by Jay Darby
McKinlay and Watkins had been killed when the cavern exploded. The helicopter crash was a cover-up, an attempt to explain the sudden disappearance of two high profile men. Was it by a KA associate, one high up in the Federal Police?
He did the maths in his head. Barrett, Fred Klose’s father, McKinlay and Watkins were confirmed dead. Up to five high council members could still remain. How many of them had died in the explosion, and how many had got away? For the nightmare to end, he’d have to find them all. The Cumal files held the answers, but where had Mary Barrett’s murderers taken them?
Lyn turned down the radio volume. “What’s bullshit?”
“McKinlay and Watkins weren’t gunna meet with Carinya, the bastards hated us…That crash wasn’t an acc…’ He winced, paranoia stabbed at his gut. He was unsure who to trust and worried he’d say too much.
She squinted. “Not an accident?” She faced him, mouth and eyes wide. “You know what happened, don’t you? And now Barrett’s missing too…It’s all related, isn’t it?”
He looked into her intelligent blue eyes and saw a great lady, and an excellent cop, who he trusted more than most. But he didn’t trust her enough to reveal the truth about Charles McKinlay. Or about her boss, George Barrett, and the insane events he’d witnessed in the cavern. And he doubted she’d believe him anyway...Who would believe the tale of a sacrificial, pagan-like ceremony with hundreds of men in strange costumes? She’d probably accuse him of watching too many conspiracy-theorist documentaries on Netflix…
He’d made an important decision during his sleepless night. He would trust no-one with what he knew, not until the very end with the try line in sight.
“Nah, I’ve got no idea what happened…” he said. “Just reckon it’s too early to write it off as an accident…It might be a political assassination? Terrorism? Who knows, in the current climate…?”
Her head rocked from side to side. “Okay, sorry, maybe you don’t know where Barrett is…” He said nothing. “And yes, terrorism is a definite possibility...” She smirked, then steered the sedan onto the road. “Lucky it didn’t crash in our area, imagine the paperwork…”
He sighed under his breath, he’d survived her interrogation.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at Cobb mine, produced ID’s for the police standing guard at the start of the driveway, and parked the sedan. Porter saw that the roadblock from the night before had gone, as had the multitude of buses. They ducked under crime scene tape and walked towards a column of smoke. Dust and ash filled the air. He grimaced, rubbed his nose, and swallowed the grit in his throat. A smell he knew too well attacked his nostrils. The putrid stench of burnt human flesh.
They stopped five meters from the edge of the gigantic crater that’d swallowed the Cobb homestead, alongside two men in white coveralls and face masks. The men removed their masks. They gave polite smiles to her, and suspicious nods to him.
Lyn turned to Porter. “Senior Constable Dan Porter, meet Detective Senior Sergeant Ray Wilkes, the boss at Broken Hill crime scene.”
Wilkes, wiry and bald, shook Porter’s hand. “With Inspector Barrett’s sudden absence, we’ve taken over the investigation.”
Porter grunted. “Bound to do a better job…”
“And,” Lyn indicated the second man, “Inspector Ken Crowley, boss of the Disaster Victim Identification Unit.”
Porter offered a hand to Crowley, who shook it once with a weak grip.
Crowley stepped to the crater’s edge and beckoned them to join him. “Constable Porter, I’ve read a report filed by Detective Grimes, and the statement you gave him last night. You and Lionel rescued Amber from the homestead, right?”
“Yeah…”
Crowley’s eyes narrowed, he fingered a white mustache. “Tell me about the explosion…”
Porter stood beside him and looked at the smoldering crater. Nothing remained of the homestead but a jumbled mess of charred timber, blackened sandstone blocks, and molten metal. He crouched, stared into the crater, and searched for body parts, or a head. Couldn’t the others smell the same stench of death? He turned to him. “Found anything?”
“No chance,” Crowley said. “It would’ve been a cauldron after the explosion, a giant incinerator. And it might collapse again at any moment, it’s too dangerous for my staff. Doubt we’ll ever know what, or who is buried here...”
