Marble Bar

by Robert Schofield

  ‘This is my wife Anna,’ said Saxon. ‘And this is Grace,’ he said to his wife. ‘She’d like to help you with your baking.’ Ford watched the expression change in Anna’s eyes though her smile remained fixed, and he saw her communicate silently with her husband, as if it was a routine they had repeated many times with many different children. ‘I just need some time to speak to the grown-ups,’ said Saxon quietly.

  His wife acknowledged him with her eyes and then crouched down to Grace’s level. ‘And how old are you, Grace?’ she said.

  ‘I’m six,’ said Grace. ‘Are you going to have a baby?’

  The policeman’s wife nodded and took Grace’s hand and led her into the kitchen, speaking softly to her as they disappeared through the door, a vision of domestic stability that Ford had forgotten. Saxon turned to wave Ford and Kavanagh back through the front door.

  They walked back to the station in silence, Saxon returning to his chair in the office, swinging on it impatiently as they stepped into the room.

  ‘Do you normally take children with you on an investigation?’ he said.

  Kavanagh pulled out a chair from under the empty desk and ignored the police officer’s question. ‘Where’s your sergeant?’ she asked.

  Saxon hesitated. ‘He’s still on a call out east. Trouble at one of the remote communities. He’s out there waiting for the flying doctor, and they’ll need social services as well. Clusterfuck. He might be back tomorrow, but it’s a long drive.’

  ‘Everything happens slowly around here.’

  ‘The locals live on Bar time here,’ said Saxon. ‘You’d better get used to it. Judgement Day itself will be a day later in Marble Bar.’

  ‘Wouldn’t your sergeant normally be living in the station house?’ asked Kavanagh.

  ‘He’s single. He gave up the house to us, what with the baby and all. He’s got lodgings in the town, which worked out well for him now he’s knocking the landlady.’

  ‘What about the senior constable?’

  ‘He’s in lodgings too, but without the benefits.’

  ‘I mean, where is he?’

  ‘On the same call as the boss.’

  ‘So you’re in the chair?’

  ‘That a problem for you?’

  Kavanagh let the pressure drop before she said calmly, ‘These two guys we want, one is huge, Maori, facial tattoos. Built like a rugby player. The other one is Chinese, small, pudding-bowl haircut. Both dressed in black suits and ties in this heat.’ She waited for Saxon to take that in and then she said, ‘Have you heard any reports of these guys in the last couple of days?’

  Saxon didn’t break eye contact with her. ‘You got names for these characters?’

  ‘Only first names, Bronson and Wu, although those could be last names, I don’t know.’

  Saxon looked at his computer and shrugged. ‘That’s not much help.’

  Kavanagh sighed. ‘I reckon if these guys had made any trouble in Marble Bar, you’d have heard about it.’

  ‘I was out of town yesterday,’ said Saxon. ‘You sure these guys are here?’

  ‘I know they are. Both were in the Ironclad yesterday, and we saw the Chinese guy on the way here,’ said Kavanagh.

  ‘So what are you asking me?’

  ‘I’m trying to find where they are staying, and whether I have grounds to bring them in. They may have stolen a vehicle to get here, a ute, but I don’t have the index. Probably flogged it in Nullagine.’

  Saxon’s face brightened and he swivelled his chair to face his computer. He tapped at the keyboard and stared at the data scrolling across the screen. He leaned back in his chair when he found what they wanted. ‘Old Bill Webster reported his ute missing from outside the Conglomerate yesterday,’ he said. ‘Battered old Nissan tray-top. He was having his lunch at the hotel, mostly liquid. Silly old bugger always leaves the keys in it in case someone else needs to drive him home. Constable at Nullagine reckoned it was just some kids joy riding. It happens regularly. Ute normally shows up a couple of days later with goon bags on the seat and used condoms on the floor.’

  ‘And if Bronson and Wu are in town, where might they stay?’

  ‘There’s only the Ironclad and the Traveller’s Rest, or the caravan park.’

  ‘You done your patrol this morning?’

  ‘I thought you said you saw them already?’

