“Is the pope a Catholic? Red of course,” said Steve. But too late. Jools had already grabbed a red wine glass and was currently reaching for G’s bottle of shiraz, about to pour.
“So, what’s up? G tells me that you’ve something to show Cait.”
Steve put the folder he brought with him on the kitchen bench and slid it across to Cait with his left hand in the same fluid movement that saw him sit down, grab his glass of red in his right, and take the first sip.
“Red for me too please,” said Cait. She pulled Steve’s folder toward herself, squared it to align with the edges of the bench top, took a sip of wine, sucked in a breath of air, looked at the brown cover, then opened it.
Cait picked up the first photo and stared long and hard at the image in front of her for what seemed to her like an hour but was really only a few seconds, then dropped it as if it was cursed, gingerly picking up the next image, immediately dropping it again, then looked up and stared blankly at some point in the distance that wasn’t really there; she reminded G of someone who had checked out: Lifeless . . . no, no, no . . . not that . . . it’s weird . . . Caitie’s in a . . . a . . . she’s in a trance?
Cait’s eyes momentarily rolled back in her head, substituting their normal vivacious blue for a white sclera facing the conscious world; ice eyes, eyes that belonged to another dimension, her face taking on a disassociated look that was almost ethereal, shoulders dropped, each breath slowing, lengthening. Her body appeared to relax, to melt into itself.
Jools looked on in awe, all-knowing: “It’s The Gift,” she muttered to no one in particular, empathizing with her daughter. It was a rite of passage that only Cait could take. Steve looked on, dumbfounded: “Cait, Cait, you okay?” G glanced at Jools and picked up on her vibe.
“Caitie, we’re here for you, darling. Come back to us when you’re ready.” He had been around Jools for long enough to know when she was connecting to the Otherworld.
But there was no response. Cait had left this world.
I’m floating. I can’t feel my body. No . . . no . . . yes, I can. What’s happening to me? Dad . . . Mum . . . why aren’t you answering me?
Cait’s view of the outside world—the world that was in front of me a minute ago, the one I live in, but at the same time I’m somehow not in anymore—narrowed and became lucid, sharp, slightly distorted; it reminded her of looking through a shimmering crystal veil. Time slowed as her mind wandered through a flash of memories and associations. It was as if she was floating through another dimension, walking a few inches above the ground on a carpet of soft down.
Then as quickly as Cait had slipped out of the present she snapped back—alert, focused, intense.
“That’s it! That’s the tattoo. That’s the one in my visions. The one that was on the arm hanging out the window of the van that kidnapped me.”
Jools smiled, half whispering to her daughter as their eyes locked: “You’ll always remember the first time, Cait. You’ve just experienced the power of The Gift.”
“Hey Jools, do you remember the name of that detective we spoke to at St Kilda CIB? You know, the one with the mousy hair and the thrift store suit?” Jools was the Minister for Sex, War, and Finance on the home front and she always remembered things like this. She was sitting at their kitchen island bench enjoying the late winter sun as it streamed through the windows and looked up from her cup of coffee, peering at G over the top of her glasses with a questioning look.
“Yeah, Chris something. Why?”
“Well, obvious, isn’t it? He needs to know about the link between the tattoo and the Warlocks.” G pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and started rummaging through it, looking for the business card that he was given on his last visit to the police a few days ago.
“Here it is. Yeah. Sorenson, Detective Inspector Chris Sorenson.” He put the card on the bench and flicked it across to Jools, but with way too much force. The card ended up sailing off the edge of the bench before landing in Jools’s lap, then dropping on the floor.
“G, sometimes you are just such a klutz. Would have been easier just to pass it to me.”
Jools reached down and picked up Sorenson’s card. Looking at it, she flipped it over, then tapped it a few times on her lips.
“I know that look. What’s up, Jools?”
“Just hold back for a moment on this. You know how Cait was so pissed off with you the last time you went to the cops on her behalf. Let’s ask her first what she wants to do with this new information.”
“Yeah, right as usual, you got a point there. I’ll go get her.”
