Even with the glow of a bright full moon and the sprinkle of stars spread across the night sky, Sandy wished she’d thought to bring a torch to cut through the curtain of darkness surrounding her. Trees swayed in the light breeze, giving the usually tranquil parklands a strangely sinister feel. Her heart was pounding too hard, she thought, as she tried to distract herself by listening to ducks and geese squawking not far away. If she looked hard enough she could just make out their shadowy forms gliding across the pond in front of her.
Every instinct screamed at her to run away. She was seriously contemplating running, then his words resonated in her head. ‘I have evidence of your secret romance. It’s in your best interests to meet me. If you don’t show, I will find you!’ A shiver ran the length of her body. Sandy didn’t want to end up like Sallie-Anne Huckstepp, a former Sydney prostitute who’d pissed off the wrong person and ended up at the bottom of one of these duck ponds. Had it been this one? She shuddered.
Feeling extremely vulnerable, not for the first time today she craved a hit to take the edge off her nerves. Cradling her bag to her chest, she felt the gun through the thin material and found its weight reassuring. Its silent magic created a sense of security, made her feel safer in the knowledge she had a weapon. But she would only use it if absolutely necessary.
On impulse, she pulled the card Constable Lexie had given her from the back pocket of her jeans. Sandy strained to see the numbers on the card but the light didn’t allow it. Why hadn’t she called her, told Lexie about the conversation she’d overheard, about the identity of the Grub? She had always helped her in the past . . .
It’s too late now.
God, Rowdy would be going crazy with worry, she thought, sitting on her hands to stop them trembling. Her phone had gone flat hours ago but the last time she’d checked there had been twenty missed calls from him. Boy, would she have some explaining to do.
He appeared so silently beside her that she jumped, automatically sliding further along the bench to create some distance. He flicked on a torch and shone it directly into her face.
‘Didn’t mean to startle you,’ he laughed. ‘Thanks for meeting me here, Sandy.’
Sandy squinted into the light, shading her eyes with her hand. He quickly pointed the beam onto the ground in front of them.
‘Sorry.’
Her eyes were blurred for a moment before the man’s face came into focus. She could only see the outline of his features but she could not miss the pointed tongue darting in and out of his mouth. He looked like a reptile attempting to catch insects, she thought.
‘What have you got for me?’
There was no mucking around, no superficial pleasantries to be endured. He came straight to the point of the meeting.
Sandy stared straight ahead into the shadows.
‘I don’t have anything for you. I’ve been keeping my head low, trying to stay clean and out of trouble.’
Her voice trembled as she spoke and she hated the fact that he knew she was scared.
‘I’m disappointed in you, Sandy. I told you on the phone that I’d trade the photos I have of you and your boyfriend for some useful information.’ He sighed. ‘You know I’m tight with your Dad. I’m sure you don’t want him finding out about your little romance, do you?’
Sandy swallowed hard as he handed her an envelope. He directed the beam of light her way as she opened it. A sense of dread made her tremble as she pulled out a wad of photos of Rowdy and her together, in different locations, in different poses, arm in arm, kissing and cuddling, walking, holding hands. It was clear he had been watching her for some time.
‘Now, since you’re “in” with the Devil’s Guardians, I think you should tell me what’s going on behind closed doors. What do they know about the shooting of their mate? Or more to the point, what do you know?’
‘How would I know anything about that? It’s not like they’re going to tell me their secrets. Rex Donaldson hates me.’
Now, that wasn’t a lie.
‘Anyway, don’t you think if they knew who shot Bluey they’d be doing something about it? You know what bikies are like; an eye for an eye.’
She was going to have to kill him.
The thought came to her with alarming clarity. If she didn’t give him what he wanted he would probably kill her. He was ruthless, utterly ruthless, she knew. He would also have copies of the photos and would have no qualms about passing them on to her father. She couldn’t win. There was no way she was going to die now, she thought resolutely. Not when she’d just found Rowdy. Not when her life was just turning around!
