‘Maybe he’s come back for me. Unfinished business.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. Roth is a professional, not the sort to bear a grudge.’
‘Not even for the man who shot him?’
Now she was smiling. ‘You’re letting your paranoia get the better of you.’
‘So those guys behind us, you don’t think Roth sent them to kill me?’
‘Not those muppets. They’re not the sort that Roth would hire. He gets mercenaries, soldiers, trained killers. If he’d wanted to hit you, you’d be on a slab, not Harding. And they wouldn’t leave a burning cigarette on the table.’
‘So where was Roth before this week?’
‘We always assumed he was still with McCann in Macau.’
‘You assumed?’
‘We don’t have any intelligence. We made some enquiries with the Macau police but they blanked us. All we got was that McCann is living at the Penglai Island Casino as the personal guest of the owners.’
‘So why don’t you go get him?’
‘Because we still don’t have a warrant for him, even if we could get through all the Chinese red tape to get him extradited. Currently he’s only wanted for bankruptcy hearings and for questioning about trading irregularities. The receivers are still chasing assets they reckon he’s squirrelled away offshore. If they find them, they might be able to persuade the prosecutors to charge him with fraud, but they keep getting stalled at every turn by McCann’s lawyers.’
‘Can’t the Macau police take him in for questioning?’
‘They are too cowed by the casino owners, the Lau family. Rich, powerful, connected. The police walked into the casino and requested an interview with McCann and the next day the Chief of Police was hauled before the Secretary of Justice and given a spanking. That’s the kind of reach the Laus have.’
‘Is Diane still there with McCann?’
She turned and looked at him now. He was massaging his knuckles, then his hand went to his shoulder and rubbed it.
‘I thought you were all healed?’ she said.
‘Yeah, the wounds are fine. They just twinge sometimes when I think about these things. Is Diane in Macau?’
‘As far as I know. We have no interest in your wife.’
‘No interest?’
She saw the pain in his eyes; the memory of his wife leaving him for McCann was etched into his face. She put out a hand towards the steering wheel, as if to lay it on his, but pulled it back.
‘They found Diane’s business partner, Matthew Walsh,’ she said. ‘He’s dead.’
He looked at her, his eyes wide.
‘His jeep went into a ravine, some place in Indonesia, up in the jungle somewhere. One of those islands, I forget which. When they found him he was still strapped in his seat.’
‘An accident?’
‘Yeah. Maybe. There wasn’t much of him left to be able to tell. He’d been there for weeks. Animals had been at him. They identified him from his wallet.’
‘So what does that mean for Diane?’
‘McCann’s lawyers are still claiming that the geologist’s report on the Gwardar mine was prepared by Walsh, and that McCann thought it was genuine. Until they’ve done independent drilling to show that the claims of a new gold discovery there were bogus, and that McCann profited by speculating on his own company, then there’s nothing for the police to do.’
‘But he made a shitload of money.’
‘He’s claiming it bankrupted him. Until they can track down the offshore companies he used to trade his own shares, there’s no proof.’
‘And they can’t prove Diane wrote that report?’
‘Ford, you’re the only one who still thinks that. Everyone else is losing interest.’
The man with the flags spun them around his head to get their attention, then waved them through with a flourish and disappeared into his hut. Ford drove slowly away from the edge of the pit and onto a track that weaved between spoil heaps. They were into rolling scrubland before Ford spoke again.
‘So this Chinese guy watching us, leaving his foreign fag-ends to burn a hole in my Formica, you reckon he’s from Macau?’
‘It’s a reasonable assumption.’
‘So if he’s not working for Roth, who?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘So please tell me you have some sort of plan.’
Kavanagh sighed. ‘I got nothing, except to keep you out of trouble and wait for Roth to show himself.’
‘Are you dangling me out on a piece of string, hoping he’ll take a bite at me?’
‘That’s your paranoia talking.You still drinking?’
