Their immediate objective was to get themselves away from the airport complex, Madge grasping Charlie’s holdall and throwing it over her shoulder before coming to a halt next to Royle’s other Land Cruiser. Unlike the newer model he and Charlie had used earlier in the week, Royle reserved this one for the really long trips that seemed to come around quite often in Australia.
Madge opened the rear door, shuffling things around to make room for their luggage.
Charlie indicated the vehicle’s contents. “What’s all that?”
Royle looked at Madge, who shrugged her shoulders in response.
“This and that. Tents, water, fuel, tucker. Start charging around the outback and you never know what you might need, until you discover it’s not in the bloody vehicle.”
“Which reminds me,” interrupted Royle, “there should be a rifle in there somewhere.” They could see Madge nodding.
“Want to see where we’re staying?” Madge queried.
Royle motioned Charlie towards the front passenger seat and, taking her cue, Madge fired up the engine, negotiated the exit road and turned south onto the Captain Cook Highway, before immediately turning left along Cairns Esplanade. As she did so Royle leaned forward, tapping Madge on the shoulder and asking her to pull over. His office mobile was ringing so he took a walk under the palm trees.
Watching him return a few minutes later, both women could see he was troubled.
“Whitland’s not good. The snake bite aggravated a heart condition he failed to tell anyone about.”
Charlie gave his hand a squeeze as he climbed back into the vehicle, and they continued along the esplanade, Madge drawing their attention to the tourist boats returning from a day out on the Barrier Reef.
At the motel they left Madge to sort out the luggage, whilst the pair of them drove along to a police meeting Angie Watts had arranged. Briefly they explained how they were pursuing the possibility of wildlife being smuggled out of Queensland. It was obvious their hosts were not taken with the idea of American federal agents putting themselves about on their patch without any police involvement.
“With any luck,” Royle suggested, “you’ll never know we’re here.”
* * *
Madge had reserved a table for eight o’clock and, after they were settled and had ordered, Royle asked what she had been up to since she’d arrived in Cairns.
“I went to see the young native guy who did most of Alynski’s trapping and nest finding. The one his wife mentioned.”
“Did he say why he no longer works for Alynski?”
“Seemed a bit vague on that. Lives with a woman on the edge of town here.”
“Did you get a look at Alynski’s place?”
“I gave it a quick go. Hour and a half north of here, old sheep station beside the Central Highway. It needs care but we can probably see what’s going on from a nearby hill.”
“Where do you suggest we start?”
“I’d try Alynski’s place first. Get an idea of the layout before you speak with his wife and the Aboriginal fella. His name’s Mandu, by the way, Mandu Green.”
This time it was Charlie’s turn to take a call so, excusing herself, she disappeared from the table. Royle watched her, phone to her ear, pacing up and down outside the restaurant, until Madge interrupted his thoughts.
“She’s a good-looking woman. You kept that quiet, mate.”
He directed his attention back to Madge, surprised by her frankness. “It all happened rather quickly; it’s not something we planned.” Then he followed that with a question, aware Madge was inclined to speak her mind. “What do you think, from the little you’ve seen?”
She considered for a moment. “Let’s face it, Phillip, any woman who works with you all day but still wants to spend her nights with you, she can’t be all bad.”
He decided not to respond and was about to enquire further regarding the Mandu character when Charlie reappeared.
“Mindy Goldsmith, updating us on California,” she explained. “She’s got the paperwork from Cordero’s place, thinks it’s powerful stuff. She’ll get back on that.”
“Do they have Cordero and the other two locked up still?”
Charlie was frowning. “Good and bad news there. The two Columbians are being held still, but the DA let Cordero walk. He’s probably already back in Mexico.”
“We kind of guessed that might happen,” he sighed. “Though if Mindy did as we asked then any birds not seized should have been fitted with tracking devices. Small satellite tags,” he added, noticing Madge’s questioning expression. “We’ll look at that later.”
At this point the discussion was curtailed by Charlie suggesting she and Royle take an evening walk along the esplanade, an offer he accepted without hesitation, leaving Madge to sort out the bill.
Madge navigated next morning as Royle coaxed the vehicle along rainforest tracks to a point overlooking the sheep station. The whole of Alynski’s operation was now laid out below them, commencing where the entrance driveway left the main highway. The most notable features were a single-storey main building and five or six variously sized outbuildings, including two with tin roofs and no windows, plus two more looking a lot like wire-netted aviaries. Following two hours of patient observation there seemed to be just two people involved, with most activity centred around the outbuildings.
With the help of Royle’s field glasses they could make out one heavily bearded male, presumably Alynski, plus a single Aboriginal male. Royle had imagined Alynski’s set-up would be sited in open country, with little protection for any ‘uninvited’ approach. The reality, though, was far more encouraging, with dense forest crowding in on the complex at both the sides and the rear.
“I need to get up-close and personal with whatever’s going on down there at some point soon,” Royle suggested. “Meanwhile, though, I suggest we leave this and go catch a word with Mrs Alynski.”
