‘That’s right. And I’m ordering you to take the conference.’
‘And tell them what? That we don’t have any leads; just to strap themselves in, hunker down and wait for the Devil to appear?’
‘Not in those words.’ Mitch paused. ‘You need to learn to deal with disappointment and setbacks, Sergeant.’
‘I’ve learned,’ said Chandler. He couldn’t hold it back any longer. It was time to play his joker. If Mitch was going to try and put him in the shit then they were both going to be covered. ‘The whole reason we’re in this mess is because Gabriel stole the keys from you, when you attacked him in the interview room.’
To Chandler’s surprise, the revelation did not shake Mitch’s cool. It was almost as if he expected this. Contrary to intention, the chill ran down Chandler’s back. He had walked right into the trap
Mitch stepped back from the table and straightened to full height. ‘Now is not the time to go around throwing blame, Sergeant. The press will do enough of that. We have to close ranks. Remain as one,’ he said, appealing to the entire table.
‘And don’t you think that should come from the boss?’ said Chandler.
‘It’s about keeping a united front.’
‘Behind a leader we can trust.’
Chandler looked around the table. Where once he might have been able to judge loyalties, the exertions of the last few days had blinded him. He found it hard to tell if Tanya, Jim and Nick retained enough faith in him as a leader to believe his accusations. Luka was a lost cause.
‘We made a false step. It’s time to recover,’ said Mitch, teeth gritted slightly.
‘And it’s up to you to lead that recovery,’ said Chandler.
Mitch paused then ushered Chandler to the side, keeping his voice low. ‘I didn’t want to have to remind you, Sergeant, but remember, I write the report on this. You already let Gabriel go once, it’s easy to believe you let it happen a second time.’
Chandler took a deep breath. ‘When did you become such a bastard?’ As he said it Chandler realized that Mitch had always been a bastard. The selfishness had always been there, even in his teens. The badge had only released the maniac within. He reworded his question, ‘When did you start throwing everyone under the bus?’
Mitch wasn’t riled. The thin smile suggested that he might have even taken it as a compliment. ‘Your career’s going nowhere, Chandler, not after this, not after details are leaked of how you – and your team – had the killer and let him go twice. So I suggest that if you – and they – still want to have a job after this is over, get out there and feed the dogs the story. How would it look to a judge if Sarah and Jasper had a single dad with no income?’
The urge to punch that smug, sanctimonious face was overwhelming. Chandler glanced across the office to the rest of his team. He didn’t want them going down with his ship. Jim had his elderly parents to support, Tanya her three kids. Nick was only starting out and Luka . . . well, he would be just fine. Any clone of Mitch would survive like a cockroach in an apocalypse. Plus, Mitch was right; losing his job would hand Teri the advantage.
Biting the bullet, he stepped out of the front doors. Camera flashes blinded him as the reporters’ questions tried to pierce his armour, the floodlights framing him. Trying to compose himself he raised a hand. The questions died down.
He relayed the current situation to the gathered horde. He repeated their standard description of Gabriel and pleaded that people call the police rather than approach him if seen, before finishing with an appeal for the public to remain indoors.
As his statement finished the questions were fired at him again. How dangerous was Gabriel? Was it true that they originally had Gabriel locked up and let him go? Could he confirm the identity of the six victims? Was there a chance he’d kill again? Was the second suspect still in custody? Why was the second suspect still in custody? Chandler answered them all, dazzled by the light. He even explained exactly how Gabriel got free, the official version, a procedural fault, the system to blame rather than a specific individual.
As he spoke he peered into the crowd. Despite the pleas to disperse it seemed to have swollen and he searched the faces, looking for Gabriel hidden amongst them. It would be exceptionally brave or stupid of Gabriel to return, but he had proved himself both capable and daring. He scanned for beards and hats, simple disguises that Gabriel might use. He looked for tanned faces and men of a certain height. There was no one fitting Gabriel’s description so he asked the reporters to disperse until morning to let the police do their job.
