Return to Moondilla

by Tony Parsons

  Julie hadn’t had to twist her brother-in-law’s arm: when told that Baxter needed his help, he’d given Jane an excuse and left immediately. Julie had put him in the picture, so he was aware that they were almost certainly in for a scrap.

  ‘How do we tackle it, Greg?’ he asked.

  ‘Head-on, Steve. There’s no other way. The longer we leave it, the worse it will be for Latham. We’ll have to put Campanelli and his men out of action. But Steve, I’m not expecting you to fight except in an absolute emergency. Julie, remember to go for vulnerable areas like the eyes and ears. And of course, if you get the chance, kick a man as hard as you can in the crotch—as many times as possible.’

  She nodded and gave him a grim smile. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ Baxter said urgently.

  They ran up the jetty and then jumped across to the yacht moored alongside. A thick-set fellow wearing a peaked marine cap appeared at the top of the steps that led down into the yacht. ‘Where do you think you fellows are going?’ he growled. ‘This yacht is private property. Clear off.’

  ‘Mister, you’ve got three options,’ Baxter said. ‘One is to help us. The second is to leave this boat and walk away in one piece. The third is to fight us and cop what comes.’

  The trawlerman picked up a fishing gaff and waved it in front of him. Baxter kept walking. As the fellow thrust the gaff at him, he caught it with his ironwood stave, twisted its head and pulled it free. He transferred the stave from his right to his left hand and hit the trawlerman a terrific blow on his jaw that dropped him to the deck.

  ‘Steve, see if you can find some rope to tie this fellow up, then ring the police and tell them what’s going on. Tell them to bring an ambulance. We’re sure as blazes going to need one.’ Steve nodded and got to work, and Baxter turned to Julie. ‘If you’re going to be in this scrap, stay behind me.’

  He pitched the gaff overboard and ran down the steps, followed by Julie. At the bottom he smashed down the door of the yacht’s saloon. Then he paused for a second.

  Latham was hanging from a hook in the ceiling and two men were hitting him, one in front and one behind. The first man was big and ginger-haired—Skeeter, Baxter recognised, from the Family Hotel courtyard—and the other man had an Asiatic appearance, so Baxter guessed that he might be Yat Lee. Campanelli was sitting at a table that had been pushed to one side to allow the beating to proceed.

  One of Latham’s eyes was closed and blood was running from his nose. The sight of this good man being subjected to such treatment made fury surge through Baxter. His next movements were so swift that later Julie said she had difficulty recalling them.

  Baxter jumped closer to Skeeter, then spun around, kicked up and caught the big ginger-haired man under his chin. The kick lifted Skeeter off the ground and broke his neck with a crack. He collapsed at Latham’s feet. He’d been reaching for the pistol in his shoulder holster, but his hand had only closed on its butt.

  ‘Yat!’ Campanelli shouted. ‘Get him!’

  So this was Yat Lee. Lester’s description of the man flashed through Baxter’s mind: If you meet up with him, don’t give him any slack. He’d shoot or knife you and not think twice about it.

  The slim man came out fast from behind Latham with a knife in his hand. Its tip caught the top of Baxter’s shoulder and blood began to run down his arm. Yat came at him again, but Baxter ducked then hit him across the arm with the ironwood stave.

  Screeching in pain, Yat pressed his arm to his chest. His knife flew across the room towards Campanelli, who’d got to his feet to take a hand in the fight.

  Julie moved to block him, then kicked upwards and caught him in the crotch. He grunted and reached down. Julie paused and, taking deliberate aim, repeated the sharp kick—twice. Campanelli swore and bent over, clutching himself, his eyes watering.

  Meanwhile, Baxter smashed Yat and then hit him a terrific blow across the throat. Yat slumped to the ground.

  Baxter lifted Latham from the hook, lowered him gently to the floor, then untied his hands and talked quietly to him. ‘You’ll be right now, Ian. The ambos will be here shortly and you’ll be in hospital in no time.’

  ‘Look out, Greg!’ Julie screamed.

  Campanelli had seized Yat’s knife and was charging at Baxter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Baxter pushed Latham to one side and side-stepped as Campanelli came towards him.

  There was a report and then a second one. Campanelli stood still for a second or two and then crashed to the floor.

