52 Emmaline
In the late afternoon, Emmaline retreated to MCS HQ in Northbridge and secured a conference room that looked out over the banks of rapidly emptying desks.
She was working on what Naiyana Maguire might have on Chester Grant. According to Leona Sanchez, Naiyana had been both excited and secretive at their meeting. It suggested she knew something important, rather than minor gossip.
Family, previous schools or employment had proven a bust. The Maguire family had never lived in Chester Grant’s constituency.
An affair between the two was possible but unlikely. Both were married – although that was not much of a barrier in Emmaline’s experience – but her determination to make BS Foods suffer had caused Chester to suffer as well. If they had been having an affair they had disguised it well.
The only thing that linked the two of them was Brightside Foods. Brightside had been founded in the 1970s by a WA farmer called Herbert Palmer who had a vision to create quickly prepared meals based on what grew on his land and create a self-sustaining business. It had worked. By the time he died in 2003 Brightside Foods had grown into a huge nationwide enterprise, no longer just supplied by the family farm but many others around Australia, branching into many different arenas of food preparation and supply. A success story. Until recently.
After Herbert’s death, and according to the newspaper reports, the rapid increase in size had forced the business to be altered from family owned to floated, allowing future wealth to be up for grabs. She wondered who owned it now.
Checking the companies register online she discovered that forty per cent of the shares were held by a company called AG Solutions. Emmaline had never heard of them and their directors were unlisted. But AG Solutions were themselves owned by AG Holdings, for which the directors were again unlisted. Down and down she followed, the rabbit hole getting ever deeper. And that’s when she found it. Under AG Holdings and another company called AG Future was AG Decade. Owned by Abilene Grant.
Emmaline’s interest was piqued. A quick search revealed that Abilene Grant was the mother of one Chester Grant. It meant his family held a significant amount of shares in Brightside Foods. A factor that would not necessarily be incriminating in court but in the papers would have been a landmine, what with Chester using his position to push their agenda in parliament. And if Naiyana Maguire had learned this during her research, she might have used it against Chester Grant.
It was now six o’clock. Given that Chester had been unavailable due to afternoon meetings and it was no longer the afternoon, she called his office again. Again she was fobbed off with a prepared response that all queries should come through the standard channels.
Emmaline wasn’t about to back down. ‘This isn’t a standard issue. It involves the murder of Lorcan Maguire and the disappearance of two other people. If you call that standard then you’re in the wrong job.’
To this the secretary spluttered a little, thrown off course momentarily before regaining her composure. ‘Let me…’
The line went quiet for nearly a minute before the secretary reappeared.
‘Can you make it to Claremont in fifteen minutes?’
Fifteen minutes was a push but Emmaline wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity.
Fourteen minutes later she found herself in another well-to-do area of Perth, on the opposite bank to Nikos Iannis, but a house that displayed all the same trappings of wealth right down to the gold-tipped gateposts and marble pillars.
The first thing she spotted was the white SUV in the driveway. A Toyota, like the Maguires’. Except newer. Again she used the well-practised key trick to study the bull bars. Again spotlessly clean. How people found the time to keep their vehicles so immaculate, she would never know. Hers was permanently covered in dust and bird shit.
Looking up, there was no mass of freshly shaved chest blocking the doorway. A besuited Chester Grant invited her inside, onto a white leather sofa that gleamed as the evening sun poked through the patio doors. In front of her lay a mahogany desk and mounted display cabinet that contained a vast number of rifles.
‘They’re all antiques,’ noted Chester Grant as he helped himself to a glass of port. Emmaline had declined the offer. He might have been winding down for the evening but she still had work to do.
The colour of his well-fed but handsome face matched the port on his lips, tainting his full but perfectly trimmed beard.
‘Why did you want to meet with Naiyana Maguire?’ asked Emmaline.
If her question had upset his equilibrium he hid it well, slowly taking another sip and savouring it in his mouth.
‘To try and get this horrendous issue resolved to the satisfaction and benefit of both parties.’
‘And what would have been to the satisfaction and benefit of both parties?’
‘Brightside Foods have always been willing to compromise, Detective. To gradually alter the ingredients in the offending product to something more widely regulated.’
‘But this wasn’t enough for Naiyana Maguire?’
‘She was on a crusade to do good.’
He said this with a brusqueness that made it sound like it was a bad thing, revealing an anger and frustration directed at Naiyana Maguire, almost like he’d forgotten she was missing. After a second, he glanced back up as if he had realized his mistake, offering a sympathy that seemed all the more false now.
‘But obviously this whole thing is horrendous.’
‘For you or her, Mr Grant?’
‘Hey, that’s not—’ he started.
Now that Emmaline had him flustered she switched paths. ‘Why choose you as the mediator?’
‘My job is to mediate. To represent the people in my constituency. And people include companies. They have to be treated as such as they are the main employers. Happy people are working people. And that is one thing I stand for, most of all.’
Emmaline let him espouse his political bullshit. She wasn’t one of his constituents.
