Safe Harbour

by Helene Young

  ‘No!’ Noah had yelled, fumbling with the handle, his damaged hand from yesterday’s punch up hampering his attempt to manually wind the winch. An exhausted Steve scrambled aboard, but it was too late. Noah remembered the exact moment that Roger yelled, ‘We have to cut him loose. I need full speed.’

  ‘No!’ Noah yelled, again. ‘He’s almost here.’ But he’d known in his heart they had no other option. When Roger hit the emergency switch all Noah could do was hold on to Darcy as the huge wave swallowed them and swept them both towards the back rail. Noah’s hand screamed in protest, but he wasn’t letting go of Darcy.

  When the maelstrom cleared there was no sign of Grant.

  ‘He wouldn’t inflate his life jacket,’ Steve had said, his voice barely audible above the still roaring engines as he swung the spotlight across the expanse of water. ‘He punched me when I tried to do it for him. You were right. He was acting crazy, like a mad man.’ Darcy had started to sob, burying her head in her hands. All Noah could do was turn her into his chest, knowing their world would never be the same again.

  They’d searched for two days before they’d found Grant. On the windswept beach Darcy had held his bloated body in her arms and howled. Her animal grief tore at Noah’s heart like the talons of the soaring eagle that was circling overhead the rocky shore that late afternoon.

  The coronial inquest found that Grant’s death was an accidental drowning. Noah joined the police force soon after, certain he needed to do something to pay for his friend’s life. Less than six months after Grant’s death, Stirling moved away, leaving behind a heartbroken daughter and a wife. Then came that stupid moment when Noah, home on leave from the Police Academy, kissed Darcy at her school formal. It had been heaven and hell.

  Was he the reason she had cracked and run away? Was he the final drop of betrayal in her ocean of sorrow? He’d never confronted Stirling about the drugs. He’d never mentioned it to Darcy. Why bother? She thought Grant had been drunk. Did Stirling realise Grant’s behaviour had been increasingly erratic before the accident? Noah always believed he did. But did he support his daughter? No. Stirling Fletcher looked after number one and forged ahead, the tragedy at Banksia Cove ancient history.

  The voice on the police radio changed from the regular background hum to urgent and dragged him away from his memories. ‘Major traffic accident. All stations respond immediately. Bruce Highway about one kilometre north of the Tannum Sands turn-off.’

  ‘Nooo!’ Noah reached for the handset. ‘Base, I’m on the way to a reported domestic incident. I’ll respond immediately after.’

  ‘Negative, negative. We have a head-on, two trucks. Multiple-vehicle accident, serious injuries. Unless your incident is code red, respond immediately.’

  ‘Roger.’ Noah’s jaw was rigid, his hands slick on the steering wheel as fear roared through him.

  He swung the car into a U-turn, hit the lights and siren, then dialled Darcy again.

  ‘Pick up, Darcy. For God’s sake, pick up!’

  15

  Stirling frowned as he walked down the hallway towards the front door. Who the hell comes calling at this time of night? If it’s bloody Beverley again, I’ll read her the riot act. The video image on the security camera was grainy and barely visible at night. ‘Hello?’ He could see it was a male, but that was about all.

  ‘Stirlo, I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d pay you a visit.’

  ‘Rod?’ The blood drained to Stirling’s feet and he reached for the wall.

  ‘Thought we could catch up for old times’ sake. Chew the fat. Have a beer. You going to let me in?’

  ‘Sure, sure. Look, the remote isn’t working. I’ll come down and open the gate. Give me a second.’

  ‘Right, I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Okay.’ Stirling released the audio button. ‘Channie, Channie!’ His leather scuffs slapped the polished wood as he almost ran back to the media room. Chantelle was curled up in a deep couch, her hair shining in the lamplight.

  ‘Channie, you need to do as I say and don’t ask any questions.’ He gripped her shoulders as she looked up at him like a sleepy possum. ‘Take Amelia. Put her in the car and go for a drive. Wait for me to call before you come back. I’m not joking.’ He shook her lightly as she tossed her head back in refusal.

  ‘What’s going on?’ She was confused rather than alarmed by his urgency.

  ‘Don’t ask. I’ll tell you later. Go down the back way and wait until the gates open before you start the car. Don’t stop for anyone. Just do it.’