‘I have to blow zero at the mine. I’m not drinking. Is that what you mean by keeping me out of trouble?’
‘I meant that I’ll protect you from whatever enemies present themselves and, since you’re your own worst enemy, that includes protecting you from your own self-destructive tendencies.’
‘You sound like my wife.’
She didn’t answer that.
The road straightened out and they could see where it joined the Great Northern Highway, their progress blocked by a high chain-link fence and gate. Ford jumped out, swung the gate open then climbed back to drive through. Once he had closed the gate, he had his phone in his hand.
‘Hi Suzi, it’s Gareth. Yeah, I know that. I got delayed. I owe you. Look, I’m driving past in exactly five minutes, and I’m in a real hurry. Could you have Grace waiting on the driveway so we can make a quick getaway? Yeah, it sounds weird, but it’s been that kind of a day.Yeah, five minutes.’
He put down his phone and, turning south onto the highway, accelerated towards town.
SIX
Ford saw his daughter as soon as he turned the corner, standing in the sun at the end of the cracked concrete driveway, as tall as the faded steel mailbox and leaning at the same angle, pulled over by the pink overnight bag slung on her shoulder. He could read her defiance in the way her arms were crossed in front of her chest, her elbows jutting out. She held her head high towards the oncoming car, squinting into the sunlight, her wayward blonde hair scattering the harsh light like a dazzling halo. She was dressed in a faded blue pinafore dress, bare legs scabbed at the knees and dotted with bruises and mosquito bites, her feet stuck into canvas sneakers that were scuffed and torn. Her neck was bare and the sun had turned it a dark honey colour, almost as golden as the chain that hung around it, carrying the small gold nugget. Her folded arms bore temporary tattoos of flowers and ponies that she always begged Suzi to stick on. Ford had asked Suzi not to give her any more but, once Ford was out of sight, his daughter was not to be denied.
He stopped the Toyota at the end of the drive and jumped out. Grace’s brows were knitted into a frown. When he thought she had finished punishing him for being late, he went down on one knee and spread his arms open wide. She held the frown for a few seconds, showing him how stubborn she could be, then her face broke into a smile and she ran to him.
She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in the collar of his shirt. She smelled of fresh soap, something floral and slightly medicinal.
‘Daddy, why didn’t you pick me up this morning?’ she said.
‘Sorry, sweetheart. I got busy with something. Did Suzi look after you?’
‘She said you phoned. She was worried about you.’
Ford held her tight, stood up and swung her around just to hear her laugh.
‘Upside down!’ she squealed, but Ford scooped her up and carried her to the car. He strapped her in the back seat and when she looked into his face, her eyes clear and without fear, he took strength from that. He kissed the top of her head and inhaled her scent.
When Ford stood back to close the door, Grace saw Kavanagh for the first time. They stared at each other for a few moments, neither sure what to make of the other. Eventually Grace recognised something of herself in Kavanagh’s pale blue eyes and blonde hair and smiled. Kavanagh smiled back and they left it at that. They s
at in silence, watching Ford walk up the driveway to talk to Suzi, a shapeless woman in a sagging tracksuit, her face tired and washed out.
She spoke quietly to Ford, a voice of hushed conspiracy. ‘You don’t need to explain. Word has already gone around town. Police at your house, then an ambulance.’ The spark of curiosity and excitement in her eyes was obvious to Ford.
‘Thanks,’ he said. He could think of nothing. He waited to see if she had anything else to say, but all she could offer him was a weak smile, so he turned and walked back to the car.
He sat behind the wheel. ‘Grace, this is a friend of mine,’ he said. ‘Her name is Rose.’
Kavanagh snapped her head around at the sound of her first name, scowling at him, and Ford noticed the similarity with his daughter: the blonde hair, the knitted forehead, the narrowed eyelids, the fierceness. It wasn’t something he’d ever noticed in his wife, so he wondered if these were traits that Grace had inherited from him, and that he had responded to in Kavanagh. She caught him staring and wiped the scowl from her face, replacing it with an approximation of a smile.