‘The cops have been asking everyone they speak to about someone called “the Grub”. The dead bikie said something to the girl detective before he carked it. What’s the word on the street? Do the Devils know who this “Grub” is?’
She shrugged and stared at the ground.
‘I don’t know.’
Her hand started to creep slowly towards her bag sitting on the bench between them.
The slap across her face took her by surprise, the sting making her eyes water. One hand mindlessly flew to her cheek where his hand had left its imprint. She snatched at her bag, but he was faster, stronger.
‘Don’t even think about trying to get away from me,’ he snarled, pointing a gun straight at her head.
Sandy froze.
He grabbed her bag, went to throw it to the side, and then stopped. He had registered the weight of the gun. Glancing into her bag, he said in amazement, ‘You brought a gun?’
He seized her by the neck, dragged her towards him and pushed the gun barrel up under her chin. He shoved it so hard into her flesh she could almost taste metal in her mouth.
‘I don’t know anything! I have nothing to tell you!’ she shrieked.
Fuck, he was going to kill her if she didn’t tell him.
‘I’m told your little boyfriend Rowdy has become one of the main suspects in the bikies murder. He doesn’t have an alibi.’
‘He was with Rex and some of the other gang.’
He grabbed her hair and bent her head backwards. Sandy moaned in pain.
‘Rowdy didn’t do anything, you know that.’
‘Someone has to do the time for the crime and Rowdy is just as good as the next person to take the rap, because the real killer will never be found.’
He laughed out loud at the tortured look on her face. His spittle hit her in the eye and his stale breath made her want to retch.
‘My sources tell me your boyfriend’s alibi is not solid; something about a neighbour seeing him leaving and returning with you on the back of his bike. That implicates you as well, sweetie, so maybe you should stop talking shit and give me some answers.’
Sandy thought she might lose control of her bladder. Though for the first time in ages, she was pleased the OxyContin tablet had worn off and her mind was clear, not fogged by drugs. She would need all her wits about her if she was going to make it through to tomorrow.
The man hissed in her ear, ‘Who the fuck is the Grub? I need to know before the police find him. Who the fuck is it? Tell me now or your brain is going to be duck food.’
Sandy couldn’t breathe. She had never been so scared in all her life. This bastard would kill her. Of that she was sure. And no one would miss a low-life druggie, except Rowdy, and maybe her father, then again, maybe not. This man had killed before. It wasn’t something new to him.
‘You’re hurting me. Let me go and I’ll tell you,’ she groaned.
He let go of her hair but kept his gun pointed at her head.
‘Firstly, tell me who else knows. And I want the truth or you’re dead. Who else knows who this Grub is?’
Sandy believed him – he would have no hesitation in killing her if she didn’t give him something. But she had to protect Rowdy.
‘Rowdy knows nothing. I just heard Kate and Rex talking about it. I heard Rex say no one else knows. It was a name only Bluey and Rex used.’
The man stared at
her for a long time.
‘Now, I will let you go if you promise to forget this conversation ever happened and tell me one more thing, the thing I really need to know. If I find out you’ve lied these photographs go to your father and your little boyfriend’s life will not be worth living. Do you understand me?’
Sandy nodded. Would he really let her go? Probably not! She could only hope the shock of what she was about to say would give her time to make a run for it. If she made it into the cover of the trees, and then hid somewhere, he would be hard pressed to find her. It was her only chance . . .
‘Tell me; who’s the Grub?’
‘You!’ She got ready to bolt, tears streaming down her face. ‘You are the Grub.’
She watched his face drop in astonishment and wondered if he would be true to his word or if she should make a run for it. That moment of indecisiveness was her undoing. The pistol whipped her across the head so fast, so efficiently, that Sandy hit the dirt before she knew what had happened.
CHAPTER 32
Well, he hadn’t seen that one coming.
His mind was reeling. So he was the Grub? Shit.
