by Anita Bell
‘What’s the nearest base to his home town, Corporal?’
‘I believe that would be Amberley, sir, southwest of Brisbane.’
Chang nodded. ‘Verify and get me a pilot — three seats,’ he told his aides. ‘You’re both coming with me.’
Maxwell waited, unsettled by their private conversation. ‘I’ll get the MP’s over right away if you’re worried,’ he offered, realising that the disappearance of a soldier under his command reflected badly on him. ‘I was going to anyway.’
‘You do that,’ Chang said, not expecting the military police to have much success. Military police were the defence force equivalent of civilian police, which meant wherever they went, people tended to keep their mouths shut for as long as possible.
‘Would you like to take a look at his bunk yourself?’ Maxwell added.
‘Not necessary,’ Chang said, changing direction for the officers’ mess. Most men who flew by rotary wing liked to do it on an empty stomach. But Lieutenant Colonel Chang wasn’t most men.
‘Hello? Am I speaking to the young detective please, the one who was looking for a lost girl yesterday? This is Gertrude Wilhelm speaking — that’s Gertrude from Good Jobs Fast.’
Burkett nearly dropped his mobile, trying to pull his pen out fast enough. ‘Yes, Mrs Wilhelm,’ he said. ‘It’s Detective Kalin Burkett here.’
‘Which one are you? The handsome one with the silver hair, or that young thing with the horrible green tie?’
‘You’d better take this,’ Burkett said, handing Parry his pen and phone without saying goodbye to the woman. ‘It’s the employment agency.’ He flipped his wallet open and paid for the breakfast burgers at the McDonald’s drive-through.
‘Senior Detective Dean Parry,’ Parry said, wondering why Burkett was grinning. ‘How may I be of assistance?’
‘Oh such lovely manners,’ Gertrude said. ‘You don’t see such lovely manners around much these days, such a pity.’
‘Indeed, ma’am,’ Parry said. ‘You’ve remembered something?’
‘Oooh yes. That girl …’
‘Nikola Dumakis …’
‘Yes, Nikola Dumakis. I haven’t heard of her …’
There was a long pause. Parry tapped his fingers on the dashboard of the unmarked Falcon they’d borrowed from Brisbane CIB and waited for her to finish her sentence. Burkett handed him a strawberry thickshake, which he frowned at. He’d ordered Diet Coke.
‘… but there was this one girl Nikki, Nikki something. I remember her because of her uncle. He was so sweet you know, making sure she found a job and somewhere safe to live up here with a nice family, so her dad wouldn’t have to worry. He just wanted to check she was all right, without her knowing she was being taken care of.’
Parry sucked on his thickshake, listening.
‘She’s very independent apparently,’ Gertrude went on. ‘He made me promise not to tell her that he’d arranged the job for her. He wanted her to think she’d got it all by herself. I didn’t have to do much at all really. Such a lovely man.’
Yes, lovely, Parry thought suspiciously. ‘Up here? Did she mention where she was from?’
‘No dear, no she didn’t. She had dark circles under her eyes, though, like she hadn’t got a wink of sleep in ages. Some people don’t sleep well when they travel, you know. I don’t. And her bag had a ticket stuck to the handle, like baggage that had travelled interstate. Oh, will you listen to me,’ she added with a giggle. ‘I sound like Miss Marple!’
‘Was there anything else you remember about her?’
‘Oh yes. She had a necklace, a pretty silver one, but she had a nervous habit of twiddling it.’
‘You mentioned she had an uncle?’ That was news to him. As far as the file records showed, the only next of kin that Nikola Dumakis had left was Fletcher.
‘Oh, I am a silly goose,’ Gertrude giggled. ‘It would be written on his cheque, wouldn’t it?’
She hurried off before Parry could call her back. He heard papers shuffling.
‘Here it is,’ she said, picking up the phone again. ‘I always keep a list of names and addresses, phone numbers too if I can, of everyone I have to take a cheque from, in case they try to stiff me with a bouncy one,’ She giggled, feeling clever. ‘I jot a note of their car rego numbers too. The posh ones always seem to park out front, saves them wearing the soles off their expensive shoes I suppose. They’re the ones that try to stiff me the most, you know. The posher the car, the more debts they leave behind, I always say. Not like us working folks, hey Senior Detective?’
