by Maggie Groff
Motionless on the outside, frantic on the inside, I watched in horror as he tore a strip from a roll of tape.
‘Please, no,’ I said, but my words were wasted. His reflexes were fast and he swiftly removed his foot and sat down on me. Rage rose in me and I hit out and scratched and punched his face. There was a satisfying crack when I landed a blow to his nose, but it didn’t stop him. Immune to my pathetic attempts to free myself, he secured the tape across my mouth and then stood up again. I scrambled to stand but he kicked my legs out from under me and I went down onto my back like a sack of sand. Terror gripped me as he raised his foot as if to stomp down on my throat. To save myself I quickly rolled away, only to realise that was his intention. He dropped down next to me, and I struggled violently and kicked out against him in vain as he taped my wrists together behind my back and then bound my ankles.
Helpless, I lay still. I felt faint and tasted vomit working its way up my throat. Concentrating hard, I counted to ten to try to suppress my gag reflex. If I threw up, I could drown. There seemed little point in worrying about my diabetes, as pain was shooting through my chest and down my right arm. Was this what it felt like to have a heart attack? Oh, God, I didn’t want to die.
He stood over me and I stared up at him in abject fear. His back was to the doorway and I could see his outline, huge and monstrous against the moonlight. There was a strange silence, the only sound my rapid breathing. I’ve never felt so frightened.
Behind him I registered movement in the doorway. Leila? Oh God, now there were two of them. I closed my eyes, dreading what would happen next.
Suddenly there was a loud crash and the floor shook as something fell heavily beside me.
‘Scout!’ I heard Daisy cry, and my last thought before I passed out was, Oh yeah, Daisy was my shot from the right . . .
When I came to, the lights were on and I was on my side. The mouth tape had been removed but my wrists and ankles were still bound. There was an awful stench of vomit and, rather ashamed, I realised it was me. Dazed, I looked around. Leary was out cold on the floor beside me and Daisy was in the process of trussing him like a Christmas turkey with his own tape. The remains of a broken chair lay nearby.
‘Are you okay?’ Daisy asked me, her voice full of concern.
I nodded, pleased that my neck was moving up and down as it was supposed to.
‘I hit him with that chair,’ Daisy explained needlessly. ‘He hasn’t come round yet. I’ll get to you in a minute.’
I watched in amazement as she fetched a length of extension cord from along the wall, wound it around Leary’s taped ankles a couple of times and secured his wrists tightly to his ankles. Then she dragged him across the floor like a captured bullock and tied him to the foot railing beneath the bar.
Daisy returned to me with a sharp knife and carefully sawed through my bonds. Freed, I cautiously moved all my limbs to make sure they were in working order. The pain in my chest had gone, but my left arm still felt a bit numb and I rubbed it vigorously. Then I gently felt the bones in my face with my fingers. My chin was tender where it had hit the floor, and there was already a little swelling, but no cuts. Slowly, I ran my tongue around my teeth and all were present and correct, thank goodness.
‘Can you stand?’ Daisy asked.
‘I think so.’
She helped me to my feet and walked me over to the bar area. My back didn’t feel damaged and I bent over and then stretched my arms up.
‘Anything broken?’ she said, all business.
I shook my head. ‘Just my spirit.’
Using the sink at the bar I rinsed out my mouth and splashed my face. My plait was covered in vomit and I held it under the running tap for a while.
‘Is this yours?’ Daisy asked, holding up my note-taker.
I nodded. ‘Is it still on?’
‘Uh-huh.’
How good is that, I thought. Having proof of the attack.
The sound of Leary groaning made us both look over. He was regaining consciousness, but no way could he escape. Daisy and her jillaroo training had seen to that.
I switched off the tap, wound a towelling bar mat that smelled of beer around my plait, and then went over to make sure Leary had no life-threatening wounds on his head. I couldn’t see anything obvious and he looked okay to me. Not that I cared too much.
