One thing he was sure of – he’d be keeping the search much closer to The Springs. The police didn’t know what to make of Hilary’s shoe, reckoned maybe it had fallen off when she’d been abducted and that they could still be a long way away. But he knew Syd. The dog had disappeared the same time Nina had. He wouldn’t have stayed away from The Springs this long unless he’d been with her.
Heath headed for the kitchen and surprised Izzy who was perched over her laptop.
‘Anything?’ She jumped up from a stool at the bench.
He shook his head as he poured a glass of water. ‘I gave the cops an update from the plane. How’s Syd?’
‘He was hungry but they reckon he must’ve been near water or he’d be in worse shape,’ she replied. ‘They’ve searched right along the creek up to the river. And the forensics guys looked at the grass seeds and dirt on his coat but they could be from anywhere around here.’
‘Where is he?’
‘We tried to bring him back to Kurrabar with us, but he wouldn’t get into the car. He wants to wait for her there.’ Her lips trembled and she turned back quickly to the screen. ‘Look – we’ve got nearly 600,000 people following our Facebook page. From all over the world.’
Heath leaned over her shoulder. The ‘Find Nina and Hilary’ page was headed by the Christmas photo of the two of them he had used in his media appeal. Nina was smiling cheesily, but only he could see the hint of self-conscious irony behind it; ‘fun times with Hilary’ were sometimes not so fun. Beside her, Hilary was pulling one of those selfie-faces.
‘Look at all these comments,’ Izzy added, scrolling down the stream of offered prayers, sympathy and psychic intuition. ‘People are really behind us. No real info yet, though.’
‘News is about to start!’ came Ben’s shout from the living room. They hurried to join him.
The newsreader’s face was solemn as she read out the top story.
‘There has been no progress in the hunt for missing award-winning artist Nina Larkin and her mother, Flint Harvesters heiress, Hilary Flint. The pair went missing shortly after the discovery of a million-dollar gold nugget on Ms Larkin’s property at the weekend. Earlier today, her fiancé, Heath Blackett, gave an emotional appeal for her return …’
At the conclusion of the clip, the reporter at The Springs breathlessly told viewers about the discovery of the shoe. Heath focused on the beautiful images of Nina being flashed on the screen; the photo from the Painted Sky website, face bent solemnly towards a canvas, paint brush in hand, and one from the Settlers’ Ball that had appeared in the Argus.
‘Police reporter Rupert Delaney is at Police Headquarters in Sydney,’ said the newsreader. ‘What more can you tell us?’
‘Well, Felicity, the mystery deepened somewhat today with the revelation that the third missing person, Lachlan Wright, is known to police. He is reported to have underground connections. Police have warned he may be armed and dangerous and have cautioned members of the public not to approach him but to call Crime Stoppers if they have any information.’
Next up, the Arts reporter gave a rundown on Nina’s career. Footage from the Flynn Awards ceremony showed Nina flushed and laughing, her arm linked through his. Nina’s students from the Painted Sky Retreat gave interviews.
‘With the triumphs also came tragedies,’ the reporter intoned. ‘Her father, Jim Larkin, celebrated member of the Sydney Stir movement, went missing 20 years ago, when his daughter was nine. His body was found in 2015 on the family property. In a strange twist, it appeared he had been looking for the same nugget that was finally unearthed by his daughter four days ago …’
‘Back in a sec.’ Izzy pushed past him. ‘Need the loo.’
‘There has to be someone out there seeing this who knows something,’ said Heath to Ben.
‘Bound to be. Look, mate, if Lachlan is anything, he’s a coward. There’s no way he would hurt them. No way. And when the pressure starts piling on, he’ll dump them and run.’
‘You’re right,’ said Heath. But his mind wandered back to what Izzy had said about Lachlan threatening her.
‘Guys …’ It was Izzy, coming back into the room. She looked shocked.
‘What?’ Heath felt his heart quicken. He stood.
Izzy held something out in her hand. A plastic stick. ‘It’s a pregnancy test. I found it in the bathroom bin. It’s positive,’ she whispered.
Ben put his arm on Heath’s shoulder.
