She heard footsteps behind her on the wooden floor.
‘Did that bastard Gillespie start the fire?’ Sean Barrett demanded.
She summoned up the energy to turn slowly and pin him with her glare.
‘No, Sean, Gillespie didn’t start the fire,’ she said firmly, to squelch any rumours. ‘He was with me most of the evening.’
A slow, sly grin twisted his mouth. ‘With you, huh?’
The insinuation ignited her temper. Jim and Paul Barrett might be occasionally hot-headed and cagey around authority, but they both worked hard, and contributed to the community in their own ways, and she could respect them for that. Sean Barrett was another matter entirely.
She spoke coldly and deliberately, so there could be no misunderstanding of either the facts or her attitude towards his suggestion. ‘Gillespie was voluntarily giving his time to assist with a police investigation.’
She turned away from him to speak to the rest of them. ‘You might not be aware that when we heard the explosion, Morgan Gillespie ran straight there, going into the burning building to rescue Jeanie, with no thought for his own safety. His actions saved Jeanie’s life.’
She let that sink in for a moment, watching the faces, the exchange of glances. The news certainly discomforted some of them, puzzled others. Years of prejudice was going to take some shifting.
‘If any of you witnessed anything,’ she continued, ‘or have any information about how the fire started, I’d like you to come over to the station.’
Blank looks and shaking heads answered the question.
‘We’d just started playing cards,’ Tom Trevelyn said, indicating Jim and Frank Williams, the usual Friday night card crew. ‘Then we heard the bang.’
‘Eleni and I, we were watching TV,’ George Pappas volunteered. They lived behind the store they’d run for decades. ‘We too heard the bang.’
It seemed that no-one had seen anything. Those who’d been at the working bee at the hall had either gone straight home or, like Jim and his mates, had gone to the pub.
She stifled a disheartened sigh. ‘Okay, thanks, everyone. The fire’s contained now, and the RFS will keep watch on the embers all night, so it’s safe for you to return to your homes. Thank you all for your cooperation in the evacuation. I know it must have been a worrying time for you.’
She pulled her cardigan around her as she stepped out again into the evening air, the aroma of smoke that clung to it scratching her eyes. The post-adrenaline let-down had settled in, making her feel the chill more, and long for a warm bed and oblivion. But Adam and Steve would be waiting for her in the station, and there were too many questions that needed to be answered to even think about resting yet.
No-one had followed her from the the Wilsons’ place. Well, no-one except him. Maybe she’d forgotten, or was disregarding, the threatening text message, but Gil wasn’t. The situation had escalated far too fast to take any risks.
He waited until she emerged from the hall before he stepped out from the shadows of the gum tree in her backyard.
‘You shouldn’t be wandering around in the dark alone, Blue.’
She waved her hand at the spotlights glowing from the eaves of the hall. ‘It’s hardly dark. And it’s probably a whole fifteen metres to my place.’
‘It’s dark on Scrub Road,’ he pointed out.
‘Not with a good moon. And there are a dozen houses along the road,’ she retorted with a sharp edge. But the edge blunted when she added, ‘Don’t creep around behind me, Gillespie. I might mistake you for a thug.’
He’d half-expected her to be angry. He’d known her less than twenty-four hours, didn’t have any right to play the protector, especially for a capable police officer. But he couldn’t shake off his fear for her, and wouldn’t risk contemplating why it was so strong.
He changed the subject to more practical, logical matters. ‘The text message … could they trace the sender?’
‘No luck. I got the report a short while ago. It was a pre-paid phone, owned by a Sydney school kid who lost it last week. The message was sent from somewhere in the Birraga area, but the phone’s now gone dead, so we can’t trace its whereabouts. They’ve probably tossed it in the bush somewhere, impossible to find.’
Inside the station, the interview room seemed smaller with Fraser and Adam seated at the table. Claustrophobic, almost, particularly with both of them looking at him. Gil made his face expressionless, and wished himself anywhere but there.
Kris pulled out one of the two remaining chairs and sank on to it, with a steadying hand on the table. Gil reluctantly took the other, nearest the door.
