The Cooktown Grave

by Carney Vaughan

  “Would you be so kind as to get their addresses for me, only the people you think the detective interviewed. I’ll call back later. And please, no discussions about this matter with anybody for the present. You will be able to reveal all after my investigations are complete.”

  “I understand.” Elaine Johnson returned to her station behind the glass screen. Salazar watched her trim figure recede. He watched it all the way to the reception area.

  Chapter

  46

  Mac got off the bus at Woree at about nine o’clock in the morning and eventually found his way to Herbert Street; he saw the shop Miller mentioned. He was about to enter it when he caught sight of a figure in a dressing gown. She was retrieving the Sunday paper from a front lawn three doors up the road. He felt that long dormant breathlessness, that teenage lack of confidence. Spring fever had returned after twenty-five years and his heart began to pound. It was Helen.

  “You bloody fool,” he told himself. “Don’t even think it. What am I doing here?” He stopped in his tracks and returned to the shop. “A small Coke, please, and a paper.” He sat on a plastic chair at a plastic table. He removed the plastic top from the plastic bottle and thought of the irony. “Christ. That’s just what I am, plastic, a bloody plastic man.

  “Can I ever be real again? Can I ever hope to attract a woman like Helen? Hope? Sure. But expect her to respond? Not bloody likely, not until I face my problem and not even then. I’ll get another ten years and then it’ll be too bloody late, I’ll be nearly fifty. Shit! Forget about it, Son, you’re just wasting time here.” What little confidence he had left was fast disappearing.

  It was the first current newspaper he had his hands on since he’d skipped from the hospital. He flipped through the pages to see if there was any mention of himself. There was none, he lost interest in the news. “Bugger it, I came this far,” he told himself, he walked to Helen’s house and climbed the steps to her front door. He hyperventilated and then knocked nervously.

  “Mac!” She’d been reading the paper in the hallway, it was still in her hands and it fell to the floor. She looked past him and up and down the street. She yanked him through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind him.

  “Hey! Wha…” Mac didn’t have a chance to finish.

  “The police are after you. What’re you doing here?” Helen was a little breathless.

  “I wanted to see you. Which police? The Cairns’ police?”

  “No, Mac, it was a detective from Sydney Homicide, a Detective Myers or Byers or…”

  “Byers?” Mac queried. “Russell Byers?”

  “Yes, that’s who it is.” She answered. “He spoke to Harry as well. He said…he said…” she stammered, “…he said you killed a man Mac. Is it true?”

  “My twin brother.” Mac said, there was a pause and his eyes grew sad as he thought of Danny. “There was an accident, my brother died and I was blamed, I was an electrical engineer…I am an electrical engineer…they can’t take that off me. I was an electrical contractor and Danny bought an old rundown weatherboard house. Do you have time for this story? It’s a long one.”

  They were still standing in the hallway. Helen said, “Come out into the kitchen, I was just about to make a pot of tea.” She led the way through a neat lounge room to a spacious kitchen at the rear of the house. She filled a kettle and lit a gas burner under it; she got cups and saucers from a cupboard, milk, sugar and spoons. By then the kettle was whistling. She made the tea and sat opposite him at the table. “I’m listening,” she said.

  “Danny was my brother. We were twins.” Mac began and Helen listened, without a sound, for the next two hours as Mac told the story of the last fifteen years of his life. There were no reservations or grey areas. Everything was laid bare. At the end of it all Mac’s eyes were bright with tears as he said, “What a waste of a life.”

  Helen put her hand on his arm and said, “You poor man, what a waste of two lives, no wonder you hit the bottle.”

  “No, I’m not a drunk although I may be a bit of a derelict by now, that rubs off.” He gave a wry grin. “It’s all just a ruse. I found that if I pretended to be drunk people would give me a miss, they’d leave me alone. No one wants to be stuck with a nuisance. But I could listen with immunity to all of the scuttlebutt raging around town. I could get into the lowest dives, I could keep my ear to the ground for any news about myself. Y’know Helen, a derelict if he’s around long enough becomes virtually invisible.”

  “Well, what will you do now?” she asked.

