More yelling and the engines started up again. This time the back of the car lifted and swayed as it was hoisted clear of the edge. With a thud the battered wreck landed on the road surface and was dragged, screaming, away from the broken railings.
Rupe again. ‘They’ll have to cut you out now. Sit tight. You’re doing fine.’
***
A detective from Wagga, DS Jill McGrath, asked probing questions about the accident soon after they arrived at the hospital but gave nothing away other than to say the occupant of the other vehicle had died at the scene. Unable to escape, he’d drowned in the flooded river. ‘We’ll interview you both again later,’ she said.
Mia’s injuries weren’t bad. Her shoulder had suffered bruising and her right arm was stiff and sore but would recover. When the doctor, who looked disconcertingly young, discharged her, she waited anxiously with Arlo in the Emergency Department for news of the CT scan they’d done because of the bang to his head when he’d hit the side window. The nurse had carefully cleaned the cuts to his cheek and scalp from the broken glass and removed two splinters.
Mia bought coffee and sandwiches at the canteen which they ate slowly during the wait. The food revived her a bit but exhaustion had set in and she wanted to crawl onto the bed next to him and sleep. It was close to one in the morning.
‘Why did you think you were to blame for the crash?’ she asked.
‘I should have been more careful … at least Riley is safe.’
‘Yes, thank goodness. If that had happened going the other way … but you didn’t know. How could you?’
‘They warned me twice and I ignored it. Stupid.’
Mia took his hand. ‘We both did.’
Arlo squeezed her fingers. ‘It happened before. In Africa.’
Mia waited.
‘I can’t bear that something happened to you …’ he said hoarsely. ‘That you’re hurt because I was so …’
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘I’m fine. Whatever happened in Africa it didn’t happen again here. You took care of Riley and I’m okay, aren’t I?’
‘I ignored the advice of people who knew,’ he said, still in the past. ‘They said don’t go into that area, it’s too volatile, too dangerous, but I did. I paid a driver and gave the guide extra to go with me even though he didn’t want to. I thought the story was worth it. The truth. But it’s not, no truth is worth lives. We were ambushed and those two men died because of me and my self-righteousness and focus on myself and what I thought was important. I only survived because an army patrol came along.’
‘But the truth is important. You can’t deny that. Why should the people who killed my father—for money, not even an ideal—get away with it? Shouldn’t their crimes and their lies and their corruption be exposed?’
‘You could have died, Mia.’
‘So could you but we didn’t.’ She leaned forward and kissed him softly. ‘We didn’t, Arlo. Journalists like you are important. You seek the truth where authorities can’t because they don’t have the time or manpower or worse, the inclination, and they have to follow rules.’
He lay staring at the ceiling, his hand still holding hers. ‘You’re the first person I’ve told,’ he said.
‘But it was in the news. I remember reading something about it.’
‘Not that I bribed Ali and Joseph to go with me.’
‘They could have said no, Arlo. It wasn’t bribery, you paid them.’
‘Not really. They desperately needed the money and I knew that. It was written up as a lucky escape by an intrepid Western journalist heroically trying to interview a rebel leader, not the unnecessary tragedy that it was, and still is, for the families. I send their wives money but it can’t bring those two men back.’
‘No, but you’re helping as best you can. You can’t do more than that.’
He sighed heavily. ‘I thought by coming here and running the local paper I’d forget, and I have to a degree. I get letters sometimes from one of the wives. Joseph’s wife. I met her a few times. She tells me about the children and how well they’re doing at school. She’s grateful for the money I send. Can you believe it? She thanks me.’
‘Because you care. You could have gone home and forgotten all about them. She understands that.’
‘Maybe.’
Mia yawned.
‘Lie down here,’ said Arlo. ‘There’s room for two.’ He edged across on the bed.
Mia smiled. She pulled off her shoes and lay down, careful not to jar her shoulder, conscious of his warm body so close to hers. Comfortable and secure.
‘I was wrong about Lucian,’ she murmured.
