by Helene Young
‘I see,’ Martin replied. ‘That’s a big call. It’s been five years now. I guess they haven’t issued a death certificate either?’
‘No, they haven’t.’
There was a pause as Martin thought it through. ‘So, you need to prove he did indeed die or, if he’s alive, find him.’
‘Yep. In a nutshell, that’s it. I can try to follow up the identity side of things, but the possibility that he did survive the fire? I have no idea how to do that.’
‘But I do, and I have your father’s case notes prior to that final fire. What about the police?’
‘I haven’t even discussed this with Julia yet. I haven’t decided what to do. Everyone up here knows us as the Scotts. It was the best I could do for Dan. If I go to the police I’ll have to explain everything. A small place like this … it could get out. I don’t want my son to have to bear the stigma of being an arsonist’s son.’
‘Of course you don’t. Did Immigration give you any other information?’
‘They said Chris is allegedly living quite close, in Kairi, but they didn’t give me an address.’
‘You’ve tried using all the usual sources?’
‘Yes. There’s no one by that name listed anywhere in North Queensland. A couple I found on Facebook matched up with phone listings in other states and they are way too young for Chris anyway.’
‘Right.’ It sounded like he’d sat up straight, his words decisive. ‘I’ll need to get back to you, review the notes again. Is this the best number to contact you on?’
‘No, can you phone my mobile?’ She rattled off the number and he repeated it back before she continued. ‘I don’t want Julia to find out about this until I know one way or the other.’
‘Of course, of course. Nor Dan. You know …’ He trailed off before he started again. ‘I know you always had concerns, as did I, that something was wrong with that crime scene. Did someone else want us to think Chris lit the fire? Or did he really start it so he could disappear, but the plan went wrong?’
‘He may have wanted out, Martin, but I can’t believe he would torch an entire neighbourhood just to free himself from a burdensome wife and child. He loved Stephen, even if he didn’t love us. I can’t accept that he would have killed Dad first, then set a fire that would cause so much devastation. I just can’t. He was scared of commitment, but that’s not a crime.’
‘No, it’s not. Stephen loved Chris as a son, and your father was a very astute man. He wouldn’t have welcomed him into the family if he thought he was a danger.’
‘I know. And as to someone else lighting the fire? You and I both know we never caught the arsonist I was tracking that day in the aircraft. I’ll never stop wondering if he was the one really responsible. If he could have started both fires.’ She couldn’t stop a deep sigh from escaping. ‘One day soon I’ll have to tell Dan the truth about his father’s death.’
‘The truth might never be found. The rest is conjecture.’
‘Maybe. With this latest development, maybe not.’
‘If I play the devil’s advocate and say Immigration’s right, then Chris living up near you is perfectly within the profile of an arsonist. Look for him as a park ranger or a firefighter, maybe SES. Whoever lit that fire in Canberra knew what they were doing. They lit it with the breeze in the worst quadrant and in an area that was hard to access. They knew full well what would happen.’
Kaitlyn was nodding as Martin spoke. She knew all that. She’d pored over the evidence in the months that led up to the coronial inquest. She’d seen the evidence her lawyers had been given. It all pointed to the same conclusion. The fire was the work of an arsonist who understood fire. The injuries to Stephen showed little or no struggle took place. He’d know his assailant. He’d been murdered.
‘Thanks, Martin. I don’t want to tell Julia just yet. I’ll try the softly, softly approach and see what I can turn up.’
‘Do that. I’ll be in touch. Give my regards to Julia and say hi to Daniel. And Kaitlyn? Try not to worry too much. This might just be a clerical error.’
‘Thanks. I hope so.’
The phone dangled from her hand, buzzing with the disconnect signal as she stared out the window. ‘I hope so, for all our sakes.’
‘Kaitlyn? What’s going on? What don’t you want to tell me?’
Kait swung around. Julia had parked the car in the driveway and Kait hadn’t heard her slip through the front door. Her mother was ashen-faced, her hand spread like a protective star between her breasts. Kait could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She had no choice but to tell her.
