‘We don’t need to bring Walt in as a partner because the bank has approved our loan, thanks to Stenmark influence, which unofficially rubberstamped the deal.’ Angie’s eyebrows rose meaningfully. ‘You can imagine I’m happy about that. I wasn’t looking forward to having Walt stick his nose into every aspect of what happens at the vineyard.’
‘That’s good news!’ Paul’s accompanying grin was genuine. ‘And believe me, with what I’ve learnt about Conrad you certainly wouldn’t want him for a partner. The man can’t be trusted. Several years ago when Rhein Schloss took him to court, he lied his head off about the boundary fence and after he lost the case, badmouthed Carl and Luke to anyone who’d give him the time of day. However, that’s not all.’ He paused to chew a mouthful of steak and then sip his wine. ‘I followed up on a tip Tran gave me about the Sundown Crossing vintage involved in the truck accident. It took a while.’ He got up, went to the dresser and brought a manila folder back to the table. ‘An ex-policeman friend of mine, Gary, fossicked around Adelaide until he found what I’d suggested he might. Gary has lots of contacts in the criminal world so it wasn’t hard for him. I didn’t mention it to you at the time because I thought it better to wait till I had proof.
‘Your entire vintage is stored in a small, out-of-the-way warehouse in East Adelaide. Look here,’ he spread several photographs out on the table. ‘Gary took dated photos to prove that the vintage still exists.’
Shocked, Angie muttered, ‘I don’t believe it.’ She stared at Paul. ‘How did your friend manage that?’ Then she added, ‘Perhaps it’s best if I don’t know.’
He acknowledged her words with a chuckle. ‘Right, still it’s proof that Conrad tried to defraud you. The Fraud Squad should be interested in that, as will the insurance company, who intended to pay out the claim Conrad made on them.’
Angie studied the photos, then she read the report Gary had written about the investigation. ‘This is impressive. Walt, what a rat, trying to take advantage of us like that!’
‘He’s an opportunist without a conscience, motivated by revenge against the Stenmarks. Because of Carla’s relationship to the Stenmarks, crippling her vineyard, then taking it over, would have given him enormous satisfaction.’
She ran a hand through her loose, greying blonde hair, and sighed as she confided, ‘You know, there was always something I couldn’t take to about Walt and Frances. They were too saccharine sweet, too nice.’ She looked at him. ‘Guess I’m getting cynical in my old age.’
Paul disagreed. ‘You’re just a good judge of character.’ He thought for a moment then added. ‘No doubt he’s planning to move the vintage to Western Australia soon, for a spring release there. Whatever he makes on the deal, apart from shipping and re-labelling costs, would be pure profit for him.’
‘We should tell Carla as soon as possible,’ Angie said sensibly, adding, ‘Paul, you’ve assembled the evidence so you should do it.’
‘Of course. I’ll be in the Clare Valley tomorrow so I’ll come over Monday night, after dinner.’
‘I won’t be there. I have to attend a meeting in Tanunda that night, but Tran and no doubt Kim will be able to back up what you tell her.’
‘I’m glad that’s settled.’ He smiled as he rubbed his hands together. ‘Seeing you were a good girl and ate all your dinner, I’ll serve dessert. How does tiramisu sound?’
‘It’s not how it sounds, it’s how it tastes. Heavenly, if my memory’s correct.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Josh eased his foot off the accelerator, turned the engine off and let the pick-up truck coast down the slight incline until it came to a stop not far from the winery building. All was quiet at Sundown Crossing. The lights weren’t on in the Loong caravan and only a porch light and a small table lamp shone in Carla’s cottage. But where was that dog of Sam’s? he wondered as he got out of his vehicle and stretched the taut muscles in his back. He didn’t want Odin to bark his head off and alert those in the caravan or the cottage to his presence. Walking around the pick-up, he purposely knocked the wall of the winery building. Still no barking. He grinned derisively. What a watchdog! The stupid mutt was probably off chasing rabbits or had gone up the road to visit van Leeson’s dog. That it wasn’t around to give an alarm suited him very much.