‘We both were.’
‘I wonder who he is and why he comes to town.’
She woke when the youthful doctor pulled the curtain aside and began giving Arlo his scan results. She sat up and slid off the bed to find her shoes.
‘The scan shows no evidence of internal damage to the brain, no bleeding etcetera which is very good news. There are no fractures evident in the skull, no cracking or damage. You’ll probably have a lump and bruising for a few days but that will go down. See your doctor if you experience anything odd or worrying in the way of symptoms. Dizziness, vomiting, disorientation and so on. Take painkillers if you have a headache but avoid any activity for a day or two. You need to rest and keep warm. Both of you. You’ve had a traumatic experience.’
‘Can we go home?’ Arlo asked.
‘Yes, but you’ll need someone to take you. Is there someone you can call? A relative or friend?’
‘Neither of us has relatives here.’ Mia looked at Arlo. She had no relatives anywhere. ‘I’m not a local.’
‘I don’t know who I can phone in the middle of the night,’ Arlo said.
‘The nurse said a man has asked after you several times. I’m not sure if he’s still here. I’ll ask her to check if you like.’
‘Who is it?’
‘I don’t know, I’m sorry. I’ll send the nurse.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’
He nodded and left.
‘Who would that be?’ Mia frowned.
‘We could go to a motel and rent a car tomorrow.’ Arlo sat up. ‘I feel much better now.’
‘Good.’
The nurse reappeared. ‘Ready to go? Your friend Lucian Farage is in the waiting room. He said he’ll take you home. He’s been here for hours.’
Mia gave Arlo a startled look. Why would he wait all night for two people he didn’t know? He gave a little shrug. ‘Why not?’ he said.
The nurse led the way through the emergency ward and pressed the release button to swing the door open. ‘Take care.’
‘Thank you.’
Several people sat in the waiting room. Two had bloodied noses and bruised faces and had clearly been in a fight. A young woman sat holding her stomach and groaning quietly while a large man sat with his eyes closed.
Lucian Farage came forward with a tight, worried smile. ‘Are you both all right?’
‘Yes, a few aches and pains but we’re fine,’ said Arlo. ‘Thank you for waiting.’
‘You didn’t need to,’ said Mia. ‘Why did you?’
‘I … I felt I needed to help.’
‘You did, at the bridge,’ said Arlo.
‘My car is just outside. Shall we go? I’m sure you want to get home.’
‘I thought you rode a motorbike,’ said Mia.
‘I also own a car. It’s too wet for the bike.’ He smiled faintly.
Mia took Arlo’s hand and he gripped her fingers as Farage turned towards the exit.
‘Can we trust him?’ she whispered.
He looked at her in surprise. ‘He saved us.’
‘Yes but … why? And why is he here now?’
‘I don’t know, but Rupe knows him so he must be all right. I want to go home.’
‘Okay.’
Farage led them to an Audi parked near the entrance. Minutes later they were heading out of Wagga. Farage drove steadily, eyes f
ixed on the dark road ahead.
‘We were lucky you came along,’ said Arlo from the rear seat. ‘Thank you for helping.’
‘I was on my way to Willoughby. They were showing Casablanca.’
‘Sorry you missed it.’
‘That’s okay. I’ve seen it before.’
‘How do you know Joel Carmody?’ Mia asked.
‘I don’t really. I met him at the hotel once or twice.’
The dashboard clock showed two-thirty. Mia fell asleep only waking when the car slowed to a halt and Arlo’s voice roused her.
‘We’re at the hotel, Mia. Wakey, wakey.’
She groped for her bag. Thank goodness someone had retrieved it and her coat from the wreck. Arlo opened her door for her and she got out, shivering in the cold.
‘I’ll text you,’ she said.
Arlo kissed her, resting his cheek against hers for a lingering moment. She wanted to stay with him, the roughness of stubble on her skin, the warmth of his breath, his kiss lingering, promising more. He drew back.
‘Bye.’
