Diane turned and her eyes were wet. ‘In Macau money is like sand. The Laus make millions every week from the casino. Alan thinks he’s been admitted to the table but they treat him as a small-time player. They’ll just keep raising the stakes, betting higher until he’s broke.’
‘Success has ruined many a man,’ said Kavanagh. ‘So what’s your deal with the Lau family?’
Diane swallowed, took a minute to compose herself, and when she spoke she turned to her husband. ‘Alan needed a partner, someone to bail him out.The Laus were his first choice but there have been other people circling him, mainland people with government and Communist Party connections. Alan can’t develop his iron ore tenements without cash, and he needs the cooperation of whoever has that gold lease. The Laus want to make sure he deals with them. They’ll inject capital into Alan’s company to refloat it, but they want his iron ore. The family has industrial and shipping companies, as well as the casinos.’
‘And what do you get?’ asked Ford.
‘I peg the gold claim for them, and they help me get away from Alan. They’ll help me resettle somewhere else.’
‘And help you get your daughter back,’ said Kavanagh.
Diane kept her eyes on Ford. ‘I want to go to England, Gareth. I want you and Grace to come with me.’
Ford felt a hand on his chest pushing him backwards. He kept his eyes on his wife but the pressure became enough for him to look down at the nails digging into him. It was Kavanagh, and when he took a step backwards, she stepped between him and his wife.
‘While you think about this,’ she said, ‘you might want to remember that guy in Newman. Harding. The guy you found dead on your couch. That was supposed to be you.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Diane.
Kavanagh twisted to look at her. ‘So why did Wu kill him?’ she hissed.
‘We know it was him. He left one of his counterfeit Chinese cigarettes on the kitchen table,’ said Ford.
Bronson looked down at his hands, massaging his knuckles, then straightened the cuffs of his shirt, took off his sunglasses and stared at Ford. Wu didn’t react; he was still standing holding the umbrella perfectly still, feet planted shoulder-width apart, his weight on the balls of his feet. If he knew they were talking about him, he chose not to show it.
‘Wu was waiting in your house,’ said Bronson. ‘I was following you from work. We wanted to know where the girl was. That other guy comes home first and Wu is stuck in the house. He tries to leave, walks right past your man, but the guy, he flips out, starts laying into Wu. Punching and kicking. The guy thought he had some moves, you know the type. A few karate lessons and the guy thinks he’s Jackie Chan. He’s too slow and too big for the martial arts stuff, but not big enough to put any weight behind a punch. Just a pub brawler, your guy. Wu gives him a few slaps round the head to calm him down but the dude keeps coming, so Wu punches him hard in the chest and the guy goes down. He doesn’t get up again.’
‘He killed him with one punch?’ said Kavanagh.
‘Yeah,’ said Bronson. ‘Surprised the fuck out of Wu. He’s never seen it happen. He’s heard about it, of course, all that kung fu shit about dim mak, the Touch of Death. He even had some old guy on the mainland tell him he could teach him all that. Wu reckoned it was all just bullshido until he saw that guy shrivel and drop.’
Ford looked at Wu. He was still motionless, his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. ‘Is he going to claim self-defence then?’ asked Ford.
‘It’s not like it’s ever going to get to court,’ said Bronson. ‘Although I’d like to hear your girl say she’s going to arrest us again. I enjoyed that.’
Diane stepped between Bronson and Wu, pulled herself to her full height and spoke directly into Kavanagh’s face. ‘I want to see Grace,’ she said. ‘That’s the deal. Let me see her and I’ll give you everything you need on Alan.’
Kavanagh laughed. ‘You think I’m keeping you from your daughter? I’m not her guardian and I’m not your husband’s. Personally, I think you should let him go while he’s still got a chance. But whatever you need to sort out about your daughter or your marriage can all be dealt with after I’ve got my job back.’
Ford tried to gauge the expression in Diane’s eyes. The last time he had seen her had been in the aircraft hangar, and the look in her eyes had been the same: helpless and pleading. He was going to ask her once more about England, but decided not to make her lie to him again.
He turned and looked up the road at the blue sign outside the police station and Saxon’s ute parked outside.
‘Follow me,’ he said.