Heath felt himself fall back into the chair. All those missed calls from her yesterday morning when he’d left the stupid phone behind. That’s what they were about. He pictured her excited face, her frustration when she couldn’t get through. And now …
‘Oh my god, poor Nina,’ said Izzy. She moved to Heath and put her arms around him.
‘We’ll find her,’ Ben was saying.
But Heath could not work out how to reply.
Nina put out a hand – Hilary? Yes, she was still there. Right beside her.
She struggled to sit up. So weak. Buzzing. What was that buzzing? Flies. A fresh wave of nausea.
She felt around for the phone. Lachlan’s phone. That’s right, there was still power. She scrabbled on the cave floor by Hilary’s hand, and there it was. She turned it on but this time she wasted no effort looking around the cave. She hit the video key and spoke: ‘Heath. I love you. I tried to tell you about the baby. I will always be with you. I love you. Lachlan was going to shoot us. We killed him. I’ve been so stupid. I love you.’
The phone went dark. She felt a sob rise in her chest and she jumped as the mobile clattered to the rock floor.
‘It’s alright, darling, I’m here.’ It was her mother.
The two women held each other.
‘Mum. I love you, Mum.’
‘See, there’s another one – a transfer of $327.50 to that same account.’ Izzy thrust the bank statement at Ben. They had been scouring Nina’s office at The Springs all morning for anything that might shed light on Lachlan’s plans.
‘That makes, what? About five and a half grand, so far,’ he replied, scanning the paper on top of a stack on Nina’s desk.
‘Notice how he’s made the amounts uneven, so they look legitimate?’ Izzy shook her head.
‘He obviously knew what he was doing. It’s him for sure,’ said Ben. ‘Sutherland Shire Property Trust. Never heard of it. I can’t see Nina investing in a property trust.’
‘Not when things were so tight in her own business,’ said Izzy. ‘Pass me that stack of papers, would you?’
Ben wheeled over and reached to the top of the filing cabinet. The pile teetered, then cascaded down into his lap and across the floor.
‘Sorry, Iz.’
Ferrier and her team had hastily tidied the office after their search, but it still needed sorting.
Izzy stood to help Ben and then the two of them fell silent. The portrait Maggie had sketched of Lachlan in the café lay on top of the pile. Izzy bent down slowly and picked it up. So strange how the smile that had seemed cheeky and endearing when she’d first seen it now seemed menacing, sly.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Ben, taking it from her. ‘This is the beginning of all our troubles, isn’t it? I mean, if Nina hadn’t found this we wouldn’t be in this nightmare now.’
He wheeled quickly to the window and opened it.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Izzy, as she paused from gathering the scattered paperwork.
Ben scrunched the sketch and was about to throw it out the window when he realised a second page was stuck to it.
‘What is it?’ asked Izzy.
He shrugged in answer. He carefully peeled the page away and flicked the sketch unceremoniously into the backyard.
‘Don’t! That could be evidence or something,’ she called.
‘I don’t care. That bloodsucker doesn’t have any place under this roof.’ He flattened the page on the desk and started to read. Izzy came closer when she saw the look in his eyes. He handed it to her.
‘Nina’s will. In the event of her death she leaves everything to Lachlan!’ Izzy gazed disbelievingly at the single-page document in her hand, printed on plain paper, signed at the bottom in black pen.
‘It’s a forgery, right?’ demanded Ben.
‘That’s Nina’s signature,’ said Izzy. ‘But look at the date. That was around the time Lachlan took over all the office work, remember? He got her to sign all kinds of stuff, and she was so busy she barely looked at it.’
‘It was before she officially moved into Kurrabar with Heath, so it would’ve been difficult to challenge if anything had happened to her back then,’ said Ben.
‘But that’s the thing – he only benefits if she dies.’ Izzy felt shock tingle through her.
‘I … He couldn’t be capable of that,’ said Ben.
‘Could he … could he have killed them already?’ Izzy whispered.
‘Come on,’ said Ben. ‘Let’s get this to the cops.’
‘How do we tell Heath?’
Unbearable. The darkness suffocating. Hilary felt the terror take hold. She couldn’t breathe. She needed water, air. She couldn’t stay in this hole any longer. They were buried here. No-one would find them. A silent scream. No air. No air.