‘I have roses on my arm,’ said Grace, stretching her hand towards Kavanagh to show her the tattoos.
‘So you do,’ said Kavanagh. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Grace. How old are you?’
‘I’m six,’ she said, and smiled with pride.
‘Then you’ve had a birthday since I last saw you. Do you remember me?’
‘We met one time before,’ said Grace, her gaze steady.
‘Yes,’ said Kavanagh. ‘Yes, we did.’
Ford noticed the look that passed between them. He remembered the fear on his daughter’s face as she had hung on to him in the aircraft hangar, surrounded by men and guns, and wondered how a girl could have such strength and calm inside her to be able to watch her mother board a plane and leave without her.
He drove off down the street, checking his mirrors again, and didn’t start to relax until he had turned the corner, away from Suzi’s stare. He swung into Newman Drive then took a sharp left into the Seasons Hotel. He parked in the driveway under the shade of a tree and left the engine running as he undid his seat belt and opened the door.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Kavanagh.
‘See if I can find us some rooms. I’ve been in these work clothes for nearly twenty-four hours and I’m starting to hum. The pool looks good.’
She grabbed his arm and dug her fingers into his bicep. Leaning towards him, she spoke quietly and firmly. ‘How long do you think it will take those guys to find us here? We’re right in the centre of town.’
‘All the hotels are in the centre of town. This town only has a centre.’
‘Then we need to stay out of town.’
Ford sat back down and closed the door. He looked at his daughter and smiled, and through his gritted teeth tried to mimic Kavanagh’s calm tone.
‘The next town with a hotel is Hedland, and that’s four hours north. Or we could head south to Meekatharra, which would take just as long. What exactly is your plan?’
‘Those places are too far away. We need to stay close to Newman, wait to see how this plays out.’
‘That doesn’t sound like much of a strategy.’
‘Where else can we go?’
‘The Capricorn Roadhouse is ten kilometres south of town on the highway.’
‘Do they have rooms?’
‘Yeah, but it’s pretty basic. It’s a truck stop. We occasionally put guys in there when the rest of town is booked up and they whinge like crazy. There are a few brick units out the back and a camp site. Communal bathrooms. Not what I feel like just at this moment.’
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
Ford thought about it for a minute, then saw Kavanagh’s expression.
‘Let’s not sit around in plain view,’ she said. ‘It’s only a matter of time before they start searching for us.’
Ford took the highway south across the plain, the road passing through red sandy country dotted with sparse trees. They passed the airport and on a long straight stretch, as they passed a road train pulling three fuel tankers, he pointed out the sign that said they were crossing the Tropic of Capricorn.
They pulled into the roadhouse a few minutes later; nobody had said anything. Ford stopped on a broad gravel hardstand beside the highway, crowded with semitrailers and road trains, low-loaders carrying mining equipment north, and a handful of tourist caravans. He parked the Toyota in the shadow of an ore truck that was trussed onto the back of a low-loader, facing backwards and stripped of wheels and tray. He glanced over his shoulder at Grace, who was rummaging in her bag and pulling out her toy ponies. Kavanagh was watching her, a distant expression of fascination on her face.
‘I’ll see what accommodation I can find. Anyone hungry?’
Kavanagh shook her head. Grace watched her and then copied the gesture, shaking her head wildly, her hair flying from side to side.
Ford crossed the forecourt, pushing through the glass doors into the roadhouse. It was busy for late afternoon, truckers buying fuel and eating at the diner. He looked down the crowded counter and caught the attention of a middle-aged woman with a face flushed pink from the heat of the kitchen.
‘Who do I see about accommodation?’ he asked.
She offered him a thin smile and waved him down to the till at the end of the counter, where she took out a battered leather folder and started running a finger down the names and dates.