  “I’ll have to keep doing what I’ve been doing, staying invisible. If I turn myself in they’ll probably stick another ten years on me. I couldn’t take that, I’d be nearly fifty when I got out. No. I won’t turn myself in, I’m just so sorry that I got you and Billy and Harry involved.”

  “I trust Harry’s judgement and Billy’s his best friend. They vouch for you.”

  “Harry’s crazy about you, do you know?”

  “Yes. Poor Harry.” She took his arm and ushered him into her lounge room. “Now, I’m going to cook us some lunch. The morning paper’s there, have a read while I get some food ready.”

  After lunch they sat and talked about nothing in general and Mac felt that old teenage inadequacy beginning to immobilise his brain again. Just to be here alone with Helen, even though she sat across the room from him filled him with a feeling he couldn’t define, but it felt good. The mood was rudely shattered by a loud thumping at the front of the house. Helen jumped to her feet; she put her finger to her lips and went to the door.

  “Why, hello Officers, this is a surprise. Is there anything wrong?”

  “No, Sister,” the voice took Mac back ten years, it was Russell Byers, “I called at the hospital to say goodbye and to thank you for your co-operation, but I missed you. I’m going back to Sydney on an evening flight, I can’t do any good here. Would you convey my regards to Harry Bernard and the rest of the hospital staff? Would you thank them for their cooperation, and if you happen to run into David Brannigan tell him that it would be in his best interests to turn himself in.” This last piece of advice he delivered with a flutter of an eyelid. Almost a wink, it came from the eye furthest from Parsons as they stood side by side on the top step.

  “I will, Mister Byers.” Helen smiled. She watched the two police return to their car and drive off. A slight frown creased her brow as she saw a rental car with two occupants pull out from the opposite kerb. After a cursory glance in her direction the driver followed in the policemen’s wake. “He’s gone. He’s a nice man, Officer Byers.”

  “He is, he arrested me and he followed my case, he gave favourable evidence on my behalf. He even fostered me until I found my place in the pecking order in prison. I’ve got nothing bad to say about him. When I escaped it was him that I felt I was letting down. But he is a cop.” Mac looked at his watch. “I’d better be going, I’ve got a long way to go. Thanks, Helen, for listening.”

  “How will you travel?”

  “I’ll take a bus to town then I’ll thumb my way north to the shack.”

  “No you won’t, I have a car in the garage that I hardly ever use. It’s a bit of a bomb but I’m sure you could keep it running. You should keep off the road, at least in daylight; you could be recognised by anyone.” She took a set of keys from a nail on the wall and pressed them into Mac’s hand. The contact caused Mac another shortage of breath, “C’mon Mac,” she said, “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Thanks Helen,” was all he could get out. If only she wouldn’t take ‘no’ for the answer to a more serious question.

  “Don’t lose them, you’ve got the spare house keys as well.” She led him down the back stairs to the garage to a battered looking early model Holden. The garage doors opened into a back lane and Helen put a hand on his arm. She said “Bye, Mac. Keep in touch,” and in a voice as soft as her eyes, she added,
“please.”

  Driving down the Mulgrave Road towards town Mac began to feel comfortable in the old Holden. The engine was quiet enough but it had a lot of body rattles and the shocks needed renewing. He’d do a bit of work on it out at the shack. The closer he got to town the more he thought of Russ Byers. Although he had a profound respect for the man he still feared him. He was a cop and his primary task was to see Mac back in prison to serve out his original sentence. And any additional penalty the court imposed.

  Mac decided to go to the airport to make sure that Byers left this evening as planned, he wouldn’t be able to relax his guard until he personally saw him depart. Only then would he be free to do some investigating of his own. He wanted to find the bastards who’d put him in hospital. He had a memory of them being disappointed as though they had expected him to be carrying a lot of cash; as though they had been told as much. He was sure there was a connection between his attack and the attacks on other fishermen after they’d paid off. He’d be able to ask around the waterfront and he’d be able to get answers where the police would only get blank looks. But not until he was sure Byers had left town.

