By 3 p.m. most of the businesses in the area had been questioned. Emmaline left Liang to check out the horse riding centre and the surfing canopy, which offered zipline experiences through the trees.
She tried Canyaks, a kayaking place at the far north end of town. It was run by an enthusiastic husband and wife team.
The wife fielded Emmaline’s questions, her husband scrubbing down a kayak out the back behind the counter, the view looking out over the bay. She stood at the counter with a wide smile on her face, evidently content. Someone who couldn’t see themselves doing anything else, anywhere else, thought Emmaline. Happy. The twinge of jealousy strangled her. That this woman had found a place she didn’t feel the urge to escape from.
‘I know Ian,’ she said, not even looking at the photograph.
‘When did you last see him?’
She appeared to glance over her shoulder at her husband, the sun-bleached curls hiding her expression for a moment. Had something passed between them? A subtle warning to shut up?
She turned back. The smile had turned into a grimace.
‘About three days ago.’
‘Here?’
She shook her head. ‘In town. Trying to hawk some work. He seemed desperate. I wanted to help but there’s barely enough work for the two of us, never mind a third.’ Again, she looked over her shoulder. Her voice hushed to a whisper. ‘I like Ian. He’s been up here for more years than I can remember but there was something about him this time, a desperation. I’ve seen it before. Like he had gone troppo.’
‘Troppo?’
The woman smiled wanly. ‘Spent too long hiding out from civilization and gone… a bit loopy. We’ve got caught out with it before. A guy we employed a few years back. He took a truck one evening with half our kayaks and gear. Drove off and flogged it down the coast. We lost a couple of grand. That’s when I learned to pay attention to people. There are those who are desperate for work and those who are just desperate. Ian looked desperate. Troppo.’
Admitting this brought a sadness to her eyes. Emmaline could see that she cared. Maybe too much.
‘And you haven’t seen him since?’
‘No, but try Tribulation. That’s where I bumped into him. Coming out of it.’
Emmaline furrowed her brow. ‘The Tribulation Experience?’
‘That’s the one. Used to be called Daintree Kayaks but Johnny wanted something snappier for his new location. He and Ian are pretty tight. He might have passed him a few hours, for old times’ sake.’
Emmaline was out the door in a flash. Tribulation Johnny had said nothing about seeing Ian recently.
* * *
If Johnny was startled by the police arriving at his door for a second time, he didn’t show it. He carried on taking an inventory of items in the shop, marking them down in his book.
‘Change your mind about a tour of the coast?’ he asked, with a cackled laugh.
‘Have you changed your mind about when you last saw Ian Kinch?’ replied Emmaline, hoping the directness would knock the dried bullshit from Johnny’s demeanour.
Johnny paused briefly before returning to the shelves. ‘I haven’t seen him since last year.’
‘That’s not what we hear,’ said Oily.
At this Johnny turned, his eyes narrowed as if waiting to hear what the police had before saying any more.
‘He was spotted leaving this place, three days ago.’
Still Johnny didn’t speak. So Emmaline decided to swing again.
‘You do realize why we are after him, Mr McLaughlin?’
Emmaline watched some of Johnny’s breezy disposition fade with the seriousness in her voice.
‘He is a suspect in three murders, plus the disappearance of another two people.’
Johnny’s mouth fell open as if to speak but shock prevented him.
‘That’s why we are keen to contact him.’
‘Three murders?’ asked a stunned Johnny.
Emmaline nodded. ‘So I’ll ask you again: have you seen Ian Kinch recently, Mr McLaughlin?’
There was a quick nod.
‘Where and when?’
‘He didn’t say anything about…’ Johnny trailed off. ‘Here. He came in looking for work. A few hours, cash in hand. I’ve known Ian for years. He comes up here every summer… Three murders? And Ian killed them?’
‘That’s what we want to find out, Mr McLaughlin,’ said Oily, inching towards the back exit to prevent any desperate attempt to escape.
