Tropic of Death

by Robert Sims

  ‘Get real. Rachel was alone in a dark alley, at night, in the roughest part of town. That’s looking for trouble.’ Ice swallowed more champagne. ‘Not the sort of mistake I’d make.’

  ‘You knew Rachel?’

  ‘I met her a few times. She tried to recruit me to the cause.

  I agree in principle but it’s not my scene.’ She shook her head and shuddered. ‘The night the body was found I was there in the club.’

  ‘With Paul Giles?’

  ‘Yes, that dickhead.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because he’s a fucking stalker. Obsessive. And because he got me interrogated at the base.’

  ‘By Captain Roy Maddox?’

  ‘Yeah. Another dickhead.’

  ‘Surely that’s a warning you can’t ignore,’ said Rita. ‘He’s the type who’ll crush you without blinking.’

  ‘Maddox doesn’t scare me. Nor do you.’ Ice tipped the rest of the champagne down her throat. ‘I’ve been dealing with that type of man all my life. Still am.’

  ‘Men like Bowers?’

  ‘What I have with Billy is purely a business arrangement.’

  Then Ice gave a bitter laugh. ‘Now I know who you are! You’re the one who tried to bust him in Melbourne. I thought your name was familiar. Are you up here for another shot at putting him away?’

  ‘Actually, Bowers is doing that all by himself. And a word of advice: keep away from him and don’t let him know about the disk.’

  ‘I told you, I’m not stupid.’ She got up and refilled her glass.

  ‘So what’s your angle, Van Hassel?’

  ‘I was seconded here to help catch Rachel’s killer. That’s what I’m trying to do.’

  ‘There’s got to be more to it than that. What’s in it for you?’

  ‘Nothing you’d understand. Have you still got the disk?’

  ‘I did what Stonefish told me to - drove down the Bruce Highway and dropped it off at his private postbox in a cyber cafe in Rockhampton. It’d be gone by now.’

  ‘In the hands of his secret courier service,’ said Rita, sagging back in the chair.

  She’d hoped to get her hands on the Rheingold disk but it had eluded her. For the moment, she didn’t know what her next move should be. Perhaps there was nothing more to do tonight and she should go back to her hotel. It had been a busy day, even though the interlude at St Cedd’s had been strangely peaceful. In contrast to the island monastery, the penthouse and its environment seemed synthetic - like the mock Tuscan architecture, the marina, even the woman standing across the room from her.

  Rita took another sip of champagne and gazed at the landscapes on the wall. ‘Have you been to Tuscany?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The scenes in the paintings - part of Italy.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Ice pulled a face. ‘I did a businessman at Rome airport once - executive lounge.’

  Rita nodded. ‘Close enough.’

  ‘I paid an interior designer to sort out the apartment,’ explained Ice. ‘And now I’m planning to sell up and move on. I’ve got a lot of clients in Japan, thanks to the website.’

  ‘So can I take a look at your computer?’

  ‘No one looks at my computer except me and Stonefish.’

  ‘How much of the disk did you download?’

  ‘All of it. Saved and filed away.’

  Rita put down her glass. ‘Listen to me. You’ve got to delete it immediately.’

  ‘No way. It’s worth too much.’

  ‘Is it worth your life?’

  ‘You’re being a drama queen. Anyway, it’s already out there.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I’ve started putting it to good use,’ said Ice dismissively. ‘And from what you’ve told me, Rachel Macarthur would approve.’

  ‘What have you done?’ demanded Rita.

  ‘I emailed it to the protest group this afternoon. They’ll know what to do - and how to shove it up the bastards at the base.’

  ‘You put it online,’ said Rita with disgust. ‘Brilliant. That should alert the base.’

  ‘You can’t faze me. I know how to look after myself.’ Ice’s hands were on her hips, eyes defiant. ‘I’m smart enough to run a successful business, own luxury apartments in three other countries and still have three million bucks in the bank. What have you got to show for your hack work?’

  ‘A future.’ Rita stood up. ‘You haven’t listened to anything I’ve said.’

  ‘Why should I? I haven’t met a straight copper yet.’

