by Graham Guy
“He’s back on Sunday morning. British Airways. First flight in, in case you’re interested.”
Sunday was five days away. She wished George hadn’t told her, for she could think of nothing else. All the Saturday night into the Sunday morning, she stayed awake, pacing, sitting or trying to sleep.
She watched the new day begin to emerge on the Sunday and made her decision.
* * *
Senior Sergeant Ken McLoughlin sat with his head in his hands in the office of Victoria’s Police Commissioner Jack Rowland. Also present were the Victorian Minister for Police David English, the New South Wales Police Commissioner Colin Johnson and the New South Wales Minister for Police Andrew Weeks. All five men had returned to Jack Rowland’s office after attending the police funeral of Senior Constable Dave Bourke.
McLoughlin had fully briefed Jack Rowland, David English and Colin Johnson on the events leading up to Dave Bourke’s death, but Andrew Weeks was still to be informed. Jack Rowland spoke to McLoughlin.
“You want to take Andrew through what happened, Ken, or would you rather I did?”
McLoughlin raised his head and wiped tears from his bloodshot eyes. “No, I can do it,” he began. “We’d been trailing the prick…”
McLoughlin stop-started his way through his explanation to the New South Wales Police Minister. As he fought back tears with every word, all four men could feel the anger and determination of the devastated police sergeant.
“So you want to stay with it?” Andrew Weeks asked.
“Oh Christ, don’t pull me off it now. I don’t even know where to start looking for the bastard, but if it takes me ten years, I’ll find him. You fellas going to allow me to do that?”
Jack Rowland cast his gaze amongst the other men present. There were no protests. Rowland then opened a drawer in his desk. “Another phone. Same deal as before. It’s programmed with all our numbers. You still got all the other stuff? Cards, ID?”
McLoughlin nodded. Jack Rowland then handed him the keys to a brand new, high-powered, unmarked Ford Falcon sedan. “Armourplate glass and bulletproof panels. The V8’s been tweaked so he shouldn’t out-run you if it gets to that. Long-range fuel tank. Jesus, Ken!, none of us know what to say to you. There are no words to express our deep and sincere regrets. You’re adamant you want to do this thing alone? Christ, we’ll give you a partner; just say the word.”
McLoughlin shook his head. “No,” he said getting out of his seat. “I just need a few days and I’ll be back on track. But you blokes have to realise we’re not just dealing with a professional thief here. This guy’s gone military. All I ask is you do that photo drop again with my phone number.
“I’ll call you each week as before, but it could get to the point where I’ve got him boxed in. If that happens, remember he’s now into a .50 calibre. That means anything up to a couple of kilometres away that he can draw a bead. I won’t be a hero. I think it’s up to you fellas to speak one-on-one with the army and have a couple of SAS blokes on stand-by if need be.”
Jack Rowland extended his hand. “Consider it done. I’ll do the photos now. Good luck, Ken.”
McLoughlin said his farewells to the other men present in the room and left. He went to the police car compound, sought out the new Ford V8, climbed in behind the wheel and drove away.
Sydney, I think. I still believe my best chances of finding the bastard are in Sydney. I can’t see him coming back here.
As he drove away from the compound his mind was still in a haze. When he closed his eyes, he could still see his partner being torn to pieces by the heavy-calibre bullet. How he nearly died himself as he tried to squeeze in behind his damaged motor bike for protection. How The Weasel had all but destroyed their vehicle. And the millisecond between life and death when The Weasel took a long-range shot and the bullet thudded into the exact same spot where he’d been standing.
When he squeezed off, I would have had to have moved at that precise moment. Christ! And the cold-blooded way he killed everyone connected with the aircraft. What the hell were they carrying? I won’t know the answer to that until I find him… or, more to the point, where he digs himself in. One thing’s for sure, he’s digging himself in somewhere.
He then recalled his telling Jack Rowland and the other men in his office he would take a few days off. He changed his mind.