“So Caitie, we don’t want to push you, but what do you want to do—go to the cops and give them a heads-up? This could really move the case on, don’t you think?” G was at his convincing best, laying out the facts to her about the link between the cobra tattoo and the Warlocks, but this time he was treating his daughter as an equal who had been wronged, not as his little girl.
“Dad, that cop was really nice, but do you think he’ll take it seriously? You know his reaction the last time we spoke with him. He seemed to want to totally take over. I’m sure he thought that the kidnapping had made me a bit wrong in the head.” Cait felt the worship of her father’s eyes looking at her as she spoke.
“So what do you think I should do here?” Cait said, casting a glance across the bench at Jools, who had just lifted her head out of the magazine she was skimming through to nod at G.
“Well Caitie, I’ve been thinking. Yes, Sorenson definitely needs to know about the link to the Warlocks, no matter how tenuous it is. But—and it’s a big but—maybe we run this past Kylie first and get her opinion on the best way forward.”
As G was talking, Cait’s eyes wandered outside to their backyard, taking in the bare winterscape: the dancing lacelike shadows cast by the naked trees; the proliferation of greenery but no flowers, and she felt that it matched her current situation—hibernation, lack of color, death even. But then she noticed the first yellow buds of spring decorating a wattle tree that was hiding in a corner and her mood lifted in tune with the familiar tone of G’s voice, as he rationalized his latest option.
“Yeah Dad, go on.”
“I feel that the frenzy comes with the fries here.” G paused momentarily to collect his thoughts, then continued, “Disclosing this link too early may either open a real can of worms that potentially could lead to your kidnapping, and Rishi’s death I might add, being drawn up into a much wider investigation that drags on forever.” G took a breath. “An admirable outcome, but I’m sure it’s the last thing you want.”
“Or alternatively, it could send some of the players to ground.”
“So . . . what do you suggest?” Both Cait and Jools were all ears.
“I think that we should speak to Kylie. Like today, if she’s not in court. A second opinion and a bit of legal advice certainly won’t go astray. She knows the system better than any of us mere mortals.”
“Yep, great advice, Dad . . . as usual. You always seem to know what to say. Let’s do it.”
Cait liked Kylie. They had met numerous times socially over the years, as Kylie was one of G’s crew on his racing yacht, Fig Jam. Cait and Kylie had clicked from day one, and now Cait was only too glad to have Kylie batting on her team. In fact, she enjoyed loosely following Kylie’s rise up the ranks of the legal profession and was always keen to hear news from G of Kylie’s successes in court. After Kylie mentioned to Cait at last year’s Fig Jam Xmas get-together about an interview she had given a while back in one of the “people” magazines, Cait had even taken the time to chase down a back copy and then read the article.
The article painted Kylie as a rising star, take-no-prisoners, tough-as-nails criminal barrister, who in the relatively short period of ten years before the Bar, had managed to build a name for herself as a go-to barrister in the male-dominated, macho world of the law. Apparently, among her peers Kylie had the reputation of being a pit bull who would go for the throat of any a
dversary who attacked her logic in a court of law. It described her rather unflatteringly as being utterly ruthless, almost without conscience; how she managed to frequently defend her high-profile criminal clients without even the slightest hint of an altruistic side to her nature, all in pursuit of winning the case. Which she did more often than not.
And Cait was impressed: a strong woman, rising—no, fighting—her way to the top in a man’s domain. So she was more than pleased to have Kylie give her advice about the link between the cobra tattoo and the Warlocks, especially as it looked like there was more of a criminal side to this than just her own misadventure.
“You know, G, I’m always available to help if ever the need arises for legal advice,” Kylie told G a while back. They were relaxing in the members’ bar at the Royal Port Phillip Yacht Club one Saturday after a race on Fig Jam, and as is the way when you let your guard down in a social setting, unexpected words flowed. “I know what the law’s like. You can end up in the shit when you least expect it. I’ve seen it happen time and again. I’ve got your back, G.”
