Sold to the Devil

by Blair Denholm

  ‘I agree.’ Turrell swung the car onto the highway and flicked the lights on high beam. Ahead, kilometres of jet-black asphalt dotted with bullet-pocked road signs. ‘And the bloke with all the neck tatts, Kosta Fukakarkas. Took a quick look – no record, surprising for such a bogan appearance. An arrogant little prick. Wouldn’t put murder past him.’

  Scratchy chatter about a multi-vehicle road accident interrupted their conversation. Turrell turned the radio down. ‘At the end of the day, though, it doesn’t matter what we think. A bit of hard physical evidence wouldn’t go astray.’

  ‘You got that right. More of the body would be useful. A bloody axe in Wagner’s garage, perhaps.’

  They drove in silence until the Midway Point roundabout. ‘What’s the motive for that lot, then?’ Turrell jerked his head backwards. ‘They seem to be from a demographic entirely different to the victim’s.’

  Brandt chewed his thumbnail. ‘Probably drugs. Remember what the catering manager said about Hurst’s unaccountable wealth. Wagner’s entourage have drug dealers written all over their stupid faces. A search of the house will turn something up.’

  ‘Probably get rid of incriminating evidence, now we’ve given them a poke.’

  ‘Oh shit, you’re right. Organise that damn search warrant ASAP.’

  ‘Sure, Mickey.’

  ‘But you know, even if they dispose of the bulk of their gear, druggos always leave traces. They can’t help it with their brains permanently fucked up. Did ya see the injection tracks on the sheila, the scab on her arm? Let’s see how smart the bitch is when we send in the sniffer dogs.’

  ‘Suppose it turns out not to be them?’

  ‘Then we’re gonna have to dig like fucken archaeologists.’

  As long as that digging didn’t go too deep into the Internet trail. That and Selina doing the right thing by keeping her trap shut. The longer it dragged out, the greater the chances Turrell’s lurid dalliances would emerge. Like Brandt, his gut said Wagner was the killer, but his gut had been wrong plenty of times before. They’d have to thoroughly explore all suspects.

  ‘What about Bev Cooke?’

  ‘Cooke’s as dodgy as they come. There’s always been tons of rumours around town about her, but she’s never been done for anything illegal. Too rich and influential.’

  ‘And Selina? Huge motive for the girlfriend.’ Turrell instantly regretted his words.

  ‘True.’ Brandt opened his window, spat out a crescent of fingernail. ‘Girlfriend jealousy seems a solid motive. Her hunky bloke shagging an old broad would piss her off, no doubt. But I dunno, there’s something real fishy about that Wagner and his mob. It’s them. We just have to put the pieces of the puzzle together.’

  ‘Let’s pray for more pieces.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The lights of Hobart city twinkled as the car crested the hill at Mount Rumney. Turrell checked the speedo: 163 kph. More than fifty over the limit, but he didn’t give a fuck. Next to him, Brandt stared at the glow from his iPhone and chuckled softly.

  ‘So proud of that little one. Taking her first steps already. Wanna see the clip?’

  ‘Later, Mickey. Maybe you hadn’t noticed, but I’m driving.’

  ‘Oh yeah, sorry mate. Don’t mind me. Just an obsessed granddad.’

  Turrell couldn’t help smiling. Brandt might be an unsympathetic, cynical cop, but he was a doting pop who never tired of telling all and sundry about what his grandkids were up to. It was annoying and heart warming at the same time.

  Every fibre exhausted, for once Turrell would be glad to be home. Erin’s snoring was no doubt rocking the foundations of the house by now. He was tempted to step into the study, log on to Randyrooters, but until the Ed Hurst mystery was solved that vice would be staying under lock and key.

  Chapter 42

  ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ Gary stuck his head in the cupboard under the sink where he kept his spirits. ‘Come on! Where’s that bloody bourbon? There was half a bottle left.’

  ‘There’s none. You polished it off last night watching football.’ Tracey flicked a tail of grey ash into a saucer. ‘Titans got flogged, remember?’

  ‘Christ, yes. Lost me a hundred bucks, the useless bastards.’ Gary rubbed a shaky palm over his dry lips. ‘Jordie, drive down the pub and grab me a large bottle of Beam, will ya?’

