by Jen Cole
“From here, a little over an hour – say 12.30,” he estimated.
“That’ll be fine.”
Jo brought up a map of Geelong. To get as far from my 11:00 p.m. posting as possible, I need to find a place an hour and a half from Geelong. Ballarat might work. She got Google Maps to plot the route and found the estimated travel time was an hour and twenty-four minutes. Perfect!
On a new page in her notebook, Jo wrote ‘Route’ at the top and beneath, 2.00 a.m. - Ballarat.
Now for the 5.00 am posting. Which direction should she go – east? Box Hill was an eastern suburb large enough to hide in. She checked the distance. It was only two hours from Ballarat, but further east, the housing dwindled.
What about north then? Shepparton was three hours north of Ballarat, but it was the last place she could go. Her eye fell on Seymour, an hour south of Shepparton, and an idea began to form. Could she trick the Hunter? What would he think if her 5.00 a.m. coordinates put her in Seymour?
Get into his shoes, Jo thought. Okay, here I am, the Hunter. I’m nasty and I’m arrogant. Arrogant? Yes. Other people’s lives mean nothing to me. I see myself as superior. I’m chasing a farm girl, just out of school and barely recovered from her father’s death – an easy target. She’s confused and alone. She may know it’s not smart to go home, but she’s terrified. Her friends are home – maybe she thinks someone there can help. She decides to risk the trip under the cover of dark.
Yes, Jo decided. He’ll be thinking that way. When he gets my coordinates at Seymour he’ll predict I’m running home and will send agents to Shepparton to catch me. Meanwhile, I’ll be heading in the opposite direction, back to Melbourne. Thrilled at how well this was turning out, Jo added ‘5.00 a.m. Seymour’ to her route list.
Now for the 8.00 a.m. posting. She studied the southern suburbs and rejected those on the western side of the bay – too small and spread apart. The east side had bigger towns for hiding. What about Frankston? She checked its distance from Seymour – only two hours. Dromana was further south by half an hour and that was far enough since peak morning traffic was bound to slow them down. She wrote ‘8:00 a.m. Dromana’.
At 8.30, Fitani would be showing up to finish his explanation, so by then she needed to be away from Dromana and in a busy area. Jo zoomed the map and found a large nearby suburb – Mornington. Great, there should be plenty of breakfast cafes. She could eat while Fitani talked. She added it to her list.
Now Jo found herself yawning widely and badly wanting to close her eyes, but she’d learnt her lesson from the watch alarm. Prepare as much as you can when you have the opportunity.
Okay, she thought wearily, allowing around forty-five minutes for breakfast with Fitani brings me to nine-fifteen. I’ve leased the car until ten. Where do I want to be when I wave it good-bye? I’ll need to change my look again, so I should head to a large shopping center with lots of people for camouflage and plenty of buses to make a quick getaway after the eleven o’clock posting. Frankston was the obvious choice.
She typed ‘Frankston shopping’ into the search field and got ‘Bayside Shopping Centre’ as the first hit. Street view confirmed it was a big one. Jo wrote ‘10.00 a.m. Bayside Shopping Centre’ and flopped back with a sigh.
Her route was planned. If all went well, she’d be rested, fed, re-outfitted and on her way by 11.00 am. But on her way where? Her daylight aim, she recalled was not just to stay out of the Hunter’s clutches, but to investigate her father’s murder.
Jo became aware that the light level outside the car had increased while the limo’s speed had decreased. The lighting was coming from the motels, streets and houses of Geelong’s outer suburbs. She stretched and sighing, closed the laptop. After this stop she was going to get some sleep. There was only so much preparation a person could do.
~~~~
CHAPTER 16
Five minutes later they turned into the Mercure Hotel, and Jo hurriedly straightened the collar of her shirt and put on the black wig. George pulled up outside the covered entrance and walked around to open the door for her.
She stepped out, clutching the straw bag. “My delivery should only take a minute or two, George.”
“I’ll wait here for you, Mrs. Wiseman,” he replied, gently closing the door.