Fraser took the lead, casting Gil a guarded look, but not objecting to his presence. ‘Adam’s updated me, Kris, on what you discovered tonight. So we’re all agreed that the circumstances of the fire are suspicious.’
‘Did you have a look at the site, Steve? Anything obvious there?’
‘I’m no expert, and the place is still too hot to go right in, but the RFS guys think it started in the office, and there are signs of accelerant in that area. It’s just as well Adam copied those images because the chances of there being anything salvageable from the computer are bugger all.’
‘What about the garbage skip?’ Kris asked. ‘It was at the other end of the building.’
‘It’s a heap of molten plastic,’ Adam replied. ‘Forensics might be able to get something from it, but it will take them a lot of time and processing.’
‘Shit.’ Kris closed her eyes briefly in frustration.
Fraser leaned forward. ‘Did you see anyone around when you were down there, Adam? Or you, Gillespie?’
‘A couple of truckies,’ Adam said. ‘Nobody I knew. They left around the time I did.’
‘They were there when I was there, earlier on.’ Gil spoke for the first time. ‘They probably heard me talking with Jeanie about the security cameras.’
‘And me, too,’ said Adam. ‘In fact, when we were leaving, one of them asked me about the “excitement” this morning. The news will be all around the district, and I didn’t think of it as anything more than a casual query.’
‘Did either of you see who the trucks belonged to?’ Kris asked. ‘A transport company?’
Gil hadn’t noticed – the trucks had just been shapes in the dark – but Adam had.
‘One of them at least was a Flanagan’s truck.’
Flanagan. The name hit Gil like a physical blow, and some of the puzzle pieces slammed into place in a recognisable picture, dark and threatening.
‘Flanagan’s?’ he asked sharply. ‘As in Dan Flanagan?’
‘Dan Flanagan and sons, these days,’ Kris answered. ‘Brian and Kevin are both involved in the family businesses. Irrigation equipment, earthmoving, harvesting and transport. Flanagan’s Agricultural Company has a virtual monopoly for the entire region. And, with the drought bankrupting many graziers, Flanagan’s has been buying up properties these past few years. Across the northwest, and in to Queensland.’
‘What do you know of him, Gillespie?’ Fraser demanded.
‘Flanagan got his start working for the ’Ndrangheta in rural Queensland in the early nineteen-sixties,’ he said, uncomfortable about drawing everyone’s attention, but ploughing on anyway. ‘Extortion and blackmail were his main focus back then. He came here in the late sixties, and within a few years he was managing a pretty large marijuana production network for the mob.’
Kris frowned, studying him. ‘I’ve heard some stories about Flanagan and his family over the years, but nobody’s ever produced facts, evidence or witnesses. Have you got anything more than hearsay to connect him with organised crime?’
He respected her for needing evidence, at the same time as he worried about all she didn’t know.
‘Flanagan is careful. Those who cooperate aren’t pressed too hard; there can even be benefits to having someone as influential as Flanagan on-side. But he uses fear to keep people silent. Getting on his wrong side is dangerous, and h
e doesn’t hesitate to act on his threats. I could suggest names of people to ask, but chances are they’d deny they know anything.’
‘So how do you know all this?’ Fraser challenged him, folding his arms and staring. ‘You left here a bloody long time ago.’
The challenge held an edge that made Gil even more wary. He gathered from a conversation he’d overhead in Birraga, that Fraser was usually based in Moree. But by the way Kris had described Flanagan’s expanding business interests, nowhere in the northwest – and no cop – would be out of potential reach of his influence.
Steve Fraser displayed a brash confidence that bordered on arrogance, and an attitude that suggested he didn’t have much time for authority. Not a combination that Gil felt inclined to trust. Fraser couldn’t be suspected of passing on the information about the security footage, because Kris hadn’t had time to inform him before the fire, but he’d had plenty of opportunity during the afternoon to leak other details about the investigation – including the fact of Kris’s alibi.
