Can’t remember, it was ages ago.
Conclusion: Tragic accident.
Verdict: Death by misadventure.
Recommendation: Counselling for both juvenile offenders.
Billy and Max had been naïve participants in a crime which had been instigated by the older boys: Charlie, who had stolen the Mitsubishi, and Baz, who had found the grog in the boot.
Now. Dead and gone. Dust in the wind, Joel shook his head, got out of the car and stretched his back.
He had left the engine idling, the only noise in the desolate surroundings. It would be a long walk back to the road, if the battery happened to die on him tonight. Daylight would soon start to fade.
He had to act fast, searching for something in the dark with a torch was hard enough, let alone not knowing what he was actually looking for.
In his mind, Joel retraced the route from the bitumen road to where he was standing. Although, he hadn’t studied a map of the area in detail, he was aware that Stony Creek was not far from here. The creek snaked its way around in tight bends. All he had to do was find the most direct path between here and the water, hoping to come across anything that was unusual.
Joel slowly stepped his way in the direction of the creek, skirting along the scrub, scanning the ground left and right, assessing the random rubbish: crushed cans, torn chip packets, scattered supermarket promo, and a soiled shoe. Wait a minute.
A shoe.
Loosened laces. Men’s shoe. Left shoe. Left foot. Size? Eight maybe. Not real big. Joel had stopped dead in his tracks. The foot from the crab pot? Left. Left foot. Joel’s throat took a gulp.
He had to decide, he had to contact Fiona … No. He had to ring Wilder. Decisions. Should he leave the evidence here? Would forensics come out and do another sweep? His fingers fidgeted for his mobile and without taking his eyes off the shoe, he pressed the direct line number on the speed dial.
“Still on the job, boss?”
“Not seven yet.” The short answer.
“I think I found something we’ve been waiting for.” Joel’s voice was rushed.
“Steady on. What did you find?”
“Not far from the taxi-site, probably about halfway from it to the creek, I came across a shoe. A men’s left shoe – to fit a left foot.”
“Have you got any sterile evidence bags with you?” Wilder asked.
“Maybe a shopping bag in the car.”
“Find one, use it. Get it to the lab straight away. Bit of luck someone might be working late.”
Joel ran back to the idling car, his hands combed the back seat for a plastic bag. Got one! Panicked by the rapidly fading light of day he sprinted back to where he remembered the shoe was resting among the weeds. He folded the plastic bag over the shoe, picked it up, upturned the bag, taking the evidence back to the car.
Regardless what the shoe would reveal about its owner, Joel was sure that the taxi, shoe and the missing cab driver were connected.
CHAPTER 34
NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK?
The news wasn’t good. The early morning phone call from the vet clinic got him out of bed, dressed in a hurry. It wasn’t a matter of life and death. Your signature is needed on a consent form. To agree to another operation, with the understanding about the risks.
“Would you like to come through?” That sweet British voice. She had her head poked out of the door that led to ‘recovery’. Her shoulder length hair hung loose. Darren followed her in.
The vet clinic was not air-conditioned. Today’s humidity invaded every nook and cranny, inside or out. It was impossible to hide the perspiration on her T-shirt. Ruby regretted not having put her hair in a pony-tail this morning. Normally, she would be factual, impassive but sympathetic about a complication which could potentially have a negative outcome from an operation. In this case, she was apprehensive: Helen called it, emotionally attached. Ruby had taken a liking to Patch.
Darren still couldn’t figure out if her eyes were green, or hazel. Didn’t matter. Her eyes were dazzling. Today, she didn’t have a lab-coat on, revealing her shapely, lithe body. Her polite, friendly humbleness belied an air of confidence, or was it guardedness? There was an underlying intensity about her, Darren couldn’t put his finger on. He wanted to get to know her better.
Ruby cleared her throat, “Patch didn’t have a good night. He seemed to be in pain. Restless, and whining. We gave him extra sedation.” She directed her gaze from Darren to Patch, who was out to the count.
