Charlotte Pass

by Lee Christine

  In 2009, former corporate trainer Lee Christine decided to turn her writing hobby into a serious day job. Charlotte Pass is her first crime novel. She lives in Newcastle, New South Wales, with her husband and her Irish Wheaten Terrier. To read more about Lee Christine visit leechristine.com.au.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First published in 2020

  Copyright © Lee Christine 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100

  Email:info@allenandunwin.com

  Web:www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 76087 729 3

  eISBN 978 1 76087 333 2

  Set by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  Cover design: Nada Backovic

  Cover photos: Stocksy [woman]; Alamy [front cover background]

  For my family

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  July 1964

  Charlotte Pass, Australia

  They had to jump, or die.

  For it to all end like this, suspended in the pitch dark above the unforgiving terrain, hands gripping the safety bar as the chair bounced up and down on the cable—it wasn’t an ending he had ever imagined. He and Celia, their dead bodies frozen together like two ice carvings, only discovered once the blizzard had subsided.

  Fucking chairlift.

  He loosened his grip on the safety bar as the wind died down and the rattling of the protective canopy lessened. The unusually designed chairlift had been an engineering failure from the beginning, a poorly designed mess of metal plagued by one problem after another. He should have foreseen this, should never have taken the risk that the chair would get them into Thredbo before the storm came rolling in. But Celia had been desperate to get out of Charlotte Pass.

  He tugged his scarf higher to cover the lower half of his face and inhaled some warm carbon dioxide. He could barely make Celia out under the protective canopy that was fitted over the chair, much less see out through the small rectangular viewing pane. But he could feel her beside him, and he could hear her voice in the lull between gusts. Teeth chattering, her body shaking, she was reciting Hail Marys with the piety of the blindly devout. That’s what happened when people lost all hope. They prayed.

  ‘We have to jump!’ he shouted as another burst of wind rocked the tiny capsule. ‘We stay up here, we die.’

  ‘No … I can’t.’

  ‘You can, Celia. You will. You have to.’ He groped in the dark, his ski goggles bumping hers before he found her arm and curled his fingers around her wrist until she cried out. ‘That crash we just heard—it was a chair up front falling off the cable.’

  He waited for her to speak, staring into the tomb-like darkness.

  ‘I want to stay here,’ she whimpered. ‘Someone might come.’

  She started praying again. The Lord’s Prayer this time.

  He edged away from the freezing steel framework of the chair and sat in a tight tuck to preserve his body heat. Chin resting on his chest, hands shoved beneath his thighs, he contemplated the drop. Twenty feet, maybe twenty-five, judging by the seconds he’d counted when he’d unbuckled his skis a while back and let them fall to the ground.

  His bowels moved as he pictured the giant boulders and twisted snow gums beneath them. Landing on Mount Stillwell would be brutal, the odds of survival slim. But the alternative …

  He wriggled his feet inside his ski boots and counted how many toes he could feel. None. Pain speared through his fingers like a hundred needles. His throat burned with every breath.

  Celia’s rosary turned into a cry as another sub-Antarctic air mass built around the peaks of Mount Kosciuszko, arriving in a freezing squall of snow and sleet, howling through Charlotte Pass with a roar that sent the hapless chair swinging sideways in the darkness. Celia whimpered as her body fell against his, pushing him against the side of the chair. All around, the steel pylons of this, the so-called longest chairlift in the world, swayed and groaned.

  And then the wind dropped suddenly, just enough for the chair to right itself momentarily, but Celia clawed at the front of his ski jacket, begging him to do something, or not do something—he couldn’t tell.

  ‘I’m going to raise the canopy,’ he shouted. ‘We’ll go together.’

  ‘No! Wait—’

  But before she could say anything more, he raised the steel canopy against the onslaught. The blizzard slammed into him, ice pellets stinging his cheeks and forehead. He blinked away the freezing water seeping inside his goggles, until finally he tore them from his head, his beanie going with them. As they fell away into the blackness, he hauled Celia towards him and dragged her, kicking, punching and screaming onto his lap before pinning her against his torso with his arms. She went quiet, paralysed by fear and the inevitability of what was about to happen.

  He raised the safety bar and gritted his teeth, shifted onto the edge of the seat and pictured the rocky slope in his mind’s eye. When the chair tipped forward he launched their bodies as one into the blackness.

  And he prayed.

  Prayed Celia’s body would break his fall.

  One

  July 2019

  Day 1

  Detective Sergeant Pierce Ryder strode into the meeting room on the first floor of the Queanbeyan Police Station, his newly appointed partner of three days, Detective Constable Mitchell Flowers, right behind him. They’d had a good run down the Hume Highway from Sydney, though the tension in the car had made the drive seem longer than it was.

