by Jennie Jones
Jax shivered. ‘Oh, Jimmy.’
‘It’s all right now,’ Jimmy said. ‘They know what they’re doing.’
But they didn’t know what Bivic was going to do.
Twenty-Five
Jack checked the rear-view mirror. Will and Davidson were behind them, way in the distance but now within mobile and radio range. All marked vehicles had the lights flashing, giving everyone a warning that they were around.
A couple of truck drivers had been going over Jack’s designated speed of sixty kilometres an hour, but neither he nor Will had slowed down to pull them over. Mostly, the cars and four-wheel drives had adhered to police instructions.
Why had Bivic turned around? He had to know that the cops would be coming at him from either end of the GCR. ‘Jesus,’ he said, and checked his mirrors.
‘What is it?’ Donna asked as he hit the brakes and slowed, in order to make a U-turn.
‘The David Carnegie Road,’ Jack said. ‘That’s where he’s going.’ They’d passed the turn-off a few kilometres back. ‘Louie—’ he said over the radio, ‘we’re going to block the two accesses to the David Carnegie Road. That’s where Bivic’s heading.’
‘Copy. I’m about five minutes away.’
‘How the hell does he think he’s going to get out that way?’ Donna asked.
‘He’s had a rush of shit to the brain.’ He might not realise the cops were so close to the roadhouse. If he took the David Carnegie Road in the Little Sandy Desert it would take him at least two days to reach Gunbarrel Highway. It was a little used and difficult four-wheel-drive-only track, demanding a maximum speed of around twenty-five kilometres per hour, if conditions were reasonable.
‘He won’t have any supplies,’ Donna said.
‘He’s nicked a tourist’s four-wheel drive. It’ll be loaded with supplies.’ And fuel.
‘He isn’t thinking it through, Jack. He’s running scared.’
He was also running wild, which is what worried Jack the most.
‘This definitely isn’t your average Sunday,’ Donna said.
Jack grimaced, and hit the wiper blades once again, to clear the red dust from the windshield. ‘It’s Sunday? Damn. I was supposed to go and buy the sausages for tomorrow’s barbecue.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Donna said. ‘We’ll remind you first thing tomorrow morning.’
Jax was struggling to contain her dread at what might happen next.
The helicopter had gone back to its base and Bivic was heading straight for the Mt Maria police.
It had all happened so fast. Within minutes.
‘Want a brownie, you two? There are still some left in the kitchen.’
Jax spun on her chair, then rose and headed for Mary. ‘Please keep Frances in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Things are getting tough, Mary. I don’t want her to overhear all this.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Mary paled, and shot a look at Jimmy who was still head down, speaking over the radio again.
Mary took Jax’s hand in both of hers. ‘I’ll keep everyone occupied,’ she said with a brave smile. ‘They’ll be fine. Your man will be fine.’
With one last lingering look of female understanding, Mary headed back to the kitchen, and Jax fled to the counter.
‘What just happened?’ she asked.
‘Louie’s arrived at the turn-off,’ Jimmy said. ‘Jack’s already there. Bivic’s vehicle is in sight and he’s gunning it.’
Jax held her breath.
‘It’s all going to happen in the next few minutes,’ Jimmy said. ‘If you believe in God, now’s the time to send up a prayer.’
Oh, sweet Jesus.
Jack was stationary in the troop wagon, blocking the David Carnegie Road turn-off, lights on the go. Louie had parked the arrest van perpendicular to a second, slip-road turn-off fifty metres up ahead.
Jack peered into the distance. Any moment, that silver four-wheel drive, with red dust flying up from beneath its tyres, would be on them.
Bivic.
He’d see them now. There’s no way he’d miss the flashing lights.
‘By the book,’ Jack advised over the radio. ‘We’re blocking access to his getaway route and attempting to slow him down with our presence. He’ll drive right by us so get ready to turn. We follow but don’t crowd him.’ He’d be gridlocked. Cop cars in front of him and behind him.
Will, only a few kilometres away, had stopped traffic his end. They didn’t have the resources to block traffic from the east, but the roadhouse and the tourist radio alerts had slowed traffic considerably. Most travellers were now staying put at the roadhouse—although not the trucks.