‘Sit down, Mum.’ She held out her hand and squeezed her mother’s fingers tight against the tremors. ‘It’s complicated.’ Julia moved to one of the upright chairs, relinquishing Kait’s fingers.
‘Try me.’ Julia sat with her spine straight and her chin up. Kait thought of it as her concert pianist posture.
Though her cheeks flushed pink, Julia’s face remained composed as Kait told her what the Immigration Department had said.
‘So if Immigration are right, Chris is alive and well, living in Kairi,’ Kait finished up with a shake of her head.
‘But we would know. We would have seen him. They’re mistaken.’ Julia was trying for businesslike now, sorting, analysing, discarding. ‘What did Martin say?’
‘Hello to you, for starters. He’s delighted you’re playing again.’ Kaitlyn managed a tiny smile.
‘Oh.’ For an instant Julia looked girlish and flustered before she gathered herself. ‘And what else?’
‘He’s going to take another look at the findings of the inquest.’
‘Damn investigators didn’t look hard enough.’ The use of language was uncharacteristic.
‘Martin always did speculate that Chris may have been framed, or even caught in the fire accidentally. Either way, he should be able to get an address for the current Chris Jackson. Where to from there?’ Kait shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Could …’ Julia stopped, pressing her lips together. ‘Do you think …’ She tried again. The words came out in a rush. ‘Is it possible, after all this time, to find the truth?’ She wanted reassurance, but Kait couldn’t give it unreservedly.
‘I don’t know, Mum. In my heart I don’t believe Chris did it. He loved Stephen and you.’ She paused. ‘I don’t believe he could have killed Dad, not like that.’
‘And he loved you and Dan too.’ Julia always could read her daughter. ‘I know you don’t believe me, but he was only guilty of being scared. Scared of being a poor parent, of letting you down, letting Dan down. He told Stephen he hated his own father. I don’t know what the trouble was – for Stephen, what was talked about in confidence stayed in confidence. But whatever it was, it made Chris doubt his ability to be a father. He would have come round eventually. How could he not have, when we were all so close?’
‘Oh, Mum, you can’t say that.’ Kait didn’t want to hear any of this. It was easier believing she and Chris never had a future anyway, than to grieve all over again for what might have been. All she’d ever wanted for Dan was the same loving, supportive childhood she herself had had. This soul-searching didn’t bring her son’s father back, didn’t give Dan a hard chest to hug tight, a role model to learn from, or footsteps to follow.
‘I can. Your father believed it. You must never doubt Chris’s love for you and Dan.’ Julia’s voice quavered on the last word. Tears glistened in her eyes, spilling over her lashes.
‘Mum, I’m so sorry.’ Kaitlyn wrapped her arms around Julia, needing to give her comfort even while she craved it herself. ‘That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you worried or upset.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.’ Julia’s voice was thick, her cheek pressed tight to Kait’s. ‘You’ve kept us safe.’
But Kait knew it would always feel like it was her fault. Julia had lost the love of her life. No matter the calm veneer she wore as a shield, Kait had
watched her mother age dramatically after the fire. Some of the spark was back now, but the real joy, the laughter, hadn’t fully returned.
How could it, when she’d lost so much?
Chapter 18
TRINITY Inlet stretched away to the hills of False Cape and Second Beach, heat shimmering over the grey-green flanks. The hotel’s air conditioning kept the temperature down, but the atmosphere in the room was heated.
‘Neither the insurance company nor the Australian Federal Police have any new evidence. They can’t connect McCormack Mines to a bushfire that happened five years ago on a property in Canberra under the management of Greentrees,’ Chris Jackson said, happy that he looked out of place in the opulent hotel suite. ‘And I didn’t meet your old man until after that fire, anyway.’
By the wide window, Grant McCormack sat forward. ‘They will still be looking for patterns, and four Greentrees plantations burnt to the ground in five years will give them one. There are other ways. You’ve been paid enough for the jobs you’ve done. I want to end this relationship between you and MCM now.’ The last word was directed at Don Adler, who was reclining on the couch with a bored expression. The lawyer didn’t bother to answer, just moved his shoulders under his expensive suit jacket.