  ‘I need to know why they are in Marble Bar, who they know here.’

  ‘That’s not the sort of data they keep on the server.’

  Kavanagh thought for a moment. ‘Does the town have any links with Alan McCann?’

  ‘That millionaire bloke?’ said Saxon, scratching his head. ‘Didn’t he skip the country? Went broke or something, after that robbery out at his mine?’

  His eyes widened. He looked at Ford and back to Kavanagh, then his face cracked into a broad smile that showed his teeth.

  ‘You’re still chasing the gold from that robbery,’ he said. He looked at Ford again. ‘I thought your name sounded familiar. Here’s me wondering why she’s dragging a civilian round with her and now I know. You were the dropkick they set up as the inside man.’

  Ford leaned against the doorframe, staring at his feet. When he looked up Saxon was still grinning at him. ‘Well done,’ he said, ‘you pieced it together.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Saxon. ‘We’re not all stupid out here in the country, eh?’ He turned to Kavanagh. ‘Eight more months of my country service and I’ll be back in the city and sitting my detective exams. Then I’ll be a DC like you.’

  Kavanagh forced a smile. ‘Keep up the good work with us and I’ll put in a word for you,’ she said. ‘Now what do you know about McCann? Any links around here?’

  ‘You reckon this homicide is linked to the robbery?’

  Kavanagh sighed, blowing out her cheeks. ‘Let’s go with that. I need you to check whether there was anything discovered on the post-mortem.’

  Saxon spun back to the computer. ‘What’s the name?’

  ‘Joshua Harding. Died in Newman the day before yesterday.’

  He tapped furiously at the keyboard, his face close to the screen, his head moving side to side as he searched the data.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said, triumphant. ‘The doctor in Newman still hasn’t signed a death certificate. Can’t determine the cause of death. No trauma except for some bruising to the face, chest and arms consistent with a fistfight. No head or neck injury. Heart and lungs appeared normal, initial tox screen only showed high blood alcohol. They’ve shipped the body to Perth at the request of the investigating officer.’

  Kavanagh stood up and leaned over Saxon’s shoulder to read the screen, her forehead scrunched, her eyes squinting in confusion. She pulled her phone from her pocket and thumbed the screen, then turned and pushed past Ford into the corridor.

  Ford followed her out the front door. She was leaning against the rough stone wall of the building, listening to her phone ring. Ford waved his hand in front of her face to get her attention and pointed to his ear to let her know he wanted to listen. She scowled at him, then tapped the phone to put it on speaker.

  ‘Perth Gazette,’ said a voice on the phone.

  ‘Alannah Doyle, please.’

  The receptionist didn’t reply; there was a click followed by a different ring tone.

  ‘Doyle,’ said Alannah, her voice muffled, the general murmur and clatter of a newsroom behind her.

  ‘Alannah, it’s Rose,’ said Kavanagh, her voice brusque. Ford wondered what threshold he needed to cross before she allowed him to use her first name.

  ‘Why don’t you ever call me at home?’ said Doyle, a laugh in her voice.

  ‘Sorry, this is business. Have you made any progress finding McCann’s assets?’

  The line went quiet, muffled again, and then Doyle was back.

  ‘We thought we were close,’ she said. ‘We tracked down most of his money and share holdings to an account in Liechtenstein, but as soon as we started talking to the local autho
rities McCann shifted it all to Macau. We haven’t been able to find it there.’

  ‘Is McCann still in Macau?’

  ‘He is, but he’s making noises about coming back to Australia. His lawyer’s been sending out press releases saying that the Securities Commission has no evidence against him, and that he’s going to refloat his company.’

  ‘Using his overseas money?’

  ‘He’s still denying those funds ever existed. We reckon he laundered it all in Macau. He’s staying at the Penglai Island Casino over there, the personal guest of the Lau family, and we think they’ve converted all his assets to cash through the casino, or through their other businesses. They are one of the big families over there, into everything. They have a couple of casinos, and all sorts of stuff on the Chinese mainland. Shipping, steel, electronics, plastics. They’ve even got into sheep and beef imports. McCann’s been boasting that the Lau family are his new partners. They’re putting up the cash to help him refloat. We just can’t work out if it’s their money or his. What’s your sudden interest after all this time? Where are you?’