‘Get back in the warm car,’ she said.
Lucian Farage walked her across to the door of the hotel.
‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘There’s no need.’
But there was and she couldn’t organise her brain to manage the words. ‘Please, come to see me. I’d like to talk to you.’
He took the key from her hand and opened the hotel door, gave it back. ‘Goodbye. Mia.’
Arlo waved from the car as it drove away.
***
Mia slept more deeply than she had for months waking, to her amazement, at three-thirty on Monday afternoon. The memories flooded back with horrifying clarity accompanied by the realisation that she and Arlo were lucky to be alive. This time their attacker meant business, the warnings were finished.
Did that mean the danger was still there? The driver of that vehicle would have been doing what he was told, an employee not the top man. Those people tended to stay well away from the messy business, giving themselves alibis, denying any knowledge or responsibility.
Mia sat up, assessing the damage to her shoulder as she tried a few experimental movements. Not too bad. The doctor said she had tendon and muscle damage which would be stiff and painful but would heal. She discovered a bruise across her chest from the seatbelt while lingering in a hot shower which eased the tightness, and only after she was dressed and ready to venture out to Hannah’s did she check her phone for messages.
Nothing from Arlo but he’d probably still be asleep. She sent him a text saying she’d call in around four-thirty or five but received no reply. Rupe had left a message asking her to call in to the station to give a statement.
Food first, she was starving.
Hannah’s was quiet but the half dozen customers sipping coffee and eating cake greeted her with smiles of such unveiled relief and delight that she almost looked over her shoulder to see who was behind her.
‘Thank goodness you’re okay.’ Hannah came from behind the counter to hug her. ‘We all heard about what happened. It’s absolutely outrageous!’
‘You and Arlo could have been killed,’ said a woman at the nearest table and her companions nodded. ‘Charlie and I came in that way this morning and the bridge is closed. What a mess. One side railing is almost completely gone and the other is broken. We had to detour right round and come in on the Jindalee road instead.’
‘Who did it?’ asked someone else. ‘We heard he went off the bridge and drowned. There’s justice for you.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Mia. ‘The police haven’t told us anything yet.’
‘How’s Arlo? We heard he broke his arm and has concussion.’
‘No. He didn’t break anything. He had a bump on the head but there’s no damage to the brain or skull. He has a few cuts from broken glass, and bruising.’
‘Thank goodness. You were very lucky, both of you.’ Warm smiles and nodding accompanied her statement. ‘And a good thing his son wasn’t with you.’
‘We’d just put him on a flight to Sydney.’
‘Sit down, Mia. What can I get you?’ said Hannah.
‘Am I too late for some soup?’
‘You have whatever you like. It’s sweet potato and leek soup today.’
‘I’ll have that, please.’
‘Won’t be long.’
Mia sat down. For the first time she felt welcomed and included by these people but it had taken a near death experience to achieve it. She looked around at the customers. A couple she knew by sight. Two young women with a baby in a pram by the table, an elderly man and woman drank tea in the corner and the two middle-aged women who’d spoken first were devouring mud cake with their coffee and talking nonstop.
Did any of them know Lucian Farage? Hannah might, or she could ask Rupe again when she went to the station. He would have questioned him, surely. She ran his words over in her mind. ‘I felt I needed to help.’
Why? That implied he felt guilty or remorseful. What about? Was it to do with her father? And last night when she’d asked him to call her he’d said goodbye as though it was final rather than a substitute for goodnight.
Hannah brought her soup with toasted sourdough bread and a pat of butter. Mia’s stomach rumbled in appreciation.
‘Thank you. We missed dinner last night.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Mia lowered her voice. ‘Hannah, can I ask you something in confidence?’
‘Of course.’ She pulled out a chair and sat down.
‘Do you know Lucian Farage?’
‘Yes, not well. No-one does even though he’s been coming to town for about five or six years.’
‘Why does he come here? Who is he?’
