by Garry Disher
Leah was about to reply that shed thrown away thousands of dollars worth of trouble, thinking that Moustache and Tatts were finished with them now, when she saw the Range Rover again, coming up hard behind. All of the details clarified in the mirror: the menacing snout of the Range Rover, the tinted glass like banded eyes, the barrel of a shotgun poking through the side window.
Damn.
What? said Tess sulkily.
They picked up the bag, but evidently they still want you.
Tess curled into a ball in her seat. Go faster.
I’m trying to.
It was no good, the Range Rover was too powerful. Leah braked suddenly, hoping it would flash past, but the other driver anticipated, braking too, then veering sharply, the bullbar slamming into Leah’s door. She lost control, the steering-wheel wrenching with a force that numbed her wrists, the vehicle going into a skid that turned into a roll. Her seatbelt snapped and she could do nothing as she tumbled about the interior like a sodden towel in a dryer. Her head smacked the mirror, her foot Tess’s shoulder. And then they were sliding along on the roof, the metal shrieking on the surface of the road, before settling in a culvert. Leah found herself on her side, staring out of the side window at the teeth of a broken beer bottle in the roadside grass.
Tess was screaming somewhere above her. Get me down.
Leah untangled herself, got a shoulder beneath Tess, unclipped her seatbelt and lowered her. She kicked at the passenger side door and it opened tortuously, metal grinding against metal, until they could step out onto gravel and weeds.
The Range Rover was there idling, watching, the morning sun at a shallow angle behind it. Otherwise the world seemed empty, flat and limitless. Hot metal ticked as it cooled and, thinking of spilt fuel and fire, Leah took Tess by the arm and moved her away from the panel van, ten metres, twenty, thirty, all the while watching the Range Rover, until Tatts lowered his window and called, Thats far enough.
Moustache got out. He carried a double-barreled shotgun. Then Tatts emerged. Both men began to close in, Moustache cracking open the shotgun and feeding a shell into each barrel. Leah tucked Tess behind her back. It was futile, and Tatts laughed.
You’ve got your drugs and money back, Leah said. Leave it at that.
Sorry, no can do.
Leah shook her head in disgust. What is this, some stupid code of honour?
Moustache shrugged. What can I say? Mr Stannage is not a happy boy.
Leah felt a chill. Carl Stannage was major league: drugs, prostitution, protection rackets, insurance scams… She gestured at the vast open sky and deserted farmland. Two armed men against two unarmed women. Yeah, really honourable.
But then the empty landscape wasn’t so empty and she heard the soft growl of approaching tyres, a blue Magna coming in behind the Range Rover. It was fitted with aerials and tinted windows and Leah realised where shed seen it before: the shopping-centre the previous afternoon. The Magna came closer. Tatts and Moustache saw it and Moustache quickly shoved the shotgun in through the open side window of the Range Rover. Tatts gestured, smiling broadly, waving the driver on. Its okay, he called, all under control, no ones hurt.
The Magna idled.
A car appeared from the opposite direction, towing a caravan. The driver slowed. Tatts waved him on, less patient now, more desperate. Its okay, he called, nothing to worry about.
If you’re sure? the driver said.
Yes!
When the car was gone a truck appeared. Tatts and Moustache waved it on. It was clear they were losing control of the situation, so Leah shouted, Look, its over, okay? Leave us alone. Head on back to Melbourne.
She saw them confer, distractedly waving on a farm pickup and then a school bus. Finally Moustache turned and fixed Leah and Tess with a quivering finger, shouting, If we see you two again, you’re history, understand?
Oh, tough guy, Tess shouted back.
Leah elbowed her. Shut up, for Gods sake.
When the Range Rover was gone, the driver of the Magna emerged. Leah saw a tall, sandy-haired man with a quizzical face. He was casually dressed in trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, a heavy-looking watch on his wrist.
Leah began to back away. I saw you at the cottage this morning. Who are you? What do you want?
He ignored the questions. Why were they waving a shottie at you?
Leah froze. Shottie was a cop word for shotgun. I asked you who you were.
The man held up both hands. He had to shout over the sound of an approaching truck loaded with hay. I tried to tell you earlier but you ran off. I’m a private detective.
Did you shoot that other man?
Had to.
Why?
He was going to kill both of you. Hop in the car and lets get out of here.
But Leah wouldn’t budge. I saw your car in Leighton Wells yesterday. You’ve been following me or us.
The man gestured impatiently at the truck to wave it on. Look, lets get out of here before were knee deep in helpful strangers.
Not till you tell us why you’re following us.
The man sighed. Tess, he said. Following Tess. Ive been hired by her school to bring her back.
chapter 15
He gestured them into the back of the car, saying, Theres no room in the front.