  Latham, a police officer while he had breath in his body, dropped Skeeter’s pistol, which he’d pulled from the shoulder holster. ‘Only had one eye to see through,’ he croaked. ‘Did I get him, Greg?’

  ‘You got him, Ian,’ Baxter said, as the first of the police officers came through the door, followed by Steve Lewis. Baxter was relieved not to see Senior Sergeant Cross among them. Latham had collapsed across Skeeter’s body.

  ‘Christ, it looks like a war zone,’ Lewis said.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s the end of the war on drugs in Moondilla,’ Baxter said. ‘Where’s the ambulance? Julie, what’s the score with Latham?’

  ‘It looks as if he’s got a broken nose and I think he’s concussed, but he’ll need X-rays to check for internal damage. It’s a miracle he had enough left in him to shoot Campanelli. Pure willpower. The ambos will look after him and I’ll see him in hospital.’ Then she took Baxter by his uninjured arm, her touch firm but gentle. ‘I’ll need to look at your cut before I go. You might need stitching up by the blood you’re losing.’

  ‘I got off lightly considering the odds.’ He smiled at her, reaching up to take her hand. ‘You distracted Campanelli long enough for me to deal with that creep.’

  She returned his smile, her eyes bright and warm, and squeezed his hand.

  ‘First you should make sure Latham’s sorted out,’ Baxter told her. ‘I reckon I’ll be here for a while if you come looking for me later.’

  ‘Three men dead—yes, you’ll be here for a while,’ an officer said. ‘Why didn’t you let us know what was happening? It’s not your job to tackle crooks.’

  ‘You’d better ask Dr Rankin that question. Or better yet, Latham himself.’

  ‘I’ve done all I can for him,’ Julie said, getting up from looking at the prostrate detective. ‘Steve, will you dash out to my car and bring me my bag? It’s in the boot.’ She handed Lewis the car keys, then turned to Baxter. ‘Off with your shirt, Greg.’

  Yat’s knife had almost sliced off a strip of skin on the point of Baxter’s shoulder, and the wound was still bleeding profusely. ‘I must be slowing up,’ he said.

  ‘If it was anyone else, they’d be dead. Nobody could be faster than you, Greg.’ Julie eyed the wound. ‘If I can stitch up that loose skin, you’ll hardly have a scar.’ Two ambos had placed Latham on a stretcher and were carrying him out of the saloon. They nodded to Julie before leaving. ‘I’ll get to the hospital as soon as I’ve finished with Greg here,’ she told them.

  Steve returned with her medical bag and she took out what she needed.

  ‘This is the second time you’ve done a stitch job on me,’ Baxter said, remembering their first meeting in Moondilla.

  ‘I hope it’s the last,’ she said as she gave him a local anaesthetic.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Baxter noticed Inspector Daniels enter the cabin. Daniels was the boss cop for the entire district—Baxter recognised him from the news but had never been introduced to him. He was a large man with a hooked nose.

  ‘How did all this start, Dr Rankin?’ the inspector asked.

  Julie kept a thick compress on Baxter’s shoulder while she waited for the local to take effect. She gave Daniels a short account of the assault on Campanelli and his hoods.

  ‘Why didn’t you ring us?’ he demanded. ‘This was strictly a police matter, not one for you or anyone else to get mixed up in.’

  Julie wasn’t about to be intimidated. She
explained herself in a calm, clear voice.

  ‘You aren’t supposed to know that Cross is bent. Did Latham tell you?’ Daniels asked sharply.

  ‘Never mind who told me,’ she replied, equally sharply. Then her tone gentled, ‘Keep still, Greg. I’m about to begin stitching.’

  The inspector gestured at the room. ‘There’s three men dead here. That’s going to take a lot of explaining!’

  ‘There would probably have been a dead police officer and a very good one before the night was over,’ Julie said. ‘As for it being “strictly a police matter”, I should remind you that Campanelli twice tried to murder Greg by wiring his boat and then sending two of his hoods to kill him with iron bars. I should say it was anything but “strictly a police matter”.’ She took a breath, her fingers still sewing away. ‘Even allowing for our rapid intervention, Ian has been badly knocked about. It’s a miracle he was able to shoot Campanelli. But hopefully that’s the end of the drug business in Moondilla.’ Julie tied up the last stitch. ‘There you are, Greg. You can put your shirt back on.’