‘That’s why we need to speak to him,’ said Emmaline, covering the front door.
But it didn’t look like Johnny McLaughlin was in any shape to flee, taken aback by the shocking revelations about his friend. He shook his head. ‘Ian wouldn’t… He’s a nice guy.’
‘There might be things about your friend that you don’t know,’ said Emmaline. ‘Happens all the time. When was he in here?’
‘Three days ago. I gave him a couple of hours’ graft. Haven’t seen him since. I guessed he had gone out on the waves.’
‘Did he say where he was staying?’
Johnny closed his eyes, thinking. ‘Said it was a little around the coast. Not quite in town.’
‘In his car?’ asked Oily.
Johnny looked at him oddly. ‘You don’t sleep in your car here. You’ll either boil to death with the windows up, or be bitten to death with the windows down.’
‘Did you get a name of the place?’ asked Emmaline.
‘No, but there’s only one place I can think of.’
129 Emmaline
All Tomorrow’s was a business that hired out huts and cabins. It was based just off the beach and towered over by Mount Sorrow, the peak masked by a ring of low cloud as if shielding it from the horrors of the world below. The main office too was a hut, the one window peering through the trees for a beautiful, if obstructed view of the white sands beyond.
The owner was clad in a dress that was practically see-through, so much so that Emmaline struggled to keep Oily’s attention focused on the case. Her name was Summer Haze. It suited her attire and her personality, bubbly and eager to help.
Emmaline asked if anyone by the name of Ian Kinch had rented out a property. Checking the records on the tablet, Summer shook her head.
‘What about Ian King?’ asked Inspector Liang, seemingly not bothered by the mosquitoes at all. In fact, of everyone in the room it only seemed to be Emmaline that they were targeting. Her and her sweet blood.
Again, Summer checked. Again a no. Followed by a half-smile that oozed pity. For herself. For not being able to help more.
‘What about in the past?’ asked Emmaline.
Re-energized, Summer set about getting an answer. A few taps later and her smile said it all.
‘Yes, an Ian Kinch has been here before. For the last three years. Usually Ponting or Waugh. Good, quick access to the beach.’
It made sense that he would book under his real name. This was his getaway from any misdeeds. His separation of personal and public life.
‘Are any of the cabins occupied at the minute?’ asked Liang.
‘They all are. It’s summer!’ said Summer with excitement.
‘Did this guy rent one?’ asked Emmaline, again passing her phone with Ian’s photo on it. Her de facto screensaver at the moment.
Summer shook her head. Again disappointment washed over her face as if Mount Sorrow was wielding its malevolent influence again.
‘But I only work day on, day off.’
‘Who works—?’ said Oily, finally getting the courage to speak. Emmaline cut him off.
‘Anyone pay in cash?’
Summer looked it up. And nodded. ‘A Mr and Mrs Jessop. In Waugh. I wasn’t on shift. Come to think of it I haven’t seen either of them leave the cabin.’
Two of them. Suggesting Naiyana was alive. But no Dylan. Though Ian might have kept the boy’s presence hidden. Emmaline looked at Liang but he was already halfway out the door. Everyone followed.
Summ
er shouted after them. ‘Here’s a map!’
Turning on his heels Oily waited behind to get it.
130 Emmaline
The same SERT teams that led the garage raid were put in place, the cabin surrounded.
Inspector Liang’s confident mask had slipped as the day went on, ever more impatient as the threat of darkness began to intrude. Emmaline felt it too. An operation like this had a much greater chance of success with full visibility. Less opportunity for friendly fire. Stick to protocols, stick to your training. Something he had made clear to the SERT team.
Finally in position, they paused. There had been no movement from inside or outside, the small log cabin perched on the side of the slope, pillared at the front and surrounded by thick, canopied trees that shaded everything. Even the damn mosquitoes.
Emmaline was convinced that Ian and Naiyana were inside. Dylan too she hoped. This was the perfect place to hide out. At least until they could get away either by boat or island hopping. For enough cash someone would supply the service. Ian just hadn’t hit the magic figure.