Chris lounged back in his chair by the desk, rocking it against the springs. It squeaked annoyingly well. ‘But I’m not ready to end this relationship.’ He rolled the last word around his tongue, the insinuation clear. ‘They can’t prove anything. Bushfires happen. Australia’s renowned for them. Your father had an agreement with me. A lifetime agreement.’
McCormack glared across the room at him. ‘My father no longer runs this company.’
‘Yeah, but neither do you, laddie.’ Chris knew that would rile the young McCormack, but he was surprised by just how much.
‘You’re wrong, you’re fucking wrong and you’re underestimating me.’ The venom in McCormack’s voice matched the hatred in his eyes. For the first time, Chris saw some of old man McCormack’s fire in the pup.
Chris didn’t hold back with his smile, knowing it would goad the young man further. He had the ace. He had the proof of their business agreement. ‘Why would they think a fire in North Queensland was suspicious? Two blazes in Victoria and one in New South Wales, at a time when carbon credits were big news and plantations were failing, were easier to pin on an arsonist. But there’s no way they’ll connect this to you. You’ve paid me to do a job and I’ve laid all the groundwork. The Happy Valley plantation will be caught up in a spate of fires plaguing the district. You’ll be pure as the proverbial snow.’
‘I keep telling you, no one can connect us to another fire at Greentrees,’ Adler interjected with an impatient shake of his head. Chris knew that Don Adler had presided over the company when it survived class actions brought by villages claiming environmental degradation from the mine’s tailings dam in PNG. He’d played hardball then; he would again.
Adler understood that fires were convenient disasters that eased the way for mining by reducing the need for environmental impact studies. A fire-damaged parcel of land was a hell of a lot easier to exploit. And the lawyer was up to his eyeballs in corruption. Chris trod carefully around him. Adler had always been harder than the old man to deal with. And he wasn’t the pushover Grant McCormack was. The younger man was soft, a fuckin’ bleeding heart, ready to do deals with greenies. Time to finish this conversation, Chris decided.
‘Don’s right,’ he said, ‘but we need to be very careful about how we proceed. I’ve got a fall guy lined up. Just need to position him. City guy who’ll have no supporters around here. Just give me a little more time.’
Adler spoke again. ‘Yes, but time is the one thing we don’t have in abundance. We need to know if this is viable land or not. One of the big multinationals is snapping at our heels, along with several junior miners from Western Australia. We need to move now. The sampling we did up Malanda way two years ago came back negative, but it still got the major players interested. The geologists are positive this area is much more promising. If we sample, we show our hands before we’ve secured the land.’
‘Yeah, I understand that. They found gold back in the early-settler days. Alluvial in the valleys. Every chance there’d be some in the hills. It must have washed down from somewhere.’ Chris made the chair squeak again.
‘So, it comes back to you and your skill, Mr Jackson.’ Adler had taken over the conversation. McCormack was glowering from the window. ‘How soon can we expect to have the job finished?’
The bloody lawyer was smooth. Had to give him that. Chris turned his hands over, palms up, and shrugged. ‘You want it to be identified as suspicious, then I can do it tomorrow. You want to make it look like just another bushfire gone wild? Then let me do it in my own sweet time.’
McCormack stood up, the chair shooting back behind him. ‘You’ve had an interesting life, Mr Jackson, or is it Derek Barton?’ He lowered his voice, forcing Chris to lean in. ‘Three name changes – that I know about, anyway – a prison term for arson, special mentions for impersonating a fireman, and illegal possession of firearms.’
Chris pursed his lips, trying to slow his racing pulse. How the hell? He shook his head decisively. ‘No. Sorry, mate, you’ve got me mixed up with someone else. Pity the poor bastard who’s got all that hanging over his head. What’d you say his name was?’ He knew his identity was watertight. It had to be. There was no way these arseholes could have found out anything about his past. Not without him hearing about it first.
