by Jay Darby
Porter prodded a finger at red dirt. The man had saved his life, and if his only wish were to be left alone, he’d grant it. “Last question, then I’ll leave, and no-one else will come…The picture story where the white man is pushed off the cliff…Who are the men in black? And who’s the Koori with the blue truck?”
Ported waited for several minutes, but the man didn’t answer. He frowned, then limped towards the mulga bush.
“Them fellas chased ya today, aint the same who pushed that fella from the cliff yesterday…” The man’s voice echoed. “Don’t know ‘is name, but a yella fella drives that same blue truck every day…Now whitey, piss off and leave me alone!”
Yella fella? Porter knew a half-caste who drove a truck in Crooked River. The pub had a blue delivery truck, and Ronny Goodwin drove it...
THIRTY EIGHT
Wednesday morning, four days after his escape from assassins, Porter sat at the kitchen table and rested his bruised ankle on a chair. He sipped coffee while he waited for Lionel and Klose to join him for the daily briefing, and reflected on the past few days.
Crooked River cops hadn’t responded to his call for assistance from the top of Bunyip Hill, and the black SUV and his attackers had vanished from the area. When Lionel and the others arrived to help him down the hill, he showed them the rock paintings. All agreed that they depicted heinous crimes, including John Rhodes’ murder. When they’d questioned Porter’s knowledge of the artist, he kept his promise to the Koori man who’d saved his life and made no mention of him. He told them he’d come to his own conclusions about the painting, and about Ronny Goodwin being the driver of the blue truck.
On Monday, possessing photos of the paintings from Bunyip Hill, Lionel and Klose had questioned most residents of Crooked River about the ‘White Devil.’ A few of the older residents had flinched on hearing the name but denied all knowledge of it. According to locals, a fat policeman with that nickname had never worked in Crooked River.
On Tuesday morning Porter had submitted a request to the New South Wales Police Force’s administrative offices in Sydney. He asked for personnel records of all police officers who’d worked the Crooked River district during the 1960s. Getting their names and rank would be easy, but he would need to put faces to them. Klose had suggested they search the employee archives for photos. Such a search might take months, Porter had told him. Once the list came back from admin, they’d question all ex-officers about their time stationed in Crooked River, including Bill Thompson and George Barrett. But he doubted they’d answer questions, let alone provide old service photos. They would have to do without them.
Lionel and Klose had visited the pub on Tuesday afternoon and questioned Ronny Goodwin’s whereabouts on the day of John Rhodes’ death. Ronny denied being out near Bunyip Hill and told them to check the pubs’ delivery book if they didn’t believe him. Klose had asked Gary Rowe to see the book, to check the deliveries Ronny had logged. Rowe had returned empty handed with a disturbed frown on his face, because he couldn’t find it. According to the barman, Patto, it’d been missing for days.
Klose thumped the kitchen table.
Porter shot upright in the chair, jolted from his daydream. His ankle thudded into a table leg, and he grimaced. “Cheers Fred…”
Lionel sat and flicked through a diary. “Sleep well?” he asked in a cheerful tone.
They mumbled replies.
Lionel beamed. “Well, let me tell you...I had another, wonderful dream.”
Porter grinned at him. “Here we go…What’d your wise old men tell you this time?”
Klose’s head rocked back as he chortled.
Porter sniggered. They’d been subjected to a daily summary of Lionel’s dreams, and their suffering had become a not-so-private joke between them.
“Fine, mock my spiritual guidance...” Lionel smiled. “And the fabulous news I received this morning…”
“Please, tell us Lio,” Porter said. “We’re dying to hear it.”
Klose laughed.
Lionel waited for him to stop. “You know I’ve had concerns about remaining in Crooked River, after the death threats and so on…But I’m pleased to say, the wise men have allayed those fears and will protect us. We’re still on the right path…”
Porter winked at Klose. “Thank the sacred ‘roo turds for that.”
Lionel’s face wrinkled into a frown. “Secondly, the Attorney General’s approved our request for more investigators. Begrudgingly, no doubt…We’ll have four new members starting in a fortnight. Also, support for our investigation continues, with most political parties behind it. Guys, Carinya’s far from dead.”