‘You’re in luck,’ she said. ‘Late cancellation. It’s been busy. All these blokes coming through for the shutdown. Like getting a bed in Bethlehem.’
‘How many beds?’
‘Just a single.’
‘En suite?’
She looked at him and rolled her eyes. ‘You want it or not?’
He nodded and gave her his credit card. She swiped it, then handed him a worn brass key on a heavy wooden fob, the room number burnt into it. He was opening his mouth to ask directions to the units when she jerked her thumb to the right then turned her attention to a trucker waving at her from the other end of the counter.
Ford stepped out from the smell of fried food and stewed coffee into the hot air saturated with petrol fumes and diesel smoke, and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen, but didn’t recognise the number. He walked away from the fuel pumps and found a bench under the shade of the verandah before he hit the answer button. ‘Hello,’ he said.
There was silence on the other end. He looked at the screen to check he had a connection. ‘Hello?’
‘Gareth?’ It was a woman’s voice, distant, the signal breaking up.
‘Yes, it is.’ His voice was hesitant, his mind making connections, trying to place the familiar voice.
As soon as he recognised it, she said, ‘Gareth, it’s Diane.’
SEVEN
He looked across the forecourt to where the LandCruiser was parked. The windows were too high for him to see anything of Grace except a swirl of blonde hair, but Kavanagh was watching him.
‘Gareth? Are you still there?’ Her voice was clearer now; she seemed much closer.
‘Yes, I’m here,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in Australia, in Broome.’
Kavanagh was waving to him now, trying to get his attention, beckoning him towards the car. He shook his head.
‘Who are you with?’ he said.
She paused. ‘I’m on my own,’ she said hesitantly.
‘So where is McCann?’ He heard the tone in his voice and didn’t like it. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
‘Alan’s not here,’ said Diane, her voice faltering now. ‘That’s why I’m here. I’ve left him.’
‘Left him in Macau?’
‘Left him for good. Things have changed.’
‘You’re not fucking wrong,’ he said, then caught himself and took a moment. ‘Why are you calling me?’ He was keeping his voice steady, concentrating on making it sound neutra
l. There was silence, but he decided to wait for her to think about her answer.
‘I guess you have a right to be angry,’ she said. ‘But right now I need you to drop the tone and listen. I need your help.’
‘You might want to begin that sentence again. Next time maybe you could start it with an apology.’
‘I don’t have time for that now.’
‘Ten years together, you never say sorry once. Now would be a good time to start. Start with an apology for leaving us, and work backwards from there.’
‘Please, Gareth, there’s a lot I have to explain,’ she said. He could hear her breathing down the phone, quick and shallow. ‘It needs more than a phone call to explain it. I want to tell it to your face.’
‘You don’t need to explain it to me, you need to tell Grace. You should worry about whether she is going to forgive you. I doubt you care whether I will.’
‘Is Grace with you?’ Her voice was urgent.
He looked across to the car. Kavanagh had turned in her seat, talking to Grace in the back, her head bobbing up and down like she might be laughing.
‘She’s right here with me now,’ said Ford.
‘I want to see her,’ said Diane. ‘Can you bring her to me?’
‘Back up a little here. This doesn’t get solved in a phone call. You don’t get to carry on as if nothing’s happened. You don’t get her back just because you ask.’
‘I’m not asking for her back, Gareth. I’m just asking to see her.’
‘And why would I let you do that?’
She paused again. He could hear background noise down the line: voices, a radio maybe. He waited.
‘What happened was not what I wanted,’ she said. ‘I need the opportunity to explain that to you.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Not on the phone. You, who never wants to talk on the phone. Now you want chapter and verse?’
He looked at his reflection in the window of the roadhouse. ‘You need to explain it to the police, too,’ he said.
‘I’ll do that. I want to do that. I want to hand myself in.’
‘There’s a police station in Broome. Just walk right in.’
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