No point in that. All I’d do is stew. Best to get on with it.
He drove out of Melbourne and headed towards Sydney.
* * *
Georgette McKinley arrived in South West Rocks a little after four a.m. She had driven up from Sydney on the spur-of-the-moment, not being able to stand the suspense of not knowing any longer. She had decided not to ring. She wanted to stand face to face with Bill Murphy and have him tell her he didn’t wish to see her anymore. She quickly located the local newsagency and peered through the window. Bill Murphy had not told her where he lived, so she reverted to the oldest trick in the book. If you want to find out where someone lives, ask the local newsagent. They know everything there is to know about the local scene. She was in luck. He was sitting in his shop rolling the Sunday papers for delivery.
Georgette tapped on the window. A youngish man came to the door. Georgette smiled. “Hell of a time of the day, but I was wondering if you could tell me where Bill Murphy lives?”
The newsagent recognised her from the television. “If anybody else but you was doing the asking I’d say I didn’t know. Same as everyone else around here. But you must have a good reason for driving all this way. Here! Take his paper out to him. You’ll need to…”
Georgette wrote out the directions to Bill Murphy’s place then found an all-night service station. She filled her car with petrol, then ordered a cup of coffee. Before leaving, she purchased a loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, a packet of bacon, a jar of coffee, milk, butter and plum jam. The sun was just beginning to rise when she checked her directions. Ahead, she could see a little house on a small cliff.
That’s it, she thought. Oh well, here goes.
Slowly she drove in towards it. Lonely heard her coming and ambled out to greet her, his tail wagging furiously. As she brought her vehicle to a standstill, she sat behind the wheel for a moment. A sudden attack of nerves tore through her body. Then her heart began pounding in her brain. Her mouth went dry. Her stomach was in knots.
Bloody hell! she cursed silently. I’m absolutely scared shitless. Leave! Turn around and leave. Go! Just go!
But she couldn’t follow what her mind was telling her to do. She saw the front door open. A rather groggy Bill Murphy appeared, dressed only in a pair of jeans. Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he was straining to see who it was.
“Oh, good god! Georgette!” he exclaimed.
“Hello, Bill. I brought you your paper,” she said meekly, expecting him to explode and tell her to leave.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, still trying to wake up.
“You hadn’t phoned.”
“You haven’t phoned me either.”
“It’s not a girl’s place.”
Bill Murphy laughed. Georgette didn’t know how to gauge his reaction upon seeing her. She felt her knees go to jelly, as if they didn’t belong to her. For a few moments, they stood looking at each other. Bill Murphy then walked over to her and held out his hand. As she took it, he dragged her in to himself and kissed her lightly. He felt himself come alive as Georgette thrust her open mouth over his. Holding her head against his chest, he buried his head into the nape of her neck.
“Jesus, I’ve missed you… you will never know how much.”
Tears formed in Georgette’s eyes. “When you hadn’t phoned, I just had to find you. I needed to stand in front of you and for you to tell me you didn’t want to see me anymore.”
Holding her at arm’s length, he said, “Babe, I was gone the moment I set eyes on you. But come on! I’d be in fairyland if I thought someone like you would be interested in someone like me,” he told he
r, lifting his eyes to watch a vehicle pass by at the end of his driveway. Georgette glanced over her shoulder.
“Visitors?”
“Don’t know who that is. Often see him go down there. Don’t know where he goes, the road doesn’t lead anywhere.”
Returning her glance to him, she said, “Would you like some breakfast? I’ve brought a few things.”
Bill Murphy held out an arm. “Just walk on through, you can hardly miss the kitchen. You go and do that and I’ll clean myself up a bit.”
Bill Murphy stepped into the shower. A minute later, much to his surprise, Georgette was standing outside the shower curtain. Instantly, Bill Murphy grabbed Georgette, hauling her fully clothed under the shower with him. She squealed and cursed and fought to be released. But he just stood there, his arms locked around her, laughing hysterically.