A long, medium toned, squalling honk from a road train got Jack’s immediate attention.
‘Why the hell is he driving at that speed?’ Donna asked, her tone unbelieving.
‘I don’t think he got the memo,’ Jack said, and hit the siren. It was hard to tell what speed the double road train was doing, but it was well over sixty kilometres an hour because it was just behind Bivic, and keeping pace with him.
The prime mover, a semi-trailer and a five-axle dog trailer—total length of the road train somewhere around thirty-six metres—was barrelling towards all parties currently in active position.
Bivic was almost on the first slip-road turn-off. But there was too much speed involved.
‘Louie!’ Jack said. ‘Get out of the way. Let Bivic turn onto the David Carnegie. Move!’ he shouted, as he reversed the wagon out of the way, in case Bivic missed the first slip-road and made for the main turn-off Jack was protecting.
Bivic decided to go for the slip-road. But he was taking the turn way too fast.
‘Louie!’ Donna shouted.
Wham! Bivic’s vehicle skidded, then spun, its rear end colliding with the arrest van, pushing it into a spin towards the centre of the GCR.
Louie fought to control the spin. He’d been trained, but Christ, when it happened for real—and it happened fast, red dust clouding all vision—it was as though the devil had put everyone into a glass globe and shaken them all up.
Bivic’s vehicle hit the banked-up scrub and a tree root. The bonnet buckled and steam hissed from the engine.
Jack saw the airbag deploy.
He took his focus back to the road train. It wasn’t going to be able to stop within the length of space between it and Louie and Johnson in the arrest van. With up to 170 tonnes of truck and whatever freight it was carrying, it was going to do serious damage.
‘Jack! We’ve got to do something!’
‘We can’t.’ It’d be on them in seconds. He yanked the steering wheel one-handed, reversing, then turning the wagon so he was in position, ready to head out.
‘Oh, Christ!’ Donna said, plucking at the radio mic on her shoulder, but Jack was turning the wagon so hard and so fast that it fell out of her hand.
‘Hold on!’ he told her.
She braced, pushing back into her seat, hands on the handle above her door and on the dashboard in front of her.
Within two seconds, which played out like a helter-skelter slow-motion ride into hell, the front right side of the road train clipped the arrest van.
The truckie had veered left, trying to miss the van, but the rear dog trailer knocked Louie and Johnson’s vehicle once more. It hit with such force, it threw the arrest van to the far edge of the road, and straight into Bivic’s four-wheel drive.
The road train groaned and heaved as the truckie struggled to brake while controlling his truck. It passed them with a rhythmic growl, the wind howling between the trailers, bashing their eardrums, a cross between an aircraft and a freight train.
As soon as it was clear, Jack floored it to the crash site, fifty metres away.
He was out of the vehicle even before Donna, who grabbed her mic and called it in to Will and Davidson.
The arrest van was smashed, but it wasn’t on fire. Unable to open the driver’s door, where Louie was head back, with blood streaming from his face, and a bent steering wheel st
uck against his chest, Jack ran to the passenger door and yanked it open.
Johnson moaned, his face a grimace of agony.
Jack assessed him quickly. Police sirens in the distance told him Will was on his way.
‘Get him out,’ he told Donna. ‘Careful. He’s got a broken arm.’ It was obvious from the angle of his left elbow. ‘Probably ribs, too.’
‘I’m all right,’ Johnson said, voice tainted with shock. ‘I’m all right.’
‘We’ve got you, mate,’ Donna said. ‘Take it easy, and if you’re lucky, I’ll tell you a joke.’
Johnson groaned, a half-laugh full of pain. ‘Your jokes are crap, Murray …’
Jack ran around the vehicle to the driver’s side. The front door handle was ironed flat against the door panel. Unable to open it, he got in through the rear door, reached along the side of Louie’s seat and pulled the door lever.
Then Will was suddenly beside the van, and between them they got the driver’s door open, with a creak and a groan of metal as the hinges complained.
Jack checked Louie’s pulse. He was sheet-white and unconscious, pulse slow.