After he and Lisel had worked out what to do, he’d spent several nights planning how to accomplish the task. She had promised him a breathtaking sum of money for his dirty work and they’d arranged to meet in Lyndoch at midnight after the work was done, so she could give him the cash. With what he had managed to save, though not as much as he’d liked, and Lisel’s ‘donation’, there would be enough for a deposit on a small vineyard he’d seen advertised for sale in Pokolbin in New South Wales.
Shit, he’d be his own boss, at last, and be able to put to use what he’d learned in the Barossa and at Rhein Schloss. Destroying Sundown Crossing and Carla’s dreams would be an extra bonus he’d carry with him mentally for years. Teach the uppity bitch a lesson once and for all.
He took three two-litre cans of petrol out of the back of the truck, unscrewed the caps and began to sprinkle the fluid around the perimeter of the winery building but a good distance away from where he’d parked. On emptying the cans he put them back into the pick-up and took out two more. Those cans he emptied on the front and back porch of the cottage and the contents of the last can was thrown over the brushwood fence that separated the Loongs’s caravan from the cottage and vineyard.
Turning up the collar of his sheepskin-lined jacket against the wintry night, he grinned, almost maniacally, as a wind began to stir in the treetops. Great. A wind to fan the flames, and what a bonfire he intended to create! He didn’t know who was asleep in the cottage but deduced that Carla and Sam were there because her compact car was parked out the back, and it was a school night. The vineyard’s panel van was missing so he assumed that Angie was out, probably at the Winegrowers’ Association meeting in Tanunda. And the Loongs’s caravan? Tran’s motorbike wasn’t parked where he usually put it so he too was out and about, perhaps still working at the restaurant that employed him.
Josh lifted a plastic bag from the pick-up’s floor in which several rolled up pieces of newspaper and a cigarette lighter lay. He experienced no sense of guilt for what he was about to do—Carla deserved to lose everything, including her life, and not an ounce of sympathy ran through him because she’d embarrassed him, bruised his feelings, and destroyed his dream of her being the right woman for him.
Besides, Lisel had been adamant on that score—Carla had to be dealt with permanently and if in the process her son and the Loongs went too, well, who cared? Not Lisel Stenmark and not him. His gaze narrowed defensively against the petrol’s fumes as he ruminated…Kim who’d shown her effectiveness as a street fighter that night amongst the vines especially deserved what was coming to her. Little Vietnamese bitch, whore. Thought she could forget the past and be regarded as respectable. Hah! Not as far as he was concerned.
His only regret was that he couldn’t hang afford to watch the show. Lisel said it was important for him to create an alibi and he’d do that by hightailing it back to the closest township, Nuriootpa, and picking a fight with someone. Christ, she was a cold-hearted, clever bitch, that Lisel. She’d thought of everything. Her bloody obsession with Luke and his future, damned unhealthy in his opinion, was motivating her to do this dark deed. And she was certainly a woman he wouldn’t want to mess with, though, if she gave him an ounce of encouragement he’d take it and her and worry about the repercussions later. He made a face and spat on the ground. That wasn’t going to happen. Lisel didn’t fancy him that way.
Now which to light first? The cottage, he decided with a gleeful chuckle. It was cement-rendered over brick with timber window frames and roof so it would probably take the longest to light up. Then the brushwood fence. Man, that would go up in minutes and the sparks generated would spread to the caravan and gas bottle attached to the side and used for cooking. After that he would at
tend to the winery. It was securely locked but he would break a few windows and throw a flare or two in to get things going. Combined with the current vintage in progress, the petrol all around the building and the materials in Angie’s small laboratory would combine to create a great bonfire.
Moving with stealth in the light from a half-moon Josh could see well enough as he walked towards the brushwood fence.
Ten minutes later the deed had been completed. Embryonic flames were spreading wildly along the brushwood fence, the cottage and in the winery. Josh wasted no time in scurrying behind the wheel of the pick-up. He turned the engine on and pressed hard on the accelerator for a quick getaway. In his haste to escape he didn’t see the piled up paint tins near the door of the winery building. The pick-up’s front fender crashed into the cans knocking several over and squashing one. The contents spilled out on the ground and over the wheel and passenger side fender.
