Dark Country (Dungirri)

by Parry, Bronwyn

  Not totally sure if it was the right decision, he nodded anyway. ‘Thanks. I’d appreciate it. Anywhere still open that I could buy a change of clothes?’

  ‘Robertson’s will be open until five-thirty. And there’s a new Target in the old bank building on the corner. But don’t expect the kind of range you’d find in Sydney. If money is a problem, I can phone Captain Tan from the Salvation Army and I’m sure they’ll be happy to assist.’

  ‘Money’s not a problem, Blue,’ he told her, more roughly than he intended.

  The door from an inner office swung open, and Petric and Macklin sauntered through, hardly glancing at Gil.

  ‘We’re off, Kris,’ Petric said. ‘Thanks for all your help.’

  ‘Drive safely.’ She shook hands out of courtesy, but there was not a lot in the way of warmth, by Gil’s reckoning.

  That shouldn’t have cheered him, but it did.

  On his way out, Petric turned back, with that expression of polite concern that Gil was fast coming to distrust. ‘Oh, by the way, Gillespie, we just heard. Unfortunately, Vince Russo passed away this afternoon. He never regained consciousness.’

  Kris caught the flare of anger, quickly controlled, on Gil’s face. Not good news then, as far as he was concerned.

  Joe didn’t wait for a response, just dropped that information as if it were an afterthought, and continued on his way. Afterthought be damned. Petric had to be playing some sort of game. She’d overhead him earlier this afternoon, telling Craig Macklin of the Russo guy’s death. What the hell his strategy and purpose was, she had no idea.

  She opened her mouth to ask Gil about Russo, but her phone rang and by the time she’d dealt with a night duty officer reporting in sick, Gil had left.

  Needing some answers, she went straight to Steve Fraser. He’d been flat-out since arriving in Birraga on temporary transfer a month or so back, juggling the workload of two vacant detective positions, and her opinion of him wavered. She’d worked with him before, when he’d been called in on the two child abduction investigations that had shaken the area in the last couple of years. But those times had been intense, with a large team headed by a senior officer focused exclusively on the urgency of finding the children. The first time, they’d failed, and the repercussions of that failure still shadowed them all. The second time, they’d found the child alive – but not before people had died and officers, including Steve, were injured.

  In the day-to-day of normal operations this past month, she’d found that, like Craig Macklin and a lot of other guys she’d worked with, Steve had the testosterone-charged cockiness not uncommon in the predominantly masculine environment of the police force. His flippant attitude bordered on exasperating at times, and his casual approach to paperwork and procedure had her tearing her hair out. Yet underneath the bravado she caught occasional glimpses of something deeper, and they’d established a friendly enough working relationship in the past month.

  When she swung into his office Steve gave her his lazy, bad-boy grin – but along with it his full attention. She sat in the chair in front of his desk and came straight to the point.

  ‘Who’s Vince Russo, what did he die of, and what does he have to do with Gillespie?’

  ‘He’s a businessman. Successful and very wealthy, apparently. Gillespie had some dealings with him, and so did the dead woman. He was shot the other night in a car park and was in a coma until he died this afternoon. No witnesses or security camera footage.’

  ‘Is Gillespie a suspect?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  Her breathing came a little easier. ‘What kind of dealings did he have with Russo?’

  ‘He’s known him for a while. Some money changed hands recently. I don’t know all the details. Probably legal.’

  ‘Probably legal?’

  ‘Joe asked a few questions, but wasn’t interested in pursuing it. The woman had run up some debts, and Gillespie bailed her out.’

  Rent on an apartment in Melbourne, money to get there, cash, and he’d paid off her debts.

  ‘A regular bloody boy scout,’ she muttered.

  ‘I’m not sure I’d bet on that,’ Steve replied dryly. ‘You want my advice, Kris?’

  ‘You’ll give it, anyway.’

  ‘Yeah. Look, leave it to Homicide, mate. It’s their case, and they think the murder happened in Sydney and someone just tried to frame Gillespie by dumping the body here. The unofficial first impressions from Sandy Cunningham in Forensics support that theory.’