  On the road north he took a right at the Airport sign. It was about three in the afternoon and the last flight to Sydney to beat the curfew at Kingsford-Smith left at about nine in the evening. He bought some magazines and settled down in the passenger lounge and waited. He would unobtrusively bid Byers ‘bon voyage’.

  Mac heard the final call for passengers to board the eight o’clock flight to Sydney. And still the old detective had not turned up. That only left the night’s nine o’clock plane out for his last chance to fly home today. Mac looked at the arrivals board and saw the nine o’clock return flight, Byers’ plane if he was leaving this night, had already landed. He moved towards the departure lounge to take up a strategic position. From there he could watch for Byers with a degree of safety.

  He was battling against the emerging passengers when his heart seemed to stop. He was looking into a pair of eyes already glazing into unconsciousness. The owner was weakly pawing at the person alongside her in the beginning of a dead faint. Two men in the crowd supported Jan Morrison as they lowered her to a sitting position on the floor. Mac gently eased his way through the throng to her side as he desperately searched his mind for a reason to be there.

  “It’s OK, she’s my sister, she’s been ill. I’ll look after her now.” Mac told the two strangers who were looking suspiciously at him. Their attitude became less frosty when Jan opened her eyes and stroked his arm.

  “Oh, Danny, Love,” she uttered and lapsed into unconsciousness again.

  “Could somebody give me a hand to get her to my car, please?” Mac asked.

  “Sure, Mate,” somebody answered, and they half carried, half dragged her to the car park.

  Chapter

  47

  Cade was getting a bit pissed off with his errand boy role, but he wasn’t going to object. Salazar didn’t possess a volatile nature but he was certainly unpredictable, and coldly violent and cruel.Cade waited outside Hide’s Hotel until seven in the evening before Byers emerged and climbed into the taxi with his battered, old suitcase. He tailed the cab to the airport and watched as Byers’ Globite disappeared through a hole in the wall behind the check-in counter. An attractive attendant pointed the owner in the direction of the departure gate.

  Following at a safe distance Cade was forced to take refuge behind a column as Byers attention was attracted to a crowd scene being acted out before him. A murmur among the passengers who were straggling out of the departure lounge from which he was to board had caused him to stop. Cade watched Byers as he stood stroking his chin whilst he studied the scene.

  Three men were attending a woman who had fainted, they had her seated, propped against a wall. After a short period a voice on the public address system informed “All passengers travelling on Qantas flight QF416 to Sydney are advised that the aircraft is now boarding through gate ten.” Byers turned on his heel and proceeded to gate ten.

  Something was worrying Cade, a germ of alarm began to move among his thoughts. There was something wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The more he thought about it the more obscure and the more worrying it became. He had watched for a while from his vantage point behind the column.as two men remained comforting the woman. When she revived he saw the trio struggle to its feet and limp away in the direction of the car park. He followed Byers at a distance until he disappeared through a door and down a tunnel into his waiting aircraft.

  What was it? Cade went into the bar. He sat at a table and went over things in his mind. He was decidedly uneasy but he had no idea why. “May I get you something sir?” asked a young man with a tray.

  “Ah…Yes. A whiskey, please.” Now, what was the trouble? It wasn’t Byers, he was gone as intended. His thoughts went back to the limping trio as they staggered through the lounge to the car park.

  “Your drink, sir.”

  Cade changed his mind, “You keep it. Get me a coffee,” he threw twenty dollars onto the tray. Better not get caught up here on a DUI, everything could come undone. He thought again of the trio. Was it one of the men? Was it the woman? He finished his coffee and went out into the car park. They were long gone. He walked back inside the terminal and past the luggage carousel where a lonely, brightly patterned suitcase was circulating. He waited for it to come within reach. He read the name, J Morrison.

  “J bloody Morrison. Jan Morrison!” Who were the men? Could one of them have been Brannigan? “Shit. Salazar won’t like this at all,” he thought. “What to do?” He plucked the suitcase from the carousel on its next lap and headed unchallenged for his car.

