Fatal Mistake

by Karen M. Davis

  The thought of Sommers failing to resolve the case made Berni feel like celebrating.

  ‘We need champagne.’ She got to her feet and headed towards the kitchen, but stopped when she noticed TJ was getting dressed. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ve got to get to the club, I’m working tonight.’

  Berni’s disappointment was audible. She had the sudden desire to cling to him. ‘I thought we would have a drink, get some take away, and have more sex.’

  TJ gave her a lopsided grin. She stared at him. He was very cute and definitely growing on her, she realised.

  ‘Sorry, only way to get ahead is by working hard, being dedicated, loyal.’

  She wondered resentfully if Tiffany had anything to do with this ‘loyalty’ to his job.

  Perched on the end of her bed in only a blue T-shirt, he stood and stepped into faded denim jeans – he wore no underwear – and slipped into his runners. ‘Look, I’ll call you later.’ He glanced at his watch, seemed to remember something. ‘The club’s closed tonight. I’m just stocking the bar and doing whatever else needs to be done. I might only be a few hours, so I can always come back.’ He gave her a mischievous grin. ‘If you want me to?’

  Berni smiled. The dejection of a second ago evaporated.

  TJ crouched on one knee as he tied his shoelaces. ‘I told you about the party this Friday night, didn’t I?’

  ‘No, what party?’

  ‘It’s just another one of Rocco’s parties.’ He swapped knees. ‘They are mad, you wait. This one’s at his house and he’s asked us to stay the night.’

  Berni felt light again. She found this crime world intriguing, intoxicating. All concerns about Tiffany were suddenly gone. She was not an insecure girlfriend.

  Lightning flashed outside and a moment later a thunderclap roared so raucous and fierce it rocked the building.

  ‘Holy hell!’

  ‘I’d better go before I get a wet arse,’ TJ announced, gathering his wallet and keys.

  ‘I haven’t told you my news.’ Berni was brimming with self-importance because she knew something he didn’t. ‘I saw Erika kissing someone last night, when I left the club. They were in a laneway and I just stumbled upon them.’ Literally – though she didn’t mention falling at their feet. ‘I bet you can’t guess who she was kissing?’

  TJ’s eyes widened. An expression close to horror was present on his face. ‘It actually turns my stomach to think of Erika kissing anyone . . . But tell me anyway.’

  CHAPTER 31

  Lexie parked the covert police car down the street from Club Hellfire, checked her lipstick in the sun visor’s mirror and tried to push away the bad feeling that had been churning in her stomach ever since her conversation with Lenny. Something was off about him, she just couldn’t put her finger on what it was. It was frustrating, because she was certain that whatever was just outside her awareness was important.

  She absent-mindedly watched a homeless man pushing a shopping trolley full of his worldly possessions across the road in front of her.

  This ‘important information’ Lenny had for her would be of little or no value, Lexie was sure. He had been disguising his voice, putting on an unnaturally deep tone that sounded weird. Sure, you could get anonymous tip-offs on occasion, but usually police cultivated informants through dealings with them, building a form of trust and rapport over time. Nothing about Lenny rang true. This was why Lexie had passed his number on to Rachel, who would check his call records. She didn’t hold much hope of getting a real name – most crooks had bodgie phones, bought with bogus names.

  The homeless man had almost made it to the footpath on the other side of the road when he stumbled and fell onto the bitumen. He lost his grip on his trolley and it slammed into the gutter and tipped onto its side, spilling its contents onto the street.

  Lexie jumped out of the car and rushed towards him to help him up. He stank of wine and body odour and smiled at her gratefully. He was only small and it was impossible to guess his age. He wore a large brown suit jacket and pants – the latter held up by a piece of rope – a black skivvy and torn sandshoes. He had skin scraped off his hands, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. Settling him on the footpath, Lexie told him to stay put while she ducked into a nearby 7-Eleven. She came back with a bottle of water and a pie, which he took gratefully. While he ate, she made a call to a local men’s refuge.

  ‘What is the gentleman’s name?’ the man from the refuge asked politely.

  Lexie looked at the homeless man. ‘What’s your name, mate?’

  ‘Elvis.’