Jo entered the hotel and walked across the large, plush foyer towards the front desk. The clerk behind it was engrossed in a book. At his back, a wall of numbered pigeonholes held envelopes or gaped. Some had keys hanging in front. She made note of one without a key and cleared her throat. The clerk’s head jerked up and his book slid under the counter. “May I help you?”
Pulling a wrapped chocolate bar from her bag she handed it over. “I’d like to leave this for room one-forty-two. They’ll understand,” she said with a smile.
The clerk took the offering, examined it briefly and looked beyond her to the waiting limo before placing the chocolate in the cubby.
Jo turned and retraced her steps. George was standing by the car and she supposed he must have seen the transaction. That validated this stop.
As they pulled out, Jo pushed the center armrest up into the cavity behind, opening up the full length of the back seat.
“Next stop, Ballarat,” she said. “I’m going to take a nap during the drive.”
“Very good Mrs. Wiseman.”
Jo put the laptop on the floor and dragged the hoodie from the straw bag to use as a pillow. Then she stretched out and closed her eyes.
One of the diners had a bad cough. The waiters were thumping him on the back but it wasn’t helping – the poor man went on coughing.
“Give him a glass of water,” Jo kept saying, but no one was listening. The surrounding staff blocked her way so she couldn’t get through to pour him a glass herself and the coughing got worse and worse. At last, unable to sustain its shield from reality, the dream broke and Jo opened her eyes upon a coughing George looming over the seat front.
“Sorry Mrs. Wiseman, but we’ve reached Ballarat.”
“Oh.”
Jo sat up, groggy and disoriented. She rubbed her eyes and peered at her watch. It was 1.30 am. They’d made good time.
“I’ve pulled into a service station with an all-night cafe, in case you wanted to use the restrooms.”
“Good thinking, George.” Jo realized she wanted to do just that. “You should take the opportunity too. Then we’ll have a coffee break.”
They walked in together and split off to separate restrooms. Now Jo sat in the cubicle with her head in her hands, trying to get her fuzzy brain to clear. What on earth can I convincingly be doing in Ballarat at this time of night? Other than this cafe, probably nothing’s open. Think Jo. You’ve got less than thirty minutes to figure something out!
She flushed the toilet and moved into the wash area, splashing her face and neck to try to shock her brain back into functioning. In the mirror, a tired face stared back at her. Its hollow eyes had nothing to offer. A familiar knot returned to her stomach.
Maybe a cup of tea will help, she thought, without much hope. Jo returned to the main room of empty tables and booths. The sight of her driver, standing alone in the middle, snapped her back to the moment.
“How do you take your coffee George?”
“Strong black with sugar, Mrs. Wiseman.”
“Okay, you find us a table,” she said with a wry smile. “I’ll do the ordering.”
“As you like Mrs. Wiseman.”
Jo headed to the counter. Behind it a large woman with greying auburn hair twisted into a bun, eyed her progress.
“Hi,” said Jo. “Quiet night.”
“Off and on,” said the woman. “Around three I usually get a mob of truckers wanting their eggs, bacon and sausage for breakfast.”
Jo gave a laugh. “Well, all we want is a strong black coffee with sugar, a cup of tea with milk for me and…” She pointed to a luscious fruit Danish under a glass cover. “That pastry.”
“That’ll be ten seventy-five,” said the woman, and Jo h
anded her a twenty dollar bill. Waiting for the change she said casually, “I guess you’re the only place open in Ballarat at this time of night.”
The woman rang up the cash register. “I think the McDonalds has a 24-hour drive-through, but if you’re wanting to sit down, we’re it,” she agreed.
Damn! The night outside was pitch dark. Where on earth could she tell George to go that would seem legitimate?
“I don’t suppose you have a Mercure Hotel here do you?”
The woman handed Jo the change. “Sure, do. It’s the resort and convention center opposite Sovereign Hill. Now you go sit down dear, and I’ll bring your order over.”