‘Indeed, ma’am,’ Parry said, wishing he could get to his breakfast burger before it got cold. ‘You mentioned you had names and addresses?’
‘Oh yes, there I go again. Okay,’ she said, flipping through pages again. ‘Okay, here it is. Fletcher Corp, that’s what was on his cheque. I banked it already, but I took a photocopy of it, even though he was nice. Signature looks like an Aaron J or T Fletch-something.’
Bingo! Parry thought, clenching his fist. Underwood’s report had placed Aaron John Fletcher in Sydney that week, but he couldn’t be in two places at the one time.
‘It’s a credit union cheque. Would you like the number?’
‘Oh, yes ma’am, I would,’ Parry said, scratching the details into Burkett’s notebook. ‘Got it,’ he said a few seconds later. ‘Now, ma’am,’ he said, feeling exceptionally lucky. ‘I don’t suppose I could also trouble you for the address of that job she went to?’
Nikki stood on the gravel near the steps of the verandah, hosing the thirsty roses. She checked over her shoulder every few minutes, each time disappointed to see the driveway empty.
Thorna had been gone for half an hour. She’d be gone another twenty minutes at least, driving the kids to school, but it wasn’t her car that Nikki was hoping to see. She’d been in the laundry most of the morning and had missed seeing Eric Maitland.
‘… to buy turpentine, if you must know!’ she’d heard a man’s voice shout over the washing machine. A door slammed as she poked her head into the hall, in time to see Thorna running up the stairs wiping her eyes. A moment later, she heard a car outside churning up gravel as it took off.
‘Is it always like this?’ she had asked the dog watching her through the laundry door, but its only reply had been to scratch at fleas and flop its head on the verandah floor.
Nikki twisted the nozzle to maximum force and aimed the water stream at each stalk of the nearly leafless roses one at a time. They clawed at the front verandah with their mouldy thorns like drowning swimmers trying to come ashore, but even at full stream, she couldn’t-budge the little white cocoon-like blobs that stuck in every fork.
She heard a noise and checked over her shoulder, this time not expecting a car. It was a creaky gate. Locklin was closing it from the back of a grey horse as he rode into an exercise yard near the stables. He was leading the chocolate horse, which was also saddled and he glanced her way before getting back to business.
She could ask him where the garden chemicals were, she realised, but decided she’d rather chew the plants clean with her teeth than ask him for help any day soon.
She turned, off the hose and headed upstairs to rummage through the cupboard under the kitchen sink. She found a spray bottle and filled it with vinegar to clean the fungus off the roses, half remembering from somewhere that it was supposed to be a natural cleaner. When that didn’t work, she filled a bucket with sudsy water, consoling herself that the label said the soap was biodegradable. And when that didn’t work, she scrubbed them with an old toothbrush.
The small fluffy cocoons scratched away easily and tiny clear bugs scurried for cover against the thorns. She heated and poured a kettle full of boiling water into the suds and finally, the bugs melted with the cocoons as she scratched them away.
Nikki knelt at the edge of the gravel, cleaning each rose stalk in turn, checking often over her shoulder as the splintered stones chewed into her knees. Red dots swelled beneath her s
kin, but she didn’t care. Her wrists were healing and the scratched knees made her wrists feel less out of place.
Nikki heard gravel crunch and saw the cattle dog trot across the driveway and collapse under a tree. The dog yawned and stared at her before drifting off to sleep. What a life, she thought, envying the dog as she moved on to the next rosebush — three down and two to go.
Wheels churned gravel on the other side of the house and Nikki strained to hear an engine, which grew louder. The powder blue bonnet of a Datsun sedan appeared and headed for the shade of the nearest tree where the dog was sleeping.
Nikki’s shoulders sagged. It was only Thorna.