He swore at me and I considered covering his mouth with tape as he had done with me. It was tempting, but reason prevailed. If he vomited he could die, and I didn’t want that on my conscience. Also, I seriously doubted that he would call out for help, and even if someone responded and freed him, Daisy and I would be back in the safety of the main resort and he would assume that I had reported his attack. There was also a chance that Leila could turn up and release him, but that was a risk I was willing to take.
Briefly, I thought about looking to see if he had a phone, but if he did, I reasoned, he couldn’t reach it. No way was I going through his pockets.
Recalling my own phone, I took it out and checked to see if it had been damaged. Amazingly, it hadn’t.
‘We can leave him here until I’ve finished my story,’ I said to Daisy. I was keen to get back to our room.
She looked shocked. ‘Don’t you think we should call for help now?’
‘No. I think we should get out of here, and I need to put some ice on my chin and check my blood sugar level.’
Stressful activity can send it plummeting, although surprisingly I felt fine on that score. To be on the safe side, I grabbed a small bottle of OJ that had been abandoned behind the bar and downed half of it.
We switched out the lights, closed the door behind us and hastily made our way down the steps to the service road. My legs were working fine, but my lower back was starting to ache, and my scalp was sore where Leary had pulled my plait.
‘Thank goodness you followed me,’ I said, hoping to reassure her as we walked quickly along the road. Almost as an afterthought, I asked, ‘Incidentally, why did you?’
‘Well, it’s odd,’ she said. ‘Just after you left I had a call on my phone from a policeman called Rafe Kelly.’ She took a few breaths before continuing. ‘He said he was from Byron Bay and needed to talk to you urgently about the case you’re working on. Apparently, he’s been trying desperately to get hold of you but you haven’t been returning his calls or emails.’
I didn’t dare look at Daisy. If this was some silly ruse of Rafe’s to get me to talk to him, I’d kill him when I got home.
‘Somehow,’ Daisy went on, ‘Kelly knew that I was here with you and he called Dave for my number. Dave gave it to him, so I knew it was important, and I chased after you. When I couldn’t find you in the resort, I guessed you’d gone along the service road, and as I was passing the steps I heard a commotion. I crept up the steps to the bar and saw Mick standing over you.’ She hesitated, and then, sounding surprised at herself, said, ‘Without thinking, I ran in, picked up a chair and hit him over the head.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ I said, glancing across at her. ‘It wasn’t looking good for me in there.’
We walked on in silence, both, I’m sure, thinking what might have happened to me if she hadn’t arrived when she did.
As we passed the tennis courts, Daisy asked, ‘Do you know this Rafe Kelly? I’ve heard Dave talk about him, but I’ve never met him. I have to say, he has a very pleasant voice.’
‘Does he?’ I remarked innocently, and avoided answering her question by saying that I’d call him as soon as we were back in our room.
‘There’s no need for that,’ Daisy said.
‘Why not?’
‘He’s waiting for you in the bar.’
‘What?’ I screeched.
Chapter 59
‘I’m going to shower and clean up before I go to the bar,’ I told Daisy as we entered our room.
‘But there isn’t time,’ she said, her voice touching on panic. ‘You’ve got to finish your story.’
She was right, of course, bu
t there was no way I was going to confront Rafe looking like a distressed damsel and smelling of vomit.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said with way more confidence than I felt. ‘Everything will be fine. You’ll see.’
‘But—’ she started.
‘But nothing, Daisy,’ I interrupted. ‘We know that there is a police officer on the island, so we are a lot safer now. I want you to make sure we’re locked in, and then, while I shower, I think you should call Dave and tell him everything, especially that you probably saved my life.’
She relaxed a little and a grin spread across her face. ‘I might leave out stealing ladders, tools and sunglasses,’ she said, and we shared a conspiratorial look.
Ten minutes later I left Daisy, who was still on the phone to Dave, and headed out the door. There wasn’t time to put ice on my chin, which fortunately didn’t look as swollen as it felt, and I had taken painkillers and plastered Daisy’s foundation over the bruising. My diabetes was stable and my hair was wet, but it was clean and plaited and smelled pretty.
