‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I’ve ... made a pledge ...’
‘What pledge?’
‘You’ll find out ...’
‘I will?’
‘Because you’re part of it all. Our lives are intertwined – inextricably. Yours, mine, Jack’s. And now, Will and Andrew are part of it too.’
‘And Anna?’
‘She’s the hub of the wheel; we’re only the spokes. She’s the one who brought us here, remember?’
‘And the Wizard – where does he fit into all this?’
‘He knows Anna can bring him down. She’s a big threat and a huge blow to his ego. She and ...’
‘And who?’
‘The only man who dared to challenge his authority – and is still alive. The Wizard will do everything in his power to destroy them both. Especially after the Mardi Gras, he’s even more dangerous than before. This is a fight to the end. We’re all at risk. I only hope I made this clear.’
‘You did.’
‘I won’t see Tristan wake up, but you will.’ Cassandra pushed her plate aside and got unsteadily to her feet. ‘Are you prepared to make a promise?’
‘What kind of promise?’
‘If I lead you to Anna, will you promise to help my son?’
‘I don’t understand. You speak as if you ...’ Sensing where this was heading, Rebecca stopped.
‘Were no longer there to help him? That’s exactly what I mean. It’s a big ask, I know. But there’s so little time ...’
Despite the balmy evening, Rebecca felt suddenly quite cold. ‘But why?’ she asked, struggling to understand the implications of what she was being told.
‘Confronting the Wizard has a price ...’
‘Could it be that high?’
‘It could.’
Rebecca paused. Her mind racing, she reached deep within herself to make sure that she could make such a promise. ‘Why me?’ she asked, her voice sounding hoarse.
‘Because this is a promise only a woman can truly comprehend. A woman just like you.’
‘I will,’ whispered Rebecca at last, barely able to speak.
Awkwardly, Cassandra stood and walked around the table. Standing in front of Rebecca she steadied herself and looked into her face. This time her dark eyes did not turn into seductive pools. Instead, her eyes glistened with sadness. Placing the palm of her hand gently against Rebecca’s cheek, she bent down.
‘Sometimes glimpsing the future can be a great burden,’ she whispered, tears rolling down her pale cheeks. ‘My son, too, has the gift, only his is far stronger than mine. He can hear the whisper of angels and glimpse eternity.’ Slowly, she brought her lips closer to Rebecca’s.
‘You will see,’ she sighed, kissing Rebecca tenderly on the mouth.
31
Alice Springs, The Drover’s Retreat, 1 March, 8:00 p.m.
‘Eugene, wake up,’ said Zoran. He was about to shake his leader by the shoulder when the Wizard opened his eyes, and grabbed Zoran’s wrist in a vice-like grip. In jail, being a light sleeper was a matter of survival.
‘Easy, mate. It’s me,’ soothed Zoran.
‘What’s up?’ demanded the Wizard, releasing his friend.
‘We’ve got visitors.’
‘Who?’
‘I’ll show you.’
The steakhouse on the ground floor was packed and noisy. Every table was taken and there was a queue at the door. The open kitchen at the back was in full swing. Waitresses were shouting orders at a couple of Aboriginal chefs who were cooking huge steaks on the charcoal grill.
‘There, can you see them?’ asked Zoran, pointing to the three men seated at a table next to the crowded bar. ‘Keep your head down.’
The Wizard turned to Zoran and smiled. ‘How long have they been here?’ he asked.
‘A few minutes.’
‘Where are the women?’
‘They stayed at the house.’
‘I’d love to know what they’re talking about,’ mused the Wizard, playing with his earring.
‘This is our chance, can’t you see? We’ve got to make a move,’ urged Zoran, becoming excited. ‘The women are at home alone, and the men are right here in the pub – our pub. Perfect!’
‘You would say that,’ replied the Wizard. ‘And miss the lot!’
He turned to Zac, standing next to him. ‘Can you ask one of your girls to stay near them? See if she can overhear something – anything at all?’
‘You got it.’
‘We better stay out of sight,’ said the Wizard. ‘Upstairs, fellas.’
