointed to a ‘just terrific’ week coming up. On this cloudy, grey morning sitting in heavy traffic on Pittwater Road, the flow was so slow it was hair-pulling stuff.

  Frazzled on a Monday morning, she didn’t even acknowledge a ‘good morning’ greeting from Marie, the clerical wonder-woman of the small division Cate supervised. In turn, Marie mumbled to herself, “Okay then, no sex last night.”

  Cate signalled Adam with a three-finger salute. It meant, ‘give me three minutes’. He nodded once. Adam could tell by the resolute strut of his boss that it was going to be an intense morning. He was counting down the seconds.

  His desk-top phone rang. “Hinze here, good morning.”

  An official female voice responded with a polite greeting, “Good morning Detective Hinze, Sergeant Wilson here.” The police sergeant informed Adam of a murder victim found on a property on the South Coast. The victim had not been formally identified, but indications were pointing to the body belonging to one of the cousins, the larger of the two, Matt Villier. He had died as a result from a gunshot to his head at close range. The victim’s body was discovered on Sunday. A crime scene had been established. Forensics had been contacted and would arrive on the scene later in the day. She assured the young detective that she wou
ld keep him up to date with any developments as they came to light.

  It had been more than three minutes, so he rushed from his desk to his boss’ office door. He knocked and went straight through. “Sorry, just had an interesting call from Ulladulla. They found Matt Villier’s body.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Gunshot to the head at very close range. They believe it’s an execution killing.”

  “Okay, that puts that to rest.” Cate replied. ”Sorry I dragged you into a bit of creative story-bending.”

  “It’s kept our man safe, hasn’t it?” Adam responded righteously.

  “Yes, it absolutely has.”

  She still had not made up her mind about letting Adam in on another body count. After all, she was already walking a tightrope over a widening and deepening hole of deceit; conduct unbecoming of an officer of the law.

  “Have they got suspects?” Cate asked.

  “No. Although they found evidence of tyre tracks and the neighbouring property owner did hear the sound of loud motorbikes.”

  “Motorbikes? Oh, shit.”

  “Yes, that may be a bit of a worry,” Adam commented.

  “Keep your finger on the pulse this morning.”

  Only nine in the morning and she already needed to get some fresh air. Cate thought of ‘Matlock’s advice’ and all his sayings: Grab the bull by the balls. Rattle the frigging the cage. Don’t sit around waiting for things to happen, make them happen.

  Her decision was made. It was time to rattle the Devil Sinners’ cage. That was number one on her list. Number two was a question: how hard shall I rattle that cage? A full raid? Or a few bullshit questions? No. Just hang tight. First we need to find out what the local investigation brings up. Somehow, the information about the biker visit needed to be confirmed, then she could pin suspicion of the killing on the Devil’s Sinners. Not a bad stick to rattle the cage with, she thought, and that was her entry ticket. Now a bit of old-fashioned patience would be helpful. She snatched her mobile from the desk. “Hi, want to meet me for a coffee?”