‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry isn’t good enough. Pay back the money you owe that man and get him off our backs.’
‘I will. I’m going to.’
‘How?’
‘I’ve just got back from Macau.’
‘What? You’ve been gambling in Macau?’ Unbelievable. Oliver could only shake his head as his mind groped for words.
‘Yes, and I won. I’ll pay him everything I owe.’ He actually sounded proud of himself.
‘Does he know that?’
‘I’m going to see him today.’
‘So what’s happened to Krista?’
‘No idea. That’s why I’m asking you. I want to tell her not to worry.’
Oliver’s brain kicked into gear. ‘Is there any sign of her there?’
‘There are some things in a couple of carry bags and her make-up and stuff is in her bathroom. It’s a bit weird.’
‘What is?’
‘There are clothes on her bed and the cupboard doors are open as if she’d been packing or something and her handbag is in the living room.’
‘She was packing. She was planning to stay in Taylor’s Bend for a while.’
‘Why? She hates it there.’
‘Long story. Is there an underground car park?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is her car there?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Go and have a look and call me back.’
‘Can I have a shower and change first?’
‘No. Do it now.’
In a fever of impatience, Oliver went to the kitchen and started making breakfast until his phone rang.
‘Her car’s there but I don’t have a key. It looks as though she was loading it up with her things though. There’s a suitcase and some carry bags on the back seat. Looks like some of Lola’s stuff.’
‘Do you know her friends?’
‘Not really.’
‘Think, Angus.’
‘Why are you so worried about her? She probably spent the night with some guy.’
Oliver ground his teeth. ‘She left last Wednesday and texted to say she’d arrived and would be back at The Grange in a few days. I rang her earlier today and got voicemail, but a little while later a text came saying she was going away for a few weeks.’
‘And you don’t think she has?’
‘No, I don’t. Do you? Why would she leave her car behind with her stuff in it? Her suitcase. And as far as I know, women don’t leave their handbags behind.’
‘The keys aren’t in it, I looked. She has more than one handbag and more suitcases.’ Angus paused. ‘But she would take her make-up and toothbrush. What do you think has happened?’ Mild interest now.
‘I think your mate Moran abducted her.’
‘Christ! He wouldn’t do that.’
‘Have you any idea what he’s capable of?’ Was he really so dense? Who did he think the man was? Some benign, friendly old mate of his father’s?
‘Dad wouldn’t let it get that far.’
‘Are you sure? He was furious when you cleared out, and he washed his hands of your debt. Moran holds him and Krista responsible instead. And with your father refusing to play along, Krista was left holding the bag. And me.’
‘Why you?”
‘For God’s sake, Angus! I had Arch Rival at my place when they came to collect her thinking she was Calypso. Did you really think you’d get away with that pathetic trick?’
‘I was desperate.’
‘Call Hugh and tell him what’s happened.’
‘But if I pay back the money, Moran will let her go and Dad needn’t be involved.’
‘If she’s still alive.’
‘No. He won’t dare kill her. No, don’t say that.’
At last he’d struck a nerve in that egotistical, overgrown child. ‘Call him and find out.’ Oliver hung up.
Still shaking with rage, he showered and dressed. There was no way of figuring out when Krista was planning to leave Melbourne and no way of figuring out how long ago she’d been taken. If ransom was the plan someone would have heard by now, most likely Hugh. If so, why hadn’t he phoned Oliver?
He snatched up the phone.
It rang for some time. He’d bet the man was up making a few millions before morning tea. He was right. He was up.
‘Oliver Johnson,’ he barked. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Have you heard anything from Krista recently?’
Breath feathered into the receiver. ‘Why do you ask?’ The tone was even and controlled, very like his father’s when he was dealing with a distasteful subject but not wanting to give away his opinion.
Oliver was in no mood to pussyfoot around. ‘I think Moran has abducted her.’
‘Why would you think that?’ Again the smooth tone.
‘I haven’t heard from her since Wednesday.’
‘Is that unusual? Would you expect to hear from her?’
‘Yes, I would. Her phone’s off. She went home to pack up her things and move back to Taylor’s Bend. She said she’d be a few days and it’s nearly a week. Angus is back and he said her car is in the garage packed up ready to leave but she’s not there.’
‘When did Angus get back?’
‘Early this morning. He rang me asking where Krista was. He has the money and is going to pay his debt.’
More silence then, ‘How long do you think she’s been missing?’
‘I’m not sure but it would have taken her a while to pack so it could be since yesterday, or even Friday.’
‘And you’ve had no contact from anyone?’
‘No. I got a weird text from her phone on Sunday night saying she was going away for a few weeks but I’m sure she didn’t send it. Have you been contacted?’ Suspicious now. Hugh was holding something back; he was sure of it. ‘Tell me the truth, dammit!’
‘I received a photo of her. It was taken in the city on Friday morning and sent straight away. She had a shopping bag in her hand and she was coming out of a department store.’
‘And? Who sent it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What did you do?’
‘What could I do?’
‘Trace the email?’ What couldn’t he do if he wanted to?
