Dead Dry Heart_A psychological thriller

by Toni Pike

  Nearly everyone raised their hands.

  “No questions, please,” I said firmly. “I’ll see you at my regular Friday morning press conference.” I strode out of the room as quickly as I could, with Ranjit and my colleagues trailing behind me.

  All day I dreaded the phone call from Barry Elliot, despite being frantically busy with work. He rang at precisely six and, much to Ranjit’s chagrin, I said that he could listen but insisted on doing all the talking.

  Barry greeted me with a tired smile as he scratched the grey fuzz on his scalp. “I’ve had everyone in the building working like slaves today,” he said. “We were able to confirm that your parents were murdered, which was fairly obvious because they couldn’t bury themselves. Only skeletal remains were found, but the cause of death is likely to have been blunt trauma to the head. In other words, they’d both been struck several times. Last night, Joshua Byrnes mentioned a rock, and we believe that fits with the type of weapon used to inflict the wounds.”

  My blood ran cold. All our efforts that night to hide them were in vain. “Hit on the head?” I asked as if hearing the news for the first time.

  “Precisely, but we have no other evidence to confirm the identity of the killer. We have no reason to think that it was anyone other than Joshua Byrnes. In that television interview he described how they were killed and that matches what we found. I suppose he just wants to point the finger at someone else.”

  “So it’s all over then?” I asked, suddenly realising that no one was blaming me for their deaths.

  “Yes – so far as the murder goes,” said Barry. “But there is something else to tell you.”

  All of my senses jumped into high gear as Ranjit leaned forward. They had found more evidence.

  Barry continued speaking. “After doing DNA testing we can definitely confirm that we have the bodies of Peter and Kylie Thompson.”

  That sent a shiver down my spine – absolute proof that the two skeletons were my parents. But I was still in the clear.

  Late the next morning, Barry Elliot held a press conference outside the police station in Port Hedland. But he did not expect the crowd of journalists there from across Australia, keen to find out if the PM was guilty of murder.

  Ranjit and I watched the television screen in my office while we ate a sandwich at lunchtime. But my appetite vanished as I waited for him to speak.

  Barry coughed several times before approaching the microphone. “I’m here to report on the findings following our discovery of two skeletons buried in the Great Sandy Desert. Joshua Byrnes showed us where the grave was located. We conducted a wide range of tests, including forensic examination of the burial site. I can confirm that the cause of death for both victims was blunt force trauma to the head. DNA testing confirmed that the two bodies were those of Peter and Kylie Thompson, the parents of Prime Minister Tyler Thompson.”

  There were loud gasps among the crowd. Barry waited for them to settle down as camera flashes reflected on his face.

  Then he continued. “However, I can find no evidence to confirm anything about the allegations that this crime was carried out by anyone other than Joshua Byrnes, who has already served his sentence. His description of the cause of death matches our findings, so in our view that confirms our original beliefs. There is nothing to suggest anyone else was involved.”

  My appetite suddenly returned and tears moistened my ears. I had escaped unscathed, my life and reputation still in one piece.

  I kept my head down for the next few days while the media had a brief period of frenzy, trying to explore every angle they could. Then the story suddenly disappeared from the news headlines.

  Joshua Byrnes had led the police to the bodies and told the truth about the murders, but no one had taken any notice. I could barely believe my luck. I still held the trust of the Government and my family seemed to love me more than ever before. Every time Charlie reached another milestone, we clapped and cheered as if it was a great moment in history.

  But I forgot that mud can stick to leave a permanent stain and should have realised that there would be more to come. Joshua had been humiliated and publicly accused once more of murdering my parents.

  He was not finished with me. In fact, he had barely started.

  ***

  Something surprising happened two weeks later when Ranjit walked into my office with a sheepish look. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” he said. “I want you to be the first person to know.”

  “So what’s the secret?” I asked, hoping that it wasn’t some shocking news about me.

  He sat on the teak chair opposite my desk and gave me a sly smile. “Remember Katie who was sending me all those messages?”

  “Yes, how could I forget? You were inundated with them.”

  “Well, we ran into each other a few weeks ago. Literally, that is – she backed into my car in the Canberra Centre car park.”

  I presumed that he wanted my advice about a dangerous stalker. “That’s terrible, Ranjit. Did you call the police?”

  “No, it was just an accident and there was hardly any damage.” My mouth dropped open as he continued talking. “She looked beautiful and was so embarrassed about everything. We’ve been back together for a few weeks now and I think she really might be the one.”

  “Are you engaged?”

  “Not yet, but for once in my life I’ve gone bananas over someone.”

  “Just don’t rush into anything. You can’t always judge a book by the cover,” I said. A sense of guilt rushed over me, knowing I was the perfect example: a fine exterior covering a rotten core.

  “My parents don’t know yet and they won’t be too pleased. They want to choose a bride for me.”

  “Then be sure you’ve made the right decision before you tell them. Remember that some people can have two very different sides.”

  “I will, thanks for your advice.”

  “My pleasure, any time.”

