Slaughter Park

by Barry Maitland

  ‘They didn’t clean up very well. Then I made my maid, Pascaline, tell me what had happened. She was terrified.’

  ‘Dear God,’ Jenny whispers.

  Amber says, ‘Like father like sons, eh, Harry? I told you about Uncle Konrad, didn’t I, what he did to me?’

  ‘Yes. Amber, I can fix this. Either we can go to the cops…’ She starts shaking her head. ‘Or I’ll sort it out myself.’

  But she still shakes her head. ‘That isn’t why I had to run, Harry. There was something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I was in the lagoon I watched them swimming down below me. Ryan was with Selwyn, one of our staff, Pascaline’s brother. They were swimming towards the gap in the reef, with the deep water beyond. But there was only one stream of bubbles rising up from them, and Selwyn wasn’t swimming. He was sort of limp, and Ryan was guiding him towards the gap. When Pascaline told me that night about Ryan and Hayden, she broke down and told me that Selwyn was missing, and I understood what I’d seen out at the reef. I’d seen Ryan stop Selwyn’s air and take him out to the sharks in the deep water.’

  Harry and Jenny exchange a look, stunned. ‘Why would he do that?’ Harry says softly.

  ‘I asked Pascaline, and she said Selwyn had heard something he shouldn’t have. I don’t know what. But maybe there was no reason, and Ryan just felt like doing it. That’s what he’s like, Harry, an evil boy.

  ‘So next morning I told them I was flying home, and when I wouldn’t change my mind they insisted that Karen go with me. At Sydney I ran while she was getting the bags at the carousel, and caught a cab here. It was the only place I could think of. Luke brought me here once, and Jim and I got on well. I hoped he’d shelter me. Turned out he needed me as much as I needed him. I was shocked to find him so sick.’

  She adds in a whisper, ‘I think it’s AIDS. But he refuses to go to hospital. He has no Medicare number, no money. He was in trouble in the States, and he’s terrified they’ll send him back there. But I’m afraid he’s going to die if I don’t do something.’

  ‘I can just drop him off at a hospital, Amber. No ID. They’ll look after him regardless.’

  ‘Maybe…maybe later, if he keeps getting worse.’

  Jenny says, ‘How about you? Do you need a doctor? Prescriptions?’

  ‘I’ve been careful with the medications—Karen gave me so many I couldn’t think straight. I feel much better now. My main worry is money. I drew cash out of my account when I arrived back here, but Jim said that the Nordlunds could get their detectives to put a trace on my account, and track me down that way, so I haven’t dared touch it since.’

  Jenny says, ‘Maybe I could draw the money out for you. Not in person, but if you give me your account details I could hack into the account and transfer money somewhere else, where we could access it safely.’

  ‘Could you really do that?’

  Jenny smiles. ‘Oh, yes. But only if you’re sure.’

  ‘I’d be so grateful.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Jenny says, ‘did you have any dealings with a man called Terry Palfreyman?’

  ‘Yes.’ Amber sounds suddenly cautious. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I met him at the NRL shareholders’ meeting when I went there to try to find you. He tried to interest me in his theories about the Nordlunds.’

  ‘Terry’s a little bit crazy, but he’s not stupid—very bright, actually. I’ve known him for a long time. He worked with my dad on his invention and he used to come to our home at Kramfors quite often. He was fun, full of jokes and interesting ideas. But then Dad was killed and Konrad took over. He stole Terry’s invention and ruined him. He’s very angry about it. It’s really consumed his life.’

  Jenny says, ‘I’m afraid he’s dead, Amber—he was murdered in the cottage where he was living in the Blue Mountains. I was in the area at the time, in contact with him, and the police think I killed him. I’m on the run, Amber, just like you.’

