He felt a cool and tender pressure on his shoulder. “A penny for them, Mac,” she said.
“G’day, Helen. I love this part of the day, I don’t like to miss it,” he said. “I was thinking of the croc, wondering what he was doing at this moment. What he was looking at. What he was thinking, if he can.”
“It’s very beautiful here, Mac, and what a glorious day.” she said.
“Well, you know Queensland, beautiful one day perfect the next,” he quoted a touristy slogan.
“I could live out the rest of my life here,” Helen murmured. Her hand still rested on his shoulder and he willed the moment to last forever. They never do. He knew that.
“With me?” he asked in a nervous, barely audible whisper. There… He’d committed himself…What now?
“What was that, Mac?”
He cleared his throat. Damn! He’d have to say it again, he took a deep breath, “I said, with me?”
“Yes, Mac,” she said softly, “only with you.”
“Arrhh, Helen,” his eyes grew misty, he had to blink, “I’ll make up for all this later if you’ll let me.” He drew her down and into a kiss.
“I’ve loved every second of it,” she said and returned his kiss. They sat together and talked of unimportant things, exploring each other’s priorities. Their likes and their dislikes…Their druthers. During a lull in their conversation a question worried its way into her thoughts.
“Mac, that money in the bread container, you know, that you dug out of that grave in Cooktown. You said you were going to help me count it. What’s the real story behind it?”
“It’s clean, if that’s what’s been troubling you, I’ve even been buying tax stamps believe it or not, I’ve got albums full back on the Star. The money is all that I own in the world. And, like I said, it’s clean. It’s my last ten years accumulated earnings. I couldn’t bank it in case I had to scram in a hurry. It’s not much really, it represents about fifteen thousand a year. It should be double that amount but the grave didn’t give me any interest.”
“Well, you’ll be able to bank it now.”
“Yeah I’ll be able to do that OK, but I had it earmarked for a new start. I thought there’d be enough there one day to finance a small electrical business if I could’ve cleared my name. If I couldn’t’ve done that then I thought by the time Reg wanted to sell the Monterey Star and retire I’d have enough to buy it. Then I could stay hidden in the fleet. What I really need to do now is to get back in the race. I’ll need a lot of help. Interested?” He’d been a loser for a long time now. So long that the thought of winning was almost alien to him.
“Me! Interested! You know I am.” Helen hugged him.
“Come on you two, break it up.” It was Sep with the teapot. He grinned as they jumped apart. “I’m sorry. Don’t mind me, Jan’s started breakfast, it’ll be ready in about…”
There was a loud crash as the back door of the shack splintered. They heard Jan yelp, Sep ran back into the cabin. Mac and Helen watched him stop inside the front door. He slowly backed out. Then Jan emerged, someone had her arm bent up her back and was holding a knife to her breast. There was a second man and he was brandishing their own rifle.
They were all now out in the light of day. Mac instantly recognised the one holding Jan as the man wanted by the police for the motel killing. His heart sank. He knew why they were here. These were the ones responsible for all of the killings. He had trouble collecting his thoughts. He had to control his panic.
“You,” said the one with the knife, nodding at Helen, “get over there.”
“Do as he says Helen.” Mac said giving her a gentle push, “don’t upset him,” and of the one doing the talking he asked, “who are you? What do you want?”
“David Brannigan. Electrician. You honestly don’t remember me. Do you?” He pushed Jan violently towards Sep who caught her as she stumbled on the boardwalk. “Watch them!” he ordered the one holding the rifle as he advanced on his quarry.
“I’m not sure, the police want to talk to you.” Mac stalled. “Why are you here?” Something about this bloke was familiar, something more than the imminent threat was invoking bad feelings.
“I met you a long time ago at your brother’s house, my friend.”
Mac had backed up to the end of the jetty and could go no fur ther, he edged sideways as Salazar approached menacingly, the knife arm outstretched.