Wilkes cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer the question, Porter, regarding your knowledge of the explosion…”
Porter stood. “Like I told Grimes, it must’ve happened after we left. The crooks covering their tracks, to destroy evidence? A black SUV chased us, we collided and came off better than they did. Amber was concussed and can’t remember anything…I shot and killed one offender. The other, reckon he died in the accident…We didn’t have time to hang around for any fireworks.” He smiled at his own sarcasm. “Did you find Lionel?”
Wilkes frowned. “No, but we’ll keep looking…”
Porter glanced at Lyn, who dipped her head. Koori elders had collected Lionel’s body. “How about the crooks, have they been found?”
“That’s one of several things puzzling me…” Crowley said. “We found the burnt-out SUV, and evidence that supports a collision and an exchange of gunfire. Why haven’t we found dead suspects?”
Porter shrugged. “I reckon more bad guys returned and took the dead’uns away…To protect their identities.”
“Plausible…Any clue who these men were?”
“Nah, Carinya’s received multiple threats, from multiple groups...” Porter’s jaw clenched. “Got no idea who abducted Amber…”
“You need to give us more, Porter,” Wilkes said. “A tactical response team remain on standby in Broken Hill. Give them some targets to go after…”
“Stand ‘em down, it’s a waste of time…” Porter pictured the helicopter with the blue stripe as it disappeared above Barrett’s house. “The blokes who did this could be anywhere by now…”
Cowley squinted at him. Wilkes scoffed.
Lyn must’ve sensed the friction. She flashed her eyes at Crowley, stepped closer to him and flicked her head. Golden hair flowed behind her in the slight breeze. “Sir, who owns the Cobb mine these days?”
Crowley smiled as he watched her, then glanced at Wilkes.
Wilkes studied a page on his clipboard. “Here…The mine was decommissioned in ’93. It’s listed under, Kennard Atkins Mining corporation.” His eyes darted to Lyn, then Porter. “Mean anything to you?”
She shook her head.
“Nah,” Porter said. “Never heard of ‘em.”
“I have…” a man said from behind them.
Porter turned towards the familiar voice. Bill Thompson wore a loose-fitting grey suit and tie. Jim Thompson ambled alongside in his Sergeant’s uniform. They joined the group to form a semi-circle.
“Oh joy…” Lyn whispered.
“Bill,” Crowley said. “It’s been a while…”
The Thompsons’ shook hands with Crowley and Wilkes. Bill acknowledged Porter with a nod and ignored Lyn. Jim stood with arms folded across his broad chest, face frozen in a scowl.
“Kennard Atkins is a fine company that brought much work to our district,” Bill said. “A damn shame when the mine closed.”
“And the homestead’s been uninhabited?” Crowley said.
“Far as I know…” Bill turned to Jim, who grunted.
“Good enough for me, and it’s what I’ll be telling the coroner.”
Bill faced Porter. “Glad to hear your missus and kid are okay, son, young Grimes gave me a heads-up this morning.”
Porter noticed a glint in his eye. One of concern, or contempt? “Cheers…”
“And I’m sorry about your friend. You know I didn’t want Lionel Roberts in my town, but he died a hero, by all accounts…”
Porter watched smoke waft from the crater. “Yeah…”
“Sadly, another tragedy struck our town last night.” Bill stepped towards him.
“I hear you found Mary Barrett dead?”
Porter hesitated and reminded himself to be careful with his answer. George Barrett had been a KA member, and Bill had been his mentor and close friend for half a century. And with Bill’s probable links to Alec Ferguson and human trafficking, he suspected him of being a KA member too. But how to prove it?
“Went to ask Barrett’s assistance for the search,” he told Bill. “He wasn’t answering his phone…”
“And now old George’s gone walkabout…” Bill frowned. “Hate to say, but wonder if he finally lost his marbles and did poor Mary in? And has he now gone off to finish himself?”
“Nah…” Jim unfolded his arms, placed hands on his hips. “Our suspect’s the same homeless Koori that murdered mum…We’ll get the bastard, he’s been spotted near Bunyip Hill again.”
Bill bowed his head. “Rest in peace, my love...”
Jim glared at Porter. “Been too much strife ‘round here since you arrived. Shit follows you, like a bad smell, doesn’t it?”
Porter resisted the temptation to reply.