A call came through. Zhao. Emmaline grasped the phone, in two minds over whether to answer it or not. Shit was about to go down and she didn’t want to miss it. First time had been a false alarm. This wasn’t.
She answered it, keeping her voice low. ‘Yeah?’
‘It’s about Dylan Maguire.’
‘What about him?’
There was a pause.
‘Some locals in Hurton rustled up a couple of dingoes that were worrying some livestock.’
‘And?’
‘They found pieces of clothing that had been ingested and had passed through their system. A name tag too.’
Emmaline knew what Zhao was going to say. She squeezed her eyes shut in preparation.
‘Dylan Maguire. Nearby were a scattering of bones and a skull. The skull was fractured above the eye.’
Emmaline held her breath. Even with the machinations of Inspector Liang and the SERT teams nearby, everything grew still.
‘It’s been confirmed as cause of death,’ said Zhao.
131 Naiyana
The crest caught them out, the down slope much steeper than the gradual approach. They were going too fast. Naiyana screamed as the ute reared up, her stomach suddenly feeling as if it had been ripped out, empty, her eyes closed and waiting for that butterfly-inducing lurch.
She put her palms on the roof to try and halt the sudden rise. There was a choked squeal from Ian as well, fighting for control. They were going to crash hard. The front of the Toyota pitched back towards the earth. There in front of them was Lorcan. And Dylan. Directly in their path.
Everything happened in slow motion. She wasn’t sure if the scream she emitted was a continuation of the one that came from her when they launched over the crest, but it was as sharp and urgent. She watched Lorcan reach out for her son, trying to drag him away from the path of the vehicle. She felt the front of the ute slam into the sand, the tyres immediately burying into it. She hoped that it would arrest their progress but the vehicle didn’t seem to slow one iota. She stared in horror as Lorcan yanked at Dylan’s shirt. She lost sight of her child, nothing but scrub and sand in front of her. Then mercifully she could feel her progress arresting, the tyres biting, the brakes trying to halt them.
Then came the two sounds.
The first was hollow with a slight ring as if someone had cracked a shiny belt buckle off metal.
The second was harder. Her head whipped forward with a violent snap. The dull thud exploded in her ears, her skull ringing in shock. The ute came to a stop. She felt limp, her body thrown back in the seat, everything that had been so sharp now a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut. As if pressing the reset button. How she wished it so. Opening them, her eyes stung. A sudden cloying feeling wormed across every inch of her skin as if she was burning up. There was blood on the dashboard. And blood trickling off her chin into her lap. For a moment she sat there, her system trying to reboot. She could hear Ian asking how she was, his searing hot hand on her arm.
Outside the windows, all she could see was dust.
Dylan.
Grabbing the door handle she clicked her belt open and nearly fell out the door.
132 Lorcan
The pain was blurry but intense. He made it to his one good elbow, his other arm limp and useless. Broken. But that was a secondary concern. He looked at Dylan lying in the sand, at peace, almost idyllic. Reality struck like a hammer to his chest. He bolted forward, scrambling on his knees towards his son. From the side he could see Naiyana emerge from the Toyota, her face awash with blood, staggering towards them like an old-school movie monster.
As he lifted Dylan’s head onto his knees, she knelt down beside him.
He put his hand to Dylan’s mouth. There was no breath.
Putting him back onto the ground he began to pump his chest with one hand, the training he had undertaken years ago just a haze. Beside him Naiyana cried out for her son.
He pumped his chest as she stroked Dylan’s face.
The body jerked each time as if still alive.
Each time Lorcan prayed for his eyes to open.
But there was no saving him.
Dylan was dead.
He placed Dylan’s head back in his lap as Naiyana clasped her child’s hand. He glanced over at her. They were finally united again. In grief.
From the background he heard a door opening. He turned to watch Ian get out of the truck, his rifle at the ready, like a farmer about to put down an injured dog.