  Kavanagh looked at Ford. ‘I’m in Marble Bar,’ she said. ‘With Gareth Ford.’

  ‘Have you found something up there?’

  ‘Not yet, but I reckon we’re close. Do you know of any connection between McCann and Marble Bar?’

  ‘There’s bound to be something,’ said Doyle. ‘He has gold and iron ore leases all over the Pilbara, all of which are still owned by his Glycon Corporation and are in receivership. He’s got some pastoral leases and some parcels of land adjoining the harbour at Hedland.’

  ‘I didn’t know he was into farming.’

  ‘Shit yeah,’ said Doyle. ‘They go way back. McCann grew up on a cattle property west of Newman, place called Jarra Jarra. He still considers himself a simple farm boy at heart, likes to have his picture taken in a big hat, mustering cattle, show his common touch. When he first made his money he bought up a heap of pastoral leases in that country and started talking about restocking them, but then he got into property development and forgot about it.’

  ‘Are those leases held by Glycon?’

  ‘No,’ said Doyle, ‘he has another company called Ophion that escaped the receivers because it was held by a family trust.’

  ‘And does that company own anything in Marble Bar?’

  ‘I can answer that one for you.’ The voice came from behind them, and both Ford and Kavanagh turned to see Saxon standing in the doorway. He had his hands on his hips, the fingers of his right hand resting lightly on the butt of his pistol. Ford noticed that the strap across the top of the holster was still fastened. ‘Kill the phone,’ he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes were alert, swinging from Ford to Kavanagh and back again. ‘Come back inside,’ he said. He stepped out of the doorway to let them past, then followed them down the corridor to the office.

  Ford and Kavanagh leaned against the mantelpiece trying to look relaxed. Ford raised an eyebrow and she gave him a small shake of her head, holding a hand out level, the fingers splayed, letting him know he had to keep cool. Saxon blocked the door, his hands still on his hips, thumbs tucked in his belt, his fingers trembling slightly next to his gun. Ford wondered how many times he had drawn it.

  ‘I just phoned Newman to ask about the homicide,’ said Saxon. ‘Spoke to the sergeant there.’

  ‘Eley?’ asked Kavanagh.

  ‘That’s him. He said you were there the day before yesterday. After you left he phoned the Gold Squad, see if they could tell him what the fuck you were doing poking your nose around a suspicious death.’

  Kavanagh was restless now, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, avoiding Ford’s gaze. ‘They told Eley you are currently under suspension.’

  She looked at Ford now, tilting her head to one side, raising her eyes to the ceiling and biting her lip. It was the first time Ford had seen her try to act coy, and she couldn’t pull it off. Ford’s eyes moved down to the bulge that the Russian pistol made in the back of Kavanagh’s jeans. She pulled her shirt down over it and tried a dismissive shrug, but when she saw what little effect it had, her face turned hard.

  ‘So what are you going to do, kiddo?’ she said. ‘You going to help me or are you going to play boy scout and wait for your sergeant to come take care of you?’

  ‘I can’t help you,’ he said, dropping his hand from his hip, his voice quiet.

  ‘You already did,’ said Kavanagh. ‘You accessed those files for me. You’re into it now. Best tell me what you know of Ophion.’

  Saxon sat down in his chair and put his head in his hands. ‘They own quite a bit of pastoral property round here. Absentee landlords. I knew the name, but not that they were linked to McCann until I heard you on the phone.’

  ‘What’s the closest property of theirs to Marble Bar?’

  ‘Corunna Downs Station,’ said Saxon. ‘It’s an old rundown homestead about forty kilometres south of town.’

  ‘And who lives there?’ said Kavanagh, enjoying having control of the situation again.

  ‘A couple of guys. They’re supposed to be looking after the place, but the homestead has gone to shit.’

  ‘When was the last time you went there?’

  ‘Maybe six weeks ago. We had a complaint about stock wandering on to neighbouring land looking for pasture. That was the start of the dry season. They should’ve been putting fodder out for them.’