  ‘Did you talk with Adam? What does he think?’ She had a lot of respect for Sandy, but she had a lot, too, for Adam’s traditional knowledge and observation skills, learned from the elders of his community.

  ‘He agrees. He and Sandy had a long discussion.’

  She’d seen Adam working with colleagues often enough to know that, despite his youth, he used his skills with tact and respect for others’ knowledge. She must remember to mention that in his performance review, whenever they managed to find time to do it.

  Steve glanced at his watch, and reached out to close his laptop. ‘Joe’s going to follow up a few other leads down in Sydney, and I’ll be surprised if we see them back here. Which suits me, because I’ve got more than enough on my plate already.’

  He unplugged the laptop, getting ready to leave, and although he wasn’t hurrying her, she quickly asked the most important question.

  ‘What do you think about Gillespie? Is he involved?’

  ‘In either of the murders? Can’t be certain at this stage, but I doubt it. Why?’

  ‘I’m giving him a ride back to Dungirri.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘We arrested him, seized his vehicle and brought him here,’ she pointed out. ‘Kind of gives us a moral obligation since there’s no public transport. And it’s not as if it’s out of my way.’

  ‘He could afford to buy a damn car and drive himself. Joe reckons he’s worth fifteen million.’

  Fifteen million? That, she hadn’t expected. The well-worn leather jacket, the plain old sedan – not the usual accessories for multi-millionaires. ‘Money’s not a problem, Blue,’ he’d said. Obviously not.

  ‘Millions or not, buying a car, legally, at this hour isn’t that easy, especially for a stranger in town. Do you think he’s too much of a risk? I can easily make some excuse not to give him a ride.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s that kind of trouble. And I know you can handle yourself, Kris. I’m just a little wary of close-mouthed ex-cons associated with two murders in forty-eight hours.’ Steve glanced at his watch again, pushed his chair back. ‘Sorry, I’ve gotta get going.’

  ‘Got a date?’ she teased.

  He grinned back. ‘I wish. Nope, it’s a meeting with the Community Services director about the Davies’ case.’ The brief frown brought by mention of the child abuse investigation was quickly erased by one of his cheeky winks. ‘Mind you, she is hotter than hell …’

  ‘She’s also married to the works engineer at Council.’

  ‘Real tall bloke? Built like a brick shithouse?’ He grimaced when she nodded. ‘Ouch. There goes that idea.’

  He shoved his laptop into his backpack, and followed her to the door. ‘Hey, Kris,’ he said as he flicked the light switch off. ‘Send me a text when you get home, okay? Just so I know you got there safely.’

  She agreed, because it made sense, and because his wariness had fed her own worry. Could she really trust Gillespie? She had so little to go on: his actions since she met him last night, Jeanie’s opinion, and her own instinct, which could well be way off the mark.

  The question hung in her mind while she finished the most pressing of the day’s tasks. Just on six, the desk officer paged her and she grabbed her keys and went out to find Gil sitting in the reception area, a new kit bag at his feet.

  The darker colouring around his bruised eye and cheek and the swelling of his split lip lent his usual shuttered expression an even rougher edge, bu
t when he looked up and saw her, met her eyes, his attempt at a wry smile seemed a crack of connection and openness.

  Most of her uncertainty evaporated. She was used to people in custody often being angry, aggressive. Yet in the whole day since his arrest, despite his evident frustration at the situation, he’d shown no hint of hostility towards her. In fact, he’d treated her with a simple respect, more genuine than Joe’s performance of collegiality.

  He’d dealt with the confinement and the questioning, and although she’d seen the tension in him, he’d been self-controlled, not taking it out on her or anyone else. Gil Gillespie might have secrets, but his behaviour provided no evidence that he had any intention of harming her.

  She led him to the patrol car, and he slung his bag into the back seat. More than just a change of socks and jocks bulked its sides, but she didn’t comment. The guy deserved some privacy after the day he’d been through.