‘Shit, what was that?’ he mumbled crankily as he turned the wheel towards the vineyard’s entrance. Most likely some crates he hadn’t noticed. Unconcerned, he shrugged and continued on, the foremost thought now in his mind to put distance between himself and Sundown Crossing. In the rear-vision mirror he could see the glow of the fires. He grinned to himself. A job well done. Lisel would be pleased.
Less than ten minutes later he parked in a dark side street close to the main road and headed in the direction of the hotel. As he strode into the saloon bar he glanced at the wall clock: 9.25 pm. Intent on creating his alibi, his gaze roamed around the room. Two men were playing pool. Four others sat at a table talking and, another three men were perched on bar stools. Of the nine men, he knew one and didn’t like him. His blood was up from the excitement of what he’d done and it would be child’s play to hurl a few insults and throw a punch or two.
Paul glanced down at the four-wheel drive’s speedometer and realised that he was travelling too fast. He slowed to a more sedate pace. The developer’s meeting at the Clare Valley construction site had unexpectedly run longer than expected, which meant that he wouldn’t reach Sundown Crossing till almost 9.30. A few minutes from his destination he noticed an unnatural glow in an otherwise dark sky. It was a fire. His foot came down hard on the pedal again. As he sped along he groped in the wide pocket of his jacket for his mobile phone and, finding it, brought it close to his face to dial the local emergency number.
‘There’s a fire at Sundown Crossing. It looks well established. Hurry!’ he shouted into the phone. The next number he dialled was Carla’s. No answer. Now he rammed the pedal to the floor, unmindful of the danger, and the Land Rover leapt forward as he raced towards the fire.
‘Good God,’ Paul muttered under his breath as he pulled up in front of the cottage. Everything was alight: the caravan, the cottage, the winery. Charging out of the car, he had the presence of mind to reach for the picnic blanket lying on the back seat. He ran towards the cottage, stopping to wet the blanket in the duck pond out the front. Holding the dripping blanket like a cloak over his tall body, he used the size thirteen boot on his right foot to kick in a window—Carla’s bedroom window—because both porches were alight. He climbed inside.
Carla was in bed, coughing in her sleep as smoke began to fill the house. Paul shook her by the shoulder to rouse her. ‘Carla. Carla. The house is on fire. Get up.’ In near total darkness he groped for something to wrap around her and, pulling the doona off the bed, draped it over her shoulders. ‘Come on,’ he half-lifted her out of the bed, ‘let’s go.’
‘Wh-at?’ Still groggy with sleep she began to cough again, and in between spasms, seeing the smoke and hearing the crackle of the fire, pleaded. ‘Sam…?’
‘You climb out the window. I’ll get Sam,’ Paul shouted as he pushed her towards the broken window. He used her bedside lamp to knock out any sharp pieces of glass so she wouldn’t cut herself.
‘The Loongs. Kim and Su Lee are in the caravan.’
‘I know. I’ll get them.’ He paused, his lungs racked by a bout of coughing. ‘Go, now!’
By the time Paul got Sam out and shepherded him and Carla away from the fire, then rescued Kim and Su Lee, the caravan and the cottage were well ablaze. The fire was moving more slowly in the winery. The five watched in helpless fascination and horror as everything burnt. In the distance they heard the wail of fire engines getting closer and closer.
Carla looked at Paul and something pulled tight inside her chest. It reacted on her smoke affected throat muscles too, tightening them. How wonderful he looked, even with his face streaked black with ash. He’d burned his left hand because he’d had to rip the caravan’s door open and it was covered by a strip of wet cloth—the tail end of his checked shirt. His dark hair was singed in several places as were his trousers. Paul had saved her life and Sam’s and the Loongs’s. She was so very grateful that he had come but…there was something more. The feeling went deeper than gratitude but now wasn’t the time to think about that. Later…
A shiver spiralled down her spine and spread through her body. If he hadn’t been coming, seen the fire…not only would Sundown Crossing be history so would everyone who lived there apart from Angie and Tran. As she thought, she was sharply aware of sounds around her, the fire’s hiss when the brigade’s water tender sprayed onto it, the crackle of burning timber, the occasional popping, explosive sounds, and the pungent smoke and smells associated with the burning building materials.