Porter gave an exaggerated cheer. His phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the screen and answered. “Steve, good to hear from you. How goes it in the city?”
Superintendent Steve Williams grunted. “Still a shitfight…Heard you’ve had dramas too?”
“Nothing we can’t handle.” Porter hadn’t told him about the recent attempt on his life but suspected he already knew. “What’s up?”
“Calling about the missing girls’ case…Have spoken to an Inspector Keyes with the South African DEA. They raided a farm near Cape Town early this morning, our time. Drug shipment they’d hoped to find was gone, and the farm deserted. But they discovered interesting cargo in a safe room under the house...”
“Yeah?”
“Twenty-three teenaged girls…Most were African and Asian, but one’s a thirteen-year-old Aboriginal girl from Sydney. Bianca Taylor. Port, she’s one of our missing girls…”
“Yeah, Bianca...” Porter saw her pretty face. She was a surfer girl from Maroubra. “Remember her…That’s bloody great news. They all okay?”
“No, nine didn’t make it. Wasn’t much air in the room…”
Porter grimaced. “Mongrels… And Bianca?”
“She’s dehydrated, but no major problems. Keeping her in hospital for a day for tests, then she’s coming home.”
“Beauty…” Porter winked at Lionel and Klose. “You said the traffickers had cleared out…Tipped off?”
“Yes, and Keyes is ropable.”
“He suspects one of his own?”
“No, he trusts his staff and keeps his intell tight. Mostly…He informed local Interpol guys of his operation. Wishes he hadn’t, certain it’s where the tip-off came from.”
“Bloody hell, Interpol strikes again…That mob’s got more leaks than my old man’s tinny. So DEA reckon the drug smugglers and slave traffickers are working together?”
“No, they think they’re separate, linked by use of the same shipping company. Evidence at the farm suggests shipping containers were emptied from trucks. Discarded ramps etcetera... Containers were gone when they got there, so he’s no wiser what shipping company they used.”
“If separate groups, why use the same farm?”
“It’s owned by one of South Africa’s most notorious crooks. Keyes said he has over forty properties and makes them available to business associates for a fee. Throws armed security guys into the deal…He thinks it coincidental that the drug smugglers and traffickers used it on the same days…”
“He’s interviewed the owner?”
“Not yet, but said he’s got plenty on him and is confident he’ll sing.”
“Good…Did Bianca talk?”
“Had a productive chat with her…But she’s refused to talk with South African cops, black or white.”
“Don’t blame the poor darlin’…”
“She wants Lionel to call her when he can. I’ll send him the number…”
“Cheers…What she tell you?”
“Have a full-page scribbled in front of me… She’s a smart, brave girl to remember what she has. The men were --.”
“Sorry, mate…” Porter glanced to Lionel and Klose. “Can I put you on speaker? Got Lionel and Fred from Carinya here in the room, and since Bianca wants to speak to Lionel, is best he hears this.”
“Yes, bring them up to speed and
tell me when…”
Porter gave them a summary of what Williams had told him, then switched his phone to speaker mode. “Cheers, mate. Go on.”
Williams cleared his throat. “Bianca can’t remember much of her actual abduction, but did say it was a white van…She was loaded into a shipping container with thirty other girls, and treated relatively well…After a few days they let her walk on the deck of a cargo ship...” He paused. “I questioned her about markings or flags, but she couldn’t remember any…Said she changed ship three times, and lost track of how many days she was at sea. They covered her head whenever they got close to port. But, she says one of the ports was definitely Singapore.”
“How’s that?” Porter said.
“There were Chinese girls with her. They overheard dock workers, who spoke of being in Singapore, with Singaporean accents…”
“Makes sense…Need to find Singaporean cops we can trust.”
“Onto it…Spoke to the Interpol boss there. He seems switched on, and already has teams searching every shipping terminal on the island.”
‘Reminds me, any luck with the stolen van in North Sydney, where the girl got away? What’s the company again?”
