Slaughter Park

by Barry Maitland

  PRAISE FOR BARRY MAITLAND

  JOINT WINNER OF THE 1995 NED KELLY AWARD

  SHORTLISTED FOR THE CWA JOHN CREASEY AWARD FOR BEST FIRST CRIME NOVEL OF 1994

  THE BELLTREE TRILOGY I: Crucifixion Creek

  SHORTLISTED FOR THE 2015 NED KELLY AWARD

  ‘A hard-boiled plummet into damaged lives.’

  Australian

  ‘Takes off at a frantic gallop towards a heart-thumping finale that promises only a brief respite. Be prepared to stay up late.’

  Age

  ‘An unqualified triumph.’

  West Australian

  ‘An adrenaline-filled ride through

  Sydney’s seedy underbelly.’

  AustCrimeFiction.org

  THE BELLTREE TRILOGYI I: Ash Island

  SHORTLISTED FOR THE 2016 NED KELLY AWARD

  ‘Maitland does not flinch from a brutal denouement…

  Prepare for a long and gripping haul.’

  Sydney Morning Herald

  ‘This is crime fiction at its very best with a local twist.’

  Newcastle Herald

  BOOKS BY BARRY MAITLAND

  The Brock and Kolla series:

  The Marx Sisters

  The Malcontenta

  All My Enemies

  The Chalon Heads

  Silvermeadow

  Babel

  The Verge Practice

  No Trace

  Spider Trap

  Dark Mirror

  Chelsea Mansions

  The Raven’s Eye

  Bright Air

  The Belltree Trilogy:

  I Crucifixion Creek

  II Ash Island

  III Slaughter Park

  Barry Maitland was born in Scotland and in 1984 moved to Australia to head the architecture school at the University of Newcastle in New South Wales. The Marx Sisters, the first in his Brock and Kolla crime series, was published in 1994. Barry now writes full time and his books are read throughout the English-speaking world and in translation in a number of other countries. He lives in the Hunter Valley.

  The Text Publishing Company

  Swann House

  22 William Street

  Melbourne Victoria 3000

  Australia

  textpublishing.com.au

  Copyright © 2016 by Barry Maitland

  The moral right of Barry Maitland to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  First published in 2016 by The Text Publishing Company

  Cover design by W. H. Chong

  Page design by Imogen Stubbs

  Typeset by J & M Typesetting

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Creator:Maitland, Barry, author.

  Title:Slaughter Park/by Barry Maitland.

  ISBN:9781925355697 (paperback)

  9781925410129 (ebook)

  Series:Maitland, Barry. Belltree trilogy; bk. 3.

  Subjects:Detective and mystery stories, Australian.

  Murder—Investigation—New South Wales—Sydney—Fiction.

  Sydney (N.S.W.)—Fiction.

  Dewey Number: A823.3

  For Margaret

  In June 2010 Justice Daniel Belltree, first Aboriginal judge of the New South Wales Supreme Court, was called to preside over a hearing of the court in the city of Armidale. He left Sydney in his car, accompanied by his wife, Mary, and daughter-in-law, Jenny, taking the scenic route north through the Barrington Tops between Newcastle and Uralla known as Thunderbolt’s Way. On a winding section the car left the road and rolled down a steep forested hillside. Belltree and his wife were killed. Jenny survived, but lost her sight.

  After an extensive investigation the coroner found that the cause of the crash was driver error, and made recommendations for improving the road. He discounted suggestions that a second vehicle had been involved. Harry Belltree, son of the dead couple and husband of Jenny, himself a homicide detective, knows otherwise.

  1

  Amber Nordlund lies in a hammock slung beneath the big pandanus tree on the edge of the coral beach. She wears a long silk wrap that covers the ugly scars all down her left side. Through the filter of drugs and dark glasses she observes the others.