TWENTY-SIX
Ford led them up the street in the shade of the stone façade until they came to the heavy white door of the police station. It was locked, and a small hand-written sign said that the station was closed and gave a phone number.
‘You left her with the police?’ said Diane.
‘She’s been under police protection all weekend,’ said Kavanagh, looking up the street to where the police wagon was parked outside the residence. She tapped Ford on the shoulder and nodded towards it.
Ford set off again and the others followed in single file, Kavanagh at his shoulder and Bronson close behind. Wu brought up the rear, holding the umbrella over Diane’s head, keeping them both in shade. Ford strode through the open gate and straight to the door.
There was a bell but he didn’t use it. The door opened when he turned the handle and he walked down the corridor towards the kitchen and the smell of fresh coffee. His boots thumped on the bare floorboards and as the others came through the front door, their footsteps echoed down the hallway.
When he reached the kitchen Ford looked to his left and saw the constable’s wife leaning against the kitchen bench beside the stove, wiping her hands on the apron that was straining against her pregnant belly. On his right was the kitchen table. Saxon sat on the far side, his back to the wall, a plate of sausages and scrambled eggs in front of him. He wore his uniform, his knife and fork held upright either side of the plate, his eyes flicking in turn from Ford to each person who followed him into the kitchen. Grace was sitting on the chair closest to the door, her back to Ford. She glanced over her shoulder at him when he came in, still chewing, her fork in the air, and her eyes lit up. She saw Kavanagh behind him and her mouth broke into a grin, showing food between her teeth. Ford watched her smile melt away when she saw Bronson, her eyes narrowing in confusion, and then popping wide and her mouth forming a perfect circle of surprise when her mother walked in. She let out a sharp cry, dropped her cutlery onto her plate and tumbled out of the chair screaming ‘Mama!’ She ducked between Ford’s and Kavanagh’s legs and threw herself at her mother. Diane caught her in the air and scooped her upwards into her arms, and Grace wrapped her arms and legs around her mother, burying her face in her neck. Diane spun her around, squeezing her, coming to a stop facing Wu, who was standing in the doorway, patiently closing the umbrella.
Bronson stepped up to the kitchen table and looked across at Saxon’s plate. ‘A little late for breakfast, isn’t it?’ he said.
Ford walked to the kitchen counter and glanced out the window at the bare backyard. He turned, and from that angle could see that Saxon was wearing his police belt, and that he had released the strap over the top of his holster. His fingers were tapping lightly on the grip of his Glock, his eyes tracking from Bronson to Wu and back again. Saxon caught Ford’s eye and Ford nodded to let him know these were the guys, and when Saxon leaned forward and made to stand Ford shook his head and waved him back down with the slightest motion of his palm.
Saxon sighed. ‘I was at work until after dark looking for you two,’ he said, pushing aside his plate. ‘We got a call about a fire out at Corunna Downs, column of smoke that could be seen from town. I went out there, found the remains of your car at the airfield, and a plane, still smouldering. I spent most of yesterday searching for you.’
‘Did you go to the homestead?’ asked Kavanagh.
‘You couldn’t manage a phone call?’ This was Saxon’s wife, and Bronson turned to look at her, taking in the bulging apron. She nodded towards Grace. ‘We didn’t know what to tell her.’
Grace looked over her mother’s shoulder at her father. ‘I slept in a bunk bed,’ she said. Diane whispered something in her daughter’s ear and Ford could see the tears in his wife’s eyes.
‘They were caught in difficult circumstances,’ said Bronson, reaching across the table to lift a sausage off Saxon’s plate. ‘A situation that has yet to improve.’ He ate the sausage in two bites and licked the grease off his fingers. ‘Can I smell coffee?’ he said.
‘We made pancakes for breakfast,’ said Grace.
Ford turned to Saxon’s wife and she made an effort to smile and make it look relaxed. ‘She insisted,’ she said. ‘She showed me how to roll them exactly how she likes them.’
Diane sat down at the table with Grace still clinging to her. She put her hand on her daughter’s hair, her fingers tracing the intricate twists of her French braid. ‘I like your hair,’ she said.
‘Rose did it,’ said Grace, pulling the end of the braid over her shoulder so she could see it.
Diane looked over at Saxon’s wife. ‘Are you Rose?’ she asked.