He slunk back inside the station feeling like a criminal himself. He was now part of the cover-up. Lying to the press.
But Chandler couldn’t contemplate his dishonesty right now. He focused on catching Gabriel and answering the one question charging around his skull. Why was Gabriel so fascinated with killing Heath that he voluntarily had himself arrested and waited for the – almost – perfect moment to attack?
Maybe there was something he hadn’t thought to ask Heath. Chandler moved through the office and into the holding area. Heath came right up to the door of the cell.
‘I’m not talking to anyone without my lawyer.’
‘Look, Mr Barwell . . . Heath. I don’t think that you have anything to do with this,’ said Chandler.
There was a pause before the angry response. ‘A bit late for that. And if I’ve nothing to do with this, can I leave now?’
‘We need to keep you safe until we find Gabriel. I believe he’s still after you. I think he got himself arrested just to get close to you.’
The prisoner shook his head. ‘But why? I don’t even know him.’
‘I’m trying to figure that out.’
‘If you let me out of here I’ll stick around. Or you can escort me out of town. Bulletproof car or whatever.’
‘That I can’t do, sorry. You’re safe in there.’
‘Like hell I am! At least out of this cell I have a chance to run. Given that you’re so convinced he’s after me, you did a great job making sure he was close enough to try and kill me. And then you let him escape. So forgive me for not being overwhelmed with confidence in your abilities.’
‘I know you’re angry, Mr Barwell, but we have the right to keep you here if we believe that your personal well-being is in danger.’
‘What kinda fucked-up system is this?’
‘One that might keep you alive.’
Through the slat in the door, Chandler saw a frown ripple the suspect’s forehead.
‘Might. That’s comforting.’
Chandler spotted Heath’s defences relaxing, his attempt at procuring release having failed. He tried a sneaky question. ‘Do you think Gabriel chose you deliberately?’
Heath sighed and shrugged. ‘It could have been anyone hitching that road. It was wrong time, very wrong place.’
‘And there were no indications? None at all?’
‘Of what?’
‘That he had something else planned for you.’
‘No, as I’ve told you numerous times, it was all fine. Nothing but general conversation . . .’ Heath paused, staring at the side wall before turning towards Chandler. Once again the frown rippled his skin. ‘He did seem intrigued by my name, I suppose. More than most. My mum loved Wuthering Heights, but thought calling me Heathcliff would have been cruel . . . but the way he repeated my name was as if it was personal to him. I remember asking him if he knew someone else called Heath but he shook his head. Why? Do you think I remind him of someone?’
‘We’ll try and find out,’ said Chandler.
38
2002
The days stretched out, long and unforgiving, the search petering out. Martin’s ultimate fate remained officially undetermined but inevitable. It had been over three weeks now, and Christmas was approaching fast.
Chandler had a front seat view of the show, witnessing the mercenaries – even the Murray River teenager – pocket the cash each morning before feigning effort throughout
the day. Arthur had been wooed by their fantastical ideas and by charts and diagrams drawn by a laundry list of psychics and mediums stating that they knew where Martin was – and could tell him if only Arthur would pay them, allowing their spiritual talents to be nurtured by physical cash. Only that morning, one of the mercenaries, a shamanic figure from Darwin called Blazz, put forward the latest theory about what Martin had been searching for in the forest: a hidden cave of gold, buried by some turn of the 19th century outlaw.
Chandler’s vexation was such that he was forced to seek out Mitch as the voice of calm.
‘Did you hear that?’
‘I heard it,’ said Mitch. He didn’t seem annoyed by it at all, which wound Chandler up further.
‘We can’t let that go.’
‘We’re meant to keep the peace, not verify what these weirdos claim. That’s not our job.’
‘I don’t really know what my job is anymore,’ admitted Chandler.
‘It’s keep your eyes down and ride it out,’ said Mitch.