“Not to mention the judge and federal police boss killed in the crash this morning.” Bill sighed. “Absolutely terrible...”
Porter had held his tongue for long enough. He glanced at Jim. “Shit didn’t need to follow me to Crooked River…This place already had plenty of its’ own variety, with a very unique smell.”
Jim snarled at him.
Lyn put a hand to mouth, too late to muffle her laugh.
“Apparently, McKinlay and Watkins were coming to grace Carinya with their presence,” Porter said. “Being the Mayor, Bill, you must’ve known those blokes were coming?”
“I expected them today, son, yes.”
Porter sensed uneasiness behind his confident façade and pressed him. “Did you know Charles McKinlay? Or Watkins?”
Bill huffed to make his annoyance clear. “Watkins? No…Met McKinlay once, briefly. He spoke at a local government conference. A damn shame, he seemed a good man. I’ve heard he was a bastion of human rights?”
Porter gagged on his tongue. He looked at Crowley, then Wilkes. “Gents, need to speak with the Mayor in private, a Carinya matter…Give us a minute?”
Crowley nodded. “Certainly, it’s time we got back to it.”
Porter waited for them to leave. He asked Foster to walk out of earshot, then told Jim to do the same.
“No, Jim stays,” Bill said. “As a witness to whatever crap’s about to spill from your gob.”
Porter grinned. “No worries…” He winked at Jim and enjoyed the sight of his flared nostrils. “Boofhead can stay.”
Jim lunged at him, Bill held him back.
“Something you wanna know, dog?” Jim seethed. “Or you just trying to piss us off?”
Porter smirked. He wanted to have more fun, but it wasn’t the time. “I need to clarify a few facts, about the years Bill was Senior Sergeant in Crooked River…”
“Such as?” Bill said.
“There’ve been claims that police officers had inappropriate relations with young Koori girls…That ever come to your notice?”
His head rocked back in laughter. “Been speaking to those pissed old idiots on the mission, haven’t you, son? After a lifetime of gin, you think they’ve got a fucking clue? Think they know what’s real, and what’s not?” He laughed again. “They’re all as crazy as Barrett and his ghosts…” His face lost all expression, his voice became stern. “Son, during my time as Senior Sergeant, the blacks were respected, and well taken care of.”
“You’re prepared to put that on paper? Next week?”
Bill stroked his jacket, near his heart, and grimaced. “Certainly, I’ve nothing to hide, son. Nothing...”
Porter studied him. He’d spent a career detecting liars, and Bill was either a brilliant actor or had told the truth. “Did you…” He flicked through the folders of questions in his mind and selected the most important one. “Did you ever know a bloke named Alec Ferguson?”
He stared at him, face and eyes blank, as though he didn’t hear or understand the question. Then he seemed to flinch.
Porter repeated the question.
“Alec Ferguson?” Bill said with a bemused frown. “No, doesn’t ring a bell. Who is he?”
Porter watched him for clues of a lie. Again, he wasn’t sure. A brilliant act? Or the truth?
“Ferguson worked for the Aboriginal Welfare Board in the 1960s,” he stated. “He told us that officers from Crooked River, where you worked, aided him in the illegal removal of Koori girls from the mission. Remember that?”
Bill ignored him.
“Bill?” Porter stepped towards him. “What do you say about that? About the claims by Alec Ferguson?”
Bill locked his eyes on the ground. Jim fumed, like King Kong Bundy ready to leap from the top rope.
Porter sensed Bill had known Ferguson. Maybe he just didn’t remember his name? “Okay, you don’t know Ferguson…Ever heard the name, White Devil?”
Bill’s face flushed red. “What the hell?”
“Doesn’t matter…”
Jim stepped between them. “Piss off, Porter. Stop harassing an old man…”
Bill’s mouth gaped open, he grabbed at his heart. “Son, take me to my medicine.”
Jim held his elbow. “Let’s go.” He helped Bill take a few steps down the driveway, steadied him, then marched back to Porter. He glared down at him. “Listen dog, he’s lost his wife, and he’s sick. Don’t need your ugly mug in his face.”
