She blinked, forced herself to get her bearings. A huge industrial pendant spilled its brilliant light on a slatted wooden bench at the centre of the room. Dark stains covered the surface. Whatever it was had dripped to the floor, leaving estuaries across the scarred boards.
‘I knew you couldn’t stay away, Everton.’
Carlson stood beside a single wooden chair at the outer reaches of light. She pinned her gaze on the creep and pulled herself erect.
‘Your friend had some compelling arguments.’ She held up her cuffed hands.
Carlson grinned. ‘Send her over, Riker.’
The cop—Riker—shoved her toward the chair. When Carlson jerked up his chin in silent command, she felt a weight on her shoulders and dropped to the seat, her cuffed hands in her lap.
‘You’ve put me to a lot of trouble,’ Carlson said. ‘You made me look like a dickhead.’
‘I think you can do that all by yourself.’
Muscles in his neck corded. His reptilian gaze reminded her that when he struck, it would be fast and swift. He took a few steps away, as if he was afraid he’d lose control. Yet why would he care now? He could have killed her in his penthouse. Or had that creep who’d been watching her do it while she slept. Maybe that crap he’d spun about needing a dealer wasn’t so far from the truth.
‘Lucky you’re Everton’s kid,’ he said.
‘Lucky?’ She faked a laugh and kept her gaze fixed on his so that she wasn’t tempted to let it drift to her bag and what it contained. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Shut your fucking mouth and listen.’
He paced while he talked at her, going on about what she was going to do for him, raving on about her dad, about what it meant to be an Everton. All her life she’d wanted to get away from that name and the stigma it cast over her life. If she hadn’t been so eager to confront Jacko for what he’d done, none of this would have happened.
Carlson was still talking, but now he had his cigar clamped between his teeth and she could barely understand him. What did it matter anyway? She didn’t want to know the details of his life or her imminent death. She needed to get away, get help. Riker had retreated to the shadows near the stairs. She stared at him, willing him to look at her. He was a police officer. At some stage, he’d wanted to make a difference, to clean up the streets, to uphold the law. He must help her. All he had to do was run to the car and call for backup.
‘Riker. Help me!’ Her plea cut short Carlson’s tirade. ‘Save your career. Drummond will crucify anyone involved.’
‘Drummond?’ Carlson chuckled. ‘Why do you think they shunted him down here? He’s as bent as the rest of them.’
‘That’s a lie!’
Linc’s whole life was policing. He was uptight. A stickler for the rules. All his energy went into solving a case. Hell, he carried a set of disposable gloves in his pocket in case of emergencies, and he’d sent his own brother to jail because it was what the law required. If only she’d listened to him, she wouldn’t be in this mess.
She tugged at the cuffs. The machined edges cut into her wrists and every turn felt like sawing off her hands.
Carlson watched her, a nasty smile on his smug face. ‘Think about it, babe. No better cover for a bent copper than playing it by the book. Ain’t that true, Riker?’
Riker kept his head down and said nothing. He’d hardly spoken since her arrest.
‘Took care of that Drummond stooge, didn’t we, Tiny?’
Knuckles cracked close to her ear and Tiny lurched into view. ‘Sure did, boss.’
What had they done to Linc? Was he alive? Somehow she couldn’t see him letting this bastard get the drop. Yet they seemed so confident, laughing at their inside jokes about Drummond Do-Right.
‘That stooge got what he wanted out of you, babe,’ Carlson said. ‘He’s done with you. Only chance you’ve got is to stick with me.’
‘You’re wrong.’
She said it with confidence that was hard to muster. Linc had pegged her as guilty the minute he met her, and even after they’d slept together, he still only saw her as her father’s daughter.
Something in the band of her running pants dug into her hip. Her iPod. They hadn’t searched her, so they didn’t know she had it. But what could she do with an iPod? If only she’d kept her phone on her. It sat in the inside pocket of her bag but had been switched off all night. Even if she could reach it, it would take a minute or two before she could dial, assuming there was coverage in this God-forsaken dump. She needed a weapon. Something Carlson would respect. Her bag was only a few steps away, the gun hidden inside. She’d never fired one. Could she get to it and use it before they caught her?