Hilary had felt this once before, years ago, locked in a cupboard. A schoolgirl prank. What had she done? Yes, that’s right. She had closed her eyes. Willed herself to concentrate. Now, she was no longer in this hole. There were no walls, no rock roof enclosing her. She was outside in the cool air. Breathe, she told herself. Breathe. She felt dizzy. Her head ached. So thirsty. She imagined a tap, a bubbler, watermelon. Ice.
Jugs of home-made lemonade, condensation beading on the glass. Slabs of crunchy bread encasing slices of saltbush lamb with chutney, ham off the bone and pickled beetroot, salad. Lamingtons. Crispy apples. Freshly-roasted coffee. Scones. Search and rescue was hungry work but it did not go unrewarded.
The exhausted volunteers sprawled in the afternoon shade by the pool at Paramour. Still in their high-vis jackets, some sat dangling their blistered feet in the cool water. They greeted each new delivery from Deborah and Matty with exclamations of surprise and thanks.
But few had much of an appetite.
There was little chatter. Not much to say. There had been no developments, no breakthroughs. Every theory, every wild scenario had been thrashed out by them all over the past three days. Now the only sounds were Deborah’s twin girls’ giggles as they tumbled on the lawn with Dolce, while Gabbana growled from the safety of the porch.
Heath leant against a palm tree and bit into the fresh white bread. But he tasted nothing. The image of Hilary here in the pool, bantering with him only a fortnight ago, haunted him.
Where were they?
‘So, heading up again soon?’ It was Hamish Campbell.
Heath glanced at him and was shocked at how old and tired he looked. Perhaps they all did.
‘Yep, Lobby’s picking me up any minute now, I reckon,’ Heath replied.
Silence.
‘You know, Heath,’ said Hamish earnestly, ‘I just – we just – please don’t feel you’re in this alone. We – the whole bloody district – is behind you. We love her too. It’s a bloody awful turn of events. But, mate, hang in there. We’re with you.’
Heath didn’t trust his own voice. He touched Hamish’s shoulder for a few seconds in silence before he headed out the gate to meet the ute.
Nina had long ago stopped thinking about whether it was night or day. It didn’t seem to make any sense here in this rock womb. They had eked out the 12 sour cherry drops, counting them off like beads on a rosary. Nina had eaten the last one hours ago. For the baby.
Now there was nothing.
Hilary lay curled into her back, unmoving. Nina reached and wrapped her mother’s arm more closely around her. The fear, anger and panic she had felt in the first two days were burned through. Now, all she could feel was a fathomless sorrow for this tiny life she held inside her. This being who was relying on her for sustenance that she could not provide and whom she may never embrace. She wanted to scream, but she had no voice. She wanted to weep, but she had no tears.
‘How are you?’ Hilary’s voice was a husk, as fragile and dry as a cotton stalk after harvest.
‘Sad,’ she whispered back.
‘I know.’ Hilary stroked her hair softly. Then she began to hum – a distant, ghostly sound. A lullaby.
Nina squeezed her mother’s hand. It was almost over.
Lobby and his battered felt hat slid past the side window as the plane gathered speed and lifted. Heath pulled the control wheel back and trimmed the wings as he gained altitude. He headed out over the familiar clumps of scrub, open paddocks and the distant green cotton fields of Paramour.
His eyes ached with tiredness. What was he looking for? A sign. Any sign. Tyre tracks, flattened grass, odd colours. And worse things. Gatherings of crows. Mounds of soil.
Heath bit his lip as his conversation with Brogan last night replayed in his mind.
‘It’s almost unheard of for a kidnapper to wait so long to make a demand,’ the Inspector had told him, solemnly. They had to start thinking about other, worse possibilities.
He had to keep searching. How could he live not knowing?
On and on he flew over the McNallys’ and beyond – yet again. It was just him amid this great expanse of blue, studying another great expanse of grey and red and green below. This was grim work.
So tired. Yet achingly awake.
