by Jay Darby
She leaned over him, her long nipples brushed his chest. “Me? Us? You say that with a cold, blank look on your face…What am I supposed to feel?”
He sat up, his back against the bed head. “Been thinking of our future...”
She pulled away from him. “What da hell?”
He dropped his eyes. How to tell her?
She poked a finger into his chest, her face reddened. “Well, what’s da story?”
“Babe, calm down…” He paused, troubled by the dread on her face. Was it best to let her go, knowing she and Amber would have a better life away from his moods and excessive drinking? Was he trying to convince her, too gutless to say it? “Just worried I’m gunna lose you...”
She sighed. “You’re crazy to think that.”
“I’ve been such a bastard lately and wouldn’t blame you for leaving…”
She covered herself with a sheet and sat up cross-legged, eyes level with his. “Nope, I’ll always be here for you, babe…Amber and I, we aint going anywhere…”
“Hope so…Sorry, you know I’m a shocker with feelings.”
She caressed him with kind eyes. “Don’t be, or they’ll punish you.” She moved and cradled his head in her lap, then stroked his hair. “What happened with da psychiatrist today?”
“Told her I’m okay.”
“And she believed you?”
“Reckon so…”
“What else you talk about?”
“Usual psych bullshit…” He looked up into her face and smirked. “And you…”
Her eyebrows jumped. “Really?”
“She asked how we’d met, about mum and dad…” He paused. How to approach the subject? “She made a good suggestion…”
“What?”
“She reckons I’d be less stressed if you and Amber went down to the farm for a few weeks…”
“And you agree?”
“Yeah, it’s not safe here.”
She shook her head. “We’re not leaving you.”
Porter couldn’t tell her the truth, that he wanted to stay and hunt Nadia Tindall’s killer. “Do it for Amber, babe. Who knows what these mongrel vigilantes will do?”
“Come with us? We’ll leave in da morning…”
He paused to search for an alibi, and found a lie. “Can’t, got another appointment with the police psych.”
“When?”
“Thursday, then more next week. Drive down in your car, and I’ll have one from the insurance company by Wednesday. Will join you in a fortnight when the appointments are over.”
“Two weeks? Nope, I’m not leaving you here alone, not with da way you feeling right now.”
“Jane, please? You asked how to help. This will…”
Her eyes darted over his face. “Okay, okay. We’ll leave tomorrow, on one condition.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not to work. Rest at home, see da psychiatrist, then come to us.”
“Deal. But I’ve gotta go to the office tomorrow, just once.”
“What da hell for?”
“Dunno, but Steve Williams wants to see me. Will take a taxi, be home in no time.”
“You’d better be…” She bent to kiss him.
He sat up and returned the soft kiss, then stroked her cheek and swept a strand of hair from it. He smiled, grateful for the love of such a woman. “You’re right, you know, about it being dangerous to ignore emotions…”
“Really? And what’s brought on this sudden, self-evaluation?”
“You’re the most important person in my life, but I’ve never told you that. Taken you for granted…Sorry.”
“Babe, no, you’re da kindest, sweetest, most caring man I’ve known. That’s why you feel so much pain. How can I not love you?” She giggled. “With your busted nose, black eyes and scraggly beard…Who could leave such an adorable man?”
He wanted to laugh with her but sensed a need to be serious, and said words that had never left his mouth. “I love you, Jane. You’re my angel, and I love you more than I thought possible. Marry me, babe. Let’s finally do this?”
Her jaw dropped, then she flashed a smile prettier than a thousand rainbows. “Babe, you sure? It’s da first time you’ve told me that, and now you want marriage? Can hardly believe it...” She squealed and hugged him. Then she swayed back, her facial expression turned sour. “Don’t you be messin’ with me now…”
“Not messing, and sorry, don’t have a ring yet…But what you reckon, will you marry me?”
She leaned close and held his face in both hands. Eyes locked, souls merged into one, and she kissed him like he’d never been kissed. “Did that answer your question?”