  To Ryder’s way of thinking, Flowers should have been a woman. Ryder knew of at least three female Detective Constables whose insight and intuition would have been an asset to Sydney’s Homicide Squad. Unfortunately, the women had been placed elsewhere, so Ryder was now teamed with a millennial who ate activated charcoal gluten-free bread, and whose main ambition was to become a police pros
ecutor.

  The decision still irked Ryder.

  Inside the meeting room, a group of local officers and detectives were standing close to the windows, drawn to the weak fingers of sunlight slanting through the glass. Flowers closed the door firmly behind him, and the buzz of conversation began to wane.

  Ryder took his place at the front of the room and waited while the men of various age, size and rank settled themselves into chairs.

  ‘Morning everyone,’ he said as he placed his laptop on the front table.

  ‘It’s afternoon, Sarge.’

  Ryder suppressed a sigh. That’d be right. The country cops sticking it to the city boys before he’d even started the briefing. Ryder looked up, ready to tick off whichever smartarse was getting stuck into him—only to see the twinkling eyes of Detective David Benson. Ryder had first met Benson at the academy and they’d been stationed in Newcastle together before Benson transferred down here.

  Ryder smiled. ‘Good to see you again, Benson,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘You’re right. It is indeed past midday.’ Reaching for the laser pointer, he scanned the other faces, but only Benson’s was familiar. ‘For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Detective Sergeant Ryder from Sydney Homicide, and sitting behind you is my partner, Detective Constable Flowers.’

  Ryder shot a look at Flowers while the men glanced over their shoulders. Homicide’s latest recruit was slouching in his chair looking unimpressed despite the briefing being as much for his benefit as for the others. He was probably annoyed at having to leave the metropolitan area and his smashed avo breakfasts. Doubting he would ever share the same camaraderie he’d had with his former partner, Macca, Ryder launched into their reason for being at Monaro Local Area Command.

  ‘Gavin Hutton.’ He clicked on the first slide, and a head shot of a man appeared on the pull-down screen. ‘According to our sketch software, Hutton could look like this.’ The fugitive had a long face partly covered by limp, dishevelled hair and an unshaven jaw. ‘A former member of the Australian army, Hutton is wanted in Sydney in connection with the murder of a homeless man. He’s also our main suspect in the murder of another man whose body was found in a Goulburn park. Despite extensive manhunts following both murders, our investigations have stalled.’ Ryder looked at the photo. ‘To date, Hutton’s been a ghost. There’s no trail, paper or electronic—at least none we’ve managed to uncover.’

  He waited for a few seconds before clicking to the next slide. It was a map covering the area between Jindabyne in New South Wales and Mount Beauty in Victoria’s high country.

  ‘In the past month, Jindabyne Police have received several reports of a man sleeping rough. He was glimpsed running from a machine shed on a property here in Khancoban.’ Ryder used his laser pointer to mark the spot. ‘Another owner found a makeshift bed of straw and old blankets inside a disused barn on his property. That was down here around Tom Groggin Station.’

  Ryder clicked over to the next slide. It was another map, this time of the narrow Alpine Way. ‘Then, yesterday, four snowboarders set off from their campsite at Dead Horse Gap. They hiked up to Eagles Nest and took the chairlift from the summit down into the village. The group ate lunch and then walked back along the Alpine Way to their campsite. They found two sleeping bags were missing, along with their food, matches and the vehicle’s first-aid kit. Inside the ute were wallets and other valuable items. They were untouched.’

  The detectives exchanged sideways glances. Even Flowers lost his bored expression and straightened in his chair.

  ‘This is consistent with what we know of Hutton. If it’s him, he’s not purchasing anything. He’s not showing his face. He’s taking what he needs to survive.’

  A sudden gust of wind rattled the aluminium-framed windows. Ryder moved to check out the weather. Ominous clouds hung low in the sky and, down on the street, dried leaves from the trees surrounding Brad Haddin Oval scuttled along the gutter like cockroaches. A hamburger wrapper, tossed into the air on a gust of wind, snagged on a hanging street banner advertising Winterfest.

  Ryder’s stomach gave a hungry growl. Or was it another pang of nicotine withdrawal? After ten weeks he still had trouble distinguishing between the two.

  He turned back to face the men. ‘It’s been a slow start to the ski season but the weather’s coming in now. That’s good news for Winterfest, but snow will make our job harder. I want a thorough check of all properties along the Alpine Way. Question the owners. I’ll need evidence of more camps or a guaranteed sighting before I can throw all our resources behind this.’

  ‘That’s a lot of ground to cover,’ Benson said, his eyes on the map. ‘Will the uniform boys up in Jindy be giving us a hand?’

  ‘No. They’ll be out on the roads in force.’

  A loud knock silenced the conversation and the door swung open to admit a slightly built, grey-haired man with silver spectacles. The man beckoned for Ryder to step outside.