Kylie had an ulterior motive here as well. She really enjoyed crewing on Fig Jam—such a superfast, almost dangerous yacht—she liked the other six guys on the crew—they were all a hoot, even that bigot Sean, the mad Irishman—and thought the world of G—he’s such a nice guy. One out of the hat. Jools just doesn’t know how lucky she is. Now I’m single again, if only he were unattached—but most importantly, her time on the water allowed her to escape from the “tough girl” persona that she had to adopt in court. And it kept her in close contact with G—the highlight of each week.
“How the hell did Steve manage to get that photo? G, these guys are really bad news—they’ve been linked to drug dealing and extortion, even murder if you believe the rumors. They’re total thugs of the lowest kind. And the really bad part about all this is that now Cait’s tied up in it.” G had just shown Steve’s real-time photograph of the cobra tattoo to Kylie.
“G, I’m serious, if this escalates you may have to consider asking the police for some type of protection for you and the family. If it pans out how I think it may, it’s that bad. The Warlocks really are bad guys.”
G’s skin grew pebbly with goose bumps as the revelation of what Kylie had just suggested sank in.
“That bad?”
“Yep. Those guys are ruthless. They have zero respect for the law, or for anyone’s property, or life for that matter. They live outside the law. They’re not people to be messed with.”
“Ah . . . so. What do you suggest? Where to from here?”
“Well, for starters, the cops have to be updated with Steve’s info. But give me twenty-four hours to do some sniffing around first.”
Kylie was on a roll.
“I’ll see if I can come up with anything else to back up what we already know. I got a crim off an extortion charge last year on a technicality and he owes me a favor. He’s well connected in the underworld. He may just be able to fill in a few gaps if I pressure him hard enough.”
“I’ll leave that one up to you. That’s out of my league.” G noticed Kylie’s usual soft, liquid brown eyes harden with an intensity of focus that he’d never seen in her before. It was like she was morphing into killer mode: all sharp edges and a determination that was almost frightening.
“Best you do. Hopefully I’ll get back to you by tomorrow, then we’ll go to the cops with what we’ve got. I want to nail these bastards for Cait.”
After Steve’s visit to see Cait when he showed her the photo of Tangles’s arm and then she had that bizarre turn—my God, I’ve never seen anything like that. It really was weird—curiosity about the Warlocks’ link to Cait’s kidnapping became a lodestone for him, pointing the way forward. Like an annoying itch, it just wouldn’t leave him alone, constantly nagging at him, cropping up at the most inopportune times.
It has to be them. I know it. I can feel it. Those bastards have invaded my goddaughter’s life. They’ve crossed the line. I’ll make the pricks pay if it’s the last thing I do.
Steve was like that—into retribution. The Warlocks may have been really wrong, bad pieces of work, but Steve was well connected and hadn’t clawed his way to the top of the pile by being Mr. Nice Guy all the time. Unlike Cait’s father, who was one of his best mates and all about philosophizing and doing the right thing—admirable properties, yes—Steve was a more action-oriented guy who was prepared to step outside the accepted norm to achieve his goals. And the current goal was getting to the bottom of Cait’s kidnapping, so he went back to his criminal mates again.
“Hey Tangles, been checking you guys out a bit on the web, and there’s not a lot of detail . . .”
“I told you, shit for brains, I ain’t doin’ you no more favors. So piss off.”
Tangles was taking his role seriously since he had been patched. The Warlocks were now his brothers. He honestly thought “Brothers Forever” embroidered on the back of his never-to-be-washed sleeveless leather jacket meant exactly that.
“Five grand, mate. Cash. One question. One answer,” said Steve.
“Mate, told you before, I ain’t snitching on my bros. You fuckin’ deaf or somethin’?”
“Five grand. Who’s ‘Boss-man?’”
Silence.
“Cash, mate. Strictly between you and me. Folding stuff. Go spend it on the missus, or blow it up your nose as far as I care. Just tell me who the fuck is ‘Boss-man.’”
Silence. Then a response: “Meet you at the same drop point, yeah?”
