Dark Country (Dungirri)
Page 9
He left his bag on the floor, between the beds. There wasn’t a lot of room to move, but the cabin would do fine for overnight. Outside, although the wind had dropped a little the air was still cool, and he pulled his jacket on. The branches of a large kurrajong tree in front of the cabin stretched over a wooden picnic table and bench, and he brushed a scattering of dead leaves off the bench and sat down, drawing in a few slow breaths of the fresh night air. So different from Sydney, out here in the dark. Only small sounds drifted, each distinct in the stillness – some eighties rock song playing on the jukebox from the pub; a vehicle a block or two away; a dog barking somewhere beyond the creek.
Jeanie would be a few minutes making the burgers, so he dug for his phone in his jacket pocket, and called Liam.
He didn’t beat around the bush when his offsider answered. ‘Marci’s dead,’ he said bluntly. ‘Her body was in my car this morning. A couple of Sydney detectives turned up with a search warrant and found her there.’
There was stunned silence for a long moment, then, ‘Holy shit. How? Who would …?’
‘I don’t know who, yet. As for how … it looked pretty bad. Not quick.’ His throat thickened and the words stalled.
‘Jesus.’
Gil heard Deb’s worried query in the background, and Liam relayed the news.
‘You left Sydney last night?’ Gil asked, when Deb had finished swearing. ‘Are you at that eco-resort? North of Maitland, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. We stayed in Maitland overnight, came the rest of the way this morning.’
‘Good.’ That put them an hour or two closer than Sydney, though still a long way away. ‘Can you drive up and get me tomorrow? The forensic mob have taken my car.’
‘Sure. Where are you?’
‘Town called Dungirri. Northwest of the state, past Narrabri. You’ll need a fair chunk of the day to get here.’
‘But how did Marci …? You didn’t take her up there.’
It was statement more than question. Liam knew him, knew there was bugger-all chance he’d spend any more time with Marci than necessary.
‘No. I saw her yesterday morning at her place. But someone got to her after that, and must have tracked me somehow, and put her body in my boot during the night.’
‘What do the cops think?’
‘They arrested me this morning.’ He hated even saying the words, kept it to a bare minumum. ‘But they released me this afternoon. They’ve gone back to Sydney.’
‘The guys who leaned on Deb yesterday wanted to know where you were,’ Liam told him. ‘My neighbour said I had visitors, too, but I didn’t come home till late. Sounds like someone’s out to get you.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know. Better bring Deb with you tomorrow. She can share the driving, and I’d rather neither of you were alone. I’m staying at the Truck Stop. You won’t have trouble finding it.’
As he finished the call, his brain rapidly put a plan together. He’d go to Moree with Liam and Deb tomorrow, and buy a new car there. Then he’d send them on to somewhere right out of the way, maybe into Queensland, so he could go back to Sydney, find out who was screwing with him, and deal with it.
Yeah, that was definitely the plan.
He locked the door of the cabin and headed back over to the kitchen. The cooking smells of meat, bacon and eggs kick-started his hunger. Piling the layers of the burgers together with the speed and dexterity of years of practice, Jeanie tilted her head in the direction of the drinks fridge.
‘Help yourself. Kris has apple juice.’
By the time he’d selected a couple of bottles of juice, she’d wrapped and bagged the burgers.
‘Tell Kris if there’s anything she needs, she just has to call.’
She refused the twenty-dollar note he held out to her. He didn’t argue with her, just went over behind the counter, studied the cash register for a moment to work out the system, and then rang up a sale and put the money in the drawer.
She objected, of course, but he overrode her. ‘I’m not freeloading off you, Jeanie.’
He glanced at the security monitor behind the register, and stopped still. The screen, divided into four sections, showed an image every second or so of the fuel pumps out front, the counter, the café, and the diesel pump to the side of the building – with the side street beyond and the hotel hazy in the background.
‘Do you leave the security cameras running all night?’
‘Yes. The fuel pumps are turned off at night, of course, but there were a couple of break-ins a few months back, as well as people driving off without paying, which is why I decided to put the system in.’
‘Is this recorded? Do you have last night’s footage?’
‘It’s recorded onto the computer in the office. The young man from the security firm in Moree left some instructions on how to access it, but the only time I needed to, I couldn’t work it out. I had to get Adam to help.’
He resisted the temptation to go and look at the footage now. Far better if a police officer did it, following whatever rules they had about possible evidence.
‘I’ll see if Adam can come and take a look later, Jeanie. Just in case the camera on the diesel pumps picked up anything on the road. It’s not in focus, but we might be able to get something off it.’
As he walked up towards the police station, he didn’t let his hopes rise far. On the screen, the road beyond the immediate focus area was indistinct. In the dark there’d probably be little that was discernible. But if there was something, anything, that would show evidence of who had dumped Marci in his vehicle, it could help the investigation and go towards clearing his name.