‘We’re going to have to gauge this carefully,’ he said, getting out of the back of the wagon. He had no idea what internal damage had been done. The airbags hadn’t deployed because the vehicle had struck Bivic’s car side-on.
Davidson ran up, a first aid kit in his hands.
‘We need to brace his neck,’ Jack told him. ‘But we can’t move him until we ascertain the damage.’
‘Let me,’ Davidson said, opening the first aid box. ‘I was a cadet first aider with St John’s Ambulance before I joined the force.’
‘Okay,’ Jack agreed. ‘But there’s a lot more we need to establish before we move him.’
‘I know that, Jack,’ Davidson said. ‘Just before you got here, I did an Advanced First Aid course with the ambulance officer here in town.’ He pulled out a neck brace. ‘Thought I might need to know all this shit someday.’
That day was now. Between them, Jack, Will and Donna could provide basic emergency life support and cardio-pulmonary resuscitation but nothing at an advanced or paramedic level.
Jack checked with Will, who nodded agreement, hooking a thumb Louie’s way. ‘Best chance he’s got.’
Davidson had an aura of awareness and control about him suddenly as he got to work, unflustered. Will stayed with him, while Jack went to help Donna who was assisting Bivic out of his vehicle.
Together, they pulled him out and sat him on the dirt. Unbelievably, he was alive, even though the front and now the side of his vehicle was smashed, like an accordion, concertinaed.
He was stunned, shaking a little, but after a quick assessment, there were no broken bones. Not even a damn bruise.
He stared up at Jack, eyes dark.
‘You shot a kid,’ Jack said.
‘Is he dead?’ Bivic asked, with a sneering curl of his mouth.
Jack grabbed him and yanked him over so he was facedown in the dirt. ‘Hope that didn’t hurt.’
Bivic scraped his face in the gravel, turning his head until he pinned Jack with a brutal stare.
‘Just tell me one thing,’ Jack said to him. ‘Why the bull?’
Bivic’s gaze didn’t alter. He didn’t even blink. ‘I was bored,’ he said, expression dead, voice toneless.
‘You’ll go down for this,’ Jack said. ‘Drug trafficking, animal fight rings. Whatever you were up to, we’ll find out. I’ll make sure of it.’ He cuffed him, and he and Donna hauled him into the back of Will’s arrest van.
‘Get the truckie’s details,’ he told Donna. They didn’t have time to talk with him right now, but they’d be doing so. Idiot.
The man had pulled his road train over and was now walking back towards the cops. He had the look of a diehard truck driver, face creased, especially around the eyes, used to studying the road, journeying long hours.
‘You okay?’ Jack asked him.
‘Yeah, mate. Not a problem.’
Jack assessed him a little longer. ‘Okay to drive?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Senior Constable Murray will take your details.’
‘Understood. Look, I’m real sorry. Is there anyone seriously hurt?’
‘Yes,’ Jack said tersely. ‘Get yourself to Mt Maria and stay put. We’ll be in touch.’
The truckie paled. ‘Sorry, guys,’ he said again, but Jack turned from him. He didn’t have time to advise him of his stupidity in driving at that speed when he must have known there was a situation on the road and that police were present.
Ten minutes later, Donna was at Jack’s side. ‘How are we going to get Louie to hospital?’
Jack stood a moment, hands on hips. Johnson had a broken arm, probably a couple of busted ribs, and was bruised all over. Louie was so badly injured, there was no way the medics at the hospital in town would cope.
‘Davidson!’ he called. ‘What’s his status?’
‘He’s going to need surgery and soon. No doubt about it. But we can move him now. I’ve got him prepped.’
Decision made. He turned to Donna. ‘Is there a sealed stretch of road for the Royal Flying Doctor Service?’
‘About fifty kilometres’ worth just outside Walkertown.’
‘Call it in. Advise them we’ve had the officer triaged by an advanced first aider and it’s situation critical. You go with Will and Johnson. I’m going to need Davidson with me.’
Carefully, and slowly, they got Louie into the back of the troop wagon, pulling out blankets and wrapping him up. The temperature was warm, with humidity and high cloud cover suggesting a possible rain storm later, but Louie, who had regained consciousness a couple of times now, was in shock and shivering.