  ‘Well, I can’t force you to listen.’ Rita sighed and picked up her bag. ‘And now I’ve got to track your email. Did it go to anyone in particular or just the campaign office?’

  ‘I sent it to Stonefish’s friend, Eve.’

  Rita shook her head. ‘For a smart woman you’ve been very stupid.

  You’ve not only put your own life in jeopardy, but hers too.’

  Eve’s phone went straight to voicemail. Rita left a message then drove fast to the other side of town, parked beside the concrete shopping centre and sprinted along the pedestrian precinct, deserted at this time of night, the sound of her footsteps echoing among the pillars as she ran. When she reached the shopfront below the campaign office she stopped and caught her breath, glancing up to the top-storey flat. The windows were open and she could see the flicker of candlelight. Soft music drifted downwards.

  She found the buzzer for the flat and kept on pressing until Eve’s voice came through the speaker.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Rita Van Hassel. Sorry to call so late but I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’

  ‘No problem. Give the door a hard push when you hear the bleep, then climb the stairs to the top.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  Once inside, Rita trotted up two flights of stairs to find Eve standing in an open doorway wearing only a bra and shorts. She’d obviously pulled them on quickly. Rita smiled. This woman, with her natural beauty and effortless poise, was a refreshing sight after the encounter with Ice.

  ‘Come in,’ said Eve, gesturing at a small, untidy sitting room.

  ‘We’re a bit messy.’

  Rita walked in to a clutter of lumpy furniture lit by the glow of several candles. There were cushions and sheepskin rugs on the floor, along with wineglasses - two of them. The plaintive voice of Eva Cassidy came from a music deck. The fragrance of joss sticks filled the air.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Rita.

  ‘That’s okay.’ Eve gave a wicked laugh. ‘Your timing could have been worse.’

  Just then the photo-journalist, Julien Ronsard, barefoot and in jeans, emerged from a passageway pulling on a T-shirt.

  ‘Hello,’ he said with a self-conscious smile. ‘Nice to meet you again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have disturbed you if it wasn’t necessary.’

  ‘Your visit is obviously important.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rita, still trying to calm her breathing. ‘So can I get straight to the point?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ronsard. ‘But at least sit down and catch your breath.’

  ‘Would you like some water?’ asked Eve.

  ‘No, I’m fine, really,’ said Rita, sitting on the edge of a chair.

  ‘I need to ask about something that was emailed to you. It was sent by Marilyn Eisler - Ice.’

  ‘Now that’s interesting,’ said Eve. ‘I did get something from her this afternoon and I emailed her back but didn’t get a reply.

  So I’m still in the dark.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Her email said she was attaching a report on Whitley Sands,’

  answered Eve. ‘The attachment had the title Panopticon so I guessed it could be the same material that Rachel had. But when I opened the document it was completely blank, as if it had been erased.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ asked Ronsard.

  Rita gave a sigh of relief. ‘It means you’re safe. Ice was trying to email what she�
��d downloaded from the Rheingold disk - the damning report on the base.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with that?’ asked Eve, dropping into a chair opposite.

  ‘You made the point yourself. The report was a factor in Rachel’s death. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but I’m convinced the disk has been somehow instrumental in the series of murders here.’

  ‘Including the man in the mud?’ asked Ronsard.

  ‘Starting with him. My guess is that all the victims had direct or indirect contact with the disk.’

  ‘So you go along with Eve’s theory,’ continued Ronsard, ‘that officials at the base are implicated in the killings?’

  ‘Off the record - yes.’

  He nodded. ‘Presumably that means the head of the security force, Captain Roy Maddox.’

  ‘You know about Maddox?’

  ‘We’ve been doing our research.’ Ronsard sat down on a sheepskin rug, cross-legged. ‘According to some websites, the CIA’s actively involved at the base. I met a likely candidate down at the Diamond. A man called Demchak. A cold man. A violent man, I believe.’

  ‘I’ve heard about him. I don’t know his background. But he’s certainly looking for the disk. As is the owner of the club, Billy Bowers. So you see, it’s complicated.’

  ‘You still haven’t explained,’ said Eve, ‘why the attachment from Ice was blank.’