Saved! Jo floated across to where George sat at a window table overlooking the limo. Geelong’s Mercure had a twenty-four hour front desk, and being part of the chain, Ballarat’s probably did too. A visit to this one would give consistency to her actions. George would be satisfied and it was a much safer place to be for the two o’clock coordinates posting than standing in some dark park or alley.
She took the seat opposite her driver and asked, “Do you know Sovereign Hill, George?”
“The gold rush theme town? Sure Mrs. Wiseman. We passed it on the way here. It’s a couple of minutes back down the road.”
“Well opposite that is the Ballarat Mercure, our next stop. I need to collect something there.”
A presence loomed at her shoulder and a cup of hot water with a teabag on the saucer was placed in front of her. A small jug of milk followed. George was given the coffee, and the Danish pastry, sliced in two, was put in the middle of the table.
“Here you go love.”
“Thank you.”
Jo dropped the teabag into her cup. It was hardly the way to get a decent cup of tea, but right now anything warm and soothing was welcome. “The Danish is for you George. I had a late dinner so I’m not hungry.”
“Thanks Mrs. Wiseman.” He picked up a slice. “I’m a bit partial to a fruit Danish.”
As she sipped her tea, Jo considered the Seymour stop - a small country town. No resort hotels, but they’d arrive well before her 5.00 a.m. coordinates broadcast, which should give her time to work something out.
“Have you been driving limousines long, George?” she asked to break the silence.
“A few years now, Mrs. Wiseman. I’m a part owner of this company. My father-in-law set it up.”
“And you’re the night-shift man?”
He laughed. “Cassie, my wife, would soon have something to say about it if I was never home in the evenings. No, this is a family business and luckily it’s a big family, so we share the night shifts. I do one week in five.”
“Do you enjoy the work?”
“I do. I started off driving taxis and eventually bought a taxicab licence with two friends. It wasn’t cheap. Back then we each put in eighty thousand dollars. On top of that we had to buy the car.”
Jo choked on her tea. “Two hundred and forty thousand dollars for a licence!”
George smiled. “You can’t operate taxis in Victoria without one. The government only allows a certain number to be in circulation, so you have to wait till a licence comes up for sale and bid for it, like buying real estate. The current going rate is close to five hundred thousand dollars.”
“Wow!” Jo remembered Bruce’s words. “So all owner-drivers have made that huge investment?”
“That’s right, and believe me, even as an owner-driver it’s a hard way to make a living. When Cassie and I got engaged, I sold my share of the taxi business and bought into her family’s limousine company.”
George polished off the last of the Danish and Jo checked her watch – about seven minutes until the two o’clock posting.
“Have you ever been to Seymour George?”
“Can’t say I have Mrs. Wiseman. It’s somewhere north isn’t it?”
“Yes, on the way to Shepparton, about two and a half hours from here. That’s our next stop after the Mercure.”
“I’ll look it up while you’re in the hotel,” he said, and they both stood.
Back in the car Jo retrieved her blonde wig and used the driving time to put it on and comb out the worst of the tangles. As they drew up to the entrance, her watch beeped. Five minutes to go. She turned off the alarm and immediately reset it to five minutes before five.
“This could take a few minutes,” she said. “You can wait in one of those parking spots over at the side.”
Should the hotel not have a twenty-four hour desk, Jo didn’t want him to see her locked out. She opened her own door and waved him back. “You check the map George. I’ll see you soon.”
When the glass entrance doors slid open at her approach, Jo breathed a sigh of relief and stepped into the brightly lit foyer. The front desk was unattended and as the doors closed behind her, quiet descended. This is great, she thought. All I have to do is hang around here until a couple of minutes after two and then bring something back with me to the car, so it looks like I got what I came for.
A rack of brochures stood on the desk and Jo tiptoed over and carefully extracted one, taking care not to bump the little brass bell beside it. The glossy pictures portrayed single-level, resort-style accommodation with beautifully laid out conference rooms around a tranquil lake and garden setting.
She glanced at her watch. One minute till the broadcast. An inner door opened and a giant emerged. Closer to seven than six feet tall, he had a broad chest and square jaw. A blond crew cut and neutral expression completed a look more bouncer than hotel clerk. Jo guessed that on the graveyard shift he might have to act as both.