  Leaving the laser pointer on the table, Ryder spoke to Flowers. ‘Run off the image of Hutton so the boys can take it with them.’ He headed for the door, towards the unexpected visitor. ‘I want all freestanding garages, work sheds and barns scoured and searched. And don’t forget treehouses and cubbyhouses.’

  A chair scraped across the floor, someone stretched and yawned, others reached for their mobile phones.

  ‘Lew, what the hell are you doing here?’ Ryder said as he stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him, turning to face his one-time mentor and long-time friend, former Inspector Roman Lewicki. ‘How’s Annie?’

  ‘Nice to see you too,’ Lewicki retorted, gesturing for Ryder to accompany him down the corridor. ‘Annie’s fine. Coming down here got me out of the grocery shopping, and that’s a good thing. Bores me shitless, it does.’

  Ryder matched his pace to Lewicki’s slower one. ‘Does she know how much you hate it?’

  ‘She doesn’t care. I trail after her with a trolley like a brain-dead puppy. Then I wait while she studies ten different types of olive oil. Olive oil! I swear, one day I’ll kick the bucket in that aisle.’

  ‘You’re an ungrateful bastard. Annie deserves a medal for putting up with you. You realise it’s her good cooking that’s keeping you alive?’

  ‘Which reminds me, she said to get your arse over to our place for dinner one night while you’re gracing the alps with your presence.’

  ‘Annie wouldn’t say “arse”.’

  ‘She misses you.’

  ‘I bet she does, having only you for company.’ Ryder had often wondered how Lewicki would manage if anything happened to Annie. There’d only ever been the two of them. He glanced at his friend. ‘You’re not regretting your decision to retire and move back here, are you?’

  ‘Not a chance. Sydney never felt like home to us. I miss the thrill of the chase sometimes, though.’ He shot Ryder a glance. ‘What’s been happening in the big smoke since I left?’

  ‘Enough to keep us flat out.’ Ryder frowned. ‘Why are you here, Lew?’

  Lewicki pointed a bony finger towards a hallway branching off to the right. ‘We’re going to Hendo’s office.’

  Ryder smiled. Even to his face, Lewicki called Senior Sergeant Gil Henderson ‘Hendo’ knowing full well the lack of respect would get up Henderson’s nose. Lewicki had never approved of Henderson’s fast-track promotion through Monaro Local Area Command after Lew had vacated the position a dozen years ago to take an Inspector’s job in Sydney.

  They halted as a young Constable came rushing out of the ladies’ bathroom. ‘Oh, excuse me,’ she said, straightening her jacket and flashing a smile at Ryder.

  Lewicki stepped aside. ‘After you, my dear.’

  The woman flushed, and with another glance at Ryder continued on her way.

  ‘I think she likes you,’ Lew said as they approached Henderson’s door.

  ‘Yeah? Well, she can keep dreamin’.’

  Lewicki stopped in his tracks, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘When are
you going to settle down again? You’re two years off forty.’

  For fuck’s sake. ‘When are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ Ryder growled, glancing around and making sure no one was in earshot. ‘And who are you, my mother?’

  Lewicki smirked and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. ‘What’s your new partner like?’

  ‘He’s twenty-six, drinks turmeric lattes and lives with his parents.’

  ‘Give the bloke a chance.’

  ‘You go talk to him. He’ll tell you how your generation screwed the country over.’

  With a wry smile Lewicki rapped on Henderson’s door. He pointed at Ryder. ‘Don’t go back to Sydney without seeing Annie. She wants to make you a cake for your birthday.’ Then without waiting for an invitation, Lewicki stepped into the Senior Sergeant’s office.

  Henderson looked up from his desk, his arctic, blue-eyed gaze singling Ryder out as he followed Lewicki. ‘Pierce, have a seat. Good of you to join us.’

  ‘Sir.’ Ryder couldn’t remember Lew ever greeting him in such a way for turning up when summoned. But Henderson came from police royalty, whereas Lewicki’s father had been a Polish immigrant recruited to build the Snowy Hydro Electric Scheme after World War Two.

  ‘Sorry, I was in a rush when you arrived. We’ve had a busy morning.’

  Ryder studied the Senior Sergeant across the expanse of desk. Henderson wore his air of entitlement as easily as he wore his well-tailored uniform. He was known for pressing the flesh with the fat cats in Canberra, and Ryder, along with everyone on the Force, had heard the talk about Henderson having his eye on a political career following his retirement.

  Turning in his swivel chair, Henderson picked up a bulky file from the credenza behind him and put it on the desk. ‘This morning, bones believed to be human were discovered up at Charlotte Pass.’ He glanced at Ryder. ‘I phoned Roman right away.’

  Charlotte Pass. A shiver ran up Ryder’s spine. So, that was why Lew was here.

  Henderson cleared his throat as though he were about to make a speech. ‘A ski patroller working on the mountain discovered them. They’re high up on the slope of Mount Stillwell.’