Heath circled and flew back over Paramour, then Kurrabar and finally followed the track towards The Springs. He flew low, not worrying about spooking the cows. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. Brown, small. It was Syd trotting along the waterhole track. He circled again and flew in the same direction. Now, the green water sparkled below and a flock of black cockatoos emerged from a tree on the bank. Soon he passed over the jagged top of Goat Rock. He could see the very log where he and Nina had sat the first time they’d climbed it together.
Then a flash of white in the bushes. Rubbish left from a bygone picnic? Another circle, lower this time, buzzing the crest of the hill.
‘It’s a bloody car!’ he yelled.
Below, he could just make out the back of a car half obscured by branches. How had he not seen this before? Heath banged the dashboard angrily. His heart thumped as he radioed back to base.
‘Heath Blackett here. Over.’
‘Follow,’ crackled a female voice amidst the static.
‘Have sighted a car near The Springs waterhole. Going in for a reccy. Can you radio Inspector Brogan at The Springs? Over.’
The radio crackled back. ‘Will do. Over.’
Heath turned the plane one last time. He needed to land. Now. But where? He wasn’t sure the paddock was long enough and the dry grass could hide any number of rocks and logs.
But there was no way he was going to fly back to Kurrabar to land. He slowed the revs as much as he could and flew low over a fence. He braced himself as the ground came up to meet him. He gripped the steering wheel and the Cessna swerved violently – left, right. And then it was bumping wildly along the tussocky grass. It was all over as the plane came to a stop 10 metres from the wire fence.
Heath pulled at his seatbelt, scrambled from the cockpit and began running through the grass. Ahead, Goat Rock rose and fell as he tore towards it, leaping over the rough ground.
And there it was. The car. Lachlan’s car.
He felt full-blown terror. What was in there? Heath braced himself and then he was almost on top of the vehicle, pulling the dry clumps of mulga from its doors and peering anxiously in the windows.
Nothing. He almost sobbed with relief then looked again. Lachlan’s brown duffle bag was on the back seat. Spider webs around the door handles told him no-one had been inside for at least a day or two. The boot – Christ. Another deep breath and Heath tried the catch. It opened. Empty. He slammed it shut.
Where to now? He ra
n to the sandy beach. There were no footprints or drag marks, but then it had rained on Tuesday night. Nina must be here, he reasoned. But where?
An idea burst to the surface. The words of the news report. ‘Jim Larkin’s body was later found on the family property. In a strange twist …’ A twist … He realised the simple truth.
The cave.
Why hadn’t he thought of it? It was the perfect hiding place. Somewhere Nina knew and Lachlan had been to.
He startled some grazing goats as he ran up the slope, swearing to himself, the adrenaline driving his exhausted body onwards. At the top, he paused and caught sight of police cars and a rescue van winding their way through the paddock.
Their presence jolted him. Of course. Lachlan had a gun. And he was desperate. Heath would need to be quiet, careful. The cave entrance was just down the slope, so close. If he came down quietly he could see what the situation was. He moved carefully down the steep track. He could see shoe scuffs in the loose dirt.
They had to be still inside the cave. And suddenly he was right in front of it.
Inching forward, Heath kept his eyes on its entrance as he quietly lifted branches out of his way. Something fell on the ground at his feet. Startled, he leapt back. A snake? But it was a tan shoe – the twin of the one Syd had found.
It was too much.
‘Nina? Hilary?’ he screamed as he slipped and scrambled up the narrow chimney, all caution abandoned. A shower of pebbles hit the surface of the waterhole below.
The roar of a gunshot blasted out from the narrow gap in the rock.
He fell to his knees in the entrance – only one thought on his mind.
‘Nina!’
Another shot rang out.
He’s shot them both!
Heath froze.
Nina cradled her head in her arms as stones and debris showered down from above. A chunk of rock struck her exposed ankle, shooting hot pain up her leg. She blinked, coughed, blinked again through the dust. Were her eyes open or closed? The flash from the gun had caused white spots to flicker on and off in the blackness. She gripped the cave wall – or was it the floor – and tried to steady herself. The smell of cordite from the rifle and her muffled hearing after the blasts sent her straight back to an illegal fireworks night years ago in a cold backyard somewhere.
The Shifting Light Page 33