  ‘Sure. Anything else?’

  ‘Better get two bottles. And more smokes. A carton. My nerves are shot to pieces after that visit. The cops are onto me, I can feel it.’

  ‘Don’t panic,’ said Tracey. ‘They were on a fishing expedition. You held your nerve, I’m proud of you. Bit of the old…Dylan…coming back. Not the sharpest detectives.’ She sniffed, scratched the small scab on the underside of her forearm. ‘We need to clean up, make sure there’s nothing suss in the house.’

  ‘It’s all good, babe. Shifty chucked it all in the river, remember?’ Most of the drugs from Ed’s safe were locked in a metal box in the garage behind some rusty sheet metal. Tracey didn’t need to know about them. She probably thought he hadn’t noticed the scab on her arm. Could be innocent enough, but then again. He turned to Shifty. ‘Don’t forget to grab your toolbox on your way out, mate.’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ Shifty gave Gary the tiniest of winks.

  ‘I’d be surprised if the police don’t come back soon with a search warrant and a full crew of investigators,’ said Tracey.

  ‘Geez, thank Christ they didn’t this time.’ Gary felt his pulse quicken. ‘They might’ve found the money.’

  ‘No, mate,’ said Shifty, jangling a set of keys in his pocket. ‘They would have found it.’

  ‘Even if it’s in the roof cavity tucked under insulation bats?’

  Shifty chuckled and the swallow tattoo on his neck fluttered its wings. ‘First place they’d look.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Nah, probably not, but the pigs are thorough. Don’t mean to be a party pooper, but I have to be on me way. Things to steal, houses to rob.’

  ‘Wait a sec, you can’t just run off after telling me that.’ Gary grabbed Shifty by the wrist. ‘What the hell should I do with the money then? Can you look after it for a while?’

  ‘Thought you’d never ask. I’ll stash it at Auntie Jasmine’s. You’ll see it again when you move into the place.’

  ‘Awesome. Be right back.’ Gary grabbed a chair, strode down the hallway and placed the chair under the manhole cover in the laundry. He reached a hand into the cavity, poked shaky fingers under the insulation bats and sticky cobwebs. He thought he felt a spider crawling across his fingers, snatched his hand back and wobbled on the chair. Don’t be scared. Get the money. Hand in again. Fingers touched the bag’s handle. He yanked a fraction too hard; dirt and mouse droppings cascaded into his eyes and mouth. Shaking his head and spluttering, he returned to the lounge room and solemnly handed the bag to Shifty.

  ‘You’re a dead-set wally.’ Shifty stifled a laugh when he saw Gary’s dusty face, flung the bag a cross a shoulder.

  ‘Have some respect for a man’s dignity. So, you sure the money’ll be secure at your auntie’s?’ Gary rubbed a speck of grit from his eye.

  ‘Safe as the Trust Bank of Tasmania. Enough stalling, gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  ‘Reckon it’s safe communicating via phone?’

  ‘Sure.’ Shifty let out a frustrated sigh, like a man being kept from a hot date. ‘It’s possible to bug mobiles remotely. Not sure the Hobart police are up to the job, but to be on the safe side let’s not discuss anything sensitive on the phone. Better yet, turn off your data stream.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ said Tracey. ‘I’m glad Dylan’s got you on his side.’

  ‘No worries. Anyway, I’m outta here.’

  The door slammed. Shifty’s WRX started up with a roar and tore down the driveway.

  Jordie, canvas shopping bag in hand, left soon after. Unlike the angry Subaru, his ute purred like a contented cat.

  ‘Finally,
some peace and quiet.’ Gary sensed his heart rate slow. ‘Thank God they’ve all gone.’

  ‘For now, at least,’ said Tracey.

  The fire spluttered, the clock ticked, an owl hooted.

  ‘If it could always be like this, I’d be happy, Trace. You, me and this cosy old farmhouse.’

  ‘You’re so full of shit. We both know it’s a dump. The sooner we move to Shifty’s auntie’s the better. And until we do that and the murder enquiry reaches a dead end, we act normal. Keep our heads down. Me pouring beers at the pub, you at the oyster farm.’

  ‘Yeah, but you know how I like to put a positive spin on everything.’