Darren stood silent. Today was supposed to be the ‘let’s-go-home-trip’, this morning’s call changed all that. He was too scared to ask the question.
“Patch needs this surgery. Helen is coming in soon,” Ruby murmured.
She sensed his worry. The far-away look in his eyes, wondering what he’d do without Patch. She had seen it many times. People become so attached to their pets. She touched his bony fingers with hers, leading him.
“Please don’t worry. Helen will find out what’s wrong. She doesn’t believe he’s in mortal danger. Come. Just say ‘hello’ to him. He might even come round.” She stepped aside and put her hand on his back to usher him towards Patch.
***
The energy had drained from him this morning. Darren hadn’t been prepared for such a setback. When he left the clinic, he didn’t return to his car, instead he set out walking with no real destination. Time disappeared into a tunnel. The sweat on his forehead, the sting in his eyes told him that he’d been out in the heat for longer than he really wanted to be. He walked towards the riverbank. This part of the Ross River was fresh water; separated by dammed walls, these weirs kept the upper parts of the river system relatively safe from saltwater crocs. The colour of the water was a deep green and relatively clear. Darren sat on the grassy edge of the shore, knees up, elbows resting on them. In front of him, the breeze lapped the water quietly against the edge of the grass-covered bank. Now and then, a turtle head would pop the surface. Darren marvelled at the sight. The closer he scanned the water’s surface the more of the freshwater turtles he’d see. The light breeze that brushed the water’s surface cooled him. Wearily Darren succumbed to the calm surroundings, dropping his back and head to the soft grass beneath him. He lay down looking up at the glare of the sky. Overcast. He shut his eyes and drifted away.
The vibration of the mobile woke him, he immediately sat up to attention. He didn’t recognise the number.
“Hello, is this Darren?” The voice was polite and utterly pleasant. Darren identified the familiar tone and accent.
“Yes.”
She hurried, “An X-ray revealed a very small bone splinter. Needle in the haystack small. Helen is going to remove it late this afternoon. This surgery will be delicate and take time.”
“Right.” His voice was quiet. “Reckon it’s been causing him all this grief?”
“Possibly, all along. The infection would certainly have slowed his recovery. I can’t really promise things. I am not a veterinarian. I have some experience in medical care. I am hopeful that removing this bone fragment will greatly improve his chances for recovery. Shall I ring you after surgery?”
“Yes … I mean please. Thanks.”
“That’s a pleasure,” Ruby replied.
She ended the call.
Ruby returned the handset into the charger base. She stood at the reception counter for several minutes. The clinic had closed for consultations for the day. The afternoon would be taken up with surgery.
She was on edge.
Not like her, at all. She was a collected person, reserved and focussed.
…Not always.
She had been different in the past, in her late teens … before her stint in the British Army.
Rebellious, yes.
Impulsive, yes.
Disciplined, no.
“Ruby.”
“Yes. Sorry, off with fairies for a moment.” Ruby spun around facing Helen.
“Let’s get ready for the afternoon, shall we?”
>
“Of course. I’ll prep the room for surgery right now.”
***
Later that afternoon.
“Well that was a marathon.” Helen had finished drying her hands and threw the towel into the laundry bin.
“Felt like a successful mission,” Ruby responded.
“Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I don’t know about that. But thank you.” Ruby looked up with a smile of satisfaction.
She continued wiping the surgery table with sanitiser. When done, she removed her surgery apron, dumping it into the laundry bin, before carrying it off to the laundry.
She checked her watch. 5.58pm.
I should ring him.
She wasn’t tense like earlier, although she still felt butterflies, picking up the phone and tapping Darren’s mobile number into the handset.
It didn’t take long for him to answer.
“Hello.”
“Oh, hello Darren, it’s Ruby from the veterinary clinic.”
“Hi.” His heart rate was up.
“Helen is happy with the outcome of the surgery.”
Darren sighed with relief, “That’s great news.”