‘Of course, I got my IT man onto it but the phone was a prepaid throwaway.’
‘It was a threat. Did you warn her?’
‘I called to see if she was all right but didn’t tell her why. She was still out shopping and was fine. She didn’t mention going back to Taylor’s Bend but she did say she was meeting friends on Saturday night for dinner.’
‘Did she?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘I’m calling the police,’ Oliver said.
‘No, I’ll take care of this.’
‘The way you took care of the debt? No thanks.’
‘How can Angus pay off his debt?’ Hugh asked suddenly.
‘He said he won the money in Macau and he’s telling Moran right away. Will he let her go if the debt is paid?’
‘It’s more than the money to a man like Stefan Moran.’ Hugh sighed heavily. ‘It’s an honour thing. It involves his pride and making her an example for others who might try to step out of line.’
‘An example how?’
Hugh’s silence was enough to chill him to the bone.
Oliver phoned Rupe. After listening to his story, he said, ‘I can contact the Melbourne police and ask them to do some investigating. They should be able to track down the friends. And if she has her phone with her, they can track its whereabouts.’
‘Thanks. I’m positive something’s happened to her.’
‘Is this connected to that beating you took? You have to tell me everything, Ollie. We can’t operate on half-arsed information.’
‘It could be. I think it is.’ He gave Rupe a quick rundown of events, knowing exactly what his reaction would be, finishing with, ‘I didn’t have any real proof and Moran hadn’t actually done anything.’<
br />
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Apart from threaten you both and send those goons in to give you a beating.’
‘They said he didn’t, that it was their idea because we made them look stupid in front of the boss. Have you found them yet?’
‘We found the vehicle, burnt out. At least we think it’s the right one. All the identifying info had been removed. Okay. I’ll get onto this right now. Sit tight and don’t do anything stupid. These people aren’t playing games.’
‘If Angus repays his debt they’ll let her go though, won’t they?’
‘I hope so, but if they haven’t contacted anyone to say they have her, they might have a different plan.’
‘Not a ransom?’
‘Doesn’t seem so.’
Which left revenge. But whose revenge was it? Moran’s or their two attackers?
***
By lunchtime, Oliver was so wound up he could barely function. He’d had to force himself to focus on treating the cut on the hind leg of Carly Smith’s pony that morning, but it wasn’t a bad wound and he managed the antiseptic and bandaging as near to normally as was possible. He declined the offer of tea and shortbread and headed home, glad that at least a few hours had been occupied while he waited for news that didn’t come.
Surely Angus had contacted Moran by now, it was nearly twelve. And what was Hugh doing?
Margie was on the phone when he walked into the surgery.
‘Beryl,’ she mouthed.
He grimaced. The last thing he needed was Beryl with her false alarms. Normally it didn’t bother him but today …
‘You’d better bring her in,’ Margie said. ‘Yes, he’s just come back. Bye.’
‘Margie, I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with Beryl.’
‘I think it’s real this time. Sounds like a tick. Back legs are paralysed and Beryl was visiting friends in Sydney over the weekend—Dee Why.’
‘Okay.’ He nodded. Plenty of ticks in the Northern Beaches areas of Sydney. ‘I hope for your sake it is and for Beryl and the dog’s sake it’s not.’
‘She’ll be back,’ Margie called as he stomped into the consulting room to prepare.
‘She always comes back, that’s the problem.’
‘Not Beryl, Krista.’
‘Krista?’ He came to stand in the doorway.
‘Yes, the reason you’re so grumpy.’ She eyed him with an infuriating smirk.
‘That’s not …’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘She’s missing.’
‘Missing? What do you mean missing?’
‘Her phone’s off and she hasn’t contacted anyone since Saturday night.’ Once he started, the words kept coming. ‘Angus is at her apartment and he said she’s gone but her personal stuff is still there. Her car’s in the garage there half packed. She was coming back.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cripes, no wonder you’re worried. I had no idea, I’m sorry. Shall I put Beryl off?’
‘No, you might be right about a tick. Better not. It’ll take my mind off … the other. I’m waiting for Angus or Hugh to call.’
‘Any idea what might have happened?’
‘It could be connected to those two men who attacked us.’
Her expression said it all. Oliver couldn’t face the reflection of his own fear. He turned and began mindlessly preparing to treat Beryl’s dog for a tick, just in case.
***
The first thing she became conscious of was her head aching with a relentless, dull, throb that resonated through her body. Her mouth was parched but a thick wad of cloth prevented her from moistening her lips with her tongue. A gag. Swallowing was difficult and she almost choked.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking, straining to see something but the darkness was the same with eyes closed or open. An oily smell suffused the air. Like a mechanic’s workshop. But she was in the back of a van, lying on some sort of thin foam layer that smelled mouldy. Night-time? She tried to sit up but her ankles and arms were tied and when she moved her head, the throb became a pounding and she had to lie still until it subsided.
She tried to remember what had happened but her brain was like cottonwool with snippets of memory caught like dust in the soft strands. Packing her car. Oliver. Her eagerness to leave. Dinner in a restaurant. White tablecloths. Clea was there and Malcolm. After that? Walking. Warm night. A taxi?