Shaking his head in frustration, he thought back to his original plan; to kill Rex Donaldson. The murder of Robert King was a fiasco he considered a personal failure. He had killed the wrong bikie. It wasn’t until he’d seen the red hair that he’d realised his mistake and by then it had been too late. That one mistake had instigated a chain of events that now had to be dealt with before the trail led back to him.
What were the chances his victim would see him? What were the chances Donaldson and the dead man had a secret nickname for him? And not only that, what were the chances the bikie had then managed to live long enough to moan out a dying declaration to one of the cops? What were the odds of that?
Luck had not been on his side lately.
Ironically, under other circumstances he would appreciate, even commend, the dead man’s brilliance. The dying bikie tells the cop ‘the Grub’ shot him, knowing full well the police wouldn’t have a clue as to the identity of the shooter. The murder investigation pans out in the usual way and while the cops are looking for a solid suspect, chasing their arses around following all the wrong leads and digging to find the identity of the Grub, Rex Donaldson is sitting back, biding his time and planning his revenge.
So what was taking Donaldson so long to make a move?
It started to become clear to him. Donaldson wasn’t stupid. He would wait until the heat died down a bit and strike when it was least expected. It had worked out perfectly – for Rex Donaldson – the man who should have been the recipient of those bullets, the man who should be chilling in the cool room at the city morgue. How he must be laughing at him.
A raging anger shot through him and he sucked in a ragged breath to calm himself. It maddened him that Donaldson had started all this. Donaldson’s supercilious behaviour towards him could not be tolerated. He needed to be made an example of. And although he didn’t consider himself a killer, Donaldson had to be dealt with. All he really wanted was money, and the power and respect that came with the big bucks. But Donaldson had disrespected him. Therefore he had to engage in some damage control. He would not be taken for a fool. Donaldson had to die.
But now, one fuck-up had led to other complications. His body shook in exasperation. And anger.
Looking down at the crumpled girl at his feet, he struck out, landing an impulsive kick to her gut. She didn’t react. That was one less person who knew the identity of the Grub, he thought. Now he had to concentrate on closing Donaldson’s mouth for good, especially now he knew Rex would be out for his blood. He was satisfied Donaldson wouldn’t speak to the cops but that scrag Kate was unpredictable. He couldn’t risk her blabbering, so she would have to go too. If he took Donaldson out first Kate would be a sitting duck.
Another hurdle appeared in his mind. Detective Lexie Rogers had heard the dying declaration, therefore she was a witness. Shit, shit, shit. There was no other option. She would have to go also. He would not take pleasure in any of these tasks – except Donaldson – but it was necessary in the name of self-preservation. He would never go to gaol. He would die before he went to gaol.
For a moment a wave of anxiety tightened his chest. Do not panic. Freaking out over something gone wrong was how mistakes occurred. It also increased the probability of exposing his guilt.
Calmly, he walked to the bench and picked up Sandy’s bag. He had not intended to kill her but she too had become a liability. She knew too much. He would take her wallet and phone. That way it would take longer to identify her body and give him more time. Though time for what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.
As he reached inside the bag his fingers felt the cold metal of the gun. He couldn’t believe she’d brought a gun. Bitch. Anger welled up at her gall and at his own complacency for not taking more care, for underestimating her.
Where had the gun come from? Who did it belong to? It had to be one of the bikies. He knew Max wouldn’t give his daughter a gun. She had either taken it from Rowdy or he’d given it to her for protection. How sweet. Rowdy was trying to protect his property. He pictured the little amoeba who thought covering himself with tats and dressing like a miniature Donaldson made him tough and important. What a joke!
And with that thought the idea came to him unexpectedly.
He laughed out loud. What a tangled web we weave when we practise to deceive. This could work out better than he’d expected. Things were finally going to go his way. Maybe he wouldn’t have to make it look like a bikie war after all.