He licked his lips. “Reckon that’s, in the affirmative?”
She hugged him tight. “Yes, thank da Lord, you’ve finally done it. We’re getting married.”
They laughed together, drew apart to kiss then laughed some more.
She stopped, leaned her head to the side and eyed him. “When?”
“When what?”
“When are we getting married?”
“Babe, we’ve just agreed to do it…Don’t know, when…”
“My family’s coming to visit in four months,” she blurted. “Perfect, we’ll do it then.”
He frowned, tried to unjumble his thoughts. “Yeah, sure, why not? But won’t you need more time, to organize everything?”
“Yay! Don’t believe it’s happening.” She bobbed in front of him, like a toddler who’d drunk too much red cordial. “Don’t worry, I’ll plan everything.”
“Mum?” Amber called out from downstairs. “Dan?”
Jane squealed. “Oh my god. Amber.” She leaped from the bed and took her nightie from a hook on the wall. “I’ve got to tell Amber.” She pecked his cheek, turned and ran. Then she stopped in the doorway, marched back and planted herself next to him.
He’d never been on the receiving end of a such an intense stare. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll marry you, but there’ll be no secrets...”
His face twitched, eyes blinked quicker than usual. “Like?”
“Your nightmares. You’re keeping things from me. Secrets...”
“Not secrets babe, only things from the past you don’t wanna know.”
“What happened?”
“Now’s not the time…But I promise to tell you, before the wedding.”
“You’d better, or there won’t be one.” She kissed him and ran from the room.
He fell back on the bed and watched the ceiling spin. Bloody hell, Porter, what have you done?
NINETEEN
Late Monday afternoon, Lionel Roberts sat in a waiting room outside Karen Flintoff’s office in Sydney’s CBD. She’d phoned earlier and told him to come to see her, but hadn’t said why. He chewed a fingernail and tapped his feet. Was there a problem with his submission to the Human Rights Commission?
His past few days had been hectic. After Saturday’s Hyde Park rally he’d spent that night, all of Sunday and most of Monday morning preparing for his investigation phase. As feared, because it contradicted what he’d told Charles McKinlay, the most recent reports of abuse in the far-western districts confirmed that only two alleged victims resided in Crooked River. Had McKinlay found the same discrepancy? Was Flintoff going to tell him his investigation was over, before it had begun?
His phone showed 5.40pm. Flintoff, as expected, made him sweat. A text message from Wendy buzzed, and he read it. Michael from State Archives had agreed to keep their discovery of the missing Welfare Board files a secret. He grinned at the news.
The office door opened and Flintoff told him to come in. He took a seat opposite, watched her across the desk while she shuffled papers, and searched for any sign his investigation would go ahead. Close to forty years of age, she was attractive but not beautiful. She wore a navy business suit, and a white blouse buttoned up to her neck. Auburn hair hung to her shoulders.
She peered over brown-rimmed glasses and made brief eye c
ontact. “Do you know Klose and Rhodes, the Federal police investigators on your team?”
Lionel closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh of relief, he still had his investigation. He opened them. “Yes, Fred Klose’s part Koori and will be a wonderful asset. Don’t know Rhodes, but Fred says he’s a brilliant investigator.”
She watched him through dull blue eyes. “Can confirm the AG’s department is sponsoring your investigation, with all expenses to be met by this office.” She slid papers across the desk. “Read and sign each page.”
He did as she’d instructed for the first two pages, then frowned when he came to a section on page three. He read aloud. “Name of immediate supervisor and supporting comments.”
“Dennis Bourke isn’t it? Is he aware of your investigation? Will that be a problem?”
He saw from the glint in her eye that she hoped to make him squirm. “You could try to have Dennis stop me from doing this, considering he doesn’t approve of it. But we both know you won’t...”