  ‘I can’t answer that,’ said Rita. ‘But if my suspicions are right, someone at the base opened and erased it.’

  They fell silent for a moment, each deep in thought, with just the music playing quietly in the room, until Ronsard added,

  ‘So the killers are watching.’

  47

  The tide was in, Brother Ignatius had returned hours earlier and Freddy was feeling completely chilled, stretched in the grass under the fig tree, gazing at the night sky. ‘Time to go inside,’ said Stonefish. ‘No one can get across the causeway now.’

  Freddy roused himself. ‘Okay.’

  He got up clumsily, suddenly light-headed, brushed off a few twigs and leaves, and followed his friend through the stone archway of the monastery. Without warning, Stonefish stopped dead in his tracks and Freddy stumbled into his back.

  ‘What the -?’ he began, then stopped.

  Walking towards them across the courtyard were Billy Bowers and two of his bouncers.

  ‘Well, look who we’ve found,’ said Billy. ‘Not one, but two arseholes.’ He stood in front of them, blocking their way. ‘Who’d have thought we’d score a double whammy by dropping in un -

  announced.’

  ‘You came by boat,’ said Stonefish. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Billy. ‘And that’s how we’re all gonna leave, nice and quietly, so as not to disturb the monks.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ said Stonefish.

  Billy’s expression hardened. ‘Look, we don’t want to spill blood here, if we can avoid it. We don’t want to make a messy exit for the brothers.’

  ‘Your threats don’t bother me, Billy.’ Stonefish’s defiance seemed to be toughening. ‘In fact, you don’t bother me at all.’

  Freddy gave him a warning tug. ‘Take it easy.’

  But Stonefish shrugged it off. ‘No. He’s due to take a fall.’

  Billy’s fists were clenched. ‘Is that why you gave the dirt to the newspaper?’

  ‘Damn right.’

  Now Billy was standing right up against him, their faces just centimetres apart.

  ‘Where’s the disk?’

  Stonefish didn’t budge. ‘I haven’t got it.’

  Billy nodded to a bouncer. ‘Search him.’

  The bouncer did as he was told then shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ Stonefish told him. ‘Anyway, what’s it to you?’

  ‘Business. I’ve got competing offers on an auction site I set up - like on eBay. It’s worth a lot of ready cash, something I’m in need of right now, so I’m not in the mood to piss around.’ Then he yelled into Stonefish’s face: ‘Where’s the fucking disk?!’

  But Stonefish didn’t back down. ‘It’s not even on the island.’

  ‘So who did you give it to?’ Billy switched his gaze to Freddy then back again. ‘Who would you trust?’

  ‘Someone else who isn’t frightened of you.’

  ‘Ha!’ he scoffed. ‘You gave it to Ice for safekeeping, you sneaky prick.’

  ‘Leave her alone. She ran an errand for me, that’s all.’

  ‘And that’s all I need to know.’ Billy was grinning now, showing his teeth. He planted a heavy hand on Stonefish’s shoulder. ‘Now what were you saying about me?’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  Billy laughed. ‘You’re begging for it, you loser!’

  While he held a shoulder down with one hand, Billy clamped a powerful grip around Stonefish’s jaw with the other, then jerked it until, with a sickening crack, he dislodged the skull from the spine. Eyes bulging, air rasping in his throat, Stonefish crumpled and dropped to the ground, dead.

  As Freddy looked on in horror, a shriek split the air. It came from where a group of monks watched, open-mouthed, from an upper window.

  ‘Shit,’ said Billy under his breath, before turning and shouting at them: ‘Fuck off, before I start on you!’

  The window emptied as they scattered.

  ‘Time to make holiday plans,’ Billy said to the bouncers. ‘But I need some breathing space while I sort things out. Go and make sure the brethren can’t communicate with the outside world.

  Phones, computers - knock ‘em all out. Their van, their boat.

  Scuttle them as well.’ He turned to Freddy. ‘And you’re coming with me.’

  Freddy glanced at the lifeless body sprawled at Billy’s feet and decided not to argue.