Carlson puffed at his cigar. ‘No one cares what happens to you, Everton. Not after what you did to Gibson.’
A shiver passed over her though perspiration pricked at her scalp. How could they know?
‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘His brains are splattered all over his shop, and as far as anyone knows, you were the last person to see him alive. Isn’t that right, Riker?’
Gibson was dead? She’d threatened him, pointed his own gun at him until he’d broken down and told her the truth. He’d wept and pleaded. She’d humiliated him. Shamed him. But she hadn’t killed him.
She lifted her chin. ‘When I left him, he was alive.’
‘Who’s going to believe you?’
They’d set her up. Had they set Linc up too, made him think there was something between her and Carlson? Is that why he’d confronted her, why he told her things that sent her straight to Gibson’s shop? Linc would figure it out. Spirit was still in her car, and her car was outside the Johnstone place. Delia was bitchy enough to call the cops and get it towed. Or the neighbour would. Questions would be asked. They’d work out she hadn’t been arrested, wasn’t in any lockup. They’d go to Forbes who’d go to Linc. Linc would come for her. He had to.
‘You can’t threaten me into doing what you want,’ she said. ‘Thanks to you, I’ve got nothing. Which means I’ve got nothing to lose.’
Mina launched herself from the chair and head-butted Tiny in his massive chest. The man scarcely moved and she had barely taken another step when Carlson grabbed her hair. She heard a snick and then he had his flick-knife in front of her face.
She stared at the blade glinting in the light and hardly dared to breathe.
‘You’re gonna do what I say, Everton, when I say. You’ll be sweet to these buyers, flatter them, impress them, give them everything they want. If not, you’ll feel the sharp end of my temper.’
A clatter on the stairs.
‘Stay right where you are, Riker.’ Carlson shoved her back into the chair. Tiny had Riker pinned against the railing. ‘You ain’t going anywhere ’til I say.’
‘I didn’t sign up for this.’
‘For what, Riker? Tell us exactly what you didn’t sign up for.’
‘I can’t be a party to torture.’
Torture. Dear God.
Mina stared around the room, at all the rafters, the rusted railing, the hole in the floor where once they’d tossed down wool bales, at the dark stain beneath the sorting table that spoke of other victims, of a man who enjoyed his work. All three men were by the stairs, distracted by Riker’s attempt to run. It was now or never. If she could just get the gun—
She lunged for the table, her shackled hands outstretched. Her fingers touched the leather handle, but Tiny was fast. His muscled arm lifted her off her feet before she could get a grip. She screamed. Grabbed at the bag.
‘Shut her up,’ Carlson snapped. ‘Shut the fuck up!’
Tiny gripped her tight, pressing against her tender ribs. Pain left her weak. She kicked out, trying to twist free, or land a good enough blow that Tiny would loosen his hold. Her screams were more like whimpers, but loud enough. Tiny clamped his hand across her mouth. She bit down on the flesh of his palm. He pulled it away with a growl. Mina kicked and wriggled and
yelled until her throat burned, until Tiny threw her onto the chair and her ribs hit the top rail and jagged pain ripped through her. Breaths came in short gasps. But she had to keep fighting, keep them away from her until help came.
The rattle of iron announced Riker’s escape. Carlson jerked his head at Tiny, who took off down the stairs.
‘Keep still and shut your mouth, or I’ll peel you like a fucking banana.’ Carlson held the cold blade to her throat.
This couldn’t be it. She couldn’t die here. Not like this. To die like this would brand her a victim. Worse, it would reinforce what everyone knew about her. That she’d come to a bad end just as they’d prophesied. Would anyone mourn her loss? Would anyone speak for her? Forbes? After their fight she wasn’t sure, and he was desperate to become mayor. Without her, most major obstacles would be gone. Gwen? Perhaps, but would Gwen choose her over Ronny Clarke? And Linc? Would Linc care, or would she just be another memory, a name in a file, a person he might think of with a touch of sadness. If she was lucky.
Luck had abandoned her long ago.