“Sweet Tangles. Now who is he?”
“Like man, he’s the heavy. Known as ‘The Enforcer.’ Boss-man is the sergeant at arms, dude.”
“Yeah, but what’s his real name?”
“Shit, I dunno. Wouldn’t have a clue. He’s just ‘Boss-man.’ Don’t think he has no other name in the club. So what about my five Gs?”
“Mate, for that piece of shit I‘ll give you two and a half. You find out his real name, you’ll get the other two and a half.”
Steve had actually found out what he wanted to know. He was just so into doing deals that he couldn’t let Tangles know he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Yes, a real birth name would be nice, but linking Boss-man to the Warlocks was what he was really after. Whether Boss-man was a nonentity with no fixed address, no real name that could be pinned on him and not on any electoral roll, or a one-percenter who lived off the grid, he couldn’t give a rat’s arse. At this stage he just wanted to establish a connection back to the Warlocks.
In many ways a prerequisite to Kylie’s legal training was first having all semblance of creative thought, including the concept of the paranormal, excised from her gray matter. So today, if whatever was in front of her didn’t exist in tangible form as something that could be seen, felt, experienced, even smelled or tasted, then it simply wasn’t anything that could be used as evidence.
In other words, it didn’t exist.
“Kylie, you know I’ve always been a bit psychic. We’ve talked about it before. Sometimes I just know things. Like, it’s creepy.” Cait paused momentarily to let what she had just said sink in. G had finally convinced Cait to leave the house after what seemed like weeks of staring at the four walls of her bedroom and go with him to the central business district. G had an appointment in town, so he dropped Cait off at Owen Dixon Chambers, and now she was sitting in Kylie’s office, casually looking into the window of the building next door at a person in a black Harry Potter robe and a ridiculous white wig grabbing a drink from the watercooler.
She laughed inwardly: Someone going to a costume party?
Cait turned toward Kylie, who was almost hidden behind piles of files on her desk, some trussed up in pretty pink ribbons, and continued, “Call it perception, call it intuition, whatever. Mum keeps telling me that I’ve inherited this from her. She calls it The Gift, but the jury’s out on that one.” Cait didn’t want to go into the whole Druid bit as she knew Kylie would check out on that one big-time. Kylie
was strictly a “show me the facts” type of girl.
“Ah, pardon the pun.” Cait smiled at her attempt at humor; Kylie sat there expressionless. Cait was trying to tell Kylie about her perceptive insight, but it appeared to be falling on deaf ears.
“I just know that I sometimes see things, feel things, know things. Crazy stuff. I’ve always been like that, but I usually keep quiet about it because people think I’m some sort of weirdo. And The Gift, or whatever it’s called, is telling me that Rishi’s murder, my kidnapping, the cobra tattoo, the Harleys, and these damn nightmares and premonitions that I keep having are all linked somehow.”
Kylie tried to look interested and sagacious, but it wasn’t working.
“Please, just ask Dad about the other night. Kylie, trust me, The Gift took me over. Steve, Dad, and Mum were all in the room when it happened. This is weird I know, but it happened. It invaded me and I saw things—felt things—that weren’t of this world. I know there’s a connection there.”
“Cait, that’s all good, but if we go to the police with a theory about your kidnapping that’s based on a vision or a perception or some trancelike state that you went into they’ll laugh us out of the cop shop.”
Kylie was currently supporting the theory that her ability to think outside the accepted norm had somehow been removed from her gray matter as a prerequisite to entering law school.
“However, it’s not all doom and gloom here. I did some probing of my contacts and I found out some very useful information, something that will interest the police.”
Cait moved forward and sat at attention, senses heightened, her straight back lifting off the rather voluminous brown studded leather chair that she had been just been slouching in.
“Steve sent me a text of that lovey-dovey selfie he took with the bikie, and I followed it up. It looks like his theory is correct that the cobra tattoo on the arm of the thug who kidnapped you belongs to one of the Warlocks, as that snake is definitely the Warlocks’ emblem. We’ve got a match.”
The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 35