Porter stood his ground, shorter and lighter, but far from afraid. “Doing my job, mate, police work. Try it sometime…”
“Fuck off to the city and do it. Plenty of coppers there for you to dog on…”
Porter returned his hate-filled stare. “Bill should give a statement, if he’s nothing to hide?”
Jim stabbed a finger into his chest. “You hassle my dad again, and I’ll come lookin’ for ya. I swear, dog, you’ll have nowhere to hide…”
FORTY SEVEN
Porter spent Sunday lunch at the hospital with Jane and Amber. He ate like a sparrow, unable to stop thinking of Bianca Taylor. She’d been in a guarded hospital room when KA had murdered her, and they could get to his girls too. He managed to convince Jane, and her doctor, that she and Amber weren’t safe in Crooked River. At 4pm he drove them to the airport and put them on a flight back to Sydney.
He returned to the Carinya residence at dusk and threw Landcruiser keys onto the kitchen table. Caffeine had replaced beer as his favored remedy for stress, and he flicked the kettle on. His phone vibrated, he fished it from trouser pocket. He looked at the caller ID and swore, tired of talking shop.
“Steve,” he said, “good to hear from you.”
Steve Williams laughed. “Doesn’t sound like it…”
“Sorry mate, been flat out like a lizard drinking…”
“Port, relax, I’m kidding. I heard what happened…Are your girls okay now?”
“All’s good, they’re on their way to Sydney.” Porter leaned against the kitchen bench and ran a hand across stinging eyeballs. “I had to get them out of here, it’s the fucking wild west this place…”
“Sorry, should’ve called soon as I heard, but shit has hit the fan here too.”
“No worries, mate. Saw a bit on the tele. The riots have kicked off again?”
“Kicked off’s an understatement…We knew Kooris would be pissed when Betts got bail, but not like this. Anyhow, we’ll handle it…Why didn’t you fly back with Jane, for a bit of a break? Have you got urgent leads to follow up?”
Urgent leads? Porter considered telling him all he knew - that KA abducted Amber, about the insane ceremony involving McKinlay and Barrett, about Watkins, about KA’s confirmed links to Kennard Atkins and their ownership of Cobb mine. He contemplated revealing what he knew of the Cumal files, because Williams had allies in high places who’d pay a fortune for such information. Allies with access to resources that would help him find th
e files and arrest KA’s bosses. But, could they be trusted?
Porter opened his mouth to answer, but paranoia choked him, a giant python around his throat. He said nothing, and at that moment doubted Williams’ motives for enquiring about his investigation. His boss’s attitude towards Kennard Atkins had confused him from the start. He’d been hesitant, almost resistant to label them a suspect in Sydney’s abductions, despite the evidence.
And it was Williams who’d urged him to join Lionel’s investigation team. Why? To keep tabs on him and monitor Carinya’s progress? Why? Was he an associate, or member of KA? Steve Williams had changed…Did Porter still know him? Had he ever?
“Can’t fly back to Sydney yet, ‘cos Lionel’s burial’s on Wednesday,” Porter told him. “Will head back on Thursday, then return next week when the new Carinya blokes start…”
“Oh, shit…Lionel. His death saddened us all. A gentleman, one of the good guys.”
“Yeah…”
“His funeral’s on Wednesday? I’d hoped to go, but they’re having state funerals for McKinlay and Watkins that morning.”
“Not a funeral for Lio, it’s an Aboriginal burial ceremony,” Porter said. “Local elders have prepared a plot near the mission, sacred ground or whatever…He’ll be happy there, rather than forgotten in some overgrown graveyard, next to a church he’d lost faith in...” He paused, heard Lionel’s infectious laugh, and smiled. “Elders reckon I’m the only white fella invited...”
Williams chuckled. “Hey, I forgot to tell you…Claire’s spoken to Interpol analysts in Singapore and Cape Town. Nothing came from the leads concerning the shipping containers. And the crook who owned the farm, he’s dead…”
“Expected as much…Azelia, now Carinya. It’s been one dead end after another.”
“Yes, and it’s doing my fucking head in…Listen, I asked if you had leads or suspects for Ambers’ abduction…You didn’t answer.”
“Nah, zero suspects or leads. I killed two crooks, but their bodies were gone when local cops arrived at the scene.”