She sneered with gritted teeth. “It’s despicable what you’ve done, Roberts, especially the way you’ve done it. Blackmail’s the lowest of the low, and I’d love more than anything to stomp all over your ambitions…” She huffed. “Dennis Bourke owes me. He’ll sign and make supporting comments tomorrow.”
Lionel smirked, unable to disguise delight at his triumph.
She squinted at him. “You think this is over? It’s only just beginning...”
“Meaning?”
“I can’t hurt you, but you’ve made enemies with two of this nation’s most powerful men. Rothwell’s incensed, he hates you more than I do. McKinlay’s been humiliated and vows revenge. Can’t honestly believe they’ll just let you carry on, and get away with it?”
“I’m at war with the established order of things…I expect to make powerful enemies, and I’m prepared for them.”
“Listen to you…You’ve no idea what these men will do. Their stubborn pride will eventually defeat all reason, and then they’ll make their move. Be careful if I were you…”
“Your friendly advice is appreciated.” He leaned closer and held her gaze. “I can’t control what actions Rothwell and McKinlay decide to take. But if I were you, Karen, I’d ensure your assistance continues, if and when called upon.” She averted her eyes. “Do we understand each other?”
She snatched the papers from him and flicked to the next page. “Regarding the New South Wales cop…We’ve had nothing back on that request, have you?”
“Not yet. They’ve tried seconding another investigator of Koori descent, without success. Told me I’ll know by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Rental accommodation’s organized and paid up for three months. Have three vehicles waiting for you out there, office equipment and supplies have been ordered. The driver taking you to the airport on Wednesday will give you credit cards and the expense account details. Questions?”
“Must I inform local police we’re coming?”
She kept reading. “Inspector George Barrett, Chief of Detectives for the Crooked River command, is your contact officer and has already been notified. Requests for assistance will go through him.”
“Sounds good.” He placed a palm on the desk and prepared to stand. “Anything else?”
She flipped to the final page. “Read the declaration, sign, then fill out section 34.” She slid the papers to him.
He read, signed his name, and dropped his eyes to section 34. He smiled then read aloud. “Proposed name of Investigation Phase.”
“It’s okay if you don’t have one, the department will name it…” She pulled the papers towards her.
Lionel did have a name. He’d had it for years, since he’d followed the ‘Bringing them Home’ inquiry. “Carinya,” he told her. His chest swelled. “It’ll be known as the Carinya investigation.”
She held pen to paper. “Spelt with a C?”
He nodded and wanted her to ask what it meant, but doubted she cared.
“Stop in the waiting room,” she said without looking up. “I’ll get copies made for you.”
He strolled to the door, opened it halfway and turned back. “A happy, peaceful home.”
Her forehead crinkled. “What?”
“Carinya, it’s from an Aboriginal language…The word for a happy, peaceful home.” He gave a courteous nod. “Thanks for your assistance, Karen. Until next time...”
She scoffed, like a hangman ignoring pleads for mercy. “Are you really that naïve?” He flinched at her hateful glare. “There won’t be, a next time.”
TWENTY
Porter’s pulse went into overdrive as he stepped from a taxi then stood in front of City Central police station. He clicked his tongue against the roof of a dry mouth and studied the dark, angry sky. His rapid exhalations formed steam clouds that floated away on a chilly breeze. Aside from his first day as a probationary constable, he couldn’t remember feeling such apprehension arriving at work. What confrontation awaited inside the concrete monstrosity? What did his boss, Steve Williams, want to tell him?
He ignored the stares and snide remarks from uniformed cops smoking in the forecourt and scurried through automatic doors into the entry foyer. He ducked left to avoid front-desk staff then swiped his ID tag to unlock a glass security door. Once inside the ground floor’s secure area, he bypassed the elevators, then rushed to the stairwell and side-stepped into it.