  Amber stares at her, shocked, and tears fill her eyes. ‘Oh, Jenny…then it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Amber can’t speak, gasping rapid shallow breaths as if she’s having a panic attack, and Jenny takes her in her arms, trying to calm her. She relaxes a little, wipes her eyes on her sleeve. Jenny says, ‘Of course it’s not your fault, Amber.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ she whispers. ‘After I was discharged from the clinic they took me back to Kramfors to recuperate. It was very quiet and I was left on my own a lot. I thought of my life, how everything changed that night my father’s plane disappeared, how everything went wrong after that—just as it did for Terry. One day I went into Konrad’s study. He was at Kramfors that day, visiting from Sydney, and he was outside somewhere, talking to the staff. I saw that he’d left the safe unlocked, and I went and took a look inside. There were legal documents, some American and Chinese currency. I was about to leave it when I noticed an envelope tucked at the back. The address was handwritten, and it was to your father, Harry, to Judge Belltree. I couldn’t understand why that would be in Konrad’s safe, but then I heard his voice somewhere nearby, and I snatched the envelope up and quickly left.

  ‘When I got back to my room I opened the envelope. Inside was a letter from someone called Joseph Doyle, confirming an arrangement to meet the judge on the twenty-sixth of June, 2010.’

  ‘The day he was killed,’ Jenny says. ‘The day of the crash.’

  ‘Yes. And there was something else in the envelope—a faded Polaroid photograph. At first I couldn’t make out what it was showing, just a tangle of shapes. But then I saw what looked like a piece of machinery half covered in branches. And on its side it had some painted letters, VH–MDX, the number of the plane Dad died in. I didn’t know what to make of it at first, and then I remembered the name, Joseph Doyle. He was a worker on the estate when I was growing up, an Aboriginal man. And I remembered that he had disappeared around the time that Dad died—it caused quite a fuss, nobody knew where he’d gone. But why had he written to your father in 2010, Harry? And why was the letter in Konrad’s safe? I had a bad feeling about it and wanted to tell someone, but I didn’t know who. If you’d still been around I would have told you, but I had no idea where you were. Then I thought of Terry. I found his website and sent him a scan of the letter and the photograph and asked him what he thought. He got back to me, very excited. He said it was a breakthrough, and he’d be in touch, but I never heard from him again. I think he must have tried to use it against Konrad. That’s why he’s dead, I’m sure of it.’

  She falls silent. After a moment Harry says, ‘Where are the letter and photograph now, Amber? Do you have them here?’

  ‘They’re safe, Harry.’

  ‘This is really important, Amber. I need to see them.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ll get them for you. As soon as it’s safe I’ll go home to Kramfors and get them, bring them back to Sydney to show you.’

  Before he can press her, she bursts into tears. ‘Oh God, the world has gone mad. You reach a point where you can’t go on fighting anymore. There’s just been too many blows…’

  Jenny takes Amber, sobbing, in her arms again. She rocks her gently and thinks of Abigail, whom she should be holding. ‘Yes,’ she whispers.

  Eventually they separate. Amber wipes her eyes

  ‘I miss Kramfors and Cackleberry Valley, Harry,’ she says. ‘You should go back, to the eagle cave, remember? It’s so beautiful up there. My favourite place. If anything happens to me, take Jenny there and think of me.’

  At the door she gives Jenny her bank details and says, ‘Transfer that money into an account that you control, Jenny. No one else, okay?’

  When they reach the car, Jenny says, ‘What a mess.’

  ‘I know. Do you believe all that about the drowning and the rapes? She said herself that she was on so many drugs that she couldn’t think straight.’

  ‘The point is, she believes it, and the images in her head have terrorised
her. I feel helpless, Harry. What can we do?’

  36

  Kelly makes her way into the press gallery of the Legislative Assembly of the New South Wales Parliament—the lower house. Onlookers are filing into seats in the other galleries that wrap around the chamber, which is packed for question time. She has seen this on TV, but now it seems more intimate, more claustrophobic than she had imagined. The formal horseshoe layout of the members’ benches, the central table, the speaker on his elevated throne at the far end, the polished timber, make her think of a posh Victorian cattle pen. It is currently full of what appear to be feral schoolkids, shouting, pointing, shaking their fists at each other.

  The speaker calls them to order, asks for questions. Husam Roshed, directly below Kelly, gets to his feet, and the speaker calls out, ‘The member for Campsie.’

  Roshed speaks in a vigorous, attacking tone that commands silence. ‘Thank you, Mr Speaker. My question is directed to the minister for infrastructure and planning. In the light of the recent comments by businessman and property developer Konrad Nordlund on 2GB Radio regarding his secret negotiations to purchase Slater Park from the New South Wales government, will the minister assure the house that no such agreement will be entered into without full debate and approval by this house?’