  The man from the refuge heard his reply and said with a laugh, ‘I know Elvis well.’ He asked for their location. ‘I’m just around the corner. Please wait with him or he’ll run off.’

  Lexie glanced at Elvis, who was chomping on the pie. ‘You are a good lass, thank you for your kindness.’

  She smiled at him, then set his trolley back on its wheels and loaded his possessions back into it.

  Once Elvis was loaded into the refuge bus with his belongings and had happily waved Lexie goodbye, she walked across the road, locked the car and headed off towards Club Hellfire.

  Lexie knocked on the big, black double doors that sat below the malfunctioning neon sign that announced ‘Club Hellfire’.

  A delightfully wrinkled Asian lady opened the door and smiled.

  ‘Ah, hello.’ Lexie returned her smile. ‘My name is Lara. Rocco is expecting me.’

  ‘Oh yes, Miss Lara.’ The lady bowed and opened the door wide for her to enter. ‘You very beautiful, I know why Mr Rocco like you, hey?’ Her eyes skimmed over Lexie’s fitted blue jeans, short-sleeved black top and flat black sandals. She had purposely not worn heels so she wouldn’t tower over Rocco if he wasn’t wearing his lifts. He was incredibly confident, but no man liked to feel dwarfed by a woman.

  The club was closed to patrons tonight. Lexie seriously hoped it would not be only the two of them here alone. Rachel had told her to stay only as long as she was comfortable. Undercover work did not adhere to a set of rules. You just went with your gut. She’d see how things panned out.

  ‘You wait in his office. My name is May Lou. I am Mr Rocco’s housekeeper and I clean club too for him. He good boy. He look after me.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Lexie replied.

  ‘He been call out on business. But you not to go home, he tell me. You must wait.’ May Lou smiled again and rubbed her hand along Lexie’s arm. Then she gestured for her to follow and took off at speed, moving with such surprising agility, Lexie had to hurry to keep up.

  Without the cover of darkness, laser lighting and smoke machines, the club held less appeal. In fact, it was outright seedy. The walls looked grubby, the furniture was worn and stained, the smell of alcohol and sweat lingered in the air and Lexie’s feet stuck to the tacky carpet as she followed May Lou along the same path Johnny had led her last night. They passed no one on the way to Rocco’s office. May Lou unlocked the door with a key from a bunch hanging on a lanyard around her neck, and showed Lexie inside.

  ‘Make yourself at home. I get you drink?’

  Lexie shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

  May Lou fussed around, then handed her the remote for the TV. ‘You can watch while you wait.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll be fine.’ Lexie took the remote and sat down on the edge of the daybed. ‘I’ll just relax until Rocco gets here.’

  ‘Okay, you good girl.’ May Lou patted her arm again before backing out of the room and closing the door behind her.

  Lexie checked the door was not locked. She peered into the empty corridor before closing the door again. She wandered around the office, sat in the big leather seat behind Rocco’s desk, and tried the drawers on either side. All but the top drawer, which contained pens and the like, was locked. The desk was clear, tidy, no books or papers in sight. So was the floor-to-ceiling cupboard that ran the length of the back wall. The bar was the only unlocked item of furniture
. Clearly, Rocco didn’t like anyone going through his things.

  A noise at the door startled Lexie. Instinctively, she ducked into the small bathroom. Leaving the door slightly ajar, she watched an unknown blond man carrying a blue backpack and wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt enter the office. Heading to the back of the room, he swung the backpack onto Rocco’s desk. He opened the large cupboard against the rear wall using a key he pulled from his pocket and slid the doors back. From what Lexie could see, the cupboard concealed shelves filled with boxes.

  The man reached up to one of the higher shelves and pulled out a box marked ROCCO PRIVATE in black texta. Placing the box on the desk, he fossicked around in his backpack, pulled out what looked to be a couple of CDs or DVDs and placed them in the box. His movements were jerky, skittish and his gaze continually darted to the door. His hands were shaky as he replaced the box and closed the cupboard.

  She needed to find out what he was up to. Acting on impulse, Lexie breezed out of the bathroom as if she was unaware she was not alone.