“He’ll still need rest, but with an extra course of anti-biotics, the infection should clear.”
Darren took a deep breath quietly, “I owe you one. How about I buy you a coffee, or morning tea?” He stumbled on his words. “Or dinner.”
A long pause.
“Perhaps,” Ruby answered.
Darren’s heart sank. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her.
“A raincheck. I’ll take a raincheck. Sorry, but I must go. I will ring you,” she said reassuringly. “Bye, for now.” And ended the call.
Not a yes, but not a no either. Darren felt better.
CHAPTER 35
NOWHERE TO RUN
Eddie had pushed the Charade hard. Too hard.
After throwing his meagre possessions in the back seat of the car, he’d left the caravan park – in a hurry. Lack of sleep, the painful injuries to his right forearm and hand, the energy expended from the escape left him drained and desperate for refuge. With no time afforded to think ahead, he found himself sitting behind the wheel of his Charade travelling north towards Cairns.
It all happened so bloody fast. He was barrelling down the Bruce Highway with views to Hinchinbrook Island to his right, the majestic dark green mountains were air-brushed with a haze from humidity. It was late afternoon, and suddenly he realised the red needle hovering over the ‘E’ symbol of the fuel gauge. He had no idea how much further to get to Cardwell. He’d never been this far north. He started to worry. How long had that gauge been like that?
Townsville had been a luckless journey. Escaping from Sydney after the Manly shoot-out and being lured to North Queensland by that creepy low-life called Martin, had turned his life into a shamble. At first, he thought that meeting Davo, a fellow biker, was good luck, didn’t that all turn to shit! He grunted under his breath. Eddie never liked Ryker, but he had a measure of respect and liking for Davo. Poor bastard lying in his own blood. That’s bad luck buddy, tripping and gutting yourself with your own knife! And Eddie did feel a nanosecond of regret having to leave his former mate bleeding out on the tarmac. Ah, fuck ya, it was your own doing.
Then it started.
An intermittent shudder.
The engine started hesitating, the car slowed in chunks of lost speed. Eddie slipped the Charade out of gear, and used what momentum was left to coast down the hill as the engine died. The little car came to rest a few hundred metres further, just as the highway began to climb. FFFFuckk! Out of petrol.
Twilight. Soon it would be pitch black.
He sank back into his seat. Cramped because of his size the car made him claustrophobic. It was eerily still. A couple of crickets were chirping, alternating from opposite sides of the road. The sounds of nightfall were tuning like an orchestra before the performance. Eddie heard a mozzie buzzing, attacking his ear. He slapped his ear trying to smack it dead. In the fading light, he could see a thousand predators converging on his warm sweaty arms. He instinctively reached for the Aerogard – it felt light as a feather. Fuck! The aerosol can would be down to the last remaining squirts of repellent. Eddie squeezed the button spraying the contents on his arms, his face, neck and shoulders until empty. That didn’t take long. Angry at his predicament he threw the can out of the window.
The whoosh of a car travelling past at high speed surprised him – still enough light to see the car disappear in the distance, despite it not displaying any tail-lights or headlight beam.
A ride, he needed to flag someone down and get a lift. Eddie didn’t like his chances for a lift. Drivers wouldn’t be inclined to stop, especially when travelling at speed. At night they would think twice: could they be bothered turning around? Or was it possible that something bad could happen to them?
And the later into the night, the less chance someone would stop. And not without good reason, Eddie schemed.
***
Back at the copshop in Townsville…
Wilder put the phone down. He had just been informed that the caravan where one, Edward Boris Livanescunic last resided had been vacated in a hurry. All that was left in the van: a half-eaten ham sandwich, an unflushed toilet with a great big turd swimming in it, as Joel Shallowater described in grubby detail.
Wilder sat back against his chair. Joel had interrupted his reflections on the report from forensics about the shoe and the foot. Now his mind was on Eddie. This bastard is in deep shit. As are we, because he’s long gone. Big country to disappear into. He flicked the single-page report on top of the other paperwork covering the desk like carpet.