  Inspector Daniels was staring at her, his mouth slightly open.

  ‘Any more questions for me?’ she asked with a polite smile. ‘I’m going to the Bega hospital now to check on Ian.’

  ‘No more questions.’ Daniels hunched into himself, defeated. ‘I suppose you’ll do the post-mortems?’

  ‘I suppose I will,’ Julie said brightly.

  Baxter coughed to hide his grin.

  ‘See you later, Greg,’ she said. ‘Don’t do anything drastic with that shoulder and take a couple of aspirin when you get home.’

  Baxter nodded. ‘Tell Ian I’ll see him when he’s feeling better.’

  As Julie left, Daniels transferred his attention to Steve Lewis, who’d been a silent bystander. ‘Where do you fit into this? Another vigilante?’

  ‘Not really, Inspector.’ Lewis introduced himself and explained his role.

  ‘Were you aware that Latham was an officer working undercover?’ Daniels asked.

  ‘Not until tonight,’ Lewis said.

  ‘Who told you?’ Daniels was writing all of this down.

  Lewis shot Baxter a glance, and he nodded a reassurance.

  ‘Greg and Julie told me,’ Lewis said.

  ‘Christ,’ said Daniels, shaking his head, ‘no wonder Campanelli tumbled to Latham. The whole bloody world must have known his identity.’

  ‘Not necessarily, Inspector,’ Baxter put in. ‘A cop might have let it slip to Sergeant Cross and he told Campanelli. And what about your man on the inside?’

  Daniels stared at him. ‘So you know about him too?’

  ‘Yes. Latham felt he should fill me in.’

  Daniels put a hand to his forehead. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll need full statements from both of you, about everything that happened tonight and everything you know.’

  •

  When they were finished, Daniels sighed and put away his notebook. He looked as though he needed a stiff drink.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ he said, ‘but there’s going to be a lot of questions asked. Such as why a detective sergeant’s rescue was pulled off by civilians, and why three men had to die in the process.’ But then the inspector gave Baxter a half-smile. ‘On the other hand, Ian can thank his lucky stars he had you on side.’

  Baxter nodded—it was good to know Daniels appreciated his efforts, even if simply at a personal level. This seemed a good opportunity to ask an important question. ‘What are you going to do about Senior Sergeant Cross?’

  But the inspector immediately closed off again. ‘That’s a police matter and doesn’t concern you, Mr Baxter.’

  ‘You’re surely not going to allow him to remain in the police force? There’ll be an almighty scandal if nothing’s done about him.’

  Beside Baxter, Lewis was nodding firmly.

  Daniels scowled. ‘We’ll attend to Cross, all right?’

  ‘I hope you do. Bent police officers stick in my craw.’ Baxter swayed with a wave of exhaustion and blood loss. He glanced at his watch and realised it was near dawn. ‘If you’ve finished with us, we’ll leave this lot to you.’

  ‘We’ll probably have to interview you formally,’ Daniels said gruffly. ‘We’ve got a mess here to clean up.’

  Baxter had reached the end of his rope. ‘Look, Inspector, as far as I’m concerned, you can take the credit for the whole caboose. Leave me and the others right out of it. You can say that, acting on information received, the police rescued Detective Sergeant Latham. In the ensuing struggle, three of the drug gang were killed.’

  Daniels raised his eyebrows, considering this. ‘I’d have to talk to the top brass.’

  ‘Then talk to them. I won’t contradict you.’

  Lewis was glancing between them, looking a bit harried. ‘I’d best get home to Jane and the kids,’ he said. ‘She’ll be worried sick.’

  Baxter nodded. ‘And I’ve got a big dog who’s probably missing me.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ Daniels called after them.

  ‘Not too soon, I hope,’ Baxter muttered as he and Lewis left the cabin.

  The three dead men were still lying where they’d fallen. Baxter hoped they were the last drug smugglers he ever had to deal with.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Detective Sergeant Ian Latham was sitting up in his hospital bed when Baxter called to see him. Baxter had waited some days because Julie had told him that after two visits from the police, Latham needed a rest—the first visit had exhausted him, and she’d restricted the second to five minutes.