One thing jail time did was give you good contacts. Counterfeiters, drug runners, forgers, even a couple of big-time boys with connections to international crime syndicates and a motorcycle gang.
The silence dragged on and he let it. First one who broke was the chicken. Right on cue, McCormack caved in. ‘This is bullshit. Find another way. We’ll kill someone with this madness. Take your payout and I won’t go to the police.’
‘You won’t go to the police?’ Chris pushed to his feet with a harsh laugh, the anger a raging burn now. For fuck’s sake, the man was stupid. He had no idea of the consequences. ‘I don’t have time for this shit. You’ve paid me to do a job. You don’t want me to finish it? Fine.’
He kept his footsteps measured as he crossed the glossy tiles, expecting them to stop him. Opening the door halfway, he hesitated and turned. ‘Of course, I’ll expect payment for my services to date and the usual yearly retainer.’ He left them with a polite nod. ‘Gentlemen.’
‘Fuckin’ morons,’ he fumed as he shot down fourteen floors to the hotel lobby. Why the fuck interfere now? Why couldn’t they just leave him to do the job they were paying him to do, the same way old man McCormack had trusted him last time?
He’d laid a careful cover and found the perfect fall guy. Maybe he needed to put the wind up him, make him look edgy, suspicious, leave nothing to chance.
No way was Chris blowing this identity. It suited him. The money set him up for life. Not a flash lifestyle, but a comfortable one with plenty for a rainy day. There was enough salted away that if it all went to hell in a handbasket, he could change identity at short notice.
But that wasn’t his plan. This time he wanted to stay. He had friends, a purpose, and he had a side benefit. If he played his cards right, he just might get a family of his own – one that was almost flesh and blood.
Chapter 19
‘WE’RE done. We find another option. He’s mad, unbalanced, and a blatant fucking liar.’ Grant hardly waited for the door to close.
‘Where the fuck did you dig up that dirt?’ Adler sounded incredulous. He rarely swore, so Grant knew he had him rattled.
‘Why? Didn’t you research him before you used him last time?’
‘Your father found him. I didn’t ask questions.’
‘Bullshit.’ Grant was gratified to see that the older man looked pale. ‘You have files on everyone and you’re not going to use a man like that without collating every last detail of his life
, just in case you need leverage.’
‘He was a convicted arsonist with a jail term. He’d burnt down the house of a known paedophile. He needed money. That was all we needed to know. He was released from jail as Derek Barton, turned into Chris Jackson. Of course he’d changed his name. It would be hard to get on in life with a prison sentence on your record.’
‘You should have looked harder,’ Grant snapped. ‘I did my own investigation after our last conversation. Did you read the transcript of the court case?’
Adler shook his head and Grant snorted in disbelief. ‘Find that hard to believe since you’re the lawyer, but just in case you’re not lying, he claimed to have been the victim of a paedophile ring as a boy. He claimed his stepfather was the ringleader. Damn shame that fine man was already dead, along with Jackson’s own mother, so he couldn’t defend himself. Your man’s only living relative, his younger half-brother, refused to give supporting evidence at the trial. Seems they’d been estranged for a long time. The half-brother never even came to the trial, let alone visited him in jail. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that the same brother died in a fire shortly after Derek – or Chris, or whatever the fuck his name is today – was released. You know what else is remarkable?’ He didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one. ‘The last identity switch Derek Barton made was to take over his dead half-brother’s name, Chris Jackson. And the real Chris Jackson? He died in a fire that also killed his father-in-law and burnt his family home to the ground, along with several Canberra suburbs and the first of the Greentrees plantations. Reckon Derek Barton might have had something to do with that one too? He’s not a sane man.’
From the look on Adler’s face, Grant decided he really hadn’t known the truth about Derek Barton’s history. He didn’t give him time to argue.
‘So, we pay him off. Find another way. You’re going back to Sydney this afternoon. I’m going up to Oakey Creek to have a look at this land for myself.’