Pulling on latex gloves, he pulled out the gun from the bag, unloading the magazine and checking the slide. There was a bullet in the chamber. The gun was loaded. Fucking bitch. He would finish her off for even thinking about getting one over on him. Unloading the weapon, he tossed the bullets and the firearm deep into the pond in front of him. He shone his torch on the place where it hit the water and watched the ripples circle out; then all was still.
He then pulled out another gun from his backpack. The murder weapon.
Opportunity had fallen into his lap and he would be a fool not to exploit it now. Before placing the loaded weapon into Sandy’s bag, he vigorously wiped the gun clean with a sterile cloth.
His mind started calculating the imminent sequence of events. He would post the photos of Sandy Croft and her boyfriend to the detectives. That would undeniably link Sandy to Rowdy. Her body would be found more than likely some time tomorrow. The gun would be found in her bag and identified as the murder weapon. Her boyfriend, Rowdy, would be left to answer the questions as to how the murder weapon came into her possession. Max Croft would be investigated also. She was linked to both of them but he could make sure he came out clean. Max would be upset about Sandy but would resign himself to the fact his daughter had been the victim of a drug deal gone wrong or had been set up by her boyfriend. Rowdy would become the number one suspect in Bluey’s murder, if Max Croft didn’t kill him first.
He smiled gleefully to himself. This would also buy him some time to clean up his own mess and get back on top of things. If one of his men suddenly became the main suspect in a murder investigation, Donaldson’s perspective would change. He would become too busy to be plotting revenge. Instead he’d be a sitting duck, exposed and vulnerable; ready to be taken out properly this time.
Donaldson had no idea who he was dealing with.
Pocketing the photos of Sandy and her boyfriend, the man walked purposefully towards the unconscious girl. Now, to finish what he’d started.
CHAPTER 33
MONDAY
Shots cut through the silence of the night like a series of explosions.
She feels the weight of her weapon. Rapid flashes of gunfire light up the dark. The scent of gunpowder infuses the air.
She watches the bullets slam into his body like punches. Jerking and staggering, he collapses to the ground. Then, almost instantly the figure rises from the shadows, as relentless
as a machine. He comes towards her.
This time she feels no fear, no hesitation, only cold controlled rage which takes possession of her body and guides her aim.
She fires again and again, in quick succession. This time he falls straight to the ground.
She hears a siren in the distance and it is only now that her hand finds the sticky wound on the side of her throat. Blood is everywhere; in her hair, running down her neck, all over her shirt. Nausea overwhelms her and she begins to sway as black spots cloud her eyes.
The red and blue flashing lights come into sight as she crumples slowly to the ground . . .
—
Lexie woke to ringing in her ears. Panicked and disorientated, she sat bolt upright. The alarm clock was screaming. Her eyes darted nervously around the room. She was instantly comforted by its familiarity as she waited for her thudding heartbeat to subside.
It’s just another nightmare.
Why wasn’t she used to them by now? Shouldn’t she be accustomed to the almost predictable games her subconscious played on her during the night? It was the only time her defences were down, leaving her susceptible, vulnerable and exposed. How she hated the night.
Rubbing the sting of frustration out of her eyes, Lexie slammed her hand down hard on the clock radio beside her bed; instant silence. Swinging her legs out from under the covers, onto the cool floorboards, she stood and opened the wooden venetians. The sun was just rising and the sky was clear and blue, holding the promise of yet another perfect summer’s day.
Rummaging through her bedside drawers, she found a pair of gym shorts. Going for a run was the last thing she felt like doing. Her body was tired and sluggish, but it had been days since she’d done any exercise. When she was dressed Lexie headed for the front door, picking up her keys and mobile phone she’d left charging in the kitchen. Glancing at the screen she noticed she had a message. Opening the message, her eyes widened in shock as she read the words.
‘LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS.’
Lexie gasped and threw the phone across the counter as if it was on fire. Fear surged like bile into her throat and the hair on the back of her neck shot up as goose bumps raced along her skin.
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