“Kennard Atkins Mining…” Williams said. “No, nothing came of it. My boys and customs searched their containers at the international terminal and checked all manifests. They’re above board. Their top CEO’s, based in the UK and Europe, checked out okay too…”
“Who ran the checks?”
“Aah…Interpol in London, I think. Will ask Claire…”
“Interpol?” Porter scoffed. “I’d trust a tripping junkie more than those blokes right now…”
Lionel chewed a nail.
Klose huffed.
“I know where you’re coming from, Claire told me what they’ve been up to,” Williams said. “And I don’t completely trust this guy in Singapore either, but he’s the only contact we’ve got…”
“So you’re convinced, that no-one at Kennard Atkins is connected to abductions in Australia?” Porter said. “Or any form of trafficking?”
“Absolutely…In fact, there’s no evidence linking them to criminal activity of any nature.”
Porter scratched his chin. “Bianca got taken in a white van…Same as Nadia, same as the girl in North Sydney…”
“See what you mean…But, the fact that Kennard Atkin’s business logo is ‘KA’ and they own a fleet of white vans, and we’re searching for psychos branding girls with the same abbreviation, is in my opinion, pure coincidence…”
Porter frowned, there was a lot of ‘coincidence’ going on. “Just reckon they shouldn’t be discarded as suspects, not yet…”
“Don’t worry, they won’t be…Now, Bianca’s description of the abduct--.”
“Mate, was she branded?”
Williams sighed. “Afraid so... Shit, I forget to mention earlier…After her abduction, she woke up in a cell complex with no idea where she was. Let me check my notes…” He paused for a few seconds. “Okay, she spoke of a ritual, in a cave like place, where hundreds of these sick bastards watched on. They stripped her naked, tied her up, and burned the mark into her back. Same as Nadia…Every girl they found at the farm has it…Bianca must’ve been drugged when taken to the shipping container, because she can’t remember getting to it from the cell complex…”
Porter shuddered. He pictured Nadia’s purple corpse, the welt marks on her wrists, and swallowed bitter bile. “Love to brand these mongrels the same way, watch ‘em squeal and squirm...”
“You and me both, Port…”
Lionel rocked back and forward in the chair, trance-like.
Klose knuckled his jaw.
“Sorry Steve, interrupted you again…” Porter said. “Bianca described her abductors as…?”
“Her description of them is consistent with what the girl in North Sydney told us. They dress and act like soldiers, and seem to follow a rank structure…”
“That’s a worry…Means they’re well-disciplined and less likely to make mistakes.”
Klose leaned towards the phone. “Sir, it’s Fred Klose…How’s a thirteen-year-old girl make the assumption these guys have a rank structure?”
“Fair question,” Williams said. “Bianca befriended one them. Said he wore the same black uniform and balaclava every day.”
“Sound like my mates from Bunyip Hill…” Porter whispered to Lionel and Klose. They nodded.
“She asked him about the gold shield pinned to his chest. It had the letters ‘KA’ on it, followed by three digits...” Williams paused, as though allowing the revelation to sink in. “He told her it’s his service number. ‘KA’, followed by that number, is how they addressed each other. Never by name.”
Porter glanced to Lionel. “Ferguson said that about the blokes he’d worked for. No names, total anonymity…”
Lionel nodded. “We suspected ‘KA’ and this ‘organization’ to be the same. Bianca’s information all but confirms it…”
“They have to be, too many similarities…”
“Silly, how obvious it is now…KA never stopped trading in sex slaves. They’ve continued on since the ’60s, and would’ve made a fortune doing it.”
“No doubt they’re the ones to focus on,” Williams said. “And you’re right, they’re dealing in slavery. They told Bianca she’d be at the farm until her new owner collected her.”
“That’s brutal…” Klose said. “Did she ask him what the KA’s an abbreviation of?”
“Didn’t say, but it could be what she wants to discuss with Lionel…Anyhow gents, we’re back in the saddle. Let’s pray the shipping terminal searches in Singapore and Cape Town prove fruitful, and the farm’s owner co-operates with the DEA…”
“I’ll be in touch once I’ve spoken to Bianca,” Lionel said.
“Very good…” Williams ended the call.