  ‘Oh!’ Lexie gasped, hand flying to her chest to feign startled surprise. ‘I didn’t realise . . . Um . . . I had no idea anyone was here.’

  The man, who had his back to her, jumped and spun around. His eyes were wide with shock, fear – guilt.

  ‘I’m sorry . . . I didn’t know anyone was—’ He looked frantically towards the door, and then back at Lexie. ‘Are you? Um . . . Who let you in? Are you waiting for Lucky?’

  Lexie shook her head, wondering why he would think she was waiting for Lucky in Rocco’s office. ‘No, I’m Lara and I’m a friend, I suppose you could say, of Rocco’s.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘May Lou let me in on Rocco’s instructions.’

  ‘Oh, right . . . Are you the big man’s niece?’

  ‘That’s right. And you are?’

  ‘I’m TJ. I work here – on the bar usually.’ He nervously hopped from one foot to the other.

  Lexie raised her eyebrows and smirked. ‘You’re not supposed to be in here, are you?’

  Streaks of crimson crept up his neck as he gave her a weak smile.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone,’ Lexie promised. ‘What goes on in this place is none of my concern. I won’t mention I saw you.’

  TJ visibly relaxed and let out a long, quivering breath. ‘Thanks. Just so you know, I’m not stealing or anything like that. I’m just borrowing some DVDs.’

  But not with Rocco’s knowledge. Her curiosity was piqued. She noted he had forgotten to lock the cupboard behind him.

  ‘Go now, then,’ Lexie said. ‘You were never here.’

  He didn’t hang around. ‘Thank you, thank you.’

  Snatching his backpack from the desk, TJ rushed past her and out the door. Lexie waited a second before checking he had gone and there was no one lurking in the long shadowy corridor. She was in luck – it was still deserted. With butterflies in her stomach, she closed the office door, locked it from the inside – just in case – and made a beeline for the cupboard.

  CHAPTER 32

  As Rex drove towards Mudgee, something unexpected happened. The unrelenting tension of the last few days melted away and his thoughts fell into place. He felt a strange sense of calm. He knew he was on the right track. It was almost unnerving, this adamant knowledge that he was where he needed to be and that everything would be all right.

  The sun had descended in the sky and dusk was vanishing into night. The endless paddocks that surrounded him were now shrouded in darkness. The brown-tinged grass, from the dry summer, could no longer be seen. Grazing animals had also disappeared and, as the familiar country road stretched before him, memories surfaced. Rex’s mind wound back to reflect upon the unforeseen circumstances that had led him to acquire the property known as Ferndale. A property he’d helped the owner clean up and repair; a favour for a down-on-his-luck bloke who’d needed a friend. Rex had never expected to be repaid in such an extravagant fashion.

  To Rex, the note Clive left him after he’d died had read, Thanks for caring. It made a difference. I leave you the only thing I have – Ferndale. Look after it for me. I know you will. See you for a drink upstairs. But don’t hurry. I won’t be going anywhere. Cheers, your mate, Clive.

  Rex still felt a well of emotion just thinking about that note, and for that reason, he had been unable to sell the property. Ferndale was now his getaway between jobs. Somewhere he could hide out, find balance and get respite from the world of drugs and baddies for a while. Rex thought how doing a good deed for Clive had come full circle. His legacy was exactly what he needed right now. Ferndale was going to be the place where he reclaimed his life.

  The Welcome to Mudgee signpost flashed past. He took a quick left, and then turned onto the road that led a windy path to Ferndale, just as the heavens opened up. Lightning lit up the mountains in the distance. Thunder cracked overhead as the four-wheel drive bumped along the dusty bitumen. The tension was back in Rex’s shoulders – his state of relaxation gone – as drawing closer to his destination brought a hit of reality. Lightning again flashed across the horizon and the rain grew heavier.

  The rain stopped like magic as Rex pulled up before the only gate on the property. That had to be a good sign. His combat boots squelched over muddy ground and the gate screeched as he released the old metal from its rusty latch. He got back into the car and drove the short distance to the small farmhouse, purposely leaving the gate wide open.