“David!” The tone was cold and full of hate, it was Jan. “That’s the bastard who killed Danny, and Jim Mitchell,” Salazar gave Mac a slight nod and a look of smug confession, “and this other one is Danny’s old boss,” she spat.
Mac’s emotions had no time to react to Jan’s accusations. If they had he might have died then in a blind rage. Fortunately the Colombian’s eyes, like an animal’s, signalled attack. His underhand lunge was the thrust of an expert. As he moved he said, “Join your brother, Mister Brannigan.”
Draw-and-block had some Korean name Mac could never pronounce. It was the only manoeuvre he ever mastered in his teenage karate classes. His timing was bad. His intention was to grasp the lungeing hand and, with a tug, add to its owner’s impetus. He sought to draw his attacker to him but block with his foot the necessary step to get there.
That was the theory. Instead he felt the knife blade slice through the fingers of his right hand. The rest of the move went OK. As Salazar stumbled towards him Mac’s left hook caught him just below the right ear, and they both cart wheeled off the jetty. Mac landed on his back in the soft mud. Salazar was in the shallows on hands and knees shaking his head to clear it. Mac felt like a turtle on its back as he struggled to escape the suction of the mud. He could see the knife a little way up the bank reflecting the rays of the rising sun as he strove to reach to it.
“Stop! Stop there, or I’ll shoot.” It was Cade, Mac had completely forgotten the man in the heat and excitement of the tussle. Mac backed up the bank and away from the knife as Salazar stood and walked from the creek on unsteady legs. He bent and retrieved his weapon and straightened again, wobbling back and forwards on his heels. He would not fall prey to that trick again. Blinking and shaking himself alert he advanced on Mac slowly. He weaved, passing the knife from hand to hand to confuse his quarry.
Helen was the first of the group to see it. She nudged Sep and signalled with her eyes. Mac had also seen it over Salazar’s shoulder.
On the surface of the creek about fifteen metres from the shore a minute vee-shaped ripple had formed and was growing larger ever so slowly. It indicated a subtle underwater movement was taking place. As the Colombian cleared his head he began to enjoy his slow stalking while his prey was edging imperceptibly backwards. Meanwhile at the point of the vee a small bow wave had formed which was beginning to travel faster and grow larger by the moment.
When the creek erupted it seemed like the maws of hell had opened. From the maelstrom emerged the very devil himself. Salazar and Cade could not comprehend exactly what was happening. The giant reptile seized the Colombian by the middle and shook him from side to side. It then slowly walked back into the creek. The man in its jaws was struggling violently but still in initial shock so as yet had felt no pain. He was still conscious and his wide, bulging eyes revealed his understanding of his fate. The broken blade of his knife protruded from the monster’s bony head.
The instinctive ritual roll provided the crocodile with no benefit except for the near drowning of its prey. At that moment the creature was attacked by two lesser animals. As it rolled and threshed it lost its prize. Its two ambitious adversaries swam off disputing ownership of Salazar’s right arm torn off at the shoulder.
The Colombian was in chest deep, blood-red water. The muddy bottom afforded little purchase for his pumping legs as he struggled dreamlike into the shallows. He marked time as he tried to climb the slippery incline of the riverbank. With his remaining arm flailing he tried to
fend off another juvenile attack. He succeeded only in abetting his tormentor. His outstretched arm encountered nothing as it slid between gaping, toothy jaws which clamped and rolled. In the struggle he was dragged under the surface and his forearm was wrenched off at the elbow. He stood again in the shallows and turned to the watchers on the shore. In the mêlée he’d lost his clothes and his footwear was somewhere under the cloying mud. Instinctively he waved to the watchers with his remaining stump, it was gushing blood and trailing white strings of tendons and ligaments. Why did he wave? He didn’t know nor did they.
His terrible screams became tremulous whimpers when he saw the grinning jaws of the giant croc gliding across the now calm surface towards him. It picked him up once more and headed, this time unchallenged, for its lair. Before submerging it crushed a last terrified, inhuman grunt from its meal. It was not seen again that day.