  He was retreating out of the room when I glanced at my computer screen and alarm bells started ringing in my head. There was another email from Joshua Byrnes, a simple message written in the subject line in bold letters.

  Please tell the truth.

  A surge of adrenaline hit me. There was no text in the body of the email and no signature. I reached for the delete button, wanting to eliminate all trace of it. The message vanished but stayed in my mind as if there was a sign tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.

  Normal people must find it easy to tell the truth, reveal secrets to their friends and family, live a life that isn’t fabricated on a titanic lie. Only Joshua Byrnes and me knew what really happened that night. We were both standing in a crowded room, the only two human beings who could smell the rotting carcass of a woolly mammoth in the corner.

  I had a terrible foreboding that something bad was going to happen and for once my psychic powers were correct.

  ***

  For months we’d been secretly planning a superfast train network from Sydney to Melbourne, and that week we’d scheduled the big announcement. The project was the realisation of a dream that I hoped would be my legacy. The relevant Departments had been hard at work and Ranjit, a specialist in infrastructure, had also been involved. He suggested that we hold a press conference in the middle of nowhere, as he called it: a commercial pine forest that was next to the proposed rail line.

  My entourage, including Derek Slade, my staff members and a small squad of police, travelled nearly two hours north of Canberra to a state forest in the picturesque Southern Highlands of New South Wales. We also brought two busloads of journalists and local dignitaries.

  It was an unlikely place to announce such a massive project. We parked on the side of a dirt road cut through the dense forest, and to our surprise there was a crowd of locals there to watch the proceedings. When all the television cameras were set up, Ranjit asked me to stand by myself in the middle of the road to address everyone. He stood on the sidelines with Derek Slade, who woul
d be speaking after me.

  “If everyone’s ready,” I said with a smile. When the crowd was quiet, I started my speech. “Thank you very much for being here today in this beautiful location just a short distance from the towns of Marulan, Bundanoon and Moss Vale in the Southern Highlands. As you know, we’re halfway between the great cities of Canberra and Sydney.

  “I’m here with the Minister for Infrastructure, Deputy PM Derek Slade, and I’m very pleased to announce an infrastructure project that will be of great significance to Australia’s future. Today marks the start of a project to build a superfast train, first from Sydney to Canberra and then on to Melbourne. In future years, this will be extended from Sydney to Brisbane. Planning has already started and construction of the rail line will get underway as soon as possible.

  “There will be several stations along the route, including a station in the Southern Highlands, not far from where we’re standing right now – and that’s the reason why we’re here today. There will also be stops in Wagga, Albury and the town of Shepparton in Victoria.”

  Everyone had given me rapt attention and they now applauded with enthusiasm – even the journalists.

  I basked in their support and then continued. “So, ladies and gentlemen, what do we mean by a superfast train? It will travel at about three hundred and fifty kilometres an hour, cutting the time for a trip from Sydney to Melbourne to three hours.”

  I paused for breath and looked around at the approving smiles.

  Then I heard a screech of tyres.

  The sound came from behind the trees and the vehicle was concealed by a bend in the road.

  Suddenly a three tonne truck turned the corner and raced towards us down the dirt road. Everyone cried out in shock and ran into the forest in all directions. The police tried to scramble to action, include Stan Wickowski, my head of security.

  I jumped for my life to the side of the road, just as three policemen reached out to help me.

  The vehicle swerved with horn honking and, in a cloud of dust, headed straight for me. I leapt out of the way to rescue myself before the police had time to react. As the vehicle flew past, the suction blast of air knocked me to the ground, jarring every bone in my body. The vehicle had missed me by centimetres.

  It tore down the road and out of sight.

  “I’ve got the number plate!” yelled Stan.

  Officers jumped into their cars and took off with doors still open as they chased after the truck.

  Then we heard a deafening thud.

  Stan was beside me, speaking into a hand-held radio that was clearly audible. I soon picked up that the truck had slammed into a tree two kilometres down the road. The police saw it a moment later, cabin door wide open but with no sign of the driver. “Look for the driver,” he roared into the radio, and then turned to me. “The offender’s run into the forest, sir, it’s as thick as hell in there but they’re looking for him.”

  “Tyler, are you all right?” asked Ranjit as he ran over and fell to his knees beside me. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Me too,” I replied, struggling to sit up and hitching up my shirtsleeves and trouser legs.

  “Don’t move, you might be injured,” said Derek, who was looking very pale.

  Less than a minute later, Stan received another message on the radio and then he turned his attention to us. “The vehicle was stolen in Mittagong this morning, probably by a teenager,” he said. “These country boys, some of them have nothing else to do but cause trouble. No one saw the driver, but we’re organising a manhunt. If we don’t find him today, there’s not much point trying after that – he’ll be long gone. But we won’t give up.”

  “He almost killed you,” said Ranjit, as if there was any need to remind me.

  “I realise that,” I murmured, sitting on the side of the road with blood oozing from gravel rash on my arms, legs and chin. Despite what Stan had said, I knew the driver was not a teenager.