He pushed the fire door shut and flung his back against the wall. His heart pounded his ribcage, his brain spun out of control on its’ axis. He waited a few seconds and listened for movement above him. Convinced the stairwell was empty, he leaped up three stairs at a time. When he reached the fourth floor, he pulled the fire door open, turned a corner, and hurried into Steve Williams’ office. He closed the door then flopped into a chair opposite him, panting, his skin moist.
Williams stopped typing and recoiled in his seat. “Christ, what happened to you?”
Porter fought to regain his breath, licked salty sweat that had pooled in the corners of his mouth. “Nothing…You said 10am, Tuesday. Here I am.”
Williams frowned and rested his hands on the desk “That’s a mangy beard you’ve got if I’ve ever seen one. And did you run from home? You look like crap...”
Porter agreed, he’d gasped at his reflection in the mirror that morning. “So everyone keeps telling me...”
Williams chuckled. “Sorry, how you going? Any problems downstairs when you came in?”
“Nah, no-one said a word…Feel beaut, ready to get back into it.” Porter wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, then scratched wet circles at his armpits. “Took the stairs, needed the exercise. Been sat on my arse watching footy and drinking beer all weekend…”
Williams lowered his eyes. “Shouldn’t have asked you to come in. Hoped it’d do you good, to get out and confront the haters. But can see it’s done the opposite…”
“What?”
“It’s stressed you out, Port, you’re shaking and sweating. Your face is still swollen and bruised. I fucked up, should’ve come to see you at home.”
Porter said nothing.
Williams sighed, as though disgusted with himself. “How’d you find it with Deidre yesterday?”
“I’m not going back there, mate. Waste of time.”
“She said it went okay?”
“So much for confidentiality…”
“Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me the juicy bits.”
“Were none, she didn’t even ask about the shooting.”
“She will…Look, I asked her to suggest that you get away. Or the girls at least...”
Porter smirked. “Wasn’t easy convincing Jane, ‘cos we’re getting married, but they’re driving to the farm now.”
“Good, glad they’re out of harms’ way…” Williams’ mouth fell open. “Wait a minute, did I hear…? You’re not?”
“Yeah, mate. And sooner than later, according to Jane.”
“Dan Porter getting married. Don�
�t believe it…”
“Bloody hell, neither do I…”
Williams reached across the desk, and they shook hands. “Congrats, she’s a top girl, you’ve done well.”
“Yeah...”
“So you’re heading to the farm after this too?”
“Nah, mate. Like I told Deidre, gotta get back to work and find the mongrels who killed Nadia. The blokes taking these girls…”
“I’ve already transferred those cases to Missing Persons unit.”
“Yeah, figured I’m here for the handover…But no need to take me off the investigation altogether, can still search for the white van.”
“We need to discuss that...” Williams hesitated. Porter sensed he had bad news and delayed giving it. “Speaking of white vans, we had a close call overnight.”
“Yeah?”
“They tried to grab another Koori girl, in North Sydney this time. She managed to jump from the van and get away.”
“Serious? She okay?”
“Few scratches...She’s only twelve, but cluey for her age. Said their heads and faces were covered, and could only give a basic description. Four men, all dressed in black. She did remember a partial rego though…”
“And?”
“I’ll admit, we got excited. She described a white van with red markings, and the database search came ba--.”
“The same?”
“But too good to be true…”
“Stolen?”
“Was reported to have been stolen an hour before the attempted abduction. Was found burnt out in Harbour National Park, around five this morning.”
Porter scratched his cheek. “A white van with red markings. Nadia, and now this girl. Hope we’ve sussed out the owner?”
“Van’s registered to an international company…” Williams took a printout from his in-tray and read from it. “Kennard Atkins Mining Corporation. They own several mines and quarries around the country. They export mining equipment, mainly through Hong Kong and onto China, and Singapore towards the Middle East. Hi-tech tools small enough for shipping containers.”
“Wait, KA’s an abbreviation of Kennard Atkins. And KA, the letters branded on Nadia’s back. Strange coincidence, or something in it?”