She looked up at him and their mouths found each other. Moments later, they stood naked together. As each explored the other, Georgette threw her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs around his hips and lowered herself onto him. She cried out as he went deeply into her.
“Oh god, yes!” she cried as she tried for even deeper penetration.
Suddenly, neither could get enough of each other. Both felt their bodies explode as they finally exploited the lust that had built up between them. Totally spent, Georgette lowered her legs to stand. Together they stood under the hot steaming water, oblivious to the sounds of the waves crashing onto the beach far below.
Stepping from the shower, each dried the other, and Bill laughed. “I’m not too big on nickers and bras, but I can probably find you a shirt and jeans.”
“Why, that would be very nice of you, Mr Murphy,” she replied courteously, “seeing it was you who got me into this state.”
They didn’t bother leaving the house that day.
Chapter 20
Ken McLoughlin decided to base himself in a Parramatta motel in Sydney’s western suburbs. Night and day, at various times around the clock, he toured the streets of the city and the suburbs. Since the events at Kununurra, The Weasel had made no attempt to return to his flat in Ryde. Night after night, week after week, McLoughlin continued his relentless pursuit of a man without having the slightest clue as to his whereabouts.
I know he’s around the place somewhere. I can feel the bastard. Maybe it’s up in the bush a bit, but he’s definitely in New South Wales.
Everyday McLoughlin went through the ritual of checking his Glock, his triple two, and the two back-ups on his ankles. He knew when the moment came he’d be damn glad he did. For three months he continued to search. He made his weekly phone call to Jack Rowland. The Victorian Police Commissioner again told him to take as long as he needed, as he now saw The Weasel as public enemy number one.
Casually glancing through a fishing magazine one night, McLoughlin spotted an ad for a sailing regatta at Nambucca Heads, between Port Macquarie and Coffs Harbour. It was only three days away, so he checked the state forecast for the further outlook.
Weather’s fine. Might head up there. Could do with a day or two off.
* * *
Bill Murphy rang Georgette every day for the next three weeks with some of their conversations lasting two hours. Over the duration of the calls, each got to learn even the most intimate of details about the other. At one point he was so desperate to see her he hired a helicopter and pilot to fly him to and from Sydney just so they could spend the night together.
As the relationship became more intense, Bill Murphy began to take stock of the situation and to what he was getting himself into. For the first time in three weeks he didn’t call Georgette. Sitting by her phone in Sydney, Georgette kept looking at the clock. She waited another hour. Then another. When he hadn’t phoned by midnight she picked up the phone and dialled his number. There was no answer. Bill Murphy was sitting at his desk, watching the ringing phone. He knew it would be her, but he didn’t know how to tell her he was having second thoughts. He was relieved when the ringing stopped. A few minutes later it rang again. This time he did pick it up.
“Hi, babe.”
“God, are you all right? When you hadn’t phoned…”
“I’m all right,” he cut in.
“Is there something wrong?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s… it’s this whole thing, babe. Jesus, it’s freaking me out.”
“Why, whatever’s wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong. I just can’t see it lasting, and it frightens the shit out of me.”
“So you think I’ll walk away?”
He thought about his answer. “I’m thinking I will. I’m not what you want. You’re young, vibrant, full of life…”
“So are you.”
He laughed. “I used to be.”
“So what are you now?”
“Fucked!”
“You’re full of it!”
“Georgie… Georgie… wonderful Georgie, I don’t think I can do this anymore. You’re not what I am. I’m not what you are. All my life I’ve strived to get to this little hilltop. I just think this mountain’s too high for you to climb up… too steep for me to climb down.”
“I can’t walk away from you, Bill,” she said sadly.
“Babe, you’re going to have to. It can’t always be like this. I have things to do. You have things to do. You can’t be stuck up here, cut off from everything; you’d end up hating me. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”
“So what about part-time?”