Those on the beach breathed at last, like statues in a tableau coming alive and as realisation returned Mac and Sep moved towards Cade. “Get back! Get back! I’ll shoot!” he cried. He was on the verge of hysteria, frightened and dangerous.
Mac reached into his pocket and said. “Wait! These are the magazines.” He held the cartridge clips high. “There’s only one bullet in the rifle. If you shoot one of us the others will feed you to that beast. Now which one of us will it be?”
Cade looked from face to determined face. He dropped the weapon and crumpled to his knees. He began to sob. “Arrgh! Sweet Jesus Christ,” his shoulders were wracked with spasms, “it’s over…” His last trailing whimpers were lost as he covered his face with his hands. Jan rained kicks and punches on him. They became ineffective as Sep restrained her, hugging her sobbing body to his.
Chapter
82
“Tell them,” Jan urged him.
“Has everyone got a drink?” Sep looked around the table.
“Right. OK. Here goes.” He paused for effect. “Jan and I are going to get married. That is if she doesn’t mind being Missus Guiseppi Harry Bernardini.”
Sal blinked back tears.
Helen, remembering Sep’s midnight confession by the Barron River, smiled a misty one.
They sat around Sal’s dining room table. Harry Rigby, Mavis, Billy, Reg Williamson, and of course Sal, Sep and Jan, Helen, Mac, Russ Byers and Warren Parsons. A loud cheer erupted and Sep held up his hand for quiet.
“First,” he said, “we’re going down to Sydney to see Jan’s father and make sure it’s OK by him and then we’ll plan our honeymoon.”
“No we’re not. Of course it will be alright by him. What we are going to do is try to talk him into selling up and coming here to live,” Jan corrected. She added, “Perhaps a holiday here first will persuade him.”
Sal raised his glass. “Here’s to my new daughter. May my son make her very happy and always keep her that way. And may I die a grandfather.”
After the toast Mac moved to Parsons’ side. “Warren,” he said, “there’s supposed to be a list of names. Is there any chance of seeing it?”
Parsons smiled and looked over at Byers who nodded. He reached into a shirt pocket and produced a wrinkled sheet of paper. “It reads a bit like a death list now. I guess it was,” he added.
Mac scanned the list and pointed to three names at the bottom. “These blokes names I don’t know but I’ve got a feeling that this one,” he underlined Parker with a fingernail, “is one of the gang that attacked me. Sep tells me he was at the hospital at the same time as me. He had a broken nose and two shiners and I know I got one of them real good.
“There’s something else too, on the day I was bashed I remember seeing three blokes talking to McCarthy from the Harbourmaster’s office. I’d like to eyeball them when you catch up with them. I’ll bet it’s the same three. And McCarthy would know the whereabouts and the movements of the entire fishing fleet. He’d be in a perfect position to know who had money. I reckon all of the attacks on fishermen over the past couple of years have been organised.”
Parsons nodded and said. “I know them. They’re waterfront scum of no fixed abode. They’ve gone missing at the moment but like all scum, it surfaces eventually. We’ll get them.”
Harry Rigby then asked Byers to give them all at least an outline of the whole complicated story.
The old detective started with Cade. “When we got to the shack it was all over, Cade was a broken man and the Colombian was gone. At first these two,” he pointed to Sep and Mac, “swore that this Salazar bloke had disappeared, drowned in the creek. When young Warren and I started to investigate the scuffle marks on the little beach they got nervous. They couldn’t be sure the old croc wouldn’t want to pack one of us away with poor old Carlos, so they told us the truth to get us off the beach.
“We couldn’t get anything out of Cade then but the ladies backed up the croc story. Apparently they told us the first story because they didn’t want the croc killed. That’s what’s usually done to see if there’s any human flesh in the stomach. And if there is, to see if there’s enough evidence to establish the cause of death. You know, in case there’s been foul play. I’ve never agreed with that but sometimes it’s necessary. There are people about in my opinion who don’t have the morals of the animal we have to kill. Anyway in this case everyone agreed, even Cade when we got him back to Cairns and chilled him down. Funny thing though, we still had to examine the beach but very nervously. And, I was just going to say ‘very carefully’ but I should say ‘very quickly’.” He took a breath and drained his glass. Sal refilled it and Byers continued.