  She stood up. ‘This is ridiculous. What’s going on?’

  ‘Chantelle, I need you to do this. For yourself and for Amelia. I promise I will explain.’ The intercom buzzer sounded again. ‘Just go. Now. Hurry.’ He grabbed her arm and dragged her behind him to the nursery, then pressed his lips against her temple, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. ‘I love you. You have less than five minutes.’

  The intercom was incessant now. He had to go. As he walked down the hall again to the front door he could hear her crooning to Amelia. He’d kill Rod Reeves if anything happened to his women. His rage grew with every step. What does the fuckwit think he’s playing at?

  Stirlo opened the front door and took a steadying breath. The soles of his shoes slipped on the cement driveway as he made his way to the gate. He had the remote in his pocket but he wasn’t going to use that just yet. Through the double gates he could see a silver sports car gleaming under the streetlight. Rod Reeves was still leaning on the intercom button.

  ‘You can let that go now, Rod. I’m here.’ Stirling kept his voice mild. The seething anger tightened his throat. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘Stirlo, mate. Sorry to barge in late like this. Hope I didn’t wake the little one.’

  ‘No, no worries. Chantelle was giving her a feed. She’s pretty tired so she’s going straight to bed. You know what it’s like.’ If he remembered correctly, Rod had three children. Two were hulking men who’d followed their father into construction and the daughter had moved to London.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I remember what it’s like with a little one in the house.’

  Stirling took his time unlatching the gate, then reached forwards to shake hands, delaying Rod’s entry with every move. As Rod shook his hand, Stirlo felt the bones in his grind together, but he held his nerve. Rod’s teeth were white against tanned skin. His open-necked black shirt strained across his barrel chest, biceps bul­ging from the short sleeves.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Stirling said as Rod dropped his hand. ‘Nightcap? Coffee? I’ve got a lovely twenty-one-year-old Glenlivet.’ He led the way up the drive and into the house.

  Rod followed. ‘You always did like the finer things in life. Must be a whole lot easier these days than when you were scraping along teaching at the Cove.’

  ‘And you, mate, and you,’ Stirling replied, opening the front door wide. He couldn’t hear any sounds from the nursery. Had Chantelle gone?

  ‘Jeez, you have done well.’ Rod looked around the foyer of the house.

  ‘We get by, but it’s a bit friggin’ cold. Freeze the nuts off a brass monkey. I’ll turn the heating up.’ He paused by the control panel that governed the air-conditioning and the alarm system. He hesitated before hitting the alarm test function at the same time as he keyed the remote in his pocket. The whining of the alarm would hopefully overpower the sound of the gates opening or the car engine starting.

  ‘Oh, fuck it. Sorry, mate. I need my glasses to do this. Shit. Come through. They’re in the media room. Sorry, Channie. It’s just me. I hit the wrong button again,’ he called up the stairs. There was no reply, which gave him room to breathe again. ‘I’ll just be a sec, grab a seat.’ He snagged his glasses and hurried back to the front door to silence the alarm. Through the glass panels beside the door he saw red taillights disappearing down the street. Good girl, he thought.

  ‘So, one Scotch coming up,’ he said, forcing a jovial tone into his voice as he re-
entered the media room.

  Rod was perusing the line-up of DVDs. ‘Looks like your wife buys the movies.’

  ‘Those are Chantelle’s. I download mine, mate, run them through the computer onto the big screen. Beats going out.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Guess there’s no such thing as a quiet night for you.’

  ‘Nor you, mate.’ He lined two glasses up and held the bottle up to the light. ‘It’s a great drop. You want ice?’ He couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice. True connoisseurs drank their Scotch straight.

  ‘Straight’s fine, Stirlo. Straight up and down, eh?’

  ‘Well, get that down you.’

  ‘Bottoms up.’ Rod toasted him with a half-raised glass, then took a substantial swig of the golden liquid. Stirling felt the warmth hit his stomach, but his nerves were stretched to breaking point and alcohol wasn’t going to help.

  ‘So how’s the family?’

  Rod’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Great, thanks. My boys are almost ready to take over. Ever since Janie died it’s been all work. Time to put my feet up.’