There was no doubt in Wilder’s beliefs that a criminal like Eddie whose scoreboard included the cold-blooded murder of two police officers, allegedly a bouncer and now, most probably a taxi driver, would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. But what was it that Eddie wanted most? That was a mystery.
Finding the answer to that question would make catching the bastard much easier. From being a wanted killer in NSW a week ago he had quickly climbed the ladder to being the number one suspect in the taxi driver’s disappearance. Soon that would be upgraded to murder, although only part of a body had been found.
He didn’t kill for fun, or to satisfy some shortcoming, or weird head-trip – he killed because he could. It made him unpredictable, desperate to survive and a sure bet for repetition. Eddie would have to be hunted down. He would have nowhere to run – but everywhere to hide.
Unless, of course, Eddie would leave a trail to follow. And he’d already started: two bikers in a serious condition in hospital. One of them, the biker who’d been stabbed, his survival was not assured.
Wilder looked down at the report and read the summary again:
…The size of the shoe, and its wear shape correlates with the foot pathology findings. Blood sample A from shoe matches DNA from foot.
Awaiting results from Sydney regarding cross matching second blood sample ( Blood sample B ) found on shoe with blood samples collected from crime scene in Manly: concerning shooting deaths of two police officers.
The disappearance of the taxi driver could now be confirmed as murder, despite the rest of the body was missing.
The ink was starting to dry: Last pick-up of the missing driver – right next to bikers’ clubhouse. Known associate of bikers: Eddie. Wanted for murder: Eddie.
It was time to make phone calls to Sydney.
***
Eddie glanced at his watch. It was late. His stomach was rumbling and he was thirsty. For a few hours, he alternated from sitting in the car, doors open, to standing against the car, bonnet down. Traffic had been light, however, by his own count between sixty and seventy cars would have passed going in either direction. Several trucks had thundered past, but Eddie gave them the thumbs up. Although truckies weren’t going to stop, they were able to use their radios to alert someone. Eddie didn’t want a
ny attention from coppers. So far, no coppers had passed, but he was bound to run out of luck.
But maybe not right now. He saw some lights approaching, but slowing.
An older model white Toyota Camry had just driven past him, stopping about eighty metres ahead, pulled over on the grassy verge. The driver had left the engine running. No movement or sign of anything coming from the parked car. After a minute, the reversing lights came on and the Camry started to move in closer.
Eddie sank further into his seat.
He’d stayed down, now lowering himself onto the passenger seat to hide. He heard a car door open. Eddie took a quick peek over the dash. Despite the dark he could make out a person getting out of the Camry. A torch shone a dull beam into the Charade. Eddie ducked.
After a brief pause, he heard footsteps. They were slow in approach. Eddie wished he had a weapon. The person with the torch came closer. The light beam wiped over the Charade. Eddie shut his eyes and waited.
“Shit.”
The torch shone into Eddie’s flickering eyes.
“Sssorry. Shit. Didn’t see there’s someone in the car.”
“I ran out of petrol. Thought I’d wait until morning to find a ride. Catching up on some sleep seemed like a good plan,” Eddie explained as he righted himself behind the wheel.
Eddie switched on the headlights of the Charade. A bony, sixty-something man with a grey straw beard lifted his torch. He spread his mouth to reveal a bicycle rack, the nervous smile stretched the wrinkles from his forehead right down to his lower jaw.
“New South Wales plates. Long way from home,” the wiry man mumbled, retreating to give the driver of the Charade room to get out.
“Yeah. On a road trip. You know, see the tropics. I’m on a bit of a holiday,” Eddie replied, and got out of the car.
He towered over the bony stranger. The man was assessing him with suspicious eyes.
“But since you’re here maybe I could get a lift to the next town with you. What’s your name?”
A Tropical Cure (A Darren Mangan Thriller Book 2) Page 16