‘So did you meet with her?’
He took another sip of port.
‘No, she didn’t want to. Then everything blew up. It’s a shame. Brightside Foods weren’t doing anything wrong. The ingredient wasn’t banned here yet they were punished by this circus trial.’
Emmaline wanted to ask what punishment the Maguire family had suffered in this so-called circus trial but left it.
She had also noted the slight pause before he answered. It had been a simple yes or no answer but it had caused him to hesitate, using the port as cover.
‘I want to know if you met her after everything had blown up. Since she moved out of Perth.’
‘No.’
A quicker, stronger denial this time.
‘Did anyone from Brightside Foods meet with her?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Despite your close connection?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m referring to the rumours of a connection between you and Brightside Foods.’
The abundance of colour in Chester Grant’s face drained. Nothing the port could do about that.
‘What rumours?’ Squeezing his eyes shut, he rephrased the question. ‘I mean, what connection?’
‘That you are close.’
‘They are the major business in my constituency. The biggest employer. Biggest taxpayer.’
‘More than that.’
‘I’m not keen on this line of questioning, Detective.’
‘People are generally not happy with any line of police questioning, Mr Grant.’
‘I think you want to accuse me of something.’
‘I think you are afraid of being accused of something.’
‘What could I be accused of, Detective?’
‘Something that might cause a scandal.’
Chester Grant paused, studying her as he swirled his port as if weighing up what exactly she was implying, for fear of suggesting something that implicated him further.
‘There are alw
ays scandals, Detective.’
‘This is not a scandal, Mr Grant. This is a murder investigation.’
‘Well, unless you are arresting me for it, I think you should leave.’
That was fine with Emmaline. She decided to keep what she knew to herself. It might come in useful later. To rustle a few cocked feathers.
53 Naiyana
Naiyana was happy. Today had been a good day. And she had this place to thank. The rock bottom that had spawned this upsurge.
‘You look like you just won the lottery.’ Her husband was at the table fiddling with a small electric heater. For the chillier evenings. No doubt he would try and burst her bubble. He had accused her in the past of being insufferable when she was happy, impossibly chirpy. Forcing everyone else to query what was missing in their lives. But that was not her fault. It was theirs.
Dylan was sticking close to her, feeding off her energy, helping her pack the groceries into the old cupboard and stuffing food into the cool box.
Lorcan threw down the screwdriver. He looked worried and frustrated. She didn’t want to ask what was wrong. He would tell her soon enough. She intended to relish her own high while it lasted.
‘What do you want for dinner, little man?’ she asked, ruffling Dylan’s hair.
‘Snags!’
The expected answer.
‘Try the bottom of the bag,’ she said.
She watched him dig to the bottom and pull out a packet in each hand, grinning. Removing the plastic, she stabbed holes into the sausages with a fork before placing them into the pan.
Dylan helped her prep the hot dog buns, liberally buttering them so that the sausages would be swimming in a sea of fat. This was more like a proper family. Making food together. Then just like that, it all came crashing down.
‘We were down the tunnel today, Mummy.’
She flicked her head towards Lorcan, who visibly winced.
‘It was dark and I was scared.’
Naiyana drew a long breath. ‘Why don’t you go and get your toys from the backyard?’
‘But I was telling you—’
‘Can you get them, please?’ The remnants of her good mood allowed the smile to look genuine. Dylan nodded and ran off.
Lorcan got in first. ‘There was no rumbling. They weren’t there.’
‘That doesn’t matter. They might have been. And you took our son?’
‘It was safer if he was with me.’
‘Safer? It was better when we thought the rumblings were ghosts. Ghosts might be scary but they aren’t dangerous.’
‘We can’t just avoid the elephant in the town,’ said Lorcan. ‘They obviously have a greater purpose here than we do. It might be dangerous if we interrupt it.’
‘And going down that tunnel unannounced aids that?’
‘I was trying to confirm what they are doing.’
Naiyana shook her head. When had her husband lost all his sense? But it gave her an idea of her own.
‘What if we announce our presence here?’
Lorcan looked at her as if she was the one who had taken leave of her senses.
‘We let them know we know that they are here,’ she continued.
‘I don’t know about that, Nee—’
‘They knew about us long before we knew about them. If they were going to murder us, or attack us, they would have done so already.’
The mention of murder didn’t seem to give her husband much comfort. In honesty it didn’t give her much either.
54 Emmaline
Emmaline made it back to Kallayee by eleven. An overnight in Perth, in her own bed, had seemed the logical decision but she had wedded herself to this caravan until the case was solved. Plus, the journey had left her exhausted enough to sleep, even on the thin, uncomfortable pull-out bed. She intended to get six hours at least, determined not to beat the sunrise this morning.