  ‘So that’s where we’ll start,’ said Kavanagh.

  ‘Not me,’ said Saxon. ‘I’ve made enough trouble for myself without wandering on to the property without a warrant.’

  ‘I’m Gold Squad. I don’t need a warrant,’ said Kavanagh, standing taller, walking slowly to the door.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Saxon, looking up, his face defeated. ‘You and the Fisheries Department, you guys can walk in anywhere you like. Does that privilege extend to officers that are suspended?’

  Kavanagh ignored him and waved at Ford to follow her.

  ‘It’ll be forty degrees out there before midday,’ said Saxon. ‘You can’t take that little girl out there in this heat. You can’t put her in the way of whatever shit you think will clear your name.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Ford. ‘She’s seen enough.’

  ‘She can stay here,’ said Saxon. ‘Anna is used to blow-ins. We get all sorts of kids stopping with us. Welfare mostly.’

  Kavanagh looked at Ford and he nodded. ‘I’ll go back to the house on the way out. Tell her we’ll be back before the biscuits have cooled.’

  As they stepped through the door Saxon called them back. ‘You guys ever been out bush on a day as hot as this?’

  Kavanagh smiled. ‘I’m from Kalgoorlie, buddy.’

  ‘Even so, you get lost out here without water you’ve got less than an hour. Make sure you have plenty of fuel, water and spare tyres.’

  ‘We know all about tyres,’ said Ford.

  ‘You’re a Pom, right?’ said Saxon. When Ford nodded he said, ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.’

  Kavanagh glowered at him. ‘You calling me a dog?’

  SEVENTEEN

  Ford looked through the windscreen to where the road ended just beyond the station house. ‘This road is a dead end,’ he said, starting the engine and turning up the air-conditioner to its highest setting. ‘I hope that cop gave you some decent directions.’

  She stared at him over the top of her sunglasses. ‘Head east out of town, then take the first road south. It’s signposted to Corunna Downs. I think we’ll get there without a GPS.’

  Ford drove back down to the main street. He turned right and looked up the hill towards the church, but there was nobody around. As he passed the gas station he checked his fuel gauge and was happy to see it nearly full, the temperature gauge reading normal. The door of the Ironclad was closed when they passed, the storm shutters still on the windows. As they crawled slowly through the town both Ford and Kavanagh looked right and left. Kavanagh picked u
p the shotgun and pulled off the blanket, resting the gun upright between her knees, her hand grasping the barrel. ‘This town seems even more dead on a Sunday,’ she said.

  ‘Looking at the state of the church, I don’t think this town pays any heed to the Sabbath,’ said Ford.

  ‘God abandoned them a long time ago.’

  They reached the edge of town without anything moving apart from the heat haze rippling off the bitumen, and Ford could sense Kavanagh relaxing in the seat beside him.

  She laid the shotgun flat along the dashboard, then took the pistol from the back of her jeans and put it in the glove box.

  Ford looked across at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were suspended?’

  She took off her hat, laid it flat on the seat beside her, and ran a hand through her hair. It looked damp with sweat, and lay slick against her head, her fingers leaving ridges in it. ‘Because it was none of your business.’

  ‘Was that why you couldn’t bring a gun or handcuffs with you?’

  She didn’t answer, instead slapping the dashboard and waving at the narrow sign that pointed off to their right. ‘That’s our road,’ she said.

  Ford made the turn on to the gravel road, centred the steering wheel, and waited to see if she would answer.

  They were already into dry rocky country before she spoke, the road winding between sharp outcrops, stunted trees clinging to the slopes, spinifex and buffel grass struggling upwards between boulders. ‘It’s bullshit,’ she said, looking out the window at the barren landscape, holding the handle above the door and swaying with the motion of the cab as Ford negotiated the potholes in the road. ‘The stories that Alannah was running about McCann, there were little details in there about the police investigations, or lack of them. The top brass figured someone in the department was leaking stuff to the newspaper. They looked at Alannah, found out that we were friends, and decided I was the culprit. Then they suspended me.’