As long as he stayed out of jail, he didn’t care what most people thought of him – except for a few. Jeanie’s loyalty and faith in him hadn’t come as a surprise, but the sergeant had to have her doubts about him. No matter what she’d said, no matter that she’d trusted him enough to risk offering a ride, she couldn’t be a hundred per cent certain. He wanted her to be certain. He had bugger-all chance of earning either her approval or her respect, yet he wanted her to be convinced of his innocence in Marci’s death. Some part of him argued that it was simply because he’d caused her enough worry she didn’t need, on top of the load she already carried. Beneath the logic, he knew that was only part of the truth, but his thoughts shied uneasily away from acknowledging it.
The moon, close to full, provided enough light for him to avoid the main street, so to dodge the crowd at the hall he took the back way, turning up the side road and cutting across the empty paddock along the creek to reach the residence behind the police station.
Kris was on the doorstep, saying goodbye to Beth. She’d changed out of her uniform. In contrast to the masculine lines of her police shirt and trousers, the cream colour of the knitted Aran cardigan she wore over her jeans was softer, more feminine. Beautiful, with her red hair falling loose around her face. Vulnerable. The reminder of it twisted in his guts.
What if the idiot who’d tried to run her down had shown up last night, instead? When she’d been alone, without radio or phone, her car useless in the ditch. Or what if someone wanted to break into her place, do her harm? Her backyard extended to the creek, the fence that had once provided some privacy and security was no longer there. A couple of large eucalypts and some wattles created plentiful shadows. And he knew from using it this morning that although her back door had a deadlock, it had no peephole, and a deadlock was no use if she opened the door to anyone who knocked, which she probably did.
She was too dedicated, and that dedication put her at risk every day. If the psycho who’d murdered the kid had targeted her, she could have been killed, just like the others. That guy was gone, but there were plenty more murderers and thugs out there in the world, too ready to turn cop-killer.
And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it – except leave town as soon as possible, and reduce the risk by keeping the bastards who were after him well away from her.
SIX
The rich scent of grilled meat and onions wafted in the night air.
‘Food.’ He stepped into the broader circle of light and handed Kris a paper bag. ‘Since you probably didn’t fill up your fridge today.’
She guessed the contents from its weight and warmth in her hand and her mouth watered. ‘Do I have you or Jeanie to thank for this?’
‘Jeanie made them.’
Another evasive answer – so, he obviously had some responsibility for either the idea or its execution.
‘Thanks to you both. I’m ravenous. Come on in.’
It was impossible to eat one of Jeanie’s piled-high burgers with any degree of decorum, so she wouldn’t try. She put out plates on the kitchen table, and tore a few large sheets off a roll of paper towel to serve as napkins.
‘Eat while it’s hot,’ she told Gil. ‘Then we can talk.’
Strange to be sitting here, eating with Gil, the silence not exactly relaxed, but not uncomfortable, either.
Despite being there by choice, he still carried a degree of wariness, tension in his body, in his silence. After they’d eaten, she’d probably have to work to dig through his layers of secrets and complexities. Yet she had a strong sense that the little he’d told her so far was the truth. No wild stories, no contrived explanations, just some bare, basic facts. Maybe that’s why she trusted him. And that highlighted the whole skewed nature of the situation; basically she trusted him – an ex-con with a dead body in his boot and questionable connections – and he didn’t trust her, a police officer.
He was focused on the food, and made short work of his burger. With his large hands, he didn’t have as much trouble keeping the bun and its contents under control, whereas she battled to keep shredded lettuce and the sauce-slathered rissole from escaping.
Sucking sauce from her finger, she glanced up and caught him looking at her, the flare of heat unmistakeable. And just as unmistakeable, her own body’s immediate reaction: her pulse audible in her head, her breath suddenly shallow, her acute awareness of his strong, male physicality. Her long-missing libido flung the door open and flounced back in, all dressed up and raring to party.
Shit.
He scrunched the empty paper bag tight in his hand, and shoved his chair away from the table to walk over and toss it in the kitchen bin. His back still to her, he broke the silence abruptly.
‘Jeanie’s new security system – there’s a camera that might have picked up something last night. She said Adam knows how to access the footage.’
It took a moment for her brain to change gear. Security system. Last night.
‘The camera on the pumps at the side? Shit, why didn’t I think of that?’ She dropped the remains of her burger on the plate, self-reproach killing her hunger. She should have remembered the security system. It might not have caught anything, but she should have thought about it this morning, and checked it then. Tiredness and shock weren’t any damn excuse.
‘The images probably won’t be any good.’
‘We’ll find out,’ Kris said.
Glad of something practical to focus on, she wiped her hands on a paper towel and found her phone among the stuff cluttering the table. Adam answered on the first ring. He’d called in at Jeanie’s, who had already asked him to check the security footage.
‘If there’s anything useful, I’ll make a copy and bring it over. Might take me an hour or so,’ he added, before he disconnected.
She glanced at her watch, slightly surprised it was only eight o’clock. What else did she have to do tonight? Text Steve to let him know she’d arrived home. Report the incident. Get Gil’s witness statement. Then go out and knock on a few doors, find out who might have seen or heard something last night. There’d be no long relaxing bath this evening to soothe her aching body, no early night to catch up on her sleep. Just the work she was honour-bound to do.