The downstairs door rattled its sheeting. A shout, a muffled cry. Then footsteps on the metal treads. Tiny appeared at the head of the stairs, hauling Riker by the arm.
Carlson moved the blade from her neck. ‘You’re in too deep, Riker. This ain’t no health club you can leave when you want.’
‘I was just going to call my fiancée. Wedding rehearsal’s tonight.’
‘Fuck that. You work for me, you do what I say. You got that?’
Riker’s lips thinned, but he nodded.
‘Did you search her?’
The cop flicked his gaze at Mina then looked away. His impenetrable demeanour had disappeared beneath buckets of sweat. She’d never seen anyone get so wet so fast. Once he’d slapped the cuffs on her, he’d hauled her to his patrol car, deaf to her pleas about Spirit, deaf to everything she’d said as they drove to this abandoned building. He hadn’t touched her. Nor had he checked her bag.
‘Don’t keep me waiting, Riker. Is she clean?’
‘Yep.’
Carlson’s heavy boots echoed on the timber. He snatched up her bag and plunged in his hand.
‘Well, lookie here.’ Carlson held Gibson’s gun aloft. ‘Just can’t get good help these days, hey, Tiny?’
‘Nah, boss.’
Carlson tossed the gun to Tiny then upended the bag. The contents scattered and bounced across the sorting table.
‘Look at this junk.’ Carlson picked up her mobile, tossed it from one hand to the other. ‘They can track her with this thing, Riker. Where’s your fucking head?’
Riker’s eyes narrowed. Carlson ripped out the battery and flung the parts across the room.
‘So, where’d you get the gun, babe? I’m betting it didn’t come from Drummond Do-right.’
Tiny chuckled. ‘I bet that guy wishes he had a gun now.’
‘Maybe we should show her, hey Tiny?’ Carlson turned toward her. Light cast ugly shadows across his grinning face so that it looked like a Halloween mask. ‘Wanna see what the hero cop from Sydney is doing right now?’
The effort of forming a sentence seemed herculean. She stared at a stringy cobweb dangling from the domed shade of the overhead light. It drifted in some ghostly breeze that didn’t touch her skin. Sweat slid between her shoulder blades. How had anyone worked up here, in the heat, with bales of wool and fleeces, some grimy with twigs and resins?
The slap sent her to the floor. Her cheek and jaw flared with heat. The floor dipped and then righted itself.
‘Boss, the buyers.’
She cried out as Carlson used her hair to haul her back onto the seat.
He thrust his face close. ‘I lined up a big deal and you left me dangling like a dick on a dead bloke.’
His breath stank of cigars, his body ripe with sweat and the stench of death. Her eyes welled. A strange trill locked in her throat. Please, let his need for a deal with the unseen buyers outweigh his rage. Please, just let her get through this.
‘Look at me, bitch. If you don’t care about your own skin, maybe you care about your boyfriend’s.’ He thrust his mobile phone at her face. An image filled the screen, a dark-haired man tied to a chair, blood on his face. A blindfold obscured his eyes. Duct tape covered his mouth. ‘Do what I want, or your boyfriend’s dead.’
Terror built in her chest but she dare not let it free. She stared at the floor. It wasn’t Linc. Under all that covering, it could be anyone. Please, let it not be Linc. He couldn’t die because of her. If she challenged Carlson, he might put the knife to her throat, getting off on her fear as he cut deeper and deeper until she agreed to his demands. Worse, he might order the hostage killed. Then and there. She’d do anything to make sure Linc was safe.
‘Got nothing to say?’
She sensed him raise his hand to strike her once more, braced herself for the pain, but Tiny reminded him of the buyers.
‘Fuck the buyers.’
‘Slab, mate, I’ve done everything you asked of me.’ It was Riker speaking. ‘Drummond’s no threat. Gibson can’t speak, and if this girl gets away from you, she’s done for anyway. So, let me go to the wedding rehearsal.’
‘Your missus got you by the short and curlies already, has she?’
‘Not her. The mother-in-law. Never met a scarier woman.’
Wedding rehearsal? Mother-in-law? They were talking like she wasn’t there, like this was just another business day. Carlson paced the floor in front of her, his scuffed boots stomping on the hollow boards. A piece of upper stitching had come away from the sole on the toes of one boot, and every time his foot hit the floor, the loose thread bounced.