  “I’m a nurse, I can help you, Mr Thompson,” said a woman in her forties, kneeling down beside me. “My name’s Cynthia.”

  I gave her a wan smile. “Thanks so much, Cynthia, I’d appreciate that.”

  She examined all my cuts and abrasions. “Nasty but just superficial,” she said. “You’re not sore anywhere else?”

  “I’ve called an ambulance, it should be here in a few minutes,” said Ranjit.

  “That’s not necessary,” I said.

  “It’s a good idea, you can’t be too careful,” said Cynthia. “Adrenaline kicks in after something like this and can mask a lot of pain.” The crowd was watching us at a distance, looking concerned and sympathetic.

  We heard the wailing siren and felt the rising dust as the ambulance arrived. Two paramedics patched me up, applying sticky plasters on the worst of my abrasions. Journalists, now coming to their senses after the drama, scrambled for photographs.

  “You’ll be fine tomorrow, a bad case of gravel rash,” said Ben, one of the paramedics. “Lucky you didn’t hit your head. You seem to be okay, so you can go straight back home to Canberra and take it easy for the rest of the day. Call a doctor if you do have any concerns.”

  “Thank you so much for coming out here,” I said.

  “That’s what we get paid the big bucks for,” he replied with a grin.

  Ranjit sat beside me in the back seat for the drive home and two police cars escorted us. “Letitia was shocked when I told her what happened,” he said.

  As we drove through the front gate she tearfully rushed out and ushered me inside, then forced me to stretch out and rest on the living room sofa. “I’m fine, Letitia, just some gravel rash, I don’t need to lie down,” I said, filled with relief to be safely back home and surrounded by a high security fence.

  “I’ll make you a cup of tea,” she replied. “And you’ll be taking it easy for the rest of the day.”

  Chapter 17

  The drama was all over the news, with images of the speeding truck, grainy footage of my close escape and the fruitless manhunt through the forest. The truck, wedged between two trees, was photographed from every possible angle. The headlines were predictably sensational.

  Murder attempt on PM

  Assassination plot foiled

  Stolen truck bowls over Tyler Thompson

  After a few more hours the headlines started to change and become a story about an accidental near miss.

  PM in Close Encounter with Stolen Vehicle

  Truck Thief Sends Tyler Thompson Flying

  Superfast Train Speech Skittled by Superfast Truck.

  The aftermath reminded me of the search for my missing parents more than twenty-five years earlier. There was a futile search for the fugitive truck thief, with dozens of policemen walking for miles, while I was the only person who seemed to know the truth. Joshua Byrnes had been behind the wheel and tried to kill me, or perhaps he was attempting to scare me into telling the truth. If that was his aim, he came close to succeeding.

  Letitia put Charlie to bed that night then brought me a cup of tea. Sitting next to me on the sofa, she kissed me tenderly. “Do the police really think it wasn’t a deliberate attack?” she asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders, really wishing that I’d killed Joshua when we met a few weeks earlier on Eighty Mile Beach – and hating myself for thinking that. “They seem to think that’s the most logical explanation,” I said.

  “You’ve had a shock today and anyone would be shaken up by that.”

  “There’s more to this than anyone understands.”

  She snuggled up to me and I could feel her warm breath on my face. “What do you mean, darling?” she asked.

  I locked eyes with her. “I think the driver was Joshua Byrnes.”

  “Byrnes?” she said, sitting up straight. “Did you see him in the truck?”

  “No one saw the driver, not even me, there was such a cloud of dust. But he came straight towards me. That was no accident. I know it was him.”

  “Have you said that to t
he police?”

  “No, this has to be our secret.”

  Her eyes were wild with confusion. “What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t we tell the police?”

  “I don’t want them to arrest him, I just want him to stay away from us.”

  She shook her head. “We have to tell them. He can’t be allowed to get away with things like that – you could have been killed.”

  “He wants to send me a message that can’t be ignored.”

  “What message?”

  “He says he wants me to tell the truth.”

  “Are you talking about that rubbish in the interview? He really needs to be locked up again – somewhere.”

  Letitia considered that he was the fiendish liar and had complete trust in me. It must have been the trauma of my near death experience, the speeding truck that almost touched my skin. There was that moment of weakness in the living room and, before I knew it, I was singing to my wife like a nightingale.

  At that moment I found myself staring at a fork in the road and needing to choose the way to go. One pathway was my life of lying to Letitia. The other way was to tell her the truth and hope that she remained my ally.

  “I’m sick of not knowing what will happen next,” I said.

  “No one can predict the future, except perhaps a fortune teller.”

  “I have to be honest with you, I need to tell the truth,” I said.

  Her face was dark with concern. “What truth, Tyler – what are you talking about?”

  “You know Joshua’s interview, that story he told?”

  “As if I could forget.”

  “It was the truth, Letitia.”

  Her eyes widened. She drew back and stood up. “What do you mean it was the truth?”

  Tears moistened my eyes. “I was eleven years old that night. Joshua ran away but then he came back and knocked my parents over as he struggled with them. I picked up a rock and hit them both on the head.”