by June Whyte
“Good boy, Leroy,” I said to the dribbling brown and white Tim Tam addict.
Jack quickly bent to untie his legs. “If we wedge the table under the door handle that should keep them out until the cops arrive.”
“Good thinking Captain Jack,” I answered, grinning my approval as he untied the knots around my wrists and ankles.
It was sooo good to be free of those biting ropes. A prickly chill chased down my spine and I shivered. I’d always taken freedom for granted. Considered it part of everyday life. Yet Sam and that dirty double-crossing cop had taken it away from us as easily as nicking a baby’s lollypop.
Twenty-One
Before Jack even started to untie the others I was through the office door and into the warehouse.
“Be careful, Cha,” warned Jack.
I closed the door with a lonely echoing clunk.
Immediately the suffocating darkness wrapped itself around me.
I was on my own.
The noise of the bongo drums inside my chest sounded so loud it’s a wonder the warehouse rats weren’t dancing to the music. I shuffled forward. Then blinked. Held my hand up—couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.
How the heck was I going to find my way out of here?
Arms outstretched, I slid one foot cautiously in front of the other. It was like trying to walk in thick black treacle.
Okay, I could do this, I told myself. I’d gotten us into this mess so now it was up to me to get us out again.
At last my outstretched hand found a wall, the texture rough under my fingertips. Following this solid mass, I crept forward, feeling my way to the entrance.
It was so good to be outside. Fresh air and freedom had never felt so good. I hid behind a crate and watched the two figures standing close to the edge of the wharf. One looking up and down the waterway, tension in every movement. The other roaring and shaking his fist at the empty river.
Looked like time was running out for all of us.
By the time I found where Sarah and I had left our bikes, I was totally creeped out. Every shadowy shape in front of me looked like a man with a gun. Every rustle behind me was Sam following with a lump of wood. So when I tripped over the white cat I muffled my Nightmare on Elm Street scream, my legs collapsed under me like a sandcastle in the tide. And we both ended up in a tangle on the ground.
“Geez, Cat,” I gasped, stroking his cold little ears. He rubbed his body up against my arm. “Yeah, great to see you too, but you’ll have to start wearing a bell around your neck.”
The cat, his whiskers tickling my arm, purred loudly.
“Can’t sit here and chat,” I told my new feline friend. “Right now, I have to ring the police.”
Evidently craving affection, the cat pushed his face into mine, purring like a motor boat at full throttle.
“You don’t want to hang about here, Cat. There’s big trouble brewing. Two mean crooks have my friends holed up in a warehouse further down the wharf and one of them has a gun.”
While the cat appeared to digest this information, I stood up, rummaged under the blanket in my bike basket for the mobile phone, dialed 000 and repeated my words to the police.
The warmth of the cat’s body as he rubbed and scrubbed against my legs was comforting even through the denim of my jeans.
“You’d better go hide now,” I whispered, reluctantly pushing him away with my foot. “It’s not safe here.”
Feet dragging, I began retracing my steps along the wharf.
I really didn’t want to go back to the warehouse.
Didn’t want to see Sam and Nick again.
My stomach whirled and twirled and gurgled until with a quick sprint to the edge of the wharf I tossed my steak eggs and chips and something resembling thick cheese rinds into the river.
Ooooooohhh…
Every nerve, every brain cell cried out, Get going…escape while you can. But I couldn’t—I had to make sure the others were safe.
By the time I reached Wharf 6 and crouched down behind a stack of large wooden boxes, my legs were shaking uncontrollably.
“This is all Frank’s fault.” I heard Nick growl.
“What are ya on about?” Sam answered.
“Why did the moron use a microfilm instead of a memory card?”
“I dunno, do I? Frank was the brain, not me.”
“Brain?” I heard Nick spit in the river. “If Frank hadn’t been in a 1970s time warp we wouldn’t be standing here now.”
“Whatya mean?”
“I mean I’d be home uploading photos of the secret weapon from the memory card onto my computer. Then it would be a simple matter of emailing the images across to Mustafo, instead of meeting him on the Intrepid.”