  There is a murmur of interest around the chamber as the minister, a wiry, energetic woman, rises from the government front bench and paces to the central table. ‘There have been many approaches to myself and my predecessors by people concerned with the future of Slater Park, in favour of either redevelopment or preservation of its present status. I am always open to suggestions, but I can assure the house that the best interests of the people of New South Wales will be uppermost in our deliberations.’

  There are cries of ‘Hear, hear’, and Roshed gets to his feet again.

  ‘Which tells us precisely nothing. Will the minister at least condemn the outrageous and tasteless attempt by Mr Nordlund to bring pressure upon her office using the tragic circumstances of the Slater Park murders?’

  Loud groans from the government benches.

  The minister replies, ‘We all regret the recent tragic events in Slater Park, and offer our sincere condolences to the families of the victims,’ (‘Hear, hear!’), ‘and our full support and encouragement to the police to bring their investigation to a speedy conclusion.’ Then, with a sly smile towards Roshed, ‘Surely the member for Campsie is not implying that the Slater Park murders are the work of a property developer?’

  Howls of derisive laughter.

  Roshed shouts above them, ‘Why not? Is the minister aware that a long-time critic of Konrad Nordlund and his dubious business practices, Terry Palfreyman, was found murdered at the same time as the first of the Slater Park murders?’

  The chamber explodes. ‘Shame on you!’ ‘Withdraw!’ ‘Scumbag!’

  Gradually the shouting and foot stamping subside enough for the speaker to make his voice heard. ‘Order! Order! The member for Campsie will withdraw his scandalous remark.’

  ‘I will not, sir. Perhaps the minister knows more about these shocking events than she wishes to tell us.’

  More cries of outrage.

  The speaker booms, ‘I instruct the sergeant-at-arms to remove the member for Campsie from the chamber.’

  Roshed smiles and walks calmly to the door by the speaker’s chair, accompanied by a man in a tailcoat. Around him there are chants of ‘Lock him up! Lock him up!’

  ‘Well,’ the woman sitting next to Kelly says, ‘that was more interesting than I expected.’

  37

  Harry wakes abruptly, thinking it’s Abigail crying, but it’s the sound of his phone. The clock says 1:33 am.

  ‘Harry, it’s me, Kelly. Sorry to wake you but I thought you’d want to know. I’ve just had a call from an ambo friend who lets me know about interesting cases. He just called me from Slater Park. Another body.’

  ‘Oh…hell.’

  ‘Yeah. Thing is, he saw the body. No ID, but there were distinguishing marks—she had extensive scars on her left arm, like old burns. And I thought, remember Ash Island? Amber Nordlund?’

  He’s completely awake now. ‘Thanks, Kelly. I’ll see what I can find out.’

  He wakes Nicole and tells her he’s got to leave, drives fast through empty streets across the city to Mont Street. At number 32 he is about to hammer on the front door when he notices it is slightly open. He takes a breath, steps back, then pushes it with his elbow and walks in. All the doors are open in the darkened house, the rooms deserted, no drug man, no dog, no bird, no Chinese students. He races up the stairs and sees Zuckermann’s half-open door. Zuckermann’s pale face lies on the pillow, eyes closed, no sound of breathing. Harry has no latex gloves so uses a tissue to cover his fingertips as he feels for a pulse in Zuckermann’s throat. Nothing. He’s cold. No sign of Amber.

  Back to the car. Harry puts his foot down, slams through corners, traffic lights. A police barrier is in place at the main entrance to Slater Park. The uniform at the barrier peers at him uncertainly. ‘Sarge?’

  ‘Yeah, Belltree. Harry Belltree. Homicide.’

  ‘Kilometre down the main avenue, boss. Turn left. You’ll see the cars.’ The man waves him on and he drives through the park, the first time he’s been here. Up ahead the dark silhouette of a building, bobbing torchlights, a T-junction. He turns left and sees the vehicles all lit up like a circus.

