by John Bishop
not how he wanted to be remembered. Another of his mentor’s sayings insinuated its way into his thinking: If you want it done right, do it yourself!
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Jodie entered. ‘Mr Froyland is on line two.’
Regrouping
Wednesday 19th August 1992
Not long after his accident the previous evening, Gavin had pulled himself together and thought through the problem. Most important was to act as he would have acted had he been returning from work as a weed controller. Although his truck was out of action, the accident had been at low speed and would have made little noise, so nobody would come running from the farm. He might be seen from some other vehicle, but he was far enough off the apron of the road to make that unlikely. What a stranded motorist would do in such circumstances was either stay put or walk up the driveway to the homestead. He decided the latter was the preferable course of action. Bill Smith would tell the occupants of the homestead his sad story, and have witnesses to a whereabouts other than St Mark’s if he needed an alibi for the time of Kingsley’s death.
With the typical good nature of country folk, the farmer and his wife received their sopping visitor, found him some dry overalls, and boiled the kettle for a hot drink. They discussed the weed problem, and Bill mentioned the site he’d been inspecting when the rain hit. More than an hour later, when the rain had eased a bit, the farmer insisted on driving Bill home. As they came into Arajinna, an ambulance with its lights flashing went by in the other direction.
‘Wonder where he’s going?’ the farmer said. ‘That’s the new rig from Calway.’
‘Maybe I wasn’t the only one to have an accident. Bloody dangerous on the roads on a night like this.’
Early on Thursday, Bill Smith called the operator of the local tow truck and rode back with him to the scene of the accident. The tow truck driver was full of a story about an ambulance coming from Calway Junction in the storm because some idiot had fallen from a window at St Mark’s. They returned to town and took Bill’s vehicle to the repair yard. A preliminary inspection established it would only take a day to make the truck drivable; but a new radiator grill and bumper bar would have to be ordered, and new front tyres fitted. He was told the police could issue a temporary permit for him to drive the vehicle in a damaged condition.
A visit to the police station gave Bill the opportunity to add to the people who knew about his accident and where he had been the previous night. He mentioned seeing the ambulance.
‘Tell me about it!’ said Constable Gerado. ‘I was called out too. Intruder at St Mark’s. Stupid bastard was lucky he didn’t kill himself.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘Sorry, mate. Can’t discuss the detail.’
‘No. Of course not.’
As soon as he left the station, Gavin went to the bus depot and checked the timetables for the Bullermark route. He was in luck, there was a bus leaving in twenty minutes. His plan might not be fully secure, but it seemed to him unlikely that a call to Lenny from a public telephone box in Bullermark, made by a Mr Froyland, would be traced back to Bill Smith of Arajinna.
‘Thanks for calling!’ Lenny came on the line speaking rapidly so Gavin did not have to respond immediately. ‘Had an extraordinary visit from a detective this morning. Thought I’d be interested in some bloke who injured himself at a church somewhere. Why I’d be interested, God only knows. Anyway, the reason I asked you to ring me is we’re able to offer you a franchise. Are you still in the market?’
‘Too right, mate.’
‘And nothing has happened since our last chat to make you unable to undertake such onerous work.’
‘Not a thing. Keen as ever.’
‘Great. I’ll send someone to brief you and work out the detail. Can’t say exactly when. It will have to be after hours because he’s working most days. Business is booming.’
‘I’m expecting to be home for the next few nights.’
‘That’s good. You’re keeping well?’
‘Yeah, mate. Fit as ever.’
‘Ciao then. We’ll be in touch.’
Gavin hung up in a bit of a daze. Lenny’s quick thinking had made the call appear innocuous if it had been overheard. He’d sounded unfazed by the latest setback and was obviously working on a new plan. The meaning of the cryptic conversation was clear enough; some evening soon there would be another knock on the sleepout window. Gavin was still Lenny’s man in Arajinna.
Knock on the Window
Saturday 22nd August 1992
Sunday 23rd August 1992
It was early Saturday evening when the knock came. Gavin opened the door of the sleepout. His surprise must have been obvious.
‘Well, are you going to invite me in?’ Lenny said.