Sam took another glance at the river. “Still no lights.”
I could see Nick beginning to pace.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, man. Our contact said the boat would be here at 8.30. It’s now after 9.”
“How much longer do we wait?” Sam sounded anxious.
Nick stopped pacing. There was a short silence before he spoke again. “I say we get rid of the evidence and scram.”
Get rid of the evidence?
Oh no!
Don’t panic, I told myself. He could mean the microfilm. Or drugs. Or he could be talking about a pile of cash…
But the evidence could also be us!
I couldn’t hang around any longer. It was up to me to let Sarah and my two friends out of that office.
With my eyes now completely attuned to the dark, it took barely thirty seconds to reach the back of the warehouse.
“Hey, guys,” I whispered through a crack in the door. “It’s me, Cha.”
“Oh, Cha!” Sarah’s voice, soft and wobbly came from the other side of the door. “I thought they’d got you. Tied you up and tossed you in the river.”
“Nope—no chance of inheriting my favorite holey jeans yet,” I answered smiling in spite of the situation.
“What’s going on?” Jack whispered.
“We’ve got to get out of here. Now! Things are looking mighty ugly outside. Sam and Nick are talking about getting rid of the evidence.” I paused, a lump of ice stuck in my chest. “Don’t panic, but that could mean us.”
I heard grunts. More whispers. And the sounds of moving furniture.
First on one foot, then the other, I kept peering over my shoulder, restless fingers pulling at the hem of my tee-shirt.
“Shhhh…they’ll hear you,” I whispered. Then, in complete contrast, “Can’t you move it any faster?”
When the door opened, the weak light from the room shone out. Tayla, my best friend in the world, stumbled through the door straight into my arms. Sarah came more slowly. Then out tumbled Jack, his red hair standing on end.
I hugged Tayla and grabbed Sarah’s outstretched hand.
“No time to waste,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I…Don’t…Think…So.”
Oh snot!
It was too late. The deadly duo stood right behind us.
Wishing I was a million miles away, I turned around slowly. There was Sam holding a piece of two by four and Nick with his gun pointing right at the middle of my whirling stomach.
Twenty-Two
What happened next was like one of those weird slow motion dreams where you’re stuck to the ground—can’t move a muscle—can’t blink an eye—only watch things happen around you.
One second I was standing there, shoulders slumped, heart around the vicinity of my sneakers, thinking, Oh no…not again! The next, from out of nowhere appeared my new friend, the white cat. Meowing a frenzied long-time-no-see greeting, he came running on stiff legs toward me. With that, Leroy (yes, my Leroy), fur prickling along the back of his wrinkled neck, slime splattering from his open mouth, barked a warning and then made a great leap in the direction of the cat, crashing like an army tank into Nick’s legs on the way through.
As you can imagine—I was
completely gob smacked.
In fascination I watched Nick stagger, topple like a fallen tree trunk then bounce along the ground on his bum. Finally he smacked his head against the cement floor with a lovely loud thump.
And immediately went to sleep.
While this was happening, his gun spun in the air.
Tayla reached one hand out and caught it.
Jack and Sarah dived on Sam.
And six police cars screeched into the warehouse, turning night into day with their dazzling headlights and flashing red and blue sirens.
To say I was totally blown away was to say Mt. Kosciusko was a big hill.
I stood there, mouth open and a wild irrepressible giggle building up inside me. Leroy the Lion-hearted, Sarah the Sassy, Tayla the Terrible and Jack the Giant-killer. All characters from my own private movie show.
At the first sign of the men in blue, the air went right out of Sam’s sails while ex-constable Nick Roberts slept on. Oblivious. The last we saw of them was when one was led past, hands cuffed behind his back and the other was carried by stretcher to a waiting ambulance.
“Well, hello there. How’s my favorite team of junior P.I.’s?” I looked around to find Constable Krystal Masters, owner of Sweetums, the ugliest feral dog in the universe, standing behind us. Arms overflowing with blankets and a large silver police-issue thermos.