The dog yelped, darting out from the bonnet that nosed over it and Nikki heard a gate creak again and then a whistle. The dog bolted for the stables. It licked Locklin’s riding glove as he dismounted and then collapsed into the shadow of the grey horse when he tied it up beside the chocolate one. Locklin stared at her, swung up onto the darker horse and rode back into the exercise yard, making riding look easy.
By the time he was circling again, the Datsun’s handbrake had jerked on and the engine had stalled. Thorna let her long legs escape the cramped space under the steering wheel as she got out.
‘I thought I asked you to finish the washing?’ she snapped without looking at Nikki. She pulled open the rear passenger door and reached in to her toddler.
I thought you said you’d be an hour dropping the twins at school, Nikki wanted to say, concentrating on keeping her wrists busy amongst the foliage.
‘What’s the good of working here, unless you’re going to do as you’re told?’
‘I’ve done the washing,’ Nikki said as Thorna unsnapped the buckle on the booster seat. ‘The last load was in before you left.’
‘What about the bedsheets from the crib?’ she said straightening and bouncing the baby onto her hip. ‘Bobby gets fresh bedding every day.’
‘Done,’ Nikki said.
‘And the twin’s uniforms for tomorrow?’
‘Drip-drying on the line. I noticed you were short on those, so I unpacked a few spares from the moving boxes so I wouldn’t have to wash every day. You’re on tank water, aren’t you?’
Thorna’s eyebrows pointed up. ‘You unpacked the boxes in the twins’ room?’
‘Not all of them,’ Nikki said, hoping she hadn’t offended her boss again. ‘I didn’t touch the toys or the curios. I thought you’d want to decide where they went.’
Thorna wiped a thin lock of grey-blonde hair from beside her ear, stuck her nose in the air as if for balance and carried Bobby up the steps onto the verandah.
‘Well, you figured wrong,’ she said, forcing huffiness into her voice. ‘Come upstairs. You’re wasting your time with those anyway,’ she added. ‘Eric owns them now. Their blooming days are over.’
‘Coming,’ Nikki said. I’ll just pack up first.’ She scratched the last parasites off the fourth bush and tipped the water over the last one, hoping it might help to kill them until she got back. She stopped pouring, hearing wheels turning again in the driveway.
She turned, feeling hopeful, and saw a dark blue Falcon come round the building. There were two men in the car. And they both wore dark suits.
Fletcher’s men wore dark suits.
Nikki grabbed the bucket and headed towards the steps. It can’t be them, she told herself, trying not to look awkward as she hurried to the kitchen.
The car accelerated to block her path and skidded in the gravel in front of her. The driver stared directly at her. She glanced to the stairs and then tp the stables. The grey horse was there, still saddled after its workout.
How hard could riding be? Her mind rushed, trying to remember where Locklin had put his foot.
The car door opened.
‘Nicole Dumakis!’ the driver called, getting out.
She dropped the bucket and bolted for the horse. Across the lawn and around a hitching rail she ran, almost making it to the stables. An arm swept around her belly and momentum swung her against a tree. Her back thumped against it, knocking the wind from her and she stared up into the eyes of a puffing stranger.
‘Detective Kalin Burkett, Sydney Central Police,’ he said, holding her in place with one hand and showing her an ID wallet with the other. The older man caught up and her captor nodded to him. ‘This is Senior Detective Dean Parry, Federal Police. We’d like to discuss a number of matters with you if we can?’
‘Now would be convenient,’ Parry added.
‘There’s a choice here?’ she said, with her arms pinned above her head. Movement caught her eye and she glanced to Locklin. Burkett followed her eyes, seeing the rider skid to a halt.
‘Back off!’ Locklin shouted, leaping the fence. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Police,’ Burkett said, holding his badge higher, and Locklin stopped, aware that revealing himself would ruin everything.
‘Oh yeah?’ he shouted, keeping just enough distance between them. They weren’t any of the local cops he knew, and Nikki’s wrists were squirming uncomfortably under Burkett’s hold. ‘Why so rough then?’ he said. ‘What’s she done?’
Burkett released Nikki and backed off, but not far. ‘None of your concern, sir,’ he said, straightening his jacket. ‘Just a little misunderstanding.’