  Over there on the terrace, Uncle Konrad is standing beside his guest, the Chinese businessman, taking a last look over the beach and lagoon. They strike a discordant note in their suits and ties. The businessman’s rosy, sun-flushed face makes Konrad appear almost albino. His skin is unusually pale for an Australian, his hair white, his suit light grey. The businessman transfers his briefcase to his left hand and raises his right in a stiff wave, like Chairman Mao blessing the young people lying in the sun. Cousin Ryan responds, leaping to his feet and crying, ‘Mr Deng! You’re leaving with Dad?’ and runs up to shake his hand. The other two, Ryan’s girlfriend Tayla and his younger brother Hayden, look up briefly, give an indolent wave and flop back down again. Amber closes her eyes, listening to the waves lapping against the shore, rattling the coral.

  ‘Amber, dear?’

  Her heart shrivels. Karen Schaefer is striding across the grass towards her carrying a tray with her pills and the little cup of morphine syrup. She protests but it’s no use. She does as she’s told, gulps them down, lies back and drifts into sleep.

  She is wakened briefly by the thumping sound of the helicopter rising above the trees. It circles the island, then heads away to the south. The sunbeds on the beach are empty now.

  Amber wakes again, her scars itching madly. She should go into the sea—the salt water is supposed to soothe the irritation, but she hates the coral. You can’t lie down on it or walk on it without reef shoes.

  Voices, heightened by alcohol she guesses—Konrad’s two sons and Tayla along with one of the local staff boys, Selwyn, carrying gear down to the boat at the water’s edge, flippers and scuba tanks. They fool around at the boat, Ryan and Tayla splashing through the waves, flicking water at each other. She looks hardly old enough to be sleeping with him, and Hayden watches her every movement from beneath his beetle brow.

  Amber rouses herself, trying to shake the fuzziness from her brain. She gets unsteadily to her feet, slips off the wrap and concentrates on walking down the coral slope without falling over.

  ‘Going diving? Can I come?’

  They turn and stare at her, Hayden frowning doubtfully and the girl staring wide-eyed at the livid burn marks which she hasn’t seen exposed before.

  Ryan, muscled, tanned and arrogant, says, ‘Not a good idea, Amber.’

  She looks at him, tilting up her chin. ‘It’ll do my skin good.’

  ‘We only have four tanks ready. Selwyn has to come down to show us where the giant clam is.’

  Tayla chips in, ‘She can have mine, Ryan. I really don’t feel like it today. I’d rather stay on the boat.’

  Ryan shakes his head in irritation, then shrugs. ‘Okay, Amber, your call. You dive with Hayden and I’ll buddy Selwyn.’ He raises an eyebrow at his brother, who gives a quick nod.

  They climb aboard and begin to strap on the scuba gear as Selwyn steers out across the lagoon towards the line of white water at the reef. When they reach it they drop anchor and lower themselves into the water. Ryan makes a final adjustment to his facemask, then he and Selwyn disappear beneath the surface.

  Amber is having second thoughts. The water stings and her breathing isn’t right. She’s aware of how sluggis
h her brain is. She’s in the ocean, no longer cocooned. It’s what she wanted, but now it frightens her.

  Hayden touches her good arm and she nods. Down they go.

  The pressure begins building in her ears as they swim downward, side by side, following the figures of Ryan and Selwyn below them. The water is slightly milky, giving an ethereal effect, as if they are swimming through a pale mist.

  Gradually the pressure in her ears becomes uncomfortable. She swallows but it makes no difference. Soon the pain becomes intense and she has to stop. Hayden turns and looks at her and she shakes her head, pointing at her ears. He waits while she tries again to clear them, but it’s hopeless. He points upward and they swim back up towards the dark outline of the boat, the pressure easing as she rises.

  Hayden gestures to the anchor rope and holds up his hands with extended fingers. Ten, he’ll return for her in ten minutes, to give her a chance to adjust. She nods agreement, takes hold of the rope and hangs there as he dives away.

  It’s like being suspended weightless five storeys above the ground on a misty, sun-dappled day, swaying gently back and forth. Beneath her she can see Hayden investigating a cave, while the other two—Ryan with the distinctive orange cylinder on his back—work their way along the coral cliff that forms the reef. From time to time small shoals of brightly coloured fish dart into view. Something larger, a groper perhaps, glides out of a dark hollow. A turtle swims by.