“Well, as you know we brought Cade back to Cairns. He was hospitalised and sedated for a week before we could question him and then our problem was to slow him down. The information, it bubbled out of him. We’ve identified a huge cocaine network run by a bloke named Phillip Benson. He’s got some corrupt police, at least one, in his pocket. That Colombian, Carlos Salazar, was sent here from Medellin as a policeman for the cartel.
“The great revelation to come out of all this is that Valbac Proprietary Limited, that huge discount chain was set up by Benson and Sir Charles Horvath. Remember him, he was a philanthropist, a well-known one, too. Sir Charles was murdered in the Philippines supposedly by communists. But it seems now that he was killed by this Salazar bloke on Benson’s orders. Anyway, Benson and Horvath set up Valbac as a front to launder money from their cocaine business.
“All this from Cade and he hasn’t finished yet. He also reckons that Horvath was a paedophile but I guess that story won’t see the light of day. Although Cade reckons there are photographs around which will incriminate him. God knows what they’ll do with the stores. There’s a lot of good people around the nation that work in them. Perhaps a charity, maybe the Salvos, could run the chain. But I wouldn’t bet on the other legitimate companies allowing that to happen. It’ll probably all end up in consolidated revenue.
“Now this bloke Salazar he was a throwback, an atavistic aberration if you like, Neanderthal. I was thinking that his fate was determined at the moment he left Colombia for Australia, but of course it was long before that, millions of years before. It happened when nature threw up the earth’s plates to create the Rockies and the Andes, the backbone of South America, the Cordillera Central. By Salazar’s form sheet from early teenage years he lived in the mountain highlands and he would have had little knowledge of saltwater crocs. Salties, like the one that took him. His only experience if any would have been with the skinny, spindly little freshwater buggers and I must say I’m comfortable, even happy that he died the way he did. A fitting end for a Neanderthal. Food for a dinosaur.”
“He was wanted by the Colombian police for a series of sex murders in Cali, Bogotá and Medellin. We were alerted by Interpol and they forwarded a sketchy form sheet to us. According to the DNA matchups he’s definitely the animal we’ve been after for a series of similar murders down south. Murders committed over a lot of year
s. I’ve got a file two inches thick on him,” Byers sighed. “Now the file has a formal ID and an end to it. That is if we can prove that he was the one that killed the girl in the motel. We’ve got DNA samples from her and we have the security film which places him there at the time. It’s still circumstantial but I’m convinced. We have his belongings from his motel room here in Cairns. The only way we could prove beyond doubt that Salazar is the one would be to kill the crocodile and cut him open for a DNA match on the flesh inside.”
“There may be none there. Even though they don’t miss a chance they don’t always eat their victims straight away.” Mac informed him.
“Well, we’ve always got Cade, when he recovers.”
“Have they caught the croc, yet?” Mac asked Russ Byers.
“Yep. On the second day they trapped him on that beach. He wasn’t shy, he came right out of the water after food and they netted him. He surprised them on the first day when he came out, he scattered ‘em like chaff. I think they took him to one of the crocodile farms down here near Cairns. You’ll all be able to visit him on weekends.” Byers laughed.
“Ugh!” Helen visibly shuddered.
“What’s the matter, Love?” Mac asked.
“I just had a vision of that terrible man sitting in a corner of the crocodile’s lair. Forever, now that the animal’s been relocated.” she replied.
“It wouldn’t be forever I can assure you,” Sep said, “if he hasn’t already been eaten, all of those little buggers’ll move into the big bloke’s space after a while if they don’t see him around. They’ll have a ball,” then added impishly, “or two.” The others howled and threw things at him.
The Cooktown Grave Page 31