‘There are two reasons I brought you here,’ said Andrew, handing the menu back to the waitress. ‘The guy who owns this place used to run The Shed ...’
Jack looked up, surprised.
‘A bit of a shady character. After The Shed was closed down, he bought the Drovers’ Retreat here and is gradually doing it up. Very popular with the locals – as you can see.’
‘And the second reason?’ asked Will.
‘Wait till you see your steak.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Will, pushing his empty plate aside. ‘What a piece of beef!’
‘What do you make of Cassandra’s story so far?’ asked Jack. ‘I think she’s telling us the truth – as she sees it,’ answered Andrew, watching the waitress clear the table. ‘What else did she tell you about the girls?’
Jack waited until the waitress had finished. ‘She was a bit tight-lipped about this at first. I think she knows a lot more, but all she told us was that there are no words to describe what was done to Anna and her friend at the farm. Black magic, torture, Satanism ... The Wizard is obsessed with sex and death.’
‘Jesus!’
‘Yeah. And that’s when things started to go wrong,’ Will cut in. ‘Listen to this: Anna’s friend died during some bizarre sexual ritual ... and Anna apparently snapped. She lost her mind ...’
‘And this turned into a big problem for the Wizards,’ continued Jack. ‘Normally, the girls would have been drugged and dropped at a backpacker’s hostel somewhere in Sydney after the event. Apparently, the Wizards have done this many times before. Usually, the girls would then get on the first available plane and leave the country, desperate to get back home. And that would be the end of it. But not this time. The body of the dead girl was disposed of. Acid. In a barrel ... Some club members wanted to do away with Anna then and there and make her disappear too, but the Wizard wouldn’t hear of it. His ego got in the way. Anna was no threat, he argued. He turned her into his plaything, his slave, whenever he visited the farm. A human pet. She became the club’s mascot. Because it would have been too risky to take her to Sydney, she was kept at the farm. Locked up most of the time.’
‘That’s when she could have carved her name into that secretaire – right?’ interrupted Will.
‘Most likely, yes,’ Jack said. ‘It all seems to fit, including the date.’
‘What happened to the new member?’ asked Andrew.
‘He was admitted and put in charge of security,’ Jack said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Wizards manufactured all their drugs – mainly ice – at the farm,’ explained Jack, lowering his voice. ‘The remote farmhouse had been converted into a sophisticated lab. The farm was like a fortress – armed guards, patrols, the lot. The Alchemist was in charge of producing the drugs, and the new boy looked after security.’
‘Then he would have been responsible for keeping Anna locked up ...’ Will said.
‘Does this new boy have a name?’ interrupted Andrew.
‘This is where we hit a problem. Don’t forget, all this happened before Cassandra joined the Wizards. Upon admission into the world of the Wizards of Oz, you leave your identity and your old life behind. Club rules. Surnames are dropped and no longer relevant. Instead, only first names or nicknames are used: Wizard, Alchemist, Undertaker ... Cassandra.’
‘A bit like entering a monastery,’ interrup
ted Will. ‘Belonging, obedience, control. A new name, a new life. Even the Pope adopts a new name when he’s elected – right? Leave all the baggage behind, obey the rules and the Wizard will look after you as long as you toe the line. How neat.’
Jack pushed his plate aside and looked at Andrew. ‘Something keeps bothering me,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Andrew.
‘You told us that it was Cassandra who contacted the police with an offer to help.’
‘That’s right.’
‘What reason did she give?’
‘I can’t remember, but I think she had some information ...’
‘What, about a bikie gang being involved?’
‘Yes, I think so. It was certainly Cassandra who first raised this question with the police. Until then, no one had considered such a possibility. There wasn’t a shred of evidence ...’
‘What reasons did she give?’
‘Not sure, but clairvoyants rarely give reasons, do they?’
‘Don’t you think that’s a little odd? She only joined the Wizards after she retired from the case.’
‘With the benefit of hindsight, yes, it’s certainly a little odd. But we were clutching at straws by then.’
‘I wonder how she came by that information in the first place,’ said Jack.