“Looks like you’ve wrapped this case up, kids. Though I have to say, it was a really dumb move tackling criminals on your own.”
I blinked at Krystal. “But aren’t you from the Water Police?”
“That’s right. An hour ago we impounded The Intrepid. That’s the boat your two kidnappers were expecting to arrive almost an hour ago.”
“Did you make any arrests?” asked Jack.
“After discovering eight million dollars’ worth of illegal drugs aboard, we promptly arrested the captain, the crew and a guy who alleged he was just an innocent passenger.”
“Mustafo?” I prompted, remembering the name of Nick’s contact.
“That’s the one. After we discovered he was a spy wanted in about six different countries we locked him up and threw away the key.”
She turned to me and smiled. “By the way, did you ever find the owner of that pink handkerchief?”
“No, but I’m working on it.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Krystal must have noticed Tayla’s white face and wobbly legs because she quickly wrapped a blanket around my friend’s shoulders, took Nick’s gun from her and eased her to the ground.
“Looks to me like you could all do with a drink of hot chocolate.” she pronounced handing the thermos and blankets to a passing junior constable. “Unfortunately, I can’t stay. I’m needed back at the station. But Constable Schultz here will look after you until your parents arrive.” Her smile took in every one of us. “Next time you’re passing by drop in. Paul and I would love to see you.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll be baking any of that scrumptious chocolate cake?” asked Jack, drooling in anticipation.
Krystal’s smile grew wider as she called over her shoulder. “I’m always baking chocolate cake.”
As Krystal moved off, Leroy the Lion-hearted made his entrance, shoulder to shoulder with the white cat. Like a couple of gunslingers entering a salon they swaggered toward us.
I kept getting this awesome picture of Leroy, ragged ears flapping, green slime slurping as he arced through the air. It was so funny. I couldn’t keep the gaggle of giggles tumbling around inside me under control any longer.
Of course, once I started giggling, that got Tayla going and before long the four of us were bent double, rolling on the ground, wet-your-pants hysterical.
“The look on Nick’s face—”
“What about when I caught the gun? Couldn’t do that again if you paid me six thousand dollars.”
“What about Jack and Sarah’s footy tackle?”
“Sam didn’t know what hit him.”
“And Leroy! What about when Leroy?” I could barely get the words out through choking chuckles.
At that moment a battered grey Holden nosed its way into the warehouse and pulled up on the far side.
“Uh! Oh!” Tayla, laughter drying up at the sight of her mother climbing out of the Holden and immediately flashing a leg at the nearest plain-clothes detective, shook her head.
Next minute there was a squeal of tires as a red Celica, burning rubber as it broadsided, screamed through the warehouse door and almost collided with the rear bumper of a police car.
My eyes misted over as the car doors flew open and two familiar figures scrambled out. I dropped the blanket and with Leroy and Cat on my heels and Sarah’s hot breath on the back of my neck, I belted across the warehouse toward their outstretched arms.
“Mum!” I sniffed back tears as the scent of her vanilla perfume wrapped itself around me.
Sarah was in Ken’s arms, caught up in a huge bear hug.
“I was so scared, Dad,” she said huskily. “I thought they were going to kill us.”
Then she turned to Mum, hesitant, until Mum’s arms went out to her. I slipped underneath and sought the warmth of Ken’s rough tweed jacket against my cheek, enjoying the security of his strong arms as I snuggled against his chest.
Suddenly we were in a group hug. A hug where no bad guys could get us. No nightmares could follow. Safe. Warm. And loved.
Amid tears, laughter, and threats of life-long groundings, we hung onto each other as though there were no more tomorrows. I burrowed deeper. This was my family. Mum, Ken, Sarah and me. And that’s exactly the way I wanted it.
After Jack took off for home in a police car, Tayla was left sitting in the middle of the blankets. Her mum, busy fluttering long mascara thick eye-lashes at the Chief Inspector, hadn’t even bothered to check on her still shaking daughter.