  ‘Right. How about instead of pretending life’s just gonna sort itself out we get on with cleaning up this house. The cops could return any time.’

  ‘But there’s nothing here.’

  ‘I don’t want to take any chances. We’re going to sterilise everything.’

  ‘What, with bleach and a scrubbing brush?’

  ‘I’ll pretend you’re not that ignorant. No, we’ll go from room to room. Make sure there’s not a hair, a thread, bloody clothes, anything that could link you, me or our friends to Ed Hurst. Then we do the same in the garage, driveway, front and back yards.’

  ‘Anywhere else?’

  ‘No, that about covers it.’

  ‘Thank Christ.’

  ‘Maybe the area down by the front gate.’

  ‘Bloody hell. I told you. It’s all been disposed of!’

  ‘Humour me, will you?’

  ‘I guess.’ Gary placed a hand in the small of Tracey’s back. ‘Then can we have a special cuddle once we’re done?’

  ‘If you don’t get paralytic after Jordie comes back with your shopping, I might think about it.’

  ‘I’ll put that bender on hold then.’

  ‘Good thinking. Let’s make a start.’

  Chapter 43

  He slowly peeled back the striped flannelette sheet, swung his legs out of bed. Gary’s nose twitched. The musky scent of sex. Tracey slept like a zombie on Xanax. A silvery line of drool stretched and contracted as she breathed. Two hours combing over the house and grounds – they found nothing dodgy except some doobie ends – and 45 minutes of frantic lovemaking. Out like a light. Yet he tiptoed around like when he used to sneak around his old house back on the Gold Coast. Maddie always woke at the slightest disturbance. A creaky floorboard, flapping curtains, a coughing cockroach.

  It was hard to break some habits.

  Like the tradition of smoking after sex. The deep delicious drag on the post-coital durry was like a gift of chocolate to a sweet tooth. The perfect pairing with a hit of bourbon, another tradition. The first glass contained the accepted ratio of spirit to cola. By the fifth drink the percentage was about 60/40 in favour of the bourbon. He should ditch the pretence and drink the stuff neat, but adding cola maintained the illusion of decorum. He scratched an armpit, farted and burped. The rumbling sound reminded him of an old lawnmower.

  ‘You really are an ill-bred individual.’ Harrison Devlin sat with his hind legs perched on a chair. He reached across the table and raked a stray Pringle into his gob. ‘Mmm. Salt and vinegar, my favourite.’ He chomped on the chip. Crumbs and spittle sprayed over the laminex.

  ‘Speak for yourself, you feral freak.’

  Devlin raised a claw in protest, gooey detritus stuck to his fangs. ‘Different rules for humans, as you know.’

  ‘Since we’re on such good terms, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.’ Gary poured a neat shot this time. Fuck decorum.

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘First of all, how the hell did the cops find Ed’s clothes, huh? AND, as it turns out, two massive leg bones? You promised me nothing would be left behind. NOTHING!’

  ‘No need to shout. I’m right here. And it wasn’t the cops who found them. It was European backpackers.’

  ‘I don’t care if they’re from bloody Tajikistan. This was supposed to go like clockwork, and you’ve stuffed up.’

  ‘Not my fault. I blame my cousin Hector. He promised to cart everything into the forest, but alas, the femurs proved too heavy for him.’

  ‘Too heavy? Are you kidding me? You guys are strong as gorillas. I’ve seen you in action. You’re lying to me, Devlin!’

  ‘Okay, so he may have forgotten. He’s like that sometimes. But don’t worry, it’s meaningless to the investigation. There’s nothing left on those bones but dried devil spit.’

  ‘And the clothes?’

  ‘I guess the shirt got overlooked in the feeding frenzy. You can’t expect me to fix everything.’

  ‘Why not? You said you’d take care of it. Now there’s evidence galore and suddenly we’re suspects in a fucking murder investigation.’

  ‘You mean you. The others are peripheral bit players at best. YOU bashed Ed to death.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes! I fucken know that.’ Gary closed his eyes, rubbed a hand across his brow. ‘But we’re all gonna be under the microscope. If the cops grill Jordie, I can’t count on him not cracking and dobbing me in. Get Jordie on his own, he could crumble like a house of cards.’