‘Perhaps she saw it in the cards?’ suggested Will, throwing a little mischief into the ring.
‘I doubt it,’ said Jack.
‘More wine, gents?’ asked the waitress, smiling at Jack. Jack nodded.
‘I think she fancies you, mate,’ teased Will. ‘She can’t take her eyes off you. She’s barely left our table ...’
‘City charm, mate. Outback chicks find it irresistible,’ replied Jack, feeling a little chuffed.
‘What did they call him?’ asked Andrew, fidgeting in his seat. ‘You know, after his admission?’
‘He was known as Pigeon. Funny name. Cassandra never heard his real name mentioned.’
‘Pigeon?’ repeated Andrew, looking thoughtfully into his glass. ‘How odd. And he was an Aborigine? I wonder ...’
The waitress put the bill on the table next to Jack. ‘Does the name ring a bell?’ asked Will.
‘Pigeon ... Not sure. Perhaps ...’ Andrew glanced at his watch. ‘But it’s worth finding out. Come on, I’ll take you to Auntie. She might know something.’
‘Auntie? How exciting,’ said Jack. He drained his glass and stood up. ‘Let’s go and meet Auntie. What a crazy place. Lead on ...’
‘Tell him,’ said Zac, pointing to the Wizard. Looking a little alarmed, the waitress walked over to the three men sitting on the veranda.
‘It was very difficult to hear anything,’ she began haltingly, ‘the noise ...’
‘It’s okay, luv – don’t worry,’ said the Wizard, trying to put her at ease. He pulled a fifty dollar note out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Here, take it. Is there anything you can remember? Anything at all?’
‘There was something towards the end ...’
Leaning forward, the Wizard watched her carefully.
‘They were talking about a guy with a funny name ...’
‘What name?’ asked the Wizard quietly.
‘Pigeon?’
32
Alice Springs, Todd River, 1March, 10:00 p.m.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Jack, following Andrew to the car.
‘To the tragic side of Alice,’ replied Andrew sadly.
To call the Todd a river was absurd, most of the time. The riverbed was completely dry and a favourite hangout for homeless Aboriginals at night. Every tourist visiting Alice had been told not to go there and tall wire fences protected the hotels and resorts along the banks of the river which cut right through town. When the rains did come, the river could turn into a torrent, but not that year.
‘Stay close to me,’ said Andrew, climbing down the sandy embankment past mountains of rubbish and broken glass. Dark shapes began to melt out of the shadows. A man holding a bottle staggered towards Andrew.
‘It’s okay, bro,’ said Andrew, holding up his hand, ‘they’re with me.’ Recognising Andrew, the man retreated.
‘Where’s Auntie?’ Andrew called out after him.
‘By the fire,’ answered a voice out of the darkness.
A small fire had been lit in the middle of the dry riverbed. An old man sat on a rock next to it. Another man was throwing empty beer cartons into the flames. Surrounded by empty bottles and crushed beer cans, several men and women – obviously drunk – were lying on the ground.
‘That’s Auntie over there,’ said Andrew, pointing to a white-haired Aboriginal woman kneeling next to the old man. She was bandaging his head.
‘Auntie’s a retired nurse. She set up a small group of volunteers who try to look after these lost souls,’ explained Andrew. ‘Without much success, I’m afraid. What you see around you is the result of alcohol abuse and despair – years of it. These guys here are too old to be rescued. They’re too far gone. The only hope lies with the young ones. If we can get to them early enough. That’s what I’m trying to do.’
‘How goes it, Auntie?’ asked Andrew, walking up to the woman.
‘Only one tonight – so far. He fell and cut himself. Didn’t you? Silly duffer.’ The old man nodded.
Andrew pulled a small wad of ten dollar notes out of his pocket. ‘Supplies cost money,’ he said, stuffing the cash into Auntie’s pocket.
‘Thanks. You obviously didn’t come here just to make a donation,’ replied the woman. She gathered up her first aid kit and got unsteadily to her feet.
‘No. We’re after some information. This is Jack, and Will – friends of mine.’
The woman nodded. ‘I thought so.’