  Time passes, dreamlike. Ryan and Selwyn have reached the far end of the coral cliff where it breaks down at the gap in the reef. Through the gap is darkness, the sudden plunge into deep ocean. Out there are the sharks.

  The constant swaying is unsettling, creating a feeling like seasickness. She sees Hayden rising up towards her now as the nausea grows. He reaches her and offers his hand, but she waves it away, certain now that she will be sick. She imagines her facemask filling with vomit, choking her. She takes one last look below and sees a solitary diver, the orange cylinder, no sign of Selwyn, and then panic grips her, she grabs at her inflator valve and rockets up to the surface, rips off her mask and throws up. Blinking, gasping, she sees Tayla on the boat, staring at her in astonishment.

  Hayden, laughing, helps her climb aboard, then goes to the controls and starts the engine. ‘Let’s get you to dry land.’

  ‘What about the other two?’

  ‘They’ll swim back.’

  When they reach the shore Hayden escorts her to her room in the villa, and despite her protests calls Karen, who bustles in, ranting.

  ‘Stupid! Anything could have happened! You should never have let her go, Hayden.’

  Amber tunes out, takes a shower, and when she returns Karen has turned down the sheets on her bed and is waiting with more pills. They knock her out within minutes.

  It’s dark when Amber wakes, the villa silent. She fumbles for the light, feeling disoriented and sore all over. She desperately needs a drink of water, but the glass is empty. She tries to stand but her legs won’t hold her and she sinks back and rings for the maid. The time on her bedside clock is 1:36 am.

  She stretches out a hand to steady herself and feels dampness on the bedsheet. She stares at it, then lifts her fingers to her nose, sniffs and gags on the sickly smell of semen.

  There is a knock at the door and Pascaline comes in. She looks worried.

  ‘Come here, Pascaline.’ Amber points to the damp stain. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know, ma’am,’ she whispers, but she looks terrified.

  ‘Yes, you do.’ Amber takes her hand. ‘Tell me. Was it Selwyn?’

  ‘No, no, no! Selwyn is a good boy.’

  ‘Who then?’

  Pascaline bursts into tears, and Amber waits. Finally she hears a mumbled name.

  ‘Mr Ryan? Is that what you said?’

  Another sobbing mumble.

  ‘And Mr Hayden? Both of them? Together?’

  ‘And Selwyn is missing, ma’am,’ she wails.

  2

  Kelly Pool catches a cab to the airport and is directed to a small office and waiting room for Yalanji Airlines. Two other passengers arrive with large bags, and in turn each person and bag is weighed on the scales, then taken out to the small plane on the strip.

  They take off, rising above Cairns and turning north over the harbour dotted with small craft. The suburbs fade away and now the vast dark green mantle of rainforest appears below. Out beyond the coastline the shimmering blue of the Coral Sea is streaked with the pale irruptions of the Great Barrier Reef.

  After half an hour they begin their descent. Kelly sees a break in the forest, a dark river, the brown gash of an estuary and then large bare paddocks where cattle scatter as the plane roars overhead. They land on a dusty grass strip and taxi up to a small tin shack with a set of scales and a fuel bowser standing outside.

  A waiting taxi takes the other two passengers away and Kelly is left in the shade of the shack’s veranda. Eventually a truck comes swaying out of the trees on the far side of the strip and pulls up in front of her. On its side is written:

  O’Brien Pest Exterminator

  —snakes

  —spiders

  —mothers-in-law

  —daughter’s useless redhead boyfriend

  A wizened nugget of a man gets out of the truck and shakes her hand. ‘Gus O’Brien,’ he growls, and throws her bag in the back. She gets in beside him and they lurch off.

  ‘Goin’ to the lodge, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ A dust-filled wind whips Kelly’s red hair and she struggles to close the window. ‘Maybe you can help me, Gus. I’m hoping to contact someone I think is working up here. Name of Harry?’

  O’Brien grunts. ‘Know a few Harrys.’

  ‘Belltree, Harry Belltree. Mean anything?’

  Another grunt. He doesn’t seem to want to elaborate.