Locklin and Burkett eyed each other like panthers circling the same prey. Nikki was cornered against the tree, breathing heavily. She hid her wrists behind her back and shifted her weight from side to side, as if ready to bolt again.
Locklin flicked the tip of his hat with his finger, letting his expression show that he’d be watching, then he climbed over the rails onto his horse again and resumed circling the exercise yard, only this time it was on a long rein at a quiet walk.
‘A friend of yours?’ Parry asked.
Nikki took her time answering, feeling for and pricking her finger on a branch of scarlet bougainvillea behind her. It shielded her from the house, and she snapped off a thorny branch and started plucking the leafy flowers to make herself a barbed whip just in case.
‘I only met him yesterday,’ she said, then she realised they’d want to talk to him too if they thought he was a friend. ‘He’s a creep,’ she added to deter them.
‘But you ran towards him?’ Burkett asked. ‘And he came running but to be your hero?’
‘I did not run towards him!’ Nikki defended, more hotly than she intended. ‘You scared me. And he’s not my hero! He’s just …’
‘Let’s start this again, Miss Dumakis,’ Parry offered. ‘We don’t think you’re guilty of your mother’s murder.’
That hit her in the gut. ‘You don’t?’
‘No,’ Burkett said, backing off further. ‘We don’t.’
‘But the sergeant in Sydney tried to arrest me!’
‘We don’t think you’re involved in smuggling or insurance fraud either,’ Parry continued. ‘But,’ he added with emphasis, ‘we think you know someone who is.’
Nikki stared wet-eyed, knowing instantly who he meant. She slumped against the tree.
‘Would you like to go somewhere else to discuss this?’ Burkett offered, seeing the colour drain from her face.
‘Doesn’t have to be a police station,’ Parry said, in case she didn’t know. ‘Anywhere you feel comfortable.’ He looked over his shoulder at the rider, who was still watching. ‘Somewhere private perhaps?’
‘No,’ she said, keen to stay in public. ‘Here’s fine,’ she added. Even if it was in front of Locklin.
‘You don’t really need a solicitor yet,’ Burkett added, seeing that she still didn’t trust them, ‘but we can arrange a legal representative for you if it makes you feel better — one that won’t be on anyone’s payroll except yours.’
‘I can’t afford a solicitor!’ she said. ‘Aaron controls Mum’s estate now!’
‘The state of New South Wales will pick up the tab.’
‘If the Federal Government doesn’t beat them to it,’ Parry added. ‘This case h
as been …’ he struggled for a polite way of putting it, ‘politically prickly. The PM is keen to prune the problem out before he retires ahead of the next election and we’d like your help if you’re willing to help sort things out. We can offer you protection.’
Nikki looked at Parry, encouraged by something in his voice to trust him. Burkett looked at Parry too, finally understanding how the old man had managed to get permission from parliament to work with him, hand in hand, Federal Police beside the local boys. Usually, they worked in cooperative teams, but Parry obviously had a way of earning trust and cooperation.
‘If we do this right,’ Burkett said, grinning, ‘you’ll get all your mother’s money back.’
‘It’s not the money!’ Nikki blurted, waving her makeshift whip at him. She pricked her finger on it again and threw it on the ground. ‘It’s just … it’s …’
‘We know,’ Parry said, understanding death from experience. ‘It’s your mum that you miss.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and she moved against him, sobbing into his jacket.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I thought I’d done all my crying on the train.’
Burkett stepped back, allowing them a moment.
‘No need to apologise, honey,’ Parry whispered more affectionately than he realised. He patted her back, trying to remain professional, but he felt the loss of his own daughter as if it were yesterday. ‘It’s nearly over,’ he said, hoping it was true.
Scott saw Janet Slaney through the cafe window on his way to school and remembered his promise to stick close to the town gossip. He coasted his Yamaha downhill to the back of the cafe and parked beside the industrial bin to surprise her near the back door.
‘Hi Janet!’ he said, as she came out. ‘Let me help you with that.’ He took the overflowing waste bin from her arms, leaving her speechless for a record eight seconds.