  ‘Right, right. Sorry to hear about Jane. Difficult time.’ Stirling was sifting through his memory. Did he know Jane had died?

  Rod continued. ‘You’ve done well for yourself second time around. Bev always was a right little trooper, but your Chantelle’s a good-looking girl.’

  ‘She is, thanks. Bit different to Bev, but then why repeat history?’

  ‘History. It’s a funny old thing, isn’t. I always remember you saying history belongs to the victor. Never really understood that until recently.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. It always seemed like a load of bullshit to me, but now I know that the winners write the history books. Take you and me, for instance.’

  ‘You and me?’ Stirling took another sip, waiting.

  ‘Yeah, we turned around a lot of lives over the years coaching our boys. What’s it been? Twenty-eight years since we starting working together in the Cove? Took ’em out of the hellhole they called home and showed ’em what life could really be like. Made them stars. You went on to do great things here in Sydney. These days maybe some would say we’d cheated, given them an unfair advantage. Me?’ He raised his glass and closed one eye as he looked at the light through the spirit. ‘I’d say the end justifies the means.’

  Stirling tilted his head, his polite smile still in place. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  Rod sat back and crossed his ankles. ‘You and I both know those supplements were more than just vitamins, Stirlo. You were giving your boys some pretty heavy-duty cocktails. Only reason you got away with it was because no one dope tested the young ones in those days. Maybe you kept on doing it, once you moved on to the Stallions, maybe you didn’t. Hard to prove either way.’

  Stirling threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh, mate, that’s a good one. I was one of the first to recognise body-building supplements would give them some extra muscle to protect them against injury.’ He hooted with laughter now as Rod shook his head. Stirlo sat forward on the seat. ‘You came all this way to talk about supplements? No, no, what else is on your mind? You need a loan? You need another drink?’

  ‘Bull. Shit.’ Rod drew it out as two distinct words. ‘You’re full of it. They all think you’re some sort of god down here, but I was there at the beginning, mate. I saw the labels. You weren’t the only one taking notes. You think I didn’t know about BALCO? Fascinating stuff.’

  ‘BALCO?’ Stirling’s heart was thudding so loudly he was sure Rod would be able to hear it. ‘That American drug lab that landed in a heap of trouble over a couple of American sports stars? What was that runner’s name?’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Marion someone. Lost her Olympic medals. Nothing to do with me, mate.’

  Rod’s smile was predatory. ‘You don’t even remember boasting about it, do you? You told me you’d found a way to add a little something that would do wonders for their endurance.’

  Stirling shook his head, desperately searching for a way to shut this conversation down once and for all. ‘Mate, I was just big-noting myself, pissing up the wall.’

  ‘No.’ Rod’s expression was flat now. ‘No, you weren’t. And I know this because I took some samples and had them tested. The lab was very interested in them.’

  ‘What a crock of shit!’ Stirling let his anger show for the first time. ‘What did you do? Take it to a photo lab?’ He laughed at his own joke, but there was no mirth. Rod was impassive. ‘They couldn’t have found anything because there wasn’t anything except some bodybuilding steroids and they weren’t illegal. That sort still aren’t.’

  ‘There were steroids all right, plus ephedrine. They test for that shit routinely now, but back then?’ Rod shook his head.

  ‘That’s crap. I don’t know why we’re having this conversation. I’ve got a big day tomorrow. You want to talk some more, call my lawyer.’ He got to his feet.

  ‘Interesting shit that ephedrine. You know what it causes in a small number of people? Psychosis. Sure, they probably need to have something wrong with them in the first place, but you could argue that a footy player who fronts up day after day to chase a ball around a paddock for hours on end has gotta be pretty nuts to start with, right?’

  Stirling found himself sitting again, pressing his knees together to stop them shaking as Rod continued. ‘I always thought it was funny the way young Grant went off the deep end like he did. I heard the rumours too. Steve was a good mate. Reckoned that kid was swinging like a madman on that boat of yours. Higher than a skyscraper in Asia. I always wondered why the coroner didn’t find something in his blood. Death by misadventure? Just lucky he didn’t kill your girl as well. But you know what was the most fascinating aspect of that whole sorry mess? You got off scot-free and it was the start of your big break. You left the Cove behind. Beverley, little Darcy, right at the time she needed you most. They got flung aside for your new mates while you reinvented yourself.’