  After a couple of kilometres they arrive at the end of the track, a sandy beach on the edge of the dark river she saw from the plane. They get out and O’Brien retrieves her bag, takes it down to a small aluminium boat tied up at the water’s edge and helps her in. He pushes off, starts the outboard and they set off upstream.

  Dense rainforest crowds the banks, broken only by the occasional glimpse of a fibro cottage in a clearing. Eventually he throttles down and turns in towards an opening in the trees with a few rotten timber stumps driven into the bank. A large brown log is lying nearby in the shadows.

  ‘Harry stays here.’

  She glimpses a mould-stained hut set back in a small paddock.

  ‘Him and Marilyn.’

  ‘Marilyn? He has a partner?’ She feels a pang of disappointment.

  ‘Could say that. That’s Marilyn there.’ O’Brien points at the log, which stirs.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Kelly has made out the ridges down its back, and the pair of eyes staring balefully at her. ‘A crocodile.’

  ‘Yeah, a saltie.’

  ‘It’s huge.’

  ‘Nah, fourteen foot. The males are bigger. She’s vicious, but. Took Wally’s dog last week. This is her stretch of bank.’

  ‘But how…how does Harry get to the house?’

  ‘Lands at a different spot each time, so she doesn’t know where to lie in wait.’

  Crocodile roulette, Kelly thinks. Harry’s suicidal. That figures.

  At that moment Marilyn decides to lumber to the edge. She slides down the muddy slope into the water and disappears with barely a ripple. Kelly feels a flutter of panic.

  ‘She’s bigger than this boat, Gus! She’s underneath us! She could tip us over, couldn’t she?’

  O’Brien shrugs and revs up the engine, turns the boat away. ‘You want to see Harry now? Reckon he’ll be up at the school.’

  He becomes more talkative, pointing out birdlife on the river banks, an osprey and the flash of a blue little kingfisher catching shrimp. Then a stretch of shallow water, the ford where an Aboriginal boy was taken by a croc last year, a big male that was chased far out to sea before it disappeared. The
n he probes, none too tactfully. Is she a sister? A girlfriend? An abandoned wife? Just an old friend, she says.

  They reach a weir, and O’Brien takes the boat in to a jetty where they disembark and follow a track leading up to the gates of a compound of low buildings, spreading eaves. He leads the way in, Kelly’s bag slung over his shoulder. They cross a courtyard, hearing the sound of children singing, and O’Brien shoves open the door of one of the buildings, a workshop of some kind, machine tools on benches, pulleys hanging from steel girders. At one of the benches a group of teenagers is clustered around an engine which a man appears to be dismantling. He looks up and Kelly barely recognises him—the hair grown out in long locks, the shaggy beard, the weathered features.

  ‘Harry,’ O’Brien says. ‘Brought you a lady friend,’ and half a dozen small black faces turn to stare.

  He comes over, looking sombre, then a smile. ‘Kelly. This is a surprise. How did you find me?

  They sit on a bench beneath a tree in the courtyard, awkward. She looks around, trying to imagine this strange place as Harry’s home in the wilderness—Harry the broken-hearted hermit. Perhaps he isn’t the man she knew; he certainly looks different.

  ‘The paper has, um…resources. I traced an airline ticket in your name up to Cairns, so I flew up and found the boatyard where you were working. They told me you’d come up here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s Jenny, Harry.’ She hesitates. ‘She’s missing, disappeared.’

  He’s very still, says nothing for a moment, as if adjusting to a different time and world. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Her sister Nicole got in touch with me last Tuesday and I went to see her. She was very worried. Ten days ago Jenny asked her to look after her baby while she went away for a few days…Nicole said you know about Abigail? Your daughter?’

  ‘Yes, I spoke to Nicole a couple of times, earlier in the year. How is Abigail?’

  ‘She’s lovely, Harry, growing quite steadily now…anyway, Jenny left her with Nicole, which was kind of strange, because she hadn’t let her out of her sight since she was born. Then, before she was due back, Jenny called Nicole and said she had to go away. She sounded distressed and Nicole was convinced that something bad had happened. She contacted me and asked if I knew how to reach you. She wants you to help find her.’