‘No, I am,’ said Kavanagh, and sat down at the table opposite Diane and tried to catch Grace’s eye.
‘Rose can ride a horse,’ said Grace, looking across at Kavanagh and smiling. ‘She promised to take me riding.’ Kavanagh wrinkled her nose at Grace and tried not to make eye contact with her mother.
Saxon broke the silence. ‘This is my wife, Anna,’ he said. ‘Sweetheart, why don’t you get everyone some coffee?’
Bronson nodded at this and sat down on the last chair at the table, opposite Saxon. He put both his hands flat on the table. ‘What a delightful idea. We can sit together like one big happy family and talk over all our little disputes.’
Anna picked up the stainless steel coffee pot that was bubbling on the counter next to the stove and brought it to the table. She stood next to Bronson and hesitated. Her husband gave her a small nod, so she set the coffee pot on the table. They all watched her as she laid seven clean mugs and a carton of milk next to the coffee and then stepped back to the sink and waited. Ford stepped back to lean against the kitchen counter, keeping an eye on Wu, who was still standing in the doorway, the furled umbrella hooked over his folded arms. Bronson and Saxon sat watching each other until Bronson said, ‘Shall I be mother?’ When nobody spoke he picked up the coffee and filled each mug, then added milk from the carton. He picked up a mug and drank from it. ‘Mmmm,’ he said, ‘that’s good coffee.’
Saxon reached across and placed a mug in front of Diane and then another for Kavanagh and one for himself. He drank from it, looking over the top of the mug at Kavanagh as he did so, looking for some indication of what he should do. She drank and nodded to him slowly. He thought for a while and then said, ‘I spoke with the station at Newman yesterday. They had the autopsy results from Perth, that case you were asking about.’
Kavanagh nodded again, leading him on.
Saxon swallowed and then continued. ‘It took the pathologist a while to determine the cause of death. In the end he did it by elimination. It was a cardiac arrest, brought on by a sharp blow to the chest, directly in front of the heart.’
Bronson was now staring hard at Saxon over the rim of his coffee cup as he drank. Saxon slowly unbuttoned his shirt pocket and pulled out his notebook. He found the page he wanted and read from it. ‘The doctor called it commotio cordis,’ he said. ‘A blow to the precordial region at a critical time during the cycle of the heart can cause ventricular fibrillation.’ Saxon paused, reading over the last line before he continued. ‘Harding was young, only nineteen. This thing usually only happens in teenagers, adolescent boys. Something to do with the way their heart is still growing.Very rare that this happens.’ He put the notebook down and rested his left hand on it. His right hand went below the table out of sight.
Bronson put down his coffee and grinned. ‘That will come as a great relief to my friend Wu,’ he said. ‘He’s still thinking he’s mastered the quivering palm technique without knowing it.’ He turned to Wu and launched a barrage of quick-fire Cantonese across the kitchen. Wu listened and then nodded once.
Kavanagh watched Saxon frown as he tried to guess what was being said. She said, ‘Wu confessed to me that he killed Harding during a fight after breaking into the house in Newman.’
‘No,’ said Bronson. ‘I told you what happened. A confession would have to come from Wu’s own mouth. Good luck with that.’
Saxon looked from Bronson to Kavanagh, confused, aware that he was being played by both of them.
Kavanagh stood up and reached into the front pocket of her jeans. She took out a balled tissue and laid it on the table. She sat down and unravelled it, then held up the flattened tissue to show Saxon its contents. ‘Two cigarette butts,’ she said. ‘I picked them up from outside the Ironclad, where Wu dropped them. They say Marlboro on the paper above the filter. Australian cigarettes don’t have any branding on them anymore. These are Chinese counterfeits, the same as the one that Wu left burning in the Newman house. They’ll all have the same DNA on them.’
Saxon had his right hand on his holster again. He leaned forward in his chair and shifted his weight, ready to stand.
Bronson glared at him. ‘Just stay sitting down, constable,’ he said. ‘If you try to break up this little family reunion, I’m gonna shove one of them sausages down your throat and a starving dog up your arse.’