Davidson had done a good job on Johnson. Painkillers would help on the journey back to Mt Maria and the hospital.
An hour later, lights and sirens whirling, Jack was doing a dollar in the dirt. A hundred kilometres an hour, with red dust and grit bouncing beneath the wheels of the wagon. Where road conditions allowed, he drove faster. He had an injured officer in his care.
Alerts and warnings were out once again, this time advising of the emergency. The Walkertown cops had halted traffic either side of the sealed section of road.
Jack had the next 150 kilometres all to himself.
The Royal Flying Doctor Service would land, upload their patient, and be on their way. Louie would be in hospital in Kalgirri within an hour of take-off.
‘How is he?’ he asked Davidson, who was in the back, caring for Louie.
‘It’s fairly bad, Sarge.’
‘How’s his breathing?’
‘We’ve still got him.’
Jesus. David Davidson and Louie Lee—two officers he hadn’t given a lot of credence to. But both had pulled their weight beyond the call of duty today, and Jack would be proud of each of them for a long time to come.
Twenty-Six
Jax checked over her shoulder. The sound of the Agatha Girls’ voices from the kitchen at the far end of the hallway rippled the quiet. Frances was still with them and they were chatting about Agatha Christie plays, which, Frances informed them, she’d never read. This caused some excitement as the ladies vowed to bring Frances up to date on the many adventures of Hercule Poirot.
Jax turned back to Donna. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ Donna had arrived back at the station a half-hour ago after having dropped off First Class Constable Johnson at the hospital, and then depositing Bivic, with Will’s assistance, into a cell.
Donna retained an even expression. ‘Not a bad day’s work.’
Jax smiled at her friend’s coolness, and Donna granted her a reciprocal grin.
Louie was already in Kalgirri hospital, and Jack was on his way back to town. It would take him another few hours. The Kelpies had been picked up by their owners and the detectives had arrived and taken over the charge room, where they’d set up for further investigative conversations.
They’d want
ed to question Donna and Will, and the other officers, but Jack had spoken to them over the sat phone and requested they wait until they’d interviewed him first.
He must have some pull, because after speaking to their DI, the detectives had agreed to delay interviews with others until his return.
‘Do you think there’s something not quite right with Mrs Frith?’ Jax asked, wondering what the detectives would make of Mrs Frith and whether they’d believe what she’d seen and overheard. Would Mrs Frith even remember what she’d told Jack?
Donna pulled her mouth to one side but didn’t have time to answer because Mary and Freda Frith strolled into the OIC office as though walking in for afternoon tea.
‘The cells are just the same!’ Mrs Frith said, pointing at the CCTV monitor, which was no longer covered because Donna was in the office, monitoring everyone in the cells.
Jax checked the hallway, and heard Mrs Arnold and Frances’s voices from the kitchen. Solomon was there too. He’d come to help take the animals to the shelter behind the café.
It was the oddest sensation, given everything that had happened, but Jax felt safe in the police station now, almost as though she were unwilling to leave.
That would be because she was waiting for Jack to come back.
‘Why don’t you ladies gather your belongings and head on to Mrs Frith’s?’ Donna said. ‘Jack will talk to you tomorrow.’
‘It’s more exciting here,’ Mrs Frith said, still staring at the CCTV monitor.
‘What a to-do!’ Mary said, collapsing in an exhausted heap in Jack’s chair. ‘Is the aircon on in there?’ she asked, nodding at the monitor. ‘I don’t know why there isn’t a window. How do people cope, cooped up like that?’
‘It serves them right,’ Donna said. ‘If they’re in here, they’ve been up to no good. Now come on. Time to go home, ladies.’
‘Time for my nip,’ Mrs Frith said.
‘Your flask’s empty,’ Mary advised. ‘You slugged it all at the museum, hours ago.’
‘Did not.’ Mrs Frith pulled her hipflask out of her handbag and shook it. She looked up, her expression dumbfounded. ‘What have you done?’ she demanded of Mary. ‘Where’s my whisky?’