Regaining his composure, Gavin stepped aside.
As soon as the door was closed and locked, Lenny said, ‘I’m too whacked to explain things now. I need to take a handful of pills and go to bed.’
‘I’d been expecting someone else; the room I have isn’t much.’
‘If it was okay for Tom, it will do me.’
Gavin led him to the room off the sleepout and turned on the light.
‘It’s fine,’ Lenny assured him, dumping his overnight bag on the floor.
‘Bathroom is opposite. Do you want a cuppa or something to eat?’
‘Just a big glass of water. I’m on a high dose of oxycontin, so wake me if there’s a fire. Hillbilly heroin the yanks call it. I wouldn’t survive without it, but preserving my liver is no longer a priority. We’ll talk in the morning.’
Gavin slept poorly. On Sunday morning he rose early and made himself breakfast as quietly as possible so as not to wake his visitor. It was after nine when Lenny emerged. In one hand he carried his overnight bag, in the other he held a brown paper bag which he put on the table. Gavin offered breakfast. Lenny opted for a soft-boiled egg.
‘There’s not a lot my system can still process. At home I’ve been having mushy vegetables for dinner. Can you manage that for me? I don’t eat lunch.’
‘No problem.’
While Gavin boiled the egg, Lenny made amiable small talk, mainly about the increasing problem caused by his illness, and the pills he had to take. Eventually, Lenny pushed aside his plate and looked across the table at his host. ‘I’ve had to re-write the rules of the game,’ he said. ‘What I’m going to propose isn’t what you signed up for. I brought you a bonus for the extra risk.’ He pushed the brown paper bag across the table. ‘Don’t bother to count it. There’s ten grand, and it’s in addition to anything else I promised. We’ll talk about where you might stash it later on. Best not here in case something prompts the police to take the place apart.’
‘I see. What’s the plan then?’
‘Is it worth my breath telling you?’
‘I’ve come this far. I’m not going to back down now.’
‘I had you picked as a good’n.’
‘I only hope I can deliver.’
‘Here’s how it goes. In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve had someone researching the schedule of events at Banabrook. Luckily, there’s a large group of visitors moving out today, and the next party won’t arrive until next Friday. Unless the odd passing tourist rolls in, it’s likely the place will be quiet for the next few days. I’ve also had someone researching NSW Government procedures for managing chemical risks. Tomorrow, any guests left at Banabrook will be evacuated from the premises because of a spill of a toxic flammable liquid. The chemical and the risk will be real. A vehicle, which will be untraceable, will arrive at Banabrook. The driver, a chap who is very good at being dim, will discover he’s come to the wrong location. His load will be badly secured and he’ll lose most of it while turning the truck around beside the homestead. By a stroke of luck, you will be in the vicinity at the time. You will see the truck turn into the Banabrook drive and, as the weed control expert in the district, you will wonder what the devil is going on. Your knowledge o
f government procedures is encyclopaedic—I’ve brought you a dog-eared manual to make sure. You are never without it. You were a boy scout after all!’ Lenny took a manual from his bag and placed it on the table. Gavin picked it up.
‘Yes sir. This manual was one of the first things I bought when I went into business.’
‘You’ve got the idea. Now, when you get up the Banabrook driveway and see what the driver has done, you will take control, calmly and with confidence. You’ll instruct the police and the staff at Banabrook what they must do with the utmost urgency. This will include sending everybody away from the property except Mrs Kingsley. You will allow her to stay to keep an eye on things provided she does no cooking and keeps away from the driveway side of the homestead. You will order some bags of a neutralizing powder. Regrettably, it will have to come from a supplier the other side of Calway Junction. Am I right?’
‘You most certainly are.’
‘You will tell the police it would be a help it they went to escort the load to get it here quickly. The driver of the untraceable vehicle will be useless and frantic; at some stage he will disappear, also without a trace. The truck in question has a double cabin to carry road crew. I’ll be concealed in the specially modified back section. It’s how I got here yesterday. The tricky bit for you might be picking the time for me to slip into the homestead, undetected.’
‘Crikey, you’ve got it planned to the last detail.’
‘Not quite. There are always