This couldn’t be happening. How did she end up in a deserted wool store, handcuffed and surrounded by three psychopaths, one eager for the kill? No one would come for her, not after the way she’d treated them. Linc had tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. Linc. Oh, God! What if they did have him?
She had to be sure. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Carlson stopped pacing. ‘What?’
‘I don’t believe you have Drummond.’
He stomped back to her chair. The red thread bounced. Though every muscle tensed, she couldn’t stop trembling.
‘You want proof?’
She nodded.
‘Speak up. This is no time to go quiet, babe.’
‘Yes! I want proof.’
Carlson chuckled and pulled something from his pocket. It winked in the light as he showed it to her. ‘Recognise that?’
It was a piece of platinum jewellery in the shape of a twisted knot, the crevices lined with blood. A cufflink. Just like the one she’d clutched in her hand minutes before she’d stormed out of his hotel room, full of self-righteousness and vengeful thoughts. It was true. They had Linc. His life depended on her. An Everton. A girl who’d proven to be as untrustworthy as the father she’d tried to forget. Oh, God. Please let Linc survive. She’d learn to forgive. She’d put everything behind her, leave Failie, make a new life somewhere else, be a better person, a good person, unselfish and kind, all the things she’d never managed before, please—
Carlson straddled her, his strong thighs pinning her to the hard chair. She kept her head down, tried to imagine herself somewhere else, anywhere else, tried to ignore the bulge pressing against his skin-tight jeans. The knife blade flashed at her stomach. Just make it quick. If the blade was sharp enough, she wouldn’t feel too much pain. But she couldn’t give up. To give up meant Linc would die. His life would be over because she hadn’t been able to resist him.
Without him, she didn’t want to live.
Mina swallowed the whimper that rose in her throat as Carlson trailed the blade over her clothing, from her belly to her sternum. He took his time circling her nipples with the gleaming tip then he slid the knife beneath the strap of her tank top. With a flick of his wrist, the fabric separated. He touched the knife blade to her collar bone and followed the contours to the other strap.<
br />
‘You’re gonna do what I tell you. Make your old man proud. Every girl wants to please her daddy.’
‘You don’t—’
Carlson yanked her head back. Their gazes locked. He stared, unblinking, his small pupils at odds with his apparent excitement. ‘Let’s see if you’ve got any nice art under these clothes.’
He grabbed the front of her tank top and slit it from hem to neckline. Riker muttered.
‘What?’ Carlson spat. ‘You got something to say, Riker?’
‘It’s you doing those girls, isn’t it?’
‘What are you gonna do about it? I got enough to bury you.’
‘I’ve got as much on you as you’ve got on me. We’re even. Thanks to me, no one has been able to touch you. You’re clean. I’m walking, and you can’t stop me.’
Carlson pushed himself off her. She sucked in the musty air with relief.
‘You sure that’s what you want, Riker?’
‘Yes. I’m out.’
‘If that’s what you want. Tiny, see him on his way.’
Carlson moved behind her, gripped her skull, and whispered, ‘Watch.’
Riker turned to go. Tiny touched his shoulder in farewell. When Riker half turned, Tiny grabbed his head in both hands and twisted. Riker dropped like a marionette with severed strings, his body thumping and clattering as it tumbled down the steps.
Chapter 46
‘THERE’S NO SIGN OF the Datsun returning, Linc.’ Constable Dubois swivelled in her seat at the AV desk. ‘No one on foot, either.’
‘It looks pretty grainy.’ Linc peered at the surveillance images he’d pulled from the CCTV camera mounted outside the pub opposite Gibson’s. ‘Are you sure the camera angle gives a clear enough view?’
‘The set-up is pretty old,’ Strzelecki told him. ‘Doesn’t compensate for poor light too well, but the angle is pretty right.’
‘We do have a good view of the squad car.’ Dubois moved the vision forward a few minutes. A pale sedan appeared on screen. ‘In a second or two you’ll see the bridal shop guy.’
Pieces of a Lie Page 28