Still, both Kris and Adam seemed comfortable with him, despite the occasional hint of annoyance in Kris’s body language. Annoyance, not distrust.
Gil had to rely on her judgement.
‘My old man ran a portable sawmill,’ he explained, ‘so we worked all around the district, felling trees for landholders and sawing timber. Other than a “donated” load of lumber every now and again, we didn’t have much business with Flanagan, but I kept my eyes open and my mouth shut. I didn’t go to school much after fourteen or so, but a few of the guys I’d known there ended up working for Flanagan. I saw them around here and there, and sometimes they didn’t keep as quiet as they should have.’
‘So, what’s the connection with the mafia? Last I heard, “Flanagan” wasn’t an Italian name.’
Gil responded to the question, not Fraser’s sarcasm. ‘There’s plenty of organised crime run by Australians. But as far as Flanagan goes, I didn’t find out all his history and connections until years later.’
Not until the day he’d delivered a couple of cases of single-malt scotch to the Russo family Christmas party, and come face to face with Dan and his sons.
He met Kris’s earnest stare for a moment before he transferred his attention back to Fraser, and explained. ‘I bumped into him when he came to visit his brother-in-law in Sydney.’
‘His brother-in-law?’ The question seemed genuine. Fraser either didn’t have a clue who Flanagan was, or he was a damn good actor.
‘Yes. Dan’s wife was Gianni Russo’s twin sister.’
NINE
He should have left when the others did. There wasn’t much more that could be done; the fire site was secure, guarded by Birraga police officers, waiting for the arson investigators and forensic team. Both he and Adam had given descriptions of the two truckies, and Steve Fraser would attempt to follow up those with the Flanagan Agricultural Company in the morning. No-one expected he’d find out much. Fraser had headed back to Birraga, and Adam had finally been ordered off-duty and home.
Kris tried to hold back a yawn as she closed the door behind Adam, and failed. She had to be near collapse from exhaustion, and she moved stiffly, wincing in pain from her injuries.
‘I should go,’ Gil said.
‘To where?’ Her blunt question echoed his own thoughts. ‘If Jeanie’s cabin isn’t a heap of ashes, it will still be off-limits. And last time I looked your father’s hut wasn’t in any fit state to stay in. So you might as well just sleep in my spare room again.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘Wise?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Seems to me that given the threats and the day we’ve both had, it makes more sense than you staying alone in the pub, and me staying alone here. If anyone comes looking for us, or we develop any aftereffects from the smoke, at least this way there’ll be someone nearby.’
There were still reasons why he should refuse – to protect her from insinuation and gossip, and from association with him – but only one overriding reason to stay: to protect her from harm.
Jeanie had almost died, and he still didn’t know if the fire was set to eliminate evidence, or to punish her for supporting him. Maybe both. Kris had spoken out in support of him too many times already, and that information would have made it back to whoever was pulling the strings. With it likely that Flanagan’s local resources were involved now, there was no way could he leave her alone and vulnerable in her house overnight.
He nodded and muttered his thanks, following her down the short corridor to her residence.
She raised her arm to lock the connecting door, sniffed at her sleeve and grimaced. ‘Sheesh. These clothes smell like a bad barbeque. And yours are probably the only ones you have. Toss them outside the door when you go to bed, and I’ll run them through the washer with mine. If I hang them up tonight, they should be dry by morning.’
It was a good plan, except for the fact that she was almost asleep on her feet. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and resisted the urge to pick her up and carry her to her room.
‘You go to bed, Blue. I’ve worked nights for years, and I don’t usually sleep until the bats go home to roost, so I’ll stay up to hang out the washing.’
She was tired enough not to argue. ‘I’ve got some old cargo shorts that will probably fit you. And I’ll find a T-shirt. They’re not much but …’ She turned away, the words trailing off.
But it’s better than wandering around her place stark naked, he finished the sentence in his head. Being naked anywhere near her would definitely be a bad idea.
Morning came far too early for Kris. The vivid dream of hot sex in the middle of a blazing building ended when the building collapsed, jerking her awake with a half-muttered cry. No need to question where those images had come from.