They followed Auntie to another fire on the other side of the riverbank. A large cooking pot, its blackened rim scratched and dented, stood on a makeshift grate straddling the embers. Sitting in a semicircle on the ground, several old women were chopping up vegetables.
‘Our field kitchen and my helpers,’ said Auntie, pointing to the little group. ‘A hot meal and a bandaid is all we can offer these poor bastards.’
‘Oh no,’ Andrew said, ‘you offer much more ...’
‘May I also ...?’ Jack pulled out his wallet. Will did the same.
‘Every dollar counts,’ said Andrew. ‘Go ahead.’
‘So, what do you want to know?’ asked Auntie, gesturing towards a large tree – its roots entangled under a rock – that had floated down the river during the last flood. ‘We can sit there.’
‘Does the name Pigeon ring a bell?’ asked Andrew, rolling a cigarette.
‘Sure. Pigeon was Jandamarra’s nickname.’ Auntie turned to Jack, leaning against the tree trunk next to her. ‘Do you know who Jandamarra was?’ she asked.
‘No, I don’t,’ Jack said.
‘Jandamarra was an Aboriginal freedom fighter during the 1890s up in the Kimberley. He fought the white pastoralists invading his homeland for years. He was the leader of the Bunuba Resistance. He’s quite a legend ’round here.’
‘I can remember a young Aboriginal man working on a cattle station up north a few years ago,’ said Andrew, ‘also called Pigeon. He used to get into fights – regularly.’
‘Oh yes; Elvie’s boy ... A wild kid that one. Always in trouble with the law,’ Auntie added sadly. ‘Like so many.’
‘Do you know what happened to him?’
‘No, but I know what happened to Elvie.’
‘What?’ asked Andrew, inhaling deeply.
‘She went to live in Sydney with a bloke and died in a fire a couple of years ago.’
‘What about the boy?’
‘I could ask around. Elvie’s rels still live here.’
‘It’s urgent.’
‘As a matter of fact ... Stay here.’
Auntie got up and walked over to the women standing around the cooking pot.
‘Jandamarra and the Bunuba Resistance?’ asked Jack. ‘What wa
s all that about?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Andrew. ‘Here she comes.’
‘I just spoke to Elvie’s cousin. That woman over there,’ said Auntie, pointing over her shoulder. ‘The last she heard, young Pigeon was travelling through Queensland with a boxing troupe. Apparently he’s very good with his fists.’
‘Sure is. That’s what got him into trouble. Does this outfit have a name?’ Andrew asked hopefully, rolling another cigarette.
‘Yes. A crazy Irishman called O’Grady runs it. One of the last old-timers. He’s been ’round for years.’
‘Fisticuffs. Bingo!’ said Andrew, pulling another wad of notes out of his pocket. ‘This should pay for the spuds. Thanks Auntie. I owe you.’
33
Alice Springs, 2 March
Jack was an early riser. Rebecca was still asleep in her own room. To avoid complications – especially while travelling with the others – they had decided to sleep in separate rooms. The decision was paying off. It added an extra little spark. A knowing look, a quick touch was all it took to ignite the simmering passion. Rather naively they thought that the others were not aware of this.
‘You’re up early,’ said Jack, walking into the kitchen.
Andrew was sitting at the table, a large map spread out in front of him. ‘I went to see Elvie’s cousin this morning ... Our pigeon has a name,’ said Andrew. ‘Billy Woorunmurra – an interesting character.’ Andrew poured Jack a cup of black tea and pushed it across the table.
‘You have been a busy little detective,’ said Jack, sipping the hot brew.
‘And the character’s taking shape. He comes from Fitzroy Crossing. Apparently, his father – a Bunuba – was a Jalngangurru, just like Jandamarra.’
‘A what?’
‘A respected elder with magical powers. He was an activist and a spokesman for disenfranchised blackfellas, a key player in persuading the federal government to purchase several large pastoral properties on behalf of the Aboriginal communities in the Kimberley. Young Pigeon grew up on one of those – Leopold Downs, a famous property. It was later renamed Yaranggi.’
The Disappearance of Anna Popov Page 15