“Can I help you?” he said, making it sound like, “What are you doing here?”
Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, Jo caught herself flinching, and quickly straightened.
“Yes you can. I’m glad this stop wasn’t wasted. We were passing through Ballarat when I remembered a friend recommended this resort to me. I asked my driver to stop so I could get some information. I’ve been looking at your brochure,” she said, holding it up. “But it doesn’t have any prices.”
The bouncer/clerk moved behind the desk and reached down, pulling out a white printed sheet.
“This lists our room types and prices across the year,” he said, a little more graciously.
“And your restaurant?” Jo asked, taking the price list.
He rotated the brochure rack and extracted a glossy card, which he handed to Jo. “We have two quality restaurants madam.”
Jo noticed that the brochure described them as “inspired’. It displayed samples of artily arranged dishes.
“We also,” he said, warming to his subject, “have a day spa, gym, squash and tennis courts, and a heated outdoor swimming pool.”
“Sounds great.”
Jo fanned out the brochures she was holding. “Would you have an envelope for these?”
When the clerk bent beneath the desk she risked a glance at her watch. Exactly 2.00 a.m. She needed to keep him occupied for another couple of minutes to be on the safe side. As he surfaced with a large envelope Jo took it saying, “Just a couple more things I need to check. Internet access?”
“We have wired access in our guest rooms and wifi to cover our conference rooms.”
“Do you have non-smoking rooms?” She fed the brochures into the envelope, starting to feel desperate. What else could she ask?
“All of our rooms are non-smoking.”
“And times for checking in and out?” Jo feared she was losing credibility with these silly questions, which were no doubt covered in the brochures.
“Guests may check in anytime after 2.00 p.m. Checkout is normally at 10.00 a.m. but can be extended with additional payment.”
“Ah, that’s good to know.”
A new avenue for questioning popped into her mind. “I guess a lot of your guests visit Sovereign Hill?”
“Yes, many families come for that reason,” the giant replied, now quite amiably. “We offer package deals that include entry to S
overeign Hill and access to activities over there. Other nearby attractions are also available – an 18-hole golf course, bicycle trails and so on.”
“Wonderful,” said Jo enthusiastically. “Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome madam.”
She turned and walked leisurely to the doors, which parted silently for her. A glance at her watch showed 2.02 a.m. Spot on. Jo hopped into the car, flashing the envelope so her driver would notice she had indeed collected an item at the hotel.
“Have you worked out a route for us George?”
“I have Mrs. Wiseman. It’s pretty straightforward.”
“Okay, well I’m going back to napping while you drive. We’ll arrive well before my meeting, so I suggest you find another service station with a restaurant and have some breakfast. Leave me asleep in the car. I have a watch alarm, so I’ll wake up in time.”
“I’m not sure I like to leave you alone in the car Mrs. Wiseman,” George objected.
“You can open the windows a crack and lock the doors. I’ll be fine, and you’ll need a break by the time we get there. I insist.”
“Very well Mrs. Wiseman, you’re the boss.”
Jo stretched out on the back seat but this time sleep did not come instantly and she wondered, as the Lexus rocked her gently, what the Hunter would be making of her extreme location changes. Again, she tried to put herself in his shoes.
He would have been expecting to catch her in Brighton at eleven o’clock. Instead her coordinates had placed her near the city. He probably assumed she’d slipped through his net by hitchhiking, since her 11.00 p.m. photo showed her on foot, and his agents would now be spread around the area of those coordinates. Having just learnt she was in Ballarat, he’d be madly contacting them with new instructions.
Jo smiled grimly. What would he have thought when her 2.00 a.m. coordinates put her in Ballarat? That she’d struck it lucky and managed to hitch a ride this far? That she’d hired a car? Would he think of a limo service? Perhaps. In any case, he’d be nervous about sending all his agents up to Ballarat. It would take them at least an hour and a half, and by the time they arrived she could have moved on to anywhere – further north to Bendigo, west to Horsham or even back down to Melbourne again.