  He held out his glass for another top-up and Stirling eyeballed him for several seconds before capitulating. The bottle rattled against the rim of the glass and Rod chuckled.

  ‘You listening now, my friend?’

  ‘It’s conjecture. Grant was drunk as a skunk according to Darcy.’

  ‘And she was too young to know the difference. But your mate, Frank, the copper at Bundaberg, helped clean up some of the mess too. His little boy had a bright future ahead of him and you had the golden touch.’

  ‘What’s the point to all this?’

  ‘The point is the great big fucking GFC has sucked the life out of my company and my boys don’t deserve insolvency as an early Christmas present. They’ve got wives and kids too. Mortgages to pay, school fees, orthodontics. Might need a holiday in Bali as well. You, my mate, have done very well and I don’t see the downturn affecting the footy field.’

  ‘You’re trying to blackmail me?’ Stirling’s bark of laughter sounded false and he knew it. ‘You have no proof of anything. Not the administering of illegal drugs, not the untimely death of Grant. Jesus Christ, he almost killed my daughter, and my boat was wrecked on the rocks. You think I wouldn’t have followed it up if I thought he was under the influence of anything other than alcohol?’

  ‘You didn’t want them doing a tox screen. I heard that from Steve as well. But I hear your mate Frank fixed that little problem too.’

  ‘Bullshit. Frank was straight as a die. Steve’s a right little mine of information, isn’t he? Did he also tell you that dickhead tried to rape my little girl? He’d still be in jail if he’d lived. A fuckin’ loser, that’s all he was.’ The pain in Stirling’s bladder was increasing. He needed to finish this. ‘So, how about you find another way of meeting your financial obligations? I can stand you a hundred grand for old times’ sake, but that’s it. It’s a favour to a man who I used to call a friend.’

  Rod laughed and the sound rippled down Stirling’s spine and knifed into his stomach. ‘I don’t want your money, mate. I
want the man that your daughter is currently hiding in Banksia Cove.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The guy she rescued from his yacht shortly before it became matchsticks.’

  Stirling was shaking his head, sifting through what little he knew. Beverley had mentioned the yacht but he couldn’t remember all the details. ‘The bloke with amnesia? He’s staying with her?’

  ‘He was. They did a runner tonight, just as my team turned up to collect him. It had taken them two days to track him down so they’re not happy.’

  ‘Your team?’

  ‘My . . . colleagues. We’d like to talk to him about some information he may have.’

  ‘So you want me to get Darcy to hand him over to you?’

  ‘You’re smarter than you look, Stirlo.’

  ‘What’s he done to you?’

  ‘He was a trusted employee. Stole a shitload of money.’

  ‘So go to the police. They’ll find him.’

  Rod laughed again and there was real mirth this time. ‘They had him and he gave them the slip six months ago. Just sheer chance that I recognised the photograph of him in the Sunday paper.’

  ‘So leave them to it.’ Stirling was feeling confident again.

  ‘Your daughter’s disappeared as well. My boys said they were the cops, had badges and all. No reason for her to doubt them, but she didn’t want to hand him over.’

  ‘She doesn’t listen to me.’

  ‘Well, she should.’ Rod’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. ‘Oh, look at that. What a lovely photo of Chantelle and your little one. See, they’re smiling.’ He turned the phone around and held it out so Stirling could see the screen.

  Stirling’s control snapped and he lunged across the small distance, his fingers clawing at Rod’s throat. ‘Where are they?’ he snarled. ‘You leave my family out of this, you arsehole. Where are they?’

  Rod gripped Stirling’s wrist and twisted it with a sharp snap, then shoved the bigger man back into his chair with enough force to knock the wind out of him. ‘They’re safe. For now. The boys pulled them over and told your wife to turn around and drive home. She should be almost pulling in the front gate. You get me my man and they’ll stay safe. You have forty-eight hours.’ He stood over Stirling with his fists clenched. Stirling resisted the urge to rub his damaged wrist, wondering how he’d ever called him a friend. ‘Talk to Darcy, Stirlo. She’s twice the man her father is. I’ll see myself out.’