“No way! You’re too special for that. All I can say is that I’m obviously so gone on you I’m prepared to let you go. It tears my guts out having to tell you this, but I’m not a good proposition, Georgette. You wouldn’t enjoy being around me all the time.”
“So why did you even want to start it off?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Young bird. Old man. Might be fun. But it got to be more than that and quite frankly I’m not prepared to stuff your life up. Hook up with me and more than likely I will.” Bill could tell Georgette was in tears. “You’re young. You’re still trying your wings. You’ll thank me for this one day. Maybe not now. But one day you will.”
Georgette put the phone down and burst loudly into tears.
Bill Murphy did the same. “Sometimes I feel like I just want to cut my tongue out,” he said to Lonely.
The next four weeks dragged for Bill Murphy. He lived and breathed every moment for Georgette McKinley. He couldn’t sleep. Didn’t shave. Only ate scrappy meals. He spent his days sitting in his stone chair overlooking the sea with Lonely at his feet. He tried to justify in his mind the words he spoke to Georgette. He always came back to his original motivation.
This is where I strived to be all my life.
But there was now a hollowed-out emptiness about the place. Georgette had only been there the once but she’d added a vibrancy to the place.
Now you’re gone, Bill thought, it’s like someone’s hung up a sign reading: Vacancy.
He also knew he had to shake her off. He wouldn’t be able to function until he did.
* * *
Georgette McKinley got a doctor’s certificate for a week off. She was so devastated by the breakup, she found her body shut down. She cried all day and into the night and achieved sleep only from total exhaustion. George Hanks knocked on her door. When she let him in, he was visibly shocked by her condition. Gone were the sparkling eyes. They were replaced by swollen up, bloodshot slits. Her hair was unkempt. She wore very little.
“Jesus, are you sick?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, instead, turned her back on him and went into her kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, white and one,” he answered, as he followed her. “What is it, babe. Jesus Christ, look at you! What’s the problem?”
She turned to face her boss, but instead of words all he got was tears. Buckets of them.
“Has… has someone died?”
She shook her head.
Then it hit him. “Not Bill Murphy?”
At the mere mention of his name, even more tears flowed.
“For god’s sakes, babe!” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her. Georgette sobbed hard against his chest. “Obviously, it’s all over. Sweetheart, you hardly know the guy. You pregnant and he’s dumped you or something? Jesus, I don’t believe you could be this upset.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not pregnant. We’re… we’re just so right for each other, and he’s too damn stubborn to see it.”
“No, no, no. Listen to me. Bill and I have known each other for probably 30 years. All his life he’s dreamed about living on a cliff over-looking the sea. That’s been his life’s dream. He’s a bloody recluse for god’s sakes. You don’t want to live like that do you?”
“I don’t know what I want,” she sobbed, “But I do know he’s the one I want to wake up next to in the morning.”
George Hanks was stunned. “You can’t go on like this. What about your job?”
“I’ll be all right by Monday. Jesus, George!, can’t you see I’m bloody grieving over this. My heart’s been broken for Christ sakes.”
George Hanks didn’t speak. He held the young woman in his arms and stroked her shoulder. “Anything you need?”
Georgette shook her head.
“Go and see him, babe! You gotta take one last shot. Go and see the mongrel. If you want him that bad, fight for him. What do you say? Give it one last roll of the dice?”
Georgette nodded.
“I have to go. You phone me if you need anything, all right? Anything”
“I will,” she promised.
After George Hanks closed the door behind himself, Georgette began to think about what he told her. She went to her wardrobe and took out that dress. She washed her face and hands, took a deep breath, flicked through the pages of the phone book and picked up the phone.
Several calls later she rang her boss.
* * *
Three days later, Bill Murphy was waiting out the front of his house for the helicopter to arrive. George Hanks had called him and asked if could compère a specially convened Heads of Media dinner in Port Macquarie.