Madge commenced stowing their things back into the vehicle, until Charlie stopped her as she was about to close the door.
“Let’s have a look at that rifle.”
Madge moved the vehicle’s contents around again before eventually coming up with a rifle case, Charlie laying it on the tailgate and extracting the weapon. Complete with laser sights, the Benelli semi-automatic was clearly designed for long-distance work. As previously out at the ranch, she first checked the gun was not loaded before running a hand over the weapon, raising it to her shoulder to test the fit.
“This feels pretty useful,” she admitted to Royle. “What does it hold?”
“Four rounds, but that’s usually enough to get the job done.”
The disaffected Mrs Alynski now resided in popular and expensive Port Douglas, an hour north up the coast road from Cairns. Madge directed them to a corner bungalow on a newish development out on the edge of town, with views over the adjoining golf course. Mrs A opened the door wearing a skimpy pair of shorts and an equally revealing top. Madge attended to the introductions, and Royle was intrigued to see that the woman exactly fitted the picture he already had of her. Early forties and undoubtedly attractive, with an outgoing personality and a figure suggesting she worked out a lot; it seemed obvious to him why Madge and Mrs A got along so well.
“Just call me Dot,” the woman said in response to his question, sticking her head in the tall fridge and emerging with four beers. Slamming the door closed with her foot she suggested they go outside, where a compact lawn was separated from the golf course by a water-filled ditch.
“I guess you want to talk about that bastard husband of mine?” she suggested, leaving no room for doubt what she thought of him.
They had agreed to let Madge kick off the questioning. “We’re interested in what he’s up to right now. Have you seen him since we last spoke?”
Dot shook her head. “I try staying away from the old wombat, but I can t
ell you what he’s doing. Same as he does every year around this time, building up his stock of birds ready to ship them out and get his money. He’ll be up in New Guinea making arrangements.”
“Do all the birds go to the same place?” Royle enquired.
The woman appeared to study him. “Madge said you’re the one to watch. Said you have the answers to questions before you ask them. Where do you think they go?”
He was beginning to appreciate what they were dealing with here. “Well, I think we’re dealing with two separate issues. Live birds, and hatching eggs. Would you agree?”
“Go on.”
“The birds perhaps go out at night, you say to New Guinea. Probably flown out; either that or by boat?”
“You’re on the right track, mate. I suppose you want to know who gets the birds out of the country?”
He considered her question, sensing they might be near the limit of how much Dot was prepared to say. “That could be helpful, though perhaps not essential. But where they go from or better still when, would be really useful.”
Then to take the woman’s mind off any thoughts of how much she was prepared to say, he tried changing the subject. “I’m guessing the eggs go out concealed with other animals.”
She smiled. “It’s easy seeing why they sent you. Anyway, how come a pommy bugger’s working for the American government?”
Charlie laughed. “Don’t go there, it’s a long story.”
“You’re spot on though,” Dot continued. “The eggs go out in specially adapted crates. Direct to Europe or North America, any day now.”
“This young Mandu, can we trust him?”
“Absolutely, mate. He’s a ripper.”
“Would it help if we made it worth his while?”
It occurred to Charlie her partner could be sticking his neck out here. But regardless of whether Royle was going farther than authorised, the possibility of financial reward had obviously grabbed Dot’s attention.
“I can’t say,” she responded. “But it might make a difference to what I know. How much are we talking about?”
Royle was conscious of his partner’s eyes boring into him from across the patio. “Tell you what let Charlie and me pop inside and talk it over.”
Inside, his partner sought clarification on what payments Whitland had authorised, forcing Royle to admit there was no such understanding. He explained that up until when he had last worked for the Department there had always been a small fund to cover such eventualities. It was this he had relied upon during their meeting with Zip McGee. He nevertheless took the opportunity to give Angie Watts a call and was relieved to learn there might also be money available within her budget – though she urged discretion.
Back outside Royle let his partner handle the negotiations.
“The good news, Dot, is that we can offer you something. Though we may need to leave the amount to whatever the people in charge think is appropriate. How does that sound?”
Dot seemed happy with the arrangement, aware that she might need to balance her interest in any cash reward with an even greater desire to get back at her husband. Either way she felt motivated enough to fetch more beers.
“Guess I’ll have to trust you on that. He has a place in New Guinea where he sends the birds; from there they cross into Papua on the west side of the island, in Indonesia. There’ll be papers saying they were captive-bred.”
Good as all this was, there were things Royle needed to know still, while Dot was feeling talkative. “Has your husband ever been in court?”
She slowly nodded her head. “Couple of times, once here in Queensland. He was bloody furious; it meant he had a criminal record and that affected his chances of being granted export permits.”
This was precisely the direction in which Royle had been thinking.
“But it didn’t stop him,” she continued. “He just created a false identity and got another address to use on his licence applications.”
Royle hesitated, deciding whether or not to ask. “Care to say what his alias is?”