  Chapter

  48

  Johnson E 1017 NorthWree...Salazar drew a line with his fingernail across the column to the number. He closed the telephone book and dialled. No answer. He waited until the dial tone was replaced by the unanswered signal. Good. Nobody there during the day, he then dialled the hospital. “May I speak to Miss Johnson please? Miss Elaine Johnson,” he enquired.

  “This is Elaine Johnson,” a female voice answered.

  “Miss Johnson! Elaine, if I may take the liberty. It’s Officer Gomez here. I was talking with you a couple of hours ago. I’m ringing from Port Douglas.”

  “I remember. How can I help you officer?” she asked recalling the coldly handsome latin.

  “I need your assistance,” again the conspiratorial tone, “and again I must insist on your co-operation to be secretive.”

  “Of course, Officer. What do you want?”

  “As I’ve already informed you I’m in Port Douglas and I shall be here until this evening. The information I’ve requested from you I will need for tomorrow. If you are not busy tonight may I call at your house to retrieve it? Please, if you will not be otherwise engaged.”

  “No, I’m not busy and yes, I’ll be alone. Please call by, I have it all ready now.” She felt a tiny thrill of intrigue.

  “It will be late.” Salazar informed her. “Around eight.”

  “That’s no problem.” She replied, she stood with the phone in her hand for some time. She considered the possibilities of the night.

  “Who was that, Love?” enquired the grey-haired, matronly woman with whom she shared the glassed reception area.

  Elaine tapped the side of her nose, “I’m not allowed to say too much yet but there’s a police investigation going on. I’ll be able to tell you when it’s finished. Look, it’s a quarter to knock-off, I want to go a bit early. Could you hold the fort? I’ll make it up to you whenever you like.” Elaine tidied up her part of the counter and headed for the hospital car park. Out in the traffic she crossed the railway line and joined Mulgrave Road at Draper Street. For the rest of the journey to Woree she was on auto-pilot as her mind dwelt on a sequence of events that had her more than a little excited.

  The conspiracy h
ad stimulated her libido, she was becoming sexually aroused. It was in anticipation. It was not unlike the feelings she experienced when, from time to time, she surrendered to the feverish fondling of young studs. When she led them submissively but demurely to her bed. Elaine had been celibate for several months. She had been concentrating on getting on top of her job at the hospital. She had by intent avoided any relationship which could divert her focus from becoming established in her employment. Jobs were not plentiful and good jobs were rare but she felt she was secure at the hospital now. In her relaxed mode the visit yesterday by the young detective, Parsons, had rekindled her carnal desires, now it seemed Officer Gomez might be the beneficiary.

  Elaine found herself parked outside her flat with no memory of the trip home, “My God!” she admonished herself, “Wake up and get with it.” She drove back down the road to the shopping centre and bought a couple of thick steaks. A visit to the bottle shop secured a litre of red wine. The young bucks called it ‘leg opener,’ she recalled with a chuckle. She said to herself, “Girl you’re going to be easy tonight.” She went home to her flat and soaked in a hot bath.

  Chapter

  49

  At about seven in the evening Salazar checked out 1017 North Street and located flat four. On a neglected building block next door he waited under a mango tree where he could see the lower parts of both front and rear stairs leading to the flat. Diffused light shone from a marbled window in the centre of the building which the Colombian rightly guessed was the bathroom. At the rear another illuminated window was dressed with cafe-curtains and through a gap he could make out a row of canisters on a shelf. The kitchen. The light in the bathroom went out and a few seconds later a window at the front emitted a subdued glow through thick curtains. Probably the girl’s bedroom. A half hour passed. He was becoming uneasy. The rustling in overhead branches and the crashing and squealing of fruit bats in their clumsy raid on the tree disturbed him. Now and again a mango would fall and a breeze would fan his face as a bat in response to sonic guidance veered to miss the obstacle he presented. His unease was caused, not by the presence of these little creatures; it was his memory of the rabid, vampiric bats which caused sickness and death in his own country. A wash of light bathed the backyard as a door opened and a figure, a female figure, came down the stairs carrying a newspaper parcel. It was the girl; he heard the clatter of a garbage can as she rid herself of the bundle and returned to the flat.