The firefighters had decided the only building that could be saved was the winery. In the confusion of strangers fighting the fire and the tangle of hoses, the water and the fire itself, she and Paul scarcely had time to say more than a dozen words to each other. But one thing was patently clear—the fires had been deliberately lit.
Why? Who was the arsonist? Carla had no idea and her thoughts began to muddle—first because of the sudden waking up and Paul’s rescue and her startling, instant acceptance of certain feelings for him, and then, the fire and what the consequences of what it would be for them all.
Huddled in a group they watched the fire burn out the cottage until only the rendered walls, blackened by smoke and ash which continued to spiral towards a dark sky, remained. The caravan had been reduced to a crumpled mass of aluminium and the brushwood fence no longer existed, burnt to ground level. The firemen, focusing their hoses on the largest building, were having success in bringing the winery blaze under control. A portable floodlight had been hooked up to illuminate the garish remains of the cottage and caravan and several onlookers from adjoining properties had congregated on the vineyard’s boundary to watch and talk quietly among themselves.
Almost another hour passed before the fire crew put out the winery blaze and completed mopping up procedures, which coincided with Angie trying to drive into the vineyard but having to park just outside. ‘Jesus,’ she blasphemed in an awed tone. She came straight up and embraced Carla and Sam. ‘What in God’s name has happened?’
‘A competent case of arson, says the fire chief,’ Paul informed her.
‘But who…?’ Angie stared at Paul and Carla, hoping to be enlightened.
‘I could speculate, name a few names, but I won’t just yet. However, whoever did it is running around with green paint on his or her vehicle. The arsonist knocked over several cans of paint and the contents of one spilled out. A green tyre tread leads to the road.’ Paul checked his watch and glanced at Carla. She appeared to be emotionally exhausted. ‘It’s getting late. You’ll all come back to my place for the night.’ It wasn’t a question or an invitation but a statement of what was to be. ‘The fire chief said the police will come by in the morning to interview all of us.’
‘Everything’s gone,’ Carla said miserably. ‘Our clothes, furniture, the office—all the paperwork.’
‘They’re only material things. You and Sam survived, the Loongs too,’ Angie tried to cheer her up. ‘That’s the most important thing.’
‘Thanks to Paul.’ Carla looked over to where Paul was talking to the fire chief. �
�If he hadn’t come along it…it…we wouldn’t be standing here now.’
‘But you are and that’s what matters more than anything else.’ Angie held out her arms and Carla stepped into them for another prolonged hug.
‘I…don’t know where we go from here.’ There was an echo of defeat in Carla’s tone. ‘In the past it’s been clear what we had to do, but now? God, Angie, I just don’t know.’
‘I know, love, but this isn’t the time to make decisions. Not when you’re traumatised and worn out. You need time to recover your equilibrium.’
Suddenly Carla grinned and murmured tongue-in-cheek, ‘Yes, Doctor Dupayne. You’re right as usual.’
They stayed until the fire had died down completely then Paul shepherded all of them into the Land Rover—something of a squeeze—and took them to his house.
Exhausted she might be but Carla knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, not yet. She settled Sam into bed, Kim and Su Lee had been reunited with an almost distraught Tran. He’d gone to the vineyard, seen the damage and been directed to Paul’s home where there had been a tearful reunion of the Loong family followed by Tran’s earnest avowal that from this night on he would give up gambling forever. The possibility of losing his small family had apparently made the young man realise where his priorities should be. Angie dossed down on the sofa bed in Paul’s office-cum-study. This left Carla and Paul alone together.
Paul had showered and changed clothes and his left hand, properly bandaged, was holding two mugs of hot coffee. He brought them to where she was sitting on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace, the doona from her bed was still wrapped around her shoulders.
‘I should get you some clothes,’ he said as he sat beside her. ‘I still have a trunk of Lisa’s things in the loft. I keep meaning to do something with it but haven’t got around to it. If you don’t mind wearing her things, that is.’ As he gave her an assessing once-over she nodded that she didn’t. ‘You’re about the same size, I reckon.’
Sundown Crossing Page 28