‘All I know is that he and his family were involved in a terrible car accident on the road north out of town. His wife and two little girls were killed but he survived. They’re buried in the local cemetery and he comes to visit their graves.’
‘How awful. I had no idea.’ Mia’s eyes filled with tears. ‘The poor man.’ Now she knew. Now she understood.
‘Yes, it was horrible. Not everyone knows, especially the younger people and newcomers, because it was a while ago now and he doesn’t talk about it. He just comes and goes quietly.’
‘He found us last night and called the police and ambulance. Hannah, he waited at the hospital for hours and hours and brought us home in the middle of the night.’
Hannah sighed. ‘I don’t know any more about him, what he does or where he lives. He’s always polite but keeps to himself.’
‘It’s very sad.’
‘People deal with grief in different ways. He was driving the car, you see. Perhaps with you he felt he could help where he couldn’t before. And he’d know about Tony and Glenda so there’s that feeling of empathy because you’ve both lost loved ones. I don’t know. I’m surmising. Pop psychology.’ She smiled sadly.
The door opened to let in more customers. Hanna stood up and moved away.
After eating Mia walked around to the police station and gave Shannon her statement about the crash.
When it was finished she asked, ‘Do they know who that man was?’
‘Yes, but we’re not at liberty to give details until next of kin are notified.’
‘Was he someone the police knew about? Does he have a record?’
‘The Wagga detectives are in charge of the case. I’m at the bottom of the food chain,’ she said. ‘But I think he does.’
Mia headed for Arlo’s. The rain had gone while she’d slept and now as evening drew in the sun shone bravely, reflecting off the puddles on the road and making water drops sparkle like diamonds. Walking warmed her body and loosened her joints. Never had she been so conscious of being alive.
A car was parked outside the house. Bruno was standing by the fence watching her approach. He barked a couple of times in a half-hearted way but gave up and sat down. She knocked on the door.
A young woman in dark grey slacks and a green wool jumper under a black jacket opened it almost immediately.
‘Can I help you?’ Dark eyes assessed Mia. A narrow fine boned, attractive face.
‘I’ve come to see Arlo. I’m Mia Petros.’
‘I’m sorry. Come in, please. DS McGrath is interviewing him. I’m DC Malini Silva.’
Arlo was sitting on the couch, his face adorned by a plaster and various scratches. He hadn’t shaved and the stubble accentuated the planes of his face and the paleness. Had he slept? Shadows darkened the skin under his eyes. He rose, smiling when he saw her.
‘Hi. How are you?’
‘Not bad.’
He hugged her hard and she couldn’t suppress the little hiss of pain as her bruised chest complained.
‘Sorry. I’m just glad to see you.’
‘Likewise.’
‘DS Jill McGrath, Mia. We met last night.’
‘Yes, I remember. I’ve just given my statement to Shannon at the police station.’
‘Thank you. Please sit down. Arlo is telling me his theory in regard to the death of your father and his wife.’
Mia glanced at Arlo as she sat beside him. Theory didn’t sound promising.
‘It’s interesting,’ she went on, ‘but proof is the key. We can surmise all we like but we need hard evidence to bring charges and gain a conviction.’
‘Are you at least looking in that direction now?’ asked Mia. ‘That this attack on us is linked to my father’s murder and Greenhill? Did Arlo tell you what he was told?’
‘Yes, he did and we’re following that up.’
‘Are we still in danger?’
‘I don’t think so but of course, I can’t guarantee that.’
‘Did Arlo tell you about Barry’s phone call? He must be involved, mustn’t he? How else would they know we were on that road at that time?’
‘It could be a coincidence that he called you at that time. We want to interview him and our officers are tracking him down.’
‘Has he disappeared?’ asked Arlo.
‘He’s not answering his phone,’ said McGrath. ‘We want you both to keep a low profile. Don’t make statements to the press. Let me do that. This will be a bad accident but nothing more until we do further investigations. We don’t want to give anything away before we’re sure we know what’s going on.’
A Light in the Dark (Taylor's Bend, #3) Page 25