‘That’s the kind of police work you want to do? Sit back and let the family destroy themselves?’
Mitch didn’t answer, spitting his chewing gum into the dirt.
‘Chunks the size of footballs,’ announced Blazz at the top of his lungs; bombastic and insistent.
‘There’s no cave in here stocked with gold,’ said Chandler, unable to let it pass.
‘The wind told me,’ said Blazz, his voice carrying the belief of his convictions.
‘The wind? Bullshit.’
‘Just because you don’t understand, Officer, doesn’t mean it’s wrong,’ said Blazz, the ringlets in his hair dancing, despite the sweat that rolled down his temples.
Chandler stepped closer. ‘I understand that you don’t mind stealing an old man’s money, but don’t feed him bullshit as well.’
‘It isn’t bullshit. I was told by the wind. I can sense these things.’
‘Your senses haven’t located Martin yet, have they?’
‘We’re close,’ said Blazz in a whisper.
Close to joining Martin if you keep up with this, thought Chandler. ‘Just focus on searching. Enough with the spiritual crap.’
Blazz started uttering gasps and croaks, conversing in an odd language that sounded like he was having a fit, spitting and retching. Chandler wanted nothing more than to have to call in the chopper to take Blazz away. But Blazz suddenly stopped and announced: ‘You are cursed now, Officer. And remember these hills are my friends not yours.’
Chandler stepped forward. ‘Was that a threat?’
‘That was a curse.’
‘That does . . . ?’
Blazz smiled. Chandler took another step forward willing to forcefully extract the truth from Blazz when his shoulder was grabbed. It was Arthur.
‘What are you doing, Chandler?’
The simple question dazed him; what was he doing?
Arthur continued, ‘These people are only trying to help.’
Chandler stared at him. The old man was clearly deluded. What his exact role was out here might have been lost in the dust and trees but he remembered one of the main tenets: protect the public.
‘They aren’t trying to help, Arthur.’ It was time for the old man to learn the hard truth. ‘They’re only here to take your money. All these utterings of divine intervention and omens. They’re just trying to swindle you.’
He had said it. Immediately Chandler felt lighter, the earth no longer sapping the energy from his limbs.
The response he got was a simple nod. The pressure slowly increased once again, anchoring him to the earth.
‘I know that. I believe in God but I’m not stupid, Chandler.’
Chandler frowned. ‘Then why?’
‘If one set of eyes, paid or not, can find my son, then I would give everything. My money, my house, my eternal soul. It doesn’t matter.’
Chandler didn’t know what to say. He was wrong about the old man. He had voluntarily hopped on the ride in the faint hope that someone on the carousel would find Martin, his son. Chandler thought of Teri and his newborn child. What if it were him? He didn’t want to think about it.
It was a turning point for Chandler. From wanting to leave the outback and abandon the search, he found himself drawn closer to father and son, living through the pain with them, the weight continuing to fall off Arthur every day as if he were giving part of himself to the outback as a ritual sacrifice to get his missing son back. Day by day his barrel chest and booming voice became cowed, hardly heard over the chattering of the insects in the brush, searching for kindness in people, searching for hope in others. He talked about back home, the family accountancy firm that he’d intended to pass on to Martin, but Martin had shown neither aptitude nor desire to follow his father into the business. He talked of his wife, Sylvia, afraid that she would never recover sufficiently to be a good mother for their remaining son, essentially giving up on him because she had failed the first. She spent her days locked in the hotel surrounded by photos of her lost boy. Donated by friends and colleagues, it had become a bittersweet treasure trove of pictures they had never seen of him; Martin with friends and girlfriends, passed out drunk or dancing at a random house party. These were flashes of their son at play, happy and content, out walking, rambling and climbing in the great outdoors. It was these pictures of their son outdoors that hit home the hardest. They had spent many nights crying themselves to sleep, lost in their spiralling grief.