Clothing-wise, I’d gone for a smart casual look and was wearing jeans and a crisp white fitted shirt that covered the angry marks on my arms, and showed just the right amount of cleavage. Despite the tape, my mouth had survived unscathed, and I had applied lipstick and five gallons of Mitsouko as a finishing touch. If I went near a naked flame I would probably explode.
Carrying my torch for protection, I looked cautiously about me as I strode towards the bar. The painkillers were kicking in, and personal discomfort and nervousness at seeing Rafe again had taken a back seat to my priority of ensuring that Leila wasn’t around.
Arriving at the door, I stopped and surveyed the bar. There was no sign of her, but I spotted Rafe straightaway. His presence seemed to fill the room and at the sight of him my knees turned to jelly. Dressed in old Levis and a dark green crew-neck jumper, he was sitting in one of the cane seats, his right foot resting casually on his left knee. There was a drink on the table in front of him and he was reading a newspaper.
Dragging my eyes away from Rafe, I spied Yoyo behind the bar and went over to him.
‘What will you have?’ Yoyo asked politely.
‘Nothing, thanks,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘Is Leila around?’
‘Not tonight,’ he said, sounding pleased. ‘She’s on the mainland. She’ll be in tomorrow.’
Oh no she won’t, I thought happily, and thanked him and walked over to Rafe.
As I approached him he put down his newspaper and stood up. My pulse started racing and I couldn’t think of anything except how much I wanted to fall into his arms. He smiled his wonderful warm smile and then swept his hand through his thick dark curls. He didn’t make any movement towards me, not even for a salutary peck on the cheek.
‘Been swimming?’ he said, looking at my wet hair. His voice was so mellow and lazy that I felt like melting into the floor.
Pull yourself together, Scout!
Ignoring his question, I asked curtly, ‘What did you need to talk to me about?’
I sat down and Rafe resumed his seat and took a long pull on his drink. Then he put down his glass and said, ‘I’ve been researching Mick O’Leary, the man you are investigating.’
‘And?’ I said, maintaining a forthright manner.
Rafe leaned towards me. ‘In 1980, Mick O’Leary married an older woman called Martine Flaction. She was a French national. They were honeymooning in Nouméa when she fell off a yacht and drowned.’
I didn’t think, in the subdued bar lighting, that he had noticed any of my injuries, but just in case, I covered my chin with my hand and stared at Rafe, rapidly processing his words.
‘Did she have shoulder-length red hair and a pointy nose?’ I asked, but I already knew what Rafe’s answer would be even before he gave an affirmative nod. The photographs that Leary had kept were not loving keepsakes. They were trophies.
‘The inquest found no criminal case to answer,’ Rafe went on, ‘and your man inherited her estate, which was considerable.’
I was stunned by the enormity of Rafe’s revelation. My God, Nemony wasn’t the first woman that Mick and Leila had swindled, and it looked like they had done it not only for the money but also for the thrill of the deception. Shocked, it took a couple of seconds before I registered that Mick might have killed Nemony if she’d gone sailing with him that day. And me earlier this evening!
‘Go on,’ I said, steadying my voice.
‘You’ve gone pale,’ Rafe remarked.
‘Go on,’ I repeated.
‘I called Norm Smith and asked him about the case he’d worked on. Then I put two and two together, much as you have just done, and I needed to warn you that you were probably dealing with a murderer. You didn’t answer my calls or emails, so I abandoned the course and flew up here.’
Hmmm. And there was me thinking that he just wanted to see me and ask for forgiveness.
‘And I suppose,’ I said rather testily, ‘now that you know what you know, and that O’Leary didn’t really drown in Sydney Harbour, you have also initiated a warrant for his arrest?’
A mischievous grin crossed his face and his fabulous blue eyes sparkled.