  The drive back to Dungirri was about as quiet as the trip to Birraga had been in the morning. At least this time, Gil sat beside her, his hands unfettered, although he still stared out the window, absorbed in his own thoughts.

  Kris focused on the road ahead, the headlights cutting through the early darkness. The previous night’s rain had gone, but wind chased intermittent clouds in front of the near-full moon hanging in the east.

  Despite the million questions whirling in her mind, she didn’t disturb Gil by broaching any of them. She needed brain space to think through the day’s events, go over the few details Joe had shared and the information Steve Fraser had added, because no matter which way she’d looked at it all so far, it didn’t add up to anything simple.

  Instead of getting out of uniform and spending the night curled up in front of the fire with a good movie, she’d be asking some of her own questions around town. Dungirri might be small, and fairly dead after ten o’clock at night, but maybe someone had seen something. The ball committee meeting hadn’t finished until after midnight, so she’d start with them.

  She was approaching a bend in the road when Gil asked out of the blue, ‘Can police access mobile phone data?’

  She felt his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes straight ahead, negotiating the bend. ‘Not without authorisation.’

  ‘How long does it take to get authorisation?’

  ‘It depends. Can be pretty quick, if there’s a strong reason. But there’s formal channels to go through with the telco, and it’s not instantaneous. Why?’

  Beyond the hum of the engine, the silence stretched.

  ‘Spill it, Gillespie. What’s going on in that brain of yours?’

  ‘No-one knew where I was,’ he said slowly. ‘So I’m wondering how both the police and the … how they found me.’

  ‘You must have mentioned it to someone – your employees, perhaps. Or the woman, Marci. You said you saw her yesterday morning.’

  ‘No. I told no-one. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.’ The quiet certainty of his words rang of the truth.

  ‘What are you suggesting, Gillespie?’

  ‘I had my phone on the whole trip yesterday. I received that call when we were driving into Dungirri. I made a phone call from my hotel room. Two, I guess, since I accessed the internet through my phone. I can’t think of any other way that anyone could have found out I was in Dungirri. Unless you put something on the police system last night.’

  She cast her mind back to what she’d reported, and how. ‘Yes, I did. I logged the incident in the pub, the Barretts’ names and yours. If Joe had an alert in for your name, the system would have notified him. But that wasn’t until around eleven o’clock last night. And it wouldn’t explain how whoever put Marci in your car knew where you were.’

  ‘No.’ The single word said he’d already thought that far.

  ‘Who’s trying to frame you, Gil?’

  She wanted an easy, straight forward answer. An answer that meant the problem could be identified, dealt with, and solved.

  Instead, he exhaled a long breath and eventually replied, ‘I don’t know. Could be any one of several options.’

  ‘Jesus, Gillespie, how many people have you pissed off?’

  ‘Probably a few.’

  Yeah, and count her among them now. ‘How?’ she demanded. ‘What are you involved in?’

  His voice was quiet. ‘It’s … complicated, Blue. Best you don’t get involved.’

  ‘Too bloody late for that. Oh, shit,’ she added, as the beam of the headlights picked up a dark, ragged shape on the road, and she reduced her speed.

  A huge branch, fallen across the road, shattering dead timber from one dusty side to the other – a real hazard if drivers failed to see it.

  Frustrated and angry with the universe, she glanced in the rear-vision mirror as she flicked on the indicator and pulled over. They were on a long straight stretch of road here, and the lights of the other vehicle were pinpricks in the darkness a couple of kilometres away. She switched on the emergency lights as a warning, and reached under the seat for a reflective vest.

  Gil was already out of the car, testing the weight of the heavy end of the main limb, while she thrust her arms into the vest.

  ‘We should be able to move it,’ Gil said, ‘if you can take the lighter end of this part.’

  A few metres long, the branch was heavy, but as most of it was hollowed out by insects they managed, with a bit of effort, to lift it and carry it to the side of the road. Shorter branches littered the bitumen, and Gil began picking up the pieces that were too dangerous to leave in the dark.