As such, Chandler found himself grasping on to anything to keep the old man distracted. Today the topic was exercise, Arthur stating that he had never done as much walking in his life and wishing that he had kept in some sort of shape, so he could cover the ground quicker.
‘It’s not about covering the ground quickly, it’s about covering it well,’ said Chandler, walking behind him, within the footstep of the old man’s shadow and the old man in the footstep of his son’s. ‘You said that he loved the outdoors.’
‘He did – he does. It’s something I never understood. Maybe I can’t appreciate it. Just how massive it is. How it would feel to live here.’
‘It wouldn’t be very pleasant,’ Chandler told him. ‘Your only neighbours are a thousand snakes and a million spiders.’
To this the boy turned, eyes wide with intrigue. ‘Really? Coooool,’ he said, dragging out the ‘O’ for a good five seconds before his dad warned him to keep his eyes in front when walking.
Arthur reached out to keep him on the straight and narrow. He had spoken to Chandler already of his worry that his other boy shouldn’t have to do this, not at his age . . . not at any age. He had looked up to Martin since he was born and was struggling to understand why his brother had come out here alone. And stayed out here. And refused to be found. Arthur had admitted to Chandler that he didn’t have anything to tell him. What could he tell him that wasn’t a lie or as hard-edged as the truth? Chandler was ashamed that he had nothing to give the old man, nothing but choked words and a horrible, guilty relief that it wasn’t his own family.
39
Dividing the town into sections, Mitch sent crews out to hunt for Gabriel, not out of expectation of finding him, but more to provide a reassuring presence on the streets.
Orders were to stop and search with caution – ‘Free rein to detain’ – as Mitch put it. People were paired: Luka with Yohan; Tanya with Jim. Nick was again left stuck on the front desk, alongside a base crew of Roper, Flo, MacKenzie and Sun.
Minus a partner once again, Chandler left the station on the back of a promise to get Nick into the action before long. The look of disillusionment he received made him realize that he would have to make good on his promise soon.
First stop was to check in on his parents. As he strode up the baked but neat garden, his phone buzzed. A message from Teri stating that she was on her way, disregarding Chandler’s warning. He pressed the button to call her back even before he fully realized what he was doing. She answered immediately.
/> ‘Teri, you can’t come here,’ he said though he knew she wouldn’t listen. She never had.
‘You don’t control me.’
‘No one’s ever controlled you. I’m just asking—’
‘I’m already on my way.’
‘The state police won’t let you past.’
‘You get me past them.’
‘I don’t want you past them. In fact, I’ll order them to detain you.’
‘I’ll get through.’
‘Talk to Mitch. He’ll tell you the same thing.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, her stubbornness shining through. ‘But you forget that I know my way around there. I’ll take a back road. You can’t cover them all.’
‘Teri—’
She gave a short, defiant chuckle. Giving up, he said, ‘Stay safe. And watch out.’ She had already hung up.
With the prospect of Teri bursting on to the scene, Chandler entered the house. Everyone was up, including the children.
‘Who were you arguing with?’ asked Sarah, eyes cast to the floor in a semi-stupor, awake and not happy about it. Jasper couldn’t speak, his incessant yawning blocking any attempt to communicate with words.
‘No one. Nothing important,’ he replied.
‘It sounded important,’ said his dad, positioned by the front window, the shotgun tucked down behind the seat, out of sight from the kids.
Chandler convinced himself that there was a valid reason for not telling them. He’d lost count of how many times over the years Teri had promised to come and not shown up – or worse, appeared out of the blue, throwing everyone on to high alert. Five years ago, on Sarah’s fifth birthday, she’d made one of her unannounced visits. The kids had been thrilled, believing she was moving back home. When he explained she needed to give him some warning, she told him she could do what she liked; they’re my kids too. But back then Chandler knew she didn’t really want them. Not permanently, anyway. So the party had continued, Teri on the receiving end of a mass of cold shoulders from the gathered adults, before she made her excuses and left Chandler to soothe his bawling kids.
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