  He pulls in under the dark mass of a huge Moreton Bay fig and makes his way over to the activity. People in white forensic overalls, pale blue gloves and overshoes, white facemasks, move in and out of the light. One of them stops in mid-stride and stares at him.

  ‘Harry?’ Deb’s voice, incredulous above the hum of the generators. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Deb, I need to see the body.’

  Deb turns to two uniforms hovering at the edge of the activity. ‘You two! Escort this man off the site. Arrest him if he gives you any trouble.’

  Harry shouts, ‘Female, one point six metres, sixty-two kilograms, natural blonde, one childbirth, old burn marks down her left side aggravated by recent scratches.’

  Deb turns to stare at him, waves the uniforms away, comes to Harry and pulls him aside. She tugs her facemask off. ‘What?’

  ‘Have you identified her?’ Harry asks.

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Let me see her face.’

  ‘There’s no head, just a body.’

  ‘Let me see her.’

  Deb frowns. ‘Come on then.’ She turns and marches over to the focus of the dazzling lights.

  Harry stares at the pale body, the brutal absence above the neck, a pink ribbon tied to her right hand. He kneels by her left side and sees the familiar scars and scratches. Gets to his feet and backs away.

  ‘It’s Amber Nordlund,’ he says, his voice sounding hollow in his head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Konrad Nordlund’s niece, badly burned at Ash Island ten months ago.’ He turns away, pulls out his phone, begins hurrying back to his car.

  ‘Stop! Harry, stop!’

  ‘Got to go, Deb.’ He is frantically scrolling for Jenny’s number.

  ‘Hey!’ Deb is calling to the two uniforms again, who hurry over. ‘Arrest that man.’

  The number is ringing as he pushes away one of the men who’s trying to grab his right arm.

  ‘Hello?’ Jenny sounds groggy.

  ‘Run, Jenny. Run!’

  ‘Harry?’

  The phone is snatched from him, hand twisted behind his back and handcuffed.

  38

  In a blur of sleep Jenny pulls on some clothes, hears banging downstairs, voices calling out. She grabs her phone, purse and goes to the rear window. Down below, light from the house illuminates a man standing in the backyard, waiting. She goes out onto the landing, down half a flight and stops, listening. Two men are arguing in the shop, one of them Mr Ngô, the other demanding something.

  ‘Scarlett!’ Mrs Ng
ô is standing at the foot of the stairs. ‘Come down quick.’

  Jenny hurries down and Mrs Ngô leads her to the door of the cupboard under the stairs. Inside she moves some boxes to expose a trapdoor in the floor, heaves it open. There is a short flight of steps down into darkness. Mrs Ngô thrusts a small torch into her hand. ‘Cellars all connected underneath. Go to end of block, get out there if you can.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Your angry husband, I think. Says he is police.’

  Jenny goes down and the trapdoor closes behind her.

  The space under the terrace is very low, filled with brick piers, bits of rubble, desiccated dead rats. She crouches and ducks, making her way beneath the shops until she comes to the end. Shining the torch beam about her she sees some stone steps leading up to a trapdoor, but when she pushes it doesn’t budge.

  She gives up, retraces her steps to the previous bay. More steps, and this time the trapdoor opens with a creak. She climbs out and finds herself at the back of the laundromat, five shops up from the greengrocer’s. She walks through the public area at the front, the machines ghostly in the dark, unbolts the front door and looks cautiously outside. A car is pulled up outside the Ngôs’, a blue light pulsing. She steps out quickly and hurries in the opposite direction, keeping close to the shopfronts. Behind her the laundromat alarm begins to howl.

  She breaks into a run towards the lights of Marrickville Road up ahead. A taxi is slowing across the junction, coming to a stop. Three men are climbing in and she rushes up behind them and jumps in as the door begins to close.

  39

  ‘Get hold of someone from the Nordlund family to confirm the identity,’ Deb says.

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  The body is being loaded into a vehicle.

  ‘And we need to find her head.’

  ‘Sure.’ The officer points to dark figures tumbling out of two white vans just arrived. ‘More on their way. What about the bloke?’

  ‘The bloke? Oh, Belltree. Yes, get them to charge him with obstructing a police investigation. I won’t see him till later. By then I want to know everything on his phone.’