The three of them discussed the phone conversation for five minutes, then Porter checked the world clock app on his phone. “It’s close to midnight in Cape Town…Is it too late to call Bianca?”
Lionel pressed his phone’s screen and studied it for a few seconds. “Steve’s already sent the number through…She wants me to call, so I will.” He pressed the screen several times. His phone went into speaker mode and a ringing tone sounded from it.
“Lionel Roberts, calling from Australia. Your patient, Bianca, is expecting my call,” he told nurse Beckett when she answered.
No immediate reply.
Then nurse Beckett said, “Hold please, Mr Roberts.”
Lionel waited. Classical music blared from his phone.
“Doctor Hamilton speaking...” His accent was thick Afrikaans.
“Yes, Doctor, it’s Lionel Roberts…The nurse was putting me through to Bianca Taylor. Inspector Keyes has cleared me to speak with her…”
“Sorry, but that won’t be possible…Bianca has passed away.”
Porter listened as Doctor Hamilton explained the circumstances of Bianca’s death. She’d died in her sleep, from a blood clot on her brain. When he questioned the doctor regarding possible foul play, he responded in the negative. Toxicology tests showed no evidence of poisoning. And no-one could’ve got into the room and suffocated her, because it’d been guarded the whole time.
Lionel ended the call, his face blank and eyes dull.
“Don’t fucking believe it…” Porter scratched the top of his head. “Who’s leaking this info? He spun to face Lionel. “They knew what Bianca planned to tell you...”
“Are you saying KA have guys on the inside?”
“No doubt, and most likely plenty of ‘em…But who, and where?”
“Like you mentioned before, Interpol’s the common denominator,” Klose said. “Lio’s informant in Scotland, our request for assistance with her interview…Keyes at South African DEA, suspects his operation was compromised by Interpol guys…”
Lionel clicked his fingers at Porter. “You said Claire’s been running her intell searches
through them too. Could’ve been how she found Alec Ferguson, and we know what happened to him…”
Porter groaned. “Suspected they were crooked from the minute Claire said they’d ignored the multiple incidents of ‘KA’ brandings. Should’ve acted then…Because of those bastards, worldwide abductions were never linked, and investigators haven’t given ‘em due priority.”
“I’ve overlooked the obvious too,” Lionel said. “Where do we go from here?”
Klose turned to Porter. “Cease all contact with Interpol for a start. And recommend that Williams and Claire do the same.”
“Will do…It’s a given that KA’s bribing Interpol, but who’re the blokes making the payments? Who are KA’s bosses, these so-called, powerful blokes Alec Ferguson spoke of?”
“If only we knew…” Lionel said. “And don’t forget what else Ferguson said, that KA aren’t the only ones prepared to kill while protecting the Cumal files.”
“No doubt…The bastards who’ve profited, and those who still do, would all be keen to protect ‘em. Corrupt politicians included…”
“What are Cumal files?” Klose said.
Lionel smirked. “I’ll tell you later, it’s complicated…”
Porter leaned forward. “So we reckon KA’s murdered Bianca, Lio’s informant in Scotland, and Alec Ferguson…Maybe John Rhodes…”
“And Uncle Simpson, and Tommy Davis?” Lionel said.
“Yeah, if they reckon they were giving us info, there’s motive…But why would they do Nick Galios? He got bumped before we knew about ‘em, or the files, or the slave trade…”
“You said the guys who chased you the other day matched the description Bianca gave,” Klose said. “Were they KA too?”
Porter wobbled his head. “Could’ve been…” He recalled what the Koori man on Bunyip Hill had told him. “But either way, I reckon they’re a different mob than the blokes who murdered Galios. With separate motives…”
“Such as?” Lionel said.
“Blokes who see Carinya as a different type of threat.”
“Like who?” Klose said.
Porter leaned back. “Bloody hell, we’ve had a heap of enemies from the start, and the list grows. I mean, Lio blackmailed the bloody Attorney General…There’s just one vindictive member of the elite with reason to kill us…” He glanced at Lionel. “Rothwell might be backing Carinya in the media, but behind the scenes, his blood would be boiling…And there’s the retired judge you disgraced…”