Her thoughts were scattered, racing around in her brain, too slippery to catch and hold on to them all.
She made herself concentrate. As she lifted her phone again, its light bell tones announced a text message, the phone vibrating gently in her hand. Her mental list still forming in her mind, she distractedly thumbed the keys to access the message.
She had to stare at the letters on the screen for several seconds before they made any sense.
GilSP is ded. If U hlp him U wll B 2.
He shouldn’t have brought the food. Sharing a meal with her again in her kitchen was just too damned … personal. Friends shared meals, and lovers, and he’d better bloody well remember that they were neither.
The sooner he got out of here, the better. He’d made a mistake in the car asking her about tracking phone calls. It had raised her curiosity and suspicions. She’d start on the questions again, just as soon as she’d finished with her phone. He’d have to think of some way to answer them that would discourage her, keep her uninvolved.
Discouraging a dedicated cop who genuinely worried about people, and about justice, wouldn’t be easy. He could lie convincingly if he had to – and he’d had to, more than once in his life – but he preferred the truth. And in this case a brief version of the truth would probably be enough to convince her that she didn’t need to be involved, that the action was in Sydney, not here, and that once he’d left tomorrow she and Dungirri could forget about him for good.
She was frowning at her phone, the text she’d just received obviously not to her liking. He saw the anger rise: her narrowed eyes, the hiss of an in-drawn breath, the slight colour darkening her cheeks. She pushed the remains of her burger away and stood up, sliding the phone across the table towards him.
‘I am going to make a pot of strong coffee,’ she said, her voice cold and deliberate, ‘and then you are going to explain to me exactly what is going on.’
If the coolness of her order didn’t quite chill him, the text on the screen did.
‘I should go, Blue.’
‘No.’ She dumped four heaped spoons of coffee in the plunger, and turned on the kettle.
‘You’ll be safer …’
‘I’ll be safer when I know what’s happening and whether this is just someone playing silly buggers or something I really need to worry about.’
As she moved past him to retrieve the coffee mugs they’d left in the drainer that morning, she met his eyes, honest and direct, and he wished for a moment that she was a weaker person, that she would go running scared from him, call in her colleagues for protection. But even out of uniform, in that soft cardigan, there was still the strong core of determination and commitment, and he sensed that she would never run from anything she considered to be her duty.
That knowledge made him all the more worried for her. ‘I’ll tell you what you need to know, Blue. But then I’m leaving. Being with me puts you in danger, and I won’t let you risk that.’
‘I decide what risks I take,’ she said, too calm for his peace of mind.
Reaching for her phone again, she dialled a number and reported the text message. Gil didn’t know the abbreviations she used, but he understood enough to know that she’d requested a trace on the message.
‘How long before you get an answer?’ he asked as she dropped the phone back on the table.
‘Depends. An hour or two. Maybe longer.’
The kettle came to a rolling boil and she turned to flick it off. A grimace of pain crossed her face as she lifted it, her arm shaking and water splashing unevenly into the plunger.
He closed his hand over hers to steady it.
‘I’ll finish this. Go and sit down.’
‘I think I’ll get some painkillers.’ Cradling her arm against her body, she headed to the bathroom.
He stayed where he was while the coffee brewed, leaning against the bench, reli
eved by the few moments alone. From outside, he heard a couple of car doors slam, the sounds of engines starting, vehicles turning on gravel. The working bee next door finishing up, he guessed, and hoped none of them had seen him come in here. It could make things more difficult for Kris than they already were.
If she wasn’t too sore, she’d likely start with her questions soon, and he had no doubts that by the time he finished answering them, she’d be more than glad to see the back of him. If he could just explain in a way that didn’t … No, he was who he was, not the kind of man who had any business being kitchen-table friends with a decent cop.
He poured the coffee and placed her mug on the table when she returned, still holding her arm. She hooked a chair out with her foot and sat, stirring sugar into her coffee for a few moments before she tossed her first question at him, direct and to the point.
‘Do you know who murdered Marci?’
He might not have been forthcoming in his answers during the day, with Petric and Macklin playing their smart-arse games, but he owed her straight honesty now.
‘No. I’ve got suspicions, but they’re just guesswork. I don’t know anything for sure. There are too many possibilities.’
‘Marci had a lot of enemies?’
‘She was in with some rough folk, Blue. She drifted from one man to another and they used her. She didn’t have enough sense to take charge of her own life.’
Not like you. The thought came unbidden. Marci, with her overdone make-up and tight clothes and all the artifice she’d learned in the sex trade couldn’t have been a greater contrast to the woman in front of him, natural and beautiful without make-up, comfortable and confident in her self and her profession.
‘Until the last year or so, she kept control of the booze, and didn’t do much in the way of drugs. But her latest boyfriend’s a dealer, and he got her hooked, pimped her to pay for it. He was connected to scum, and she was sliding down, way out of her depth. She’s not young any more, not as attractive, so he was pushing her into the BDSM scene. She thought …’ He had to word this part carefully. ‘She thought she could sell some information she had, to pay off her debt. I warned her that was dangerous, for her.’