Her hair under her face smelt of smoke. Her pillow smelt of smoke. With an effort, she pushed herself upright in bed, every muscle in her body moaning in protest, with even her gut roiling, as if she had a hangover.
She hated mornings at the best of times, and this morning certainly didn’t qualify as a good one. She’d feel better when she got moving, she promised herself, in an attempt to find the motivation to get up out of bed. It wasn’t too much of a lie – she couldn’t, at any rate, feel much worse.
The door to Gillespie’s room was still shut and as she stumbled to the shower there was only silence in the house. Good. She might have a chance to become human again before he woke up. The shower helped a little to loosen her stiff muscles, and afterwards she used up most of Beth’s pot of bruise cream on the multiple bruises darkening on her body.
She studied her arms in the bathroom mirror. The bloody grazes and dark bruises would be blatantly obvious with her ball dress tonight. Just as well she had no ambitions of being the belle of the ball. The sooner the ball was over, the better, as far as she was concerned.
The official roster had her off-duty for the next five days, but she dragged on her uniform. Responsibilities and rosters didn’t always coincide in a bush posting.
As she buckled on her belt, someone knocked loudly on the back door. Mindful of Gil’s warning, she glanced out of the window. On the back step stood a young woman, maybe twenty-five or thirty, neatly dressed in black trousers and a softly patterned shirt, her long brown hair braided. Behind her, a younger man waited, Asian in appearance, also neat in trousers and white shirt.
‘Have you got Gil here?’ the woman demanded, the moment Kris opened the door.
The woman’s glare almost matched her own, but even on a morning like today, Kris could summon her sergeant’s stare to outdo the best.
‘You are …?’
‘Deborah Taylor. Gil’s my boss. Was my boss, I mean. Until the other day, when the new owners took over. Look, I know Gil,’ she rushed on. ‘He wouldn’t have murdered Marci. Not that he didn’t have more than enough reason to throttle the lying, conniving user of a bitch, and probably should have, but he never did. Okay, maybe a firm grip on her arm to escort her
out of the pub sometimes when she was pissed and kicking up a stink, but nothing more than that. Ever.’
‘It’s okay, Deb.’ Gil’s voice came from behind, and the woman, Deb, audibly breathed a sigh of relief.
Sighing wasn’t exactly what came to mind when Kris glanced around at Gil. She’d found clothes for him last night – a T-shirt, and Hugh’s old hiking shorts, that he’d inadvertently left at her place that last weekend, years ago, that she’d never quite been able to toss out.
Maybe it was the white T-shirt that softened Gil’s appearance, despite his rough, unshaven face. Other than yesterday morning’s brief aberration, she’d only seen him in black. And maybe it was seeing him in her brother’s old cargoes, temporarily jumbling her thoughts with old memories and grief, and not the sight of naked feet and calves and shorts riding low on slim hips that stole coherent words from her head.
Fortunately, he didn’t have a muting effect on Deborah.
‘Gil! Some guy down the road said you were here, that they should be locking you up.’
‘Everything’s fine.’ He held up his hands to her view. ‘See, no handcuffs. Deb, this is Sergeant Kris Matthews. She hasn’t arrested me, so there’s no need to do your Doberman impersonation.’
The laconic, dry humour and the absence of Gil’s usual guardedness spelled friendship and affection, although probably not intimacy, since neither of them made any effort to touch the other. Kris pulled together what she knew of the woman so far. His former employee. With a black belt in karate, who’d been attacked two days ago in her home. Pretty and assertive and fond enough of Gil to confront a police officer to defend him.
The young man stepped forward with an easy confidence and pleasant smile, his hand outstretched to shake hers. ‘I’m Liam Le. Please forgive us for calling in so early, Sergeant. We were worried about Gil.’
Kris found herself smiling back at him. She didn’t know what his job had been, but she imagined running a successful pub required at least one person with public relations skills, and this lad had more than enough charm for the three of them.
Dark Country (Dungirri) Page 13