  Kris checked the road behind them. The headlights of the other vehicle were getting quite close, so she took her flashlight out and stood in the middle of the road to wave the car down. It approached with some caution, lights on low beam. She couldn’t really see what kind of vehicle it was, but as it came within a few metres, she stepped forward to go and speak to the driver.

  The sudden glare of the car’s lights blinded her, and she jerked her arm up to shield her eyes. The engine roared, the tyres screeched, and she dived out of its path as it raced straight towards her.

  FIVE

  Dropping an armful of wood into the bush beside the road, Gil heard the scream of rubber, the dull thump of a body against a vehicle, and was already leaping back across the ditch as Kris hit the bitumen, hard.

  She lay still on her side, among the debris from the tree, too small and fragile beside the bulk of her vehicle. He crouched next to her, fingers seeking a pulse in her wrist, scanning for blood or obvious trauma.

  Paula had died.

  He shoved that memory away. He found her steady pulse, saw her chest rise and fall in breathing. There might be internal injuries he couldn’t deal with, but he knew more about first aid than he had years ago, and with radio and phones, help could be called.

  Her eyelids flickered open, closed again, and she moved her arm closer into her chest. ‘Fucking bastard!’ she said, and he breathed again, grateful for the normality of her voice.

  ‘He won’t ever again if I find him.’

  Damned stupid thing to say, but there was too much pounding in his head, relief and worry and anger, the anger the only one he had words for.

  ‘Yeah. Me too.’ She opened her eyes again, started to roll over, but he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, fumbling for his phone with his spare hand.

  ‘Lie still, Blue. You’ve been hit by a car. You need an ambulance.’

  ‘No. It’s okay. It didn’t hit me. I just hit mine.’ Her crooked grin reassured him as much as the coherence of her words. ‘Misjudged my Superwoman leap.’

  ‘Forgot your cape, too.’ His mouth as dry as their attempt at humour, he ignored the pounding in his head and took her hand carefully, the flashing red and blue lights casting eerie shadows on the scratches and cuts along her palm and up her arm to her shirt sleeve. ‘You’re going to need some patching up, Blue. A debris-strewn road isn’t as soft as a trampoline.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  She tr
ied to sit up, wincing as she went to put weight on her hand, and Gil put an arm around her back to help her into a sitting position.

  ‘What hurts?’ he asked.

  ‘Everything. Just jarring and bruises, though. Nothing broken.’

  ‘Except your skin.’ It looked like she’d taken the brunt of the fall on her left arm, landing on a rough mix of gravel and wood splinters. Now she was upright, blood was trickling down her arm in several places. ‘Is there a first-aid kit in the car?’

  ‘In the boot.’

  When he returned with the kit, she was standing up, leaning against the car, inspecting her arm. The day had been warm enough for short sleeves, but in the dark with the wind blowing the night had turned chilly. She shivered, her grazed skin coming out in goosebumps, and he took off his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  ‘Get in the car. I’ll get the worst of the splinters out now, and drive you back to Birraga hospital for the rest.’

  ‘There’s no need for the hospital. Nothing major is damaged, and I just want to get home.’ The defiant tone cracked, and she jerked away, heading towards the driver’s door.

  He stopped her with a hand on her uninjured arm. ‘You’re not driving, Blue. Either we get someone to come and pick us up, or I drive. Assuming it’s not a hanging offence for a civilian to drive a police car.’

  She huffed in frustration before nodding. ‘You’re probably right. And under the circumstances, the punishment for the offence is probably a pile of paperwork for me.’

  Her smile was clearly a strain, so he kept things light. ‘Only if your boss finds out. And I won’t tell him.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Probably unaware she was doing it, she pulled the jacket a little more closely around her shoulders. ‘I need to phone Adam. The car might pass through Dungirri. Did you see the type of vehicle?’

  ‘Not well. Dark, probably black. A large four-wheel drive. Maybe a Land Cruiser or a Patrol or something similar. Must have a fair bit of power, to have accelerated that fast.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. I don’t suppose you saw the registration plate?’