  Latham’s face was a mask of stitches and bandages. His nose had been reset and the cut over his right eye had been stitched. What could be seen of his face relaxed into a grin when Baxter appeared at his bedside and sat down.

  ‘I’ve been wondering when you’d come,’ Latham said.

  ‘Julie kept me informed about you. You aren’t a pretty sight. Somebody must have taken a dislike to you,’ Baxter said, returning the detective’s grin.

  ‘It’s what you can’t see that’s more worrying. I couldn’t piss for days. Blood in the urine. Ever had a catheter stuck in your whatsit?’

  Baxter shook his head and winced. ‘Never had that pleasure. I hope everything’s working again.’

  ‘Yes, but looks like it’s only temporary. They might have to operate again, because that big bugger kicked me and tore something.’

  ‘He won’t kick anyone else,’ Baxter said.

  ‘So I’ve been told.’ Latham chuckled dryly. ‘You did a job on those two creeps.’

  ‘Well, you finished the job when you shot Campanelli.’

  ‘Blooming miracle. Of course, you’d have probably nailed him, but I couldn’t risk him getting to you with the knife.’

  ‘You must have kept up your target shooting.’

  ‘Even with one eye closed he presented as a pretty big target,’ Lathan said with a laugh, ‘and he was quite close up.’

  Baxter laughed too, but it was hollow. He was remembering walking into that room and the anger he’d felt at seeing Latham tied up and tortured. ‘So they were hammering you for information?’ Baxter asked, and the detective nodded. ‘How did they tumble to you?’

  ‘Some cop let it slip to Cross about our man on the inside, so they tumbled to him first. He knew about me, but because he was in such a sensitive position, he didn’t know much about the operation. They would’ve got everything they could from him, then sought me out.’ Latham’s eyes were sad. ‘We’re still hoping to find him alive, but it’s doubtful. He’s probably at the bottom of the ocean.’

  There was a silence as both men contemplated this, and Baxter thought about how easily Latham could have met the same fate.

  ‘There’s some better news, though,’ the detective said, brightening slightly. ‘Cross is out of the picture—he shot himself yesterday. The police raided Campanelli’s house and found a list of payments he’d made to Cross. That settled his hash.’ />
  Baxter nodded, pleased. After his terse conversation with Inspector Daniels, he’d worried that Cross would never get his comeuppance.

  ‘They found something else,’ said Latham grimly. ‘An underground room fitted out for kinky sex. Nice fellow, that Campanelli.’

  ‘Like a snake’s nice,’ Baxter said, and Latham nodded.

  Then he looked away and seemed slightly embarrassed. ‘Thanks for what you did, Greg. It was a lucky day for me when I first called on you. My wife wants to kiss you.’

  ‘Well, there’s not much of your face she can kiss, Ian.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘You might not be pretty right now, but I hear you’re an adornment to the police force,’ Baxter said. ‘A little bird tells me you made Inspector.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Latham said and smiled. ‘No more undercover jobs for me.’

  Baxter didn’t think he’d ever seen the detective look so happy.

  ‘When you recover, be sure and bring your wife and kids to see me,’ Baxter offered. ‘I’ll cook you something special.’

  ‘Laura will like that, and I’ve got a young fellow who’s dying to meet you. He wants to learn karate on the strength of what he’s been told about you.’

  ‘Good for him.’

  Latham was looking quite worn out, and Baxter realised they’d been talking a while longer than Julie had recommended.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’d better push off. I was told not to stay too long.’

  ‘That sounds like Dr Rankin,’ said Latham with a fond smile. ‘She’s been a tower of strength for me from the day I arrived.’ He paused and gave Baxter an assessing look. ‘But how are things with you and her?’

  Baxter sighed. ‘We aren’t in a relationship, though I wish we were. I’d like to have kids and I’d like to have them with Julie. It gets me down some days, but I don’t know what I can do to change her mind. I reckon she sees me as a brother.’

  ‘That’s a bugger.’ Latham’s eyes moved to look over Baxter’s shoulder and then they widened a little. ‘Speak of the devil,’ he muttered under his breath.