  ‘Yes, he could.’ Devlin paused, a paw under his chin. ‘Tell him to refuse to talk to the police without a lawyer present. In fact, the same goes for you, Tracey and Shifty.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice. And…hang on a sec. I’m supposed to be giving you a bollocking.’

  ‘Yes. And it’s entirely unproductive.’

  ‘Don’t care. I need to vent. Got another question for you before we’re done. How come you didn’t mention the data trail?’

  ‘What data trail?’

  ‘You know, phone calls, texts, Internet, all that stuff.’

  ‘Got any more Pringles?’

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘Do I look like I use a phone or surf the Internet? Where would I keep a mobile, for starters? I’m trying to guide you the best I can. You have to think for yourself too. I’m not–’

  ‘The Son of God?’

  ‘No. I don’t know where you got that crazy idea from.’

  ‘Me either. I just thought, you know…’

  ‘Listen. I’m here to help, not solve all your problems.’

  ‘Help me drink this then.’ Gary poured himself another shot, and one for Devlin. Slid it down the table. ‘Now, about that lawyer. Can you recommend one?’

  ‘I know just the guy.’

  The open and honest chat with Devlin had calmed his nerves. Yes, the creature made mistakes, big ones. But, paradoxically, that was a good sign. Relying entirely on the supernatural to solve Gary’s woes was a bad idea. Devlin was right. He had to own his shit. And with the help of Peter Grieves, QC, the cops wouldn’t be able to touch him.

  Gary re-read the impressive details on the brief’s website. Highest acquittal rate in Tasmania for cases of homicide and aggravated assault. On the rare occasions Grieves lost, he usually appealed and secured reduced sentences for his clients. Judging by the glowing testimonials, from people identified only by initials, they were appreciative clients indeed.

  Gary grinned and drifted off to sleep. Let the cops come at me. I’m ready.

  Chapter 44

  BANG! BANG! BANG! An angry elephant kicked at the front door. Or was it the back door?

  ‘Tracey, wake up.’

  ‘Wha—?’

  ‘They’re here. Just like you predicted.’

  ‘Who? Aliens?’

  ‘No. The bloody cops.’

  BANG! BANG! BANG! Definitely the front door.

  ‘Open up. We have a warrant to search this property.’ Not the detectives who visited last night. A different voice. Deeper, belligerent.

  Gary prodded Tracey hard in the middle of her spine, ripped the bedsheet off her body. She snatched the sheet back, draped it over her shoulders. ‘Piss off, Gaz.’

  ‘Come on, get up. Can’t have the police sniffing around and you still in bed.’

  A mumbled okay escaped from
under the covers.

  Gary’s shaking hand snatched up a dressing gown. He shrugged it on and stumbled down the corridor. Trembling legs could barely carry his weight. The door again. BANG BANG.

  ‘Hang on. I’m coming.’

  BANG BANG

  ‘I said I’m coming, for fuck’s sake!’ His mouth was dry as a coir mat. Was there even any sound coming out when he spoke? With each lumbering step, a bolt of pain exploded in his head.

  Christ, how dumb. Bloody Devlin’s drinking contest. Two bottles of bourbon. Gone. Just like that. The furry pest had even bludged a couple of ciggies. Sat right on the table tapping ash into an empty coke bottle, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling.

  Gary opened the door to a bug-eyed ginger-headed cop with an ample beer gut. The man waved a piece of paper under Gary’s nose.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You know what it is.’ Ginger snatched back the document, handed it to an energetic female officer following on his heels. He strode over the threshold, almost filling the doorframe. He shifted direction slightly, propelled Gary into the wall.

  ‘Hey. Watch it, mate.’

  ‘It’s Senior Sergeant Jack Fraser to you. This is Constable Angie Shaw. We’ll be conducting a search of the house and surrounds.’

  ‘I should tell you to get fucked.’ Gary rubbed a rib. ‘But since there’s nothing here for you to find, how about a cup of coffee instead. Instant do?’

  Fraser turned around. Gary stared at the cop’s prominent front teeth. The guy could eat an apple through a tennis racquet. ‘One with two, please.’

  ‘Nah. Just kidding. Get fucked.’

  The cop’s face fell and a wry smile flashed across Constable Shaw’s face. She hated Fraser too.