As she pulled up to the caravan she saw the door ajar. Not how she had left it. Drawing her gun she slid out of the vehicle and checked for any sign of movement from the nearby structures. There was none. Sneaking up to the back window she peeked inside. Nothing but darkness. If they had been attempting to rob her – the dropkicks from the pub came to mind – they would be seriously disappointed at the very least. Putting her back to the thin aluminium, she swung around to the far side. Sitting in the dirt, leaning up against the side was a dark, huddled figure. Naiyana. She hoped. Had she escaped and come back to where she knew? But why here and not Hurton or Wisbech? Had she been imprisoned somewhere close? And why would she not make her presence known to the cops holding the perimeter of the town?
After another check that the coast was clear she inched forward and nudged the figure. There was an unladylike snort. The figure raised its head and she met the flashing blue eyes of Matty. Emmaline lowered her gun. But not all the way.
‘How did you get in here? This is a crime scene.’
‘Parked the quad a little outside town and walked. It was easy. Security is lax,’ he said with a smile.
‘And the door?’
‘That caravan needed to be aired out.’
That Emmaline couldn’t disagree with. She made a note to tighten security. For town as a whole, her caravan included.
‘What are you doing out here? I thought you lived close to the pub.’
‘I took a wrong turn,’ he smiled.
‘You nearly did,’ she answered, holstering her gun. ‘Why are you here?’
‘It’s nice to see you too.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
‘I have information. Tracy Marley’s son said he saw that woman – Naiyana Maguire – with a man.’
‘In Hurton?’
‘Outside.’
‘Right, let’s go see him!’
‘In the morning. Bobby Marley –’ Matty nodded in agreement as Emmaline screwed her face up, ‘– is only twelve.’
Emmaline went to step inside the opened door. She turned to find him watching her. There was a moment’s pause. ‘Are you coming in?’
Emmaline didn’t feel so tired anymore.
55 Emmaline
She woke to find the caravan stifling hot. The sun was burning through the paper-thin curtains and there was someone squeezed into the narrow bed beside her. Where she should have felt drowsy she felt invigorated. Nothing like a reminder of the pleasures of the flesh to appreciate a new day and a chance to do it all over again.
Sitting up in bed she began to drag her clothes on as Matty slowly stirred.
‘Morning,’ he said, groggily.
‘Get fixed up,’ she answered. ‘We’re going to see Bobby Marley.’
‘Breakfast?’
‘After. I’ll treat you if this turns out to be a solid lead.’
As he dragged his shirt over a hairy torso that was beginning to sag around the gut, she asked him a question.
‘You said you had a quad. Did you sell another one? To Lorcan Maguire?’
He shook his head. ‘I’d never sell Betsy.’
‘Betsy?’
‘’Cause it’s always a gamble if it will make it from A to B,’ he said and flashed a smile, his eyes glowing in the rising sun.
‘Anyone you know sell one recently?’
He shook his head, as she tucked the gun into her side-holster. ‘Why do you ask?’
It was her turn to shake her head. ‘Let’s go, otherwise we’ll be having lunch, not breakfast.’
* * *
Taking her 4x4 – she wasn’t about to ride shotgun on the back of his quad – and following his directions, they made it to the near side of Hurton and up an unmarked lane leading to a building that reminded her of a typical prairie house from a TV Western, wooden pillars and a wide porch, cracked steps leading up to the front door.
Matty performed the introductions, getting Tracy Marley to bring a zombie-like Bobby to the door, bleary-eyed from being woken up early during his school holidays.
‘Tell her what you told me, Bobby.’
/>
Bobby blinked sleep from his eyes then told a story of being out on his mountain bike – an early Christmas present from his uncle – and seeing Naiyana Maguire with a man, off the main road, near to the gorge that ran east to west out the back of town and contained numerous abandoned mine openings.
‘What did he look like, Bobby?’
He shrugged. ‘I could only really see her. She was pretty. Very pretty.’
‘Nothing on him?’ asked Emmaline.
‘They were sitting in a white Toyota. He had a beard. But it was too dark to see inside.’
A white Toyota. Which matched the Maguire’s vehicle. And Chester Grant’s.
‘Nothing else? You didn’t get closer?’
The boy shook his head. ‘I didn’t wanna get in trouble. Mum says if I get in trouble I’ll lose the bike.’
The description might have been vague but it seemed to confirm that Naiyana Maguire had met someone. With a beard. Lorcan Maguire didn’t have a beard. Neither did the almost baby-faced – and chested – Nikos Iannis.
Chester Grant did.
56 Naiyana
Naiyana held up the piece of paper. ‘We’ll leave a note.’
Lorcan laughed. ‘Why don’t we just bake them a pie like good neighbours do?’
She ignored his mocking. She was determined to go through with this.
‘We’ll leave a note written from all of us, to show them that we’re harmless.’
She put the paper in front of Dylan who scrawled his signature, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration, the amateurish style of the note enhancing the non-threatening nature of it.
‘I don’t know if this—’
‘We don’t want to just walk up to their doorstep, do we? A note is best. Some form of pre-emptive communication. They obviously know we’re here, they just don’t know that we know.’
Lorcan sighed. ‘As long as we aren’t in town after. We’ll watch from a safe distance and see what they do.’
LORCAN
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