I pushed away from my warm cocoon and looked at Mum. Mum smiled and nodded. “I’ll go get her,” she said and walked across to Tayla.
I watched her bend down and gently pull the blanket from Tayla’s shoulders, then offer a hand to pull her up. Together they returned to our group.
“I just told this one she’s not missing out on the lecture.” Arm still around Tayla’s shoulders Mum frowned. “I’ve a good mind to bang all your heads together. There’s not a brain between the three of you.”
“Sorry, Mum,” I said, examining the toes of my sneakers.
“Yeah, sorry Mum,” said Sarah, then blushed and grinned. It was the first time she’d used the term, Mum. It was usually Marg.
Without missing a beat, Mum pushed a stray tendril of fair hair from Sarah’s eyes then turned back to Tayla.
“Would you like me to talk to your mother, dear?”
“No thanks Mrs. Ryan, I’m fine.”
Straightening her shoulders, Tayla walked across to the car and took her mother’s arm.
“Come on Mum,” she said leading her away from one rather embarrassed plain-clothes detective. “Let’s go home.”
The last thing we heard as they climbed into the car was, “Why can’t you be a little more considerate, Tayla? You dragged me away from a romantic dinner with Stevie. By the time I get back he’ll probably be gone.”
Mum’s arm tightened around my shoulders and I wondered, not for the first time, how, when God was giving out mothers, I was lucky enough to draw such a good one out of the hat.
Twenty-Three
In a display of lightning fast kicks and a karate-chop to the side of the neck, the criminal sagged to the ground. Beaten.
Rebecca Turnbull glanced across at her canine P.I. assistant. “Everything taken care of over there, Fang?”
Standing over the other man’s body, Fang snarled. A blood chilling snarl that had the man wetting the front of his trousers as he gazed at the sharp teeth millimeters from his throat.
Turnbull strode towards her silver Jaguar. She whistled to Fang as the men in blue tumbled out of their police cars.
&nb
sp; Even as she folded herself into the sports-car, her mobile rang.
“Rebecca Turnbull, Private Investigator,” she said, opening the passenger side door for Fang.
“Yes, Minister. The microfilm has been recovered. The criminals arrested. And the case closed.”
I let out a yell and punched the air with my fist. Rebecca Turnbull: The Case of the Disappearing Corpse was finished.
What a beautiful, fantastic, wonderful word.
Placing my fingers on the keyboard, I typed The End, then frowned. Unlike Rebecca Turnbull—my case was still open.
I had two unsolved mysteries that kept niggling away like an aching tooth. Who owned the pink handkerchief? How did Frank disappear then turn up two days later in the back shed? Sam admitted killing Frank—so why would he lie about shifting the body?
And then it hit me. The last piece of the jigsaw suddenly fell into place. I’d been staring at the answer all the time. It was something someone had said…
Letting out a loud Whoooopeeee, I scrambled to my feet. “Sarah!” I yelled. “Time to bring the team together one more time.”
An hour later, I turned into Edward Street and marched right past the house where Patsy had tripped over Frank’s body. The other four members of my fabulous P.I. team swaggered along beside me. Jack the Giant-killer, Tayla the Terrible, Sarah the Sassy and Leroy the Lion-hearted. Cat, much to his disgust, was locked in the laundry room at home.
As we marched past the white picket fence, I noticed the flattened pansies were making a recovery. But we didn’t stop there. We proceeded to the house next door where, stenciled in heritage green paint on the letterbox were the names Trevor and Katherine Murch.
Katherine March was the lady I’d spoken to outside the hairdressers the day I’d been tailing Constable Nick Roberts.
With my P.I. cloak firmly in place, I lifted the latch on the gate, strode up the path and knocked on the front door.
“Good afternoon, madam,” I said, smiling at Mrs. Murch while ignoring my four-legged assistant who’d decided the nearest rose bush needed watering. “Remember me…Chiana Ryan? I have a few questions to ask you about a disappearing body. May we come in please?”