  With his energy beginning to wane and fatigue threatening, the sight of Clive’s old home was like a shot of Tequila. Killing the engine and headlights, Rex once again got out of the car. The temperature had dropped and the night was pleasantly cool. The air smelt fresh, moist. Stars shone bright between gaps in the clouds. The darkness was almost as overwhelming as the silence.

  Swiping at a persistent fly buzzing around his head, Rex grabbed his bag from the back seat and flicked on his torch. The rickety farmhouse steps groaned under his weight when he climbed them. The key turned easily in the lock and the front door opened without a sound, thanks to the hinges he’d replaced on his last visit.

  He turned the light on. The place was exactly as he had left it, as it should be. Slowly, Rex and Kate had replaced Clive’s decrepit furniture with country-style whitewashed cane lounges and dining set. The kitchen and the bathroom had been renovated – white was the theme throughout. The two bedrooms had been made over and had new wardrobes and queen-sized beds. He had fixed the blocked fireplace himself so it could be used in the colder months. Overall, the house was cosy, tidy and clean, if not a bit musty from being locked up for months at a time.

  Rex made a coffee and sandwich with the supplies he had brought. Carrying his supper into the second bedroom, he set it down on the small dresser next to the bed. Retracing his steps along the short hallway, he entered the first bedroom, where he threw back the doona and sheets. Arranging three pillows down the centre of the bed, he pulled the covers back up, plumping and organising them to resemble a sleeping body. Then, placing a long black wig he had bought at a two-dollar shop across the pillow, Rex plugged a dull nightlight into the far wall and lifted the blinds just enough for someone to be able to peer inside.

  Back at the front door, Rex kicked off his boots and messed up the living room just enough to make it appear lived in: draped his coat over a chair; left a newspaper on the lounge. Then, turning off all the lights, he returned to the second bedroom.

  Positioning himself on the bed, to the side of the window so he could watch the driveway, Rex reached into his bag of tricks and took out all he needed to ready himself: his gun, his night-vision goggles, his bulletproof vest. He set his gun beside him, sipped his coffee and ate his sandwich.

  • • •

  As predicted, the killer waited until he thought Rex would be asleep. If he presumed the cover of darkness provided anonymity, he was mistaken. He probably imagined the tracker on Rex’s car had been an ingenious scheme that would lead him straight to his prey, when it was the other way
around.

  In the still of the night, Rex heard the car before he saw it. He watched through the window as the headlights grew closer. Rattling over the cattle grid at the front gate, the car slowed to a crawl and dimmed the headlights to parkers before switching them off completely and rolling to a stop some distance from the farmhouse. The driver’s door opened and a large figure stepped out. Rex waited to see if he had an accomplice, as that would add a further element of danger to his plan, but he was alone. The night-vision goggles allowed him to peer into the car’s interior. It was empty.

  The killer appeared to be of a build similar to Rex’s own and was wearing all black or at least dark clothing, including a beanie – assassin’s attire. Rex’s heart hammered against his ribs as the figure lingered near Rex’s car, shining a torch through the windows as he glanced inside, and checking if the doors were locked.

  What are you looking for, you bastard? Rex felt a flash of red-hot rage. Stay calm . . . keep your head.

  He held his breath as the man who had come to kill him approached the house. A weapon – a handgun – dangled from his right hand and his head swivelled from one side to the other, assessing potential danger, taking in his surroundings. Pressed against the bedroom wall and concealed by a bulky curtain, Rex had an image of the killer creeping up the stairs. The third step creaked its objection to being stepped on and the flashlight’s beam instantly flicked off. The noise spooked him, Rex thought, reminding himself to breathe. The dizzying silence stretched out for an eternity before he again heard movement: slow, deliberate, careful steps. He saw the long shadow slide along the veranda towards him.

  Rex swallowed hard then changed position, edging into the hallway, where he would remain unseen. He stayed perfectly still like a statue, taking tentative breaths as the flashlight’s brilliant beam shone through each window. His ears strained, hyper-aware of every tiny noise, every nerve ending on alert. The killer lingered at the first bedroom, hopefully observing what he thought to be Rex asleep in the bed. Shadows danced along the walls as the shaft of light moved on, reflecting off glass and skimming over furniture. An owl hooted outside. Rex flinched.