Lorcan didn’t move. His own rifle was only a few feet away behind Naiyana but there was no connection between his brain and limbs, his motor skills lost. The single abiding instruction tearing around his skull was not to leave Dylan. Not to let him go. Naiyana’s tears arrived, bringing forth the vain hope that an outpouring of love could bring their son back. Or in futile competition over who loved him the most. A precursor to the inevitable accusations of who had killed him.
The inactivity of grief washed over him and anger filled the hole that it left.
He scowled at Ian, who stood watch over the proceedings. ‘You killed him,’ said Lorcan, searching for wrath but finding only a dry, reedy squeak, his arm in severe pain.
‘I didn’t see him,’ said Ian, his voice also lacking power. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’
‘You took him out here!’ This was Naiyana, her tone fiercer than both of them. She had apportioned blame already. ‘Why the hell were you running?’
‘You both know why.’
She stared at him, reading his eyes. ‘You saw it,’ she said, her words faltering, the engine clogged, spluttering for power.
‘I saw Ian,’ said Lorcan, gritting his teeth when uttering his name, ‘kill Mike. I assume he killed Stevie too.’
‘No he didn’t—’ started Naiyana.
Ian half-nodded, half-shook his head as if confused. ‘I wasn’t there. Naiyana can back me up on that. Mike said you did it.’
‘Lies. I saw you kill Mike, so you killed Stevie too.’
As Ian continued to twist his head in denial, Lorcan continued, ‘I know something else too. Your affair. So, what I’m guessing is that Mike and Stevie found out, there was a scuffle and you killed them both.’
‘No,’ said Ian.
‘Who are the police more likely to believe?’
He watched Ian raise the rifle. Lorcan knew he was testing him. He knew that it was a stupid thing to do given that Ian had already killed one person. But he realized something else. That he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore. Only Dylan. His beautiful son. Squeezing his eyes he fought back the tears. The pause allowed a shard of self-preservation to catch the light. He needed to stay alive. For Dylan’s sake.
‘But I don’t want to go to them,’ said Lorcan.
‘What do you want?’ asked Ian.
‘We split the gold. And leave separately.’
He felt both their eyes on him. Weighing up if
he was telling the truth. That he just wanted the money. Greed overwhelming grief for his murdered son. But Lorcan had a reason for wanting the gold.
‘I want to take Dylan with me and bury him.’
Naiyana started shaking her head at this, holding her son’s hand tighter. ‘You’re not taking him!’
‘You don’t have a choice,’ said Lorcan. ‘You’re shacked up with the guy who killed him. You decided that.’
‘It was an accident,’ said Ian, shifting his gaze from Lorcan to Naiyana, trying to reassure her.
For all it mattered, Ian did seem genuinely distraught, but Lorcan didn’t care. Naiyana could worry about his feelings. They could go screw each other and patch up their feelings. Fuck them.
‘This was your fault,’ he spat at Ian. ‘And yours,’ he said to Naiyana, right in her face, the tears streaked, drying on her bloodied cheeks.
‘I’m taking Dylan,’ he added, finding the strength to shout it across the barren landscape.
The first punch was weak but painful, her knuckles like knives as they rattled his teeth. Another followed, Naiyana attacking him as she let go of Dylan’s hand. Trying to block her swinging fists, Lorcan fought beside his dead son, trying to give as good as he got despite having one arm. Scratching and biting in the sand and the dirt. All while Ian’s rifle was pointed directly at them.
133 Naiyana
She fought with all her might. She fought dirty. She had to. The blood in her eyes had blinded her to all intent. She relied on wits that had been sharpened in the last year dealing with the shit she’d been through. She punched and when that didn’t seem to make a difference, she scratched. Then bit. He was not taking her son from her.
She heard Ian shout at them to break it up. Like a teacher in a school playground. But this fight was for so much more than teenage pride. It was for Dylan. It was for everything they had been through. A fight to the death.
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