‘Well, I didn’t actually know that O’Leary was still alive until you just told me,’ he said.
Bugger!
‘So there’s no arrest warrant out?’ I asked, trying to sound unconcerned.
Rafe shook his head and sat back in his chair. ‘How close are you to publication?’ he asked.
‘A few hours,’ I told him. I wasn’t going to beg him not to contact the local police, because I knew that was his duty, but I’d lose the scoop on the story if he did. The local rags would have an in with the local force and they would be all over this before dawn.
‘Where is he?’ Rafe asked. ‘Or am I going to have to take you to my room and make love to you until you plead for mercy and tell me?’
I didn’t dare look at him. Trying to hide the blush that was burning my face, I stared at the floor. My whole body tingled and I felt such a yearning that I almost forgot to breathe. The tension in the air was electric.
Rafe got up and went to the bar and returned with a glass of water. Gratefully I took it and gulped two mouthfuls.
Still standing, Rafe cleared his throat and then said, ‘Go and finish your story and we’ll have this conversation again after you’ve sent it in.’
His manner had abruptly changed to cool and businesslike. The female in me wanted to kiss him, but the journalist in me took charge, much as I suspected the policeman in Rafe had just done.
I wondered if it would be pushing my luck to ask for his help.
Oh, what the hell!
‘Actually, I could do with some assistance,’ I said, hoping I didn’t sound pathetically needy.
‘I can’t write for toffees,’ he quipped.
I laughed nervously. ‘No, not with that.’
‘With what then?’
‘You can guard the prisoner.’
Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. ‘O’Leary?’
‘That’s not my prisoner’s name, Senior Sergeant,’ I said truthfully, ‘but I think he should have a guard until my story is sent in. Then you can contact the local plod and inform them he attacked me.’
‘Oh my God,’ Rafe said. ‘He didn’t—’
‘No, he didn’t, and I’m fine,’ I said quickly. ‘But he’s not.’
Rafe sighed with relief and said, ‘You’d better lead the way.’
On the trip to the Rainforest Bar I gave Rafe a rapid overview of the case. We walked fast and a little apart, and Rafe listened without interrupting. Supremely conscious of his proximity to me, I found it difficult to concentrate.
‘Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?’ Rafe asked when I’d finished.
‘I’m bruised, that’s all.’
‘I’ll kill him,’ Rafe muttered. ‘Or Toby will.’
‘You’ve spoken to Toby?’ I said, surprised that Rafe had mentioned him.
&n
bsp; ‘He called me.’
‘And has your friendship survived?’ Truly, I felt bad that I had come between them.
‘Nope,’ Rafe said. ‘He told me that he’d beat me senseless if I ever hurt you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, although it was heartening to know that Toby still cared.
‘Don’t be,’ Rafe said. ‘It’s a small price to pay for a king’s ransom.’
A smile spread across my face, and I was pleased that, in the dark, Rafe couldn’t see it. Then a thought struck me.
‘How did you know I was up here with Daisy Fanshaw?’ I asked.
‘I was worried when you didn’t get back to me, so I called Fandango’s. Mario told me.’
That made sense, as I knew Miles would have called if he’d spoken to Rafe.
‘I flew up,’ Rafe went on, ‘and when reception wouldn’t reveal your room number, I called Dave for his wife’s number.’
‘You could have called Dave and Daisy from Sydney,’ I said.
‘I could,’ he said, laughing, ‘but I didn’t, did I?’
We’d reached the steps to the Rainforest Bar and I led the way up and opened the door. Turning the lights on again might attract unwanted attention, and I shone my torch across the room and saw Leary’s wild eyes staring back at me. He shouted a stream of abuse at us and struggled hopelessly against his bindings before falling silent.
‘Nice catch,’ Rafe said, taking the torch. ‘Ring me the minute you finish writing.’
As I sped out the door, I heard Rafe say, ‘Now then, sir, is that any way to speak in front of a lady?’
Chapter 60