“No worries on that. Toombs, calls himself Lincoln Toombs.”
His eyes automatically met Charlie’s, though he still had one other matter to try and resolve. “Knowing when any shipments might be going out would be useful. Any thoughts on how we crack that one?”
Dot took a long drink from her bottle, considering her response. “Couple of things. If the aviaries are empty, then the birds are either packed to go or they’ve already gone. He ships the eggs in crates used for exporting sheep.”
Charlie was driving as they left Port Douglas.
“There’s just one thing wrong with all that,” she suggested as they re-joined the coast road. “If Alynski’s up in New Guinea, then who were we watching out at the sheep station this morning?”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” admitted Royle. “Perhaps we should try grabbing a word with this Mandu feller on our way back.”
Mandu Green’s house was situated in the river swamplands on the northern edge of Cairns, in stark contrast to Dot Alynski’s smart new Port Douglas development.
Madge had warned them the yard seemed over-populated with small children and dogs, neither particularly enthusiastic about strange company. But they were quickly rescued by an attractive dark-skinned young woman who descended from the veranda and introduced herself as Mandu’s partner
“I’m guessing you’ve come to see Mandu,” she said, calling his name.
Moments later the door opened, and a tall young Aboriginal man emerged from the dark interior. Royle was immediately impressed, experience having taught him to anticipate a withdrawn, unenthusiastic individual, dragged down by social distrust. Mandu Green, though, could hardly have been more different. An alert, upright young man who, as they could see from his broad smile, enjoyed life to the full.
Mandu shook hands all round. “You guys fancy a beer?”
Inside in the cool they spread themselves on a collection of old but clean furniture and again Madge started the conversation. “You said your family are from southern Queensland, so what brought you up north?”
“Easy, I heard Alynski was looking for people to find birds’ nests.”
Mandu’s partner handed around the beers before settling herself on the floor beside him.
“Dot says you and Alynski fell out. Any reason?”
“It wasn’t like that. Alynski’s been up in New Guinea for weeks. The new fella doesn’t know what he’s doing. When I suggested he was treating the trapped birds badly he told me where I could go.”
“What made you think he doesn’t know what he’s doing?”
“Way he does things, mate. He obviously never cared for large numbers of birds; too many were dying.”
“The other guy, the one who still works there. You two still mates?”
“Yeah, good mates. Why?”
“Just something that might help. Don’t worry about it.”
Madge had been waiting for one of the other two to ask the obvious question. “What’s this new man’s name?”
“Sylvester Reed. He works for the people who buy the birds.”
“This Reed and your old workmate, they ever away at the same time?” Royle wondered.
“My mate’s mostly only there during the day. But if you’re asking is Reed ever away during the evening, then yes, sometimes.”
“Then I could get a look around?”
“You could, yeah. Except for the dogs.”
It occurred to all three that no one had mentioned dogs before.
“We didn’t see any dogs,” Madge volunteered.
“They only let the dogs out when no one’s around.”
Royle looked thoughtful. “How many dogs?”
“Just two, but bloody big ones.”
Royle glanced at Charlie for confi
rmation as he addressed Mandu. “Could you come with us tomorrow, while we look the place over again? Tell us what goes on where?”
It was clear from the grin that Mandu was agreeable. “No worries.”
However, as the evening was already closing in they decided to cut the visit short and head for their motel.
Charlie and Royle showered and changed before meeting up with Madge and walking the couple of blocks to the restaurant. On the way he called the hospital holding Doug Whitland. Asking to be put through to the ward, he waited several minutes before a nurse informed him that Whitland was still not well. It did not surprise him; a snake bite and a heart problem did not sound like a good combination.
Charlie drove again the next morning, back up the rainforest track to yesterday’s position overlooking the sheep station, this time with the addition of Mandu. Royle drew a rough plan of the various buildings stretched out below them, getting the young Aborigine to put names and uses to each in turn.
Apparently, the single-storey house-cum-office was quite basic and Reed was living in just one room. The two windowless tin-roofed buildings were used to hold smaller parrots in cages; that way these still ‘wild’ birds were less able to throw themselves about and risk injury. Even without Mandu’s assistance they could see that the two wire-covered aviaries they had identified yesterday now held numerous large white birds. Presumably cockatoos. Neither Royle nor his two colleagues could recall seeing birds in there the previous day.
Parked in front of the house were two vehicles: a long-wheelbase four-by-four and a large white windowless van. Mandu also pointed out the location of a low perimeter fence along the forest edge, plus a small building housing the guard dogs.
“Is there a garage?” Royle wanted to know.
“There is, yeah. That’s where they build the shipping crates.”
“Does your mate drive?”
Mandu shook his head, his black curls fanning out in all directions. “Both vehicles belong to the station; my mate gets lifts to work from any passing traffic.”
Next, Royle went to their own vehicle, before re-emerging with his laptop, his suspicions aroused by the presence of new birds in the aviaries. He started up the computer and a series of data files appeared on the screen.
The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan Page 15