Saxon hesitated, but then found his nerve. ‘There was a bulletin put out yesterday,’ he said. ‘A man of Chinese appearance wanted for questioning, black suit, bowl haircut.’ He stood up slowly, pushing his chair back, and in one smooth motion drew his pistol and levelled it at Bronson’s chest. ‘Put your hands flat on the table,’ he said, ‘and stand up.’
Bronson spread his fingers out on the tablecloth but kept his eyes on Saxon. He slowly raised himself out of the chair and, as he pulled himself up to his full height, he lifted his hands, lacing his fingers together behind his head.
Kavanagh stood up quickly and stepped across to the kitchen counter, standing in front of Anna and shielding her. Diane lifted Grace off her chair and carried her over to where Kavanagh was standing, putting a hand over her daughter’s eyes and whispering, ‘Don’t look.’ Kavanagh pushed her towards the door. Diane looked at Ford and he nodded, and she disappeared down the corridor with their daughter.
‘A lot of tension in the room, huh?’ said Bronson.
‘Back up,’ said Saxon. The big Maori took a step sideways towards the back door. His jacket hung open and Saxon’s eyes were on the revolver protruding above Bronson’s belt. Saxon stepped around the table and realised he had placed himself between Bronson and Wu and could not cover both of them. He swung his Glock from one to the other. ‘Take the gun from your pants,’ he barked. Bronson looked at him coolly and shook his head.
‘Martyrdom is for saints,’ said Bronson. ‘You aren’t that. There’s no reason for you to get in the middle of this.’
‘Drop it on the floor,’ said Saxon. He took another step around the table and was now in the centre of the room. He kept his eyes on Bronson.
Wu took three quick steps forward and in the same movement brought the umbrella up and over his head in a swinging arc. He brought it down sharply on Saxon’s gun hand, the metal point striking the wrist and forcing his arm down. Wu whipped back his elbow, withdrew the umbrella and then lunged forward, driving the tip into the soft part of Saxon’s wrist. The Glock clattered to the floor. Anna screamed and stepped forward but Kavanagh held her back, pinning her to the stove. As Saxon turned to face his attacker, Wu swivelled his hips and raised his leg, the kick landing in the m
iddle of Saxon’s chest, knocking him backwards. Saxon sat down heavily on the edge of the table, winded. Wu spun again and the second kick caught Saxon in the throat and sent him sprawling back across the table, sending cutlery and crockery crashing to the floor.
Kavanagh saw her chance. She charged at Bronson, keeping low, her head down. Bronson’s arms were still raised and she got under them, her shoulder catching him in the side below his ribs, driving him forward and knocking him off-balance. He pitched sideways, his feet scrabbling beneath him as he fought to gain a footing. He took two quick steps before he found his balance but by then Kavanagh had stepped back and had the Webley in her hand.
Wu twisted away from Saxon to face her, raising the umbrella to strike, and as he lunged forward Kavanagh turned the gun on him and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell on the cylinder with a soft click. Wu dropped low and thrust the umbrella under her gun arm and into the soft flesh of her belly. She screamed in pain and pulled the trigger again as she doubled over, but the gun clicked harmlessly. As she fell backwards Wu caught the gun in his free hand and wrenched it from her grip.
Ford took a step towards Saxon’s Glock, which was still lying in the middle of the floor, but Bronson put a hand on his chest to stop him, then bent down to pick up the gun.
‘I told you, I don’t like guns,’ he said, taking the Webley from Wu and examining the two guns. ‘Now I seem to be collecting them. I never bothered reloading the old man’s antique.’ He stuck both the Glock and the Webley into the waistband of his pants and buttoned his jacket over them.
Kavanagh sat on the floor rubbing her belly. She lifted her shirt to see if the umbrella had broken the skin, but there was only a red welt to show where it had hit.
‘You stay down there while I deal with this idiot,’ said Bronson. Saxon was struggling to sit upright on the table, his breathing laboured. Bronson laid a big hand on his chest and pushed him onto his back again.‘You just lie there a second,’ he said, and started to unbuckle Saxon’s belt. ‘Perhaps you could settle something for me. I could never understand whether a cop’s behaviour was nature or nurture. Is there a certain type of person that likes wearing a uniform and having power over the people around them? Or is it part of the training to mould recruits into arrogant self-righteous bastards?’
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