  Freddy was throwing up for most of the powerboat ride back to Whitley - too much bobbing over the waves, too much dope, too much stomach-churning shock at what he’d witnessed. When the boat drew up at the wharf behind the Diamond, he was bundled out, then half shoved, half dragged up the fire escape and in through the back door to Billy’s office. The thumping bass from the nightclub below vibrated through the floor. He was dumped in a chair while Billy made arrangements to disappear after dawn, and in the meantime prepared to clear up unfinished business - a list that included the disk and Ice, along with Rita Van Hassel.

  ‘Bring me the guns,’ he said to a bouncer as he pulled on a tracksuit and sports shoes. Once he’d changed, he turned to Freddy. ‘Time for a quick workout with a punching bag.’ He slid a boxing glove onto his right hand. ‘Get up, Freddy.’

  Freddy did as he was told.

  ‘I don’t like people who hold out on me.’

  Billy let fly with a punch that put Freddy flat on the floor with a searing pain in his head, his jaw broken.

  ‘Get up!’

  He wobbled to his feet, dazed, while Billy moved in with a jab that smashed through his ribcage. Freddy was on the floor again, coughing up blood and having trouble breathing.

  ‘Back on your feet, shitbag!’

  It took an effort, but he managed it by holding onto the back of a chair, clutching his ribs, head spinning. The blow to Freddy’s intestines was so hard it connected with his spine and hurled him back against the wall, where he slid down and sagged on the floor like a rag doll, still conscious but in agony.

  A bouncer arrived with the guns and spread them on the desk.

  ‘Good, I’ll need a couple,’ said Billy, picking through them.

  ‘One I can strap to my leg. And one with a silencer for Van Hassel to suck on.’

  48

  Three scented candles threw a muted glow around Ice’s penthouse bedroom, their flames reflected in gold-framed mirrors on the walls and ceiling. A raunchy track by a girl band throbbed from the music system. It was all part of the service, the seductive mood she created for her customers. She was naked, and on her knees, massaging the loins of the man standin
g in front of her, the diamond stud in her tongue stimulating his erect penis. Ice was always in demand but the arrival of this client, in the early hours of the morning, had been unexpected. She didn’t want anything to do with him but she had no choice. Too late she realised how badly she’d miscalculated and, as the man tensed and ejaculated down her throat, she knew what to expect. He sighed and withdrew his penis. She looked up at him with terrified eyes and scrambled away on all fours, screaming, but he caught her by the bedroom door, held the nail gun to her forehead and fired.

  Audrey was watching.

  As she accessed the live surveillance of the Tracker it showed the nail-gunner cleaving off the dead woman’s hands, decapitating the body and placing the head in an ice bucket. Logically, the kill was necessary. The prostitute had chosen to become a hostile, posing a direct threat to the project, so Audrey felt no sympathy for the victim. The execution fell within authorisations provided by international directives. However, the number of deaths was increasing at an escalating pace and it posed the question: who would be the next to die within the sector? There appeared to be an immediate answer so Audrey switched the live input of the Tracker and turned her attention to a woman creating another set of problems.

  Audrey was watching Rita.

  Rita lay in her hotel bed, her head resting on a pillow, body limp, the fine features of her face relaxed in a peaceful expression.

  For someone so provocative, Audrey observed, there was something of a gentle innocence in her sleep. Was her mind at ease in soft oblivion? Or was she dreaming? Audrey pushed the focus in closer. No movement beneath the eyelids. No sign of REM sleep.

  Oblivion, then. Her mind switched off. In such a restful state there was no hint of the trouble she was causing for base security, who saw her as both a renegade and expendable.

  Audrey’s assessment was different. In her view, Rita was intelligent and analytical, exhibiting a disciplined power of reason over emotion. She also possessed a scientific intellect with a dedication to the truth that was consistent with Audrey’s basic principles. Even the spiritual doubt was telling. Here was a mind that rejected the falseness of a socially constructed reality. Like Audrey, Rita understood there were many dimensions; that reality was multi-layered, with human beings living in a virtual flatland of perception. And there were other considerations. Although this police detective was acting independently of the interests of senior operatives at Whitley Sands, her level-one clearance gave her privileges provided by the base and the project.