Then what? She closed her eyes in an effort to visualise but failed. Her feet and legs were bare. Where were her shoes? Her arms were bare, too. She had on a dress. She’d worn a dress to dinner. It came in a flash, like a photograph. The black dress with a purple and yellow floral-print, floaty skirt, ruffled hem and sleeves. The soft fabric felt familiar against her arms.
She hadn’t made it home.
Voices sounded outside. Men talking low but urgently. Suddenly the side door slid open with a rasp of metal on metal, a square of dim yellow light in the darkness. A torch blinded her and she turned her head, after images dancing in her eyes.
‘She’s awake.’
A dark figure leaned in and she tried to shrink away as it loomed over her but she was against the wall of the van, trapped. Black featureless face. Rough hands removed the gag and she gulped deep breaths. He held her head up. Another smell mingled with the oiliness—cheap aftershave and sweat. In the light from the torch she glimpsed a plastic water bottle as he brought it to her lips. She swallowed gratefully and her mind began to clear.
‘Who are you?’ Her voice barely worked.
‘Your teachers.’ The water bottle was removed. ‘If you’re a good girl I won’t put the gag back on.’
‘What do you want?’ Teachers? What?
‘No yelling. No-one will hear you anyway. Except us.’
‘What are you going to do to me?’
‘The boss says you need to learn some manners.’
He straightened and the door slammed shut.
Moran. Tears trickled down her cheek. She’d angered him, disrespected him and now he was teaching her a lesson via this man and his offsider. This so-called teacher wasn’t one of the pair that claimed Calypso. This was someone else and he was much more frightening with his casual, disinterested tone.
Hours later, the light increased enough for her to make out the interior of the van. The rear window was tinted but part of the windscreen was visible between the two seats and the partial panel and wire mesh separating the two areas. She could make out a wall, a shed or a garage wall. Her head wasn’t as painful now the drug had worn off, and she was able to move without a sledgehammer attack on her brain. Her shoulders and legs were stiff and cramped and her left arm had lost all feeling but she managed to shuffle her body and struggle into a sitting position with her back against the wall. Excruciating pins and needles made her gasp as the blood rushed into the deadened arm.
Her shoes lay in the far corner, tossed in as an afterthought. She stared at them, willing herself to remember, but nothing came after the fragmented pieces of finishing dinner and walking with Malcolm to hail a cab. Had she gone in it? No. She remembered watching as his cab drove off. She’d walked the couple of blocks to the restaurant. She must have meant to walk home. It wasn’t late, there were people around.
What had happened next? She must have been abducted on the street. Wouldn’t someone have seen? They must have. Someone would have called the police and they’d be looking for her. But what if no-one had? Who would know she was missing?
No-one. Oliver would think she’d changed her mind or be taking longer than she expected. He wouldn’t worry about her. He might try to call after a while because Lola was with him and he’d want to know what to do with her. But that might take him a week. Or never. He’d take her to The Grange and leave her with Rod and Amy. The end.
More tears trickled down, dripping onto her throat and running down onto her chest but she couldn’t wipe them away. The best she could do was bend her head and lift her shoulder to blot her cheek, but she
was so stiff it hurt. She drew her legs up clumsily in an effort to regain some circulation and realised she could bend forward and wipe her face on the skirt of the dress rumpled over her bent knees.
The door scraped open again. The men had balaclavas on, the thick wool incongruous with black T-shirts, and why she’d thought the face had no features. One of them grabbed her legs and dragged her to the opening. He pulled out a knife and before she could react he’d sliced through the tape on her ankles.
‘Stand up.’
She slid her bottom forward so her feet touched the ground. Rough concrete, cool underfoot, but the air in the shed was stuffy and hot. It was a garage. Tools hung on the walls in neat rows and a work bench ran along the side nearest. A roller door was closed but sunlight sneaked in through the chinks around the edges. The man steered her stumbling steps to another door at the far end of the space.
The other one flung open the door onto a grimy toilet. The first man cut her hands free and shoved her inside. The room was so small she had to close the door to use the toilet.
‘Don’t lock it and be quick,’ he said.
Trembling, Krista did as she was told. After she finished, she turned the tap on the small washbasin and the trickle of lukewarm water was enough to drink and wash the dried tears and sweat from her face and neck. With the refreshing water came a sliver of hope. If they were letting her use the bathroom, they weren’t going to kill her. She clung to that thought.
‘Out,’ came the voice.
The other man had gone. This one retaped her hands, but instead of pushing her back into the van—white she saw now, common but she didn’t remember the make—he took her through another door, into a corridor and along to what appeared to be a small storeroom, windowless. Shelves lined the walls but it was empty save for a single chair.
‘Sit down.’
She did. He stared down at her. She stared back. Details, she had to remember details. His eyes were grey with long pale lashes. He was the same man who came in the night and gave her a drink. She’d know that aftershave, his body smell, anywhere. He was about Oliver’s height and build. He had no visible tattoos on his bare arms but the other one did. What was it? Where was he?
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