Leah saw that that was true. The front passenger seat and dash area was crowded with a laptop, probably for wireless messaging and making notes, CB radio, mobile phone, police scanner, and three vinyl and hard-shell bags that would probably contain a digital camera, a camcorder and a cassette recorder. The car was also fitted with a satellite navigation system, and an Esky sat in the footwell. There was even a plastic container, mercifully empty. Leah knew from her own experience that surveillance work often meant being cooped up in a car for hours with nowhere to pee. The work of private detectives was mostly routine and boring. They did everyday legwork for lawyers and insurance companies, taking statements, checking records, finding witnesses. They secretly filmed workers compensation claimants and cheating husbands and wives. They spent a large proportion of their time in front of a computer screen or in a car, which was like a mobile office.
The modern detective at work, she said.
The man appeared briefly perplexed, then realized what she was looking at and his face cleared. Yeah.
I’m Leah. You know who Tess is.
He nodded. She waited, watching him start the car, glance in the mirror and accelerate away. Finally she said, Do you have a name?
What? Sure. Theo Reed.
Don’t think Ive ever met a Theo before.
He shrugged, eyes fixed on the road. Guess its not that common.
Have you got ID? You are who you say you are?
In answer he fished inside his jacket, pulled out a thick envelope and passed it over his shoulder to Leah. Inside she found several A4-size pages stapled together. It was a contract between Penleigh Hall Church of England Girls Grammar School and Abbott Investigations Ltd., and countersigned by Dr Susan Heyward for the school and George Abbott for the company.
The school hired you, not the parents? Isn’t that unusual?
Reed shrugged. You’ll have to talk to the office about that.
Leah returned the contract to Reed. George Abbott is your boss?
Correct.
Are you going to tell him you’ve found Tess?
Already have, said Reed. Text messaged him on the mobile last night, once Id found the cottage, and again just now, before getting out of the car.
Tess seemed agitated. Are you taking me back to school?
Yes.
I wont go. You cant make me.
Leah joined in. Tess has good reasons not to return to that school.
Theo took his hands off the wheel briefly as if to say, Well, what can I do about it? All I know is what I was hired to do. He paused. Legally the schools got a duty of care. Anyway, shell be safer there than out here with guys trying to kill her.
Leah sat back in her sea
t and gazed at the endless struggling crops beyond the sagging fencelines. She said, Look, were glad you came along when you did, but much as I hate to say this, its time we involved the police.
No! Tess said.
No, Theo Reed said.
But you shot a guy, Leah said. The farmers probably already found him, and the bike. Hell report it for sure.
Theo turned and flashed her a look before watching the road again. Did you pay cash for the accommodation?
Yes.
Did you give him your real names?
Of course not.
Is the panel van registered in your name?
No.
Then you have nothing to worry about.
Except a massive manhunt, which is bound to happen if they decide theres a connection between the body and the crashed van. And what if someone saw us get into this car?
They didn’t. The road was clear at that point.
But someone will remember those guys in the Range Rover, and seeing a blue Magna parked nearby.
They’ll remember the Range Rover and those two thugs, thats all. This car is pretty anonymous.
Leah shook her head. She was well acquainted with the flexible standards of private detectives. Many of them were ex-cops, and knew all the tricks. Many of them were crooked. But maybe she and Tess needed a man with Theos standards right now. Hed saved their lives and could take them to safety without involving the police.
The man you shot back at the farm. Who was he?
No idea.
You followed him?
Kind of. I was following you, and noticed that he was also following you. He didn’t spot me.
Leah thought about that as she watched a phone line dip and rise, dip and rise, between poles alongside the road. Birds on a wire. The dead man was after me, she thought, not Tess. Tess had goons after her, I hador havepissed-off cops.
So it would be wise not to bring in the police.
They rode in silence, lulled by the movement of the car. Tess was biting the inside of her cheek, now and then chewing her nails. She said, Leah, I don’t want to go back.
Leah reached out and folded her hand over Tess’s. I know.
You cant make me.
Well think of something.
You cant make me go back to that place.
Leah felt immensely tired. She felt safe now, but not rested, and knew that nothing was finished until things had been settled for Tess—and that meant more work, and time, and concentration, and anxiety.
She stared out of the window, then at the back of Theo’s head. Theo, who do you report to?
My boss.
And he informs the school?
Suppose so.
Who at the school exactly?
Theo shrugged. Whoever signed the contract, I suppose.
In other words, Dr Heyward, the principal, the woman who didn’t want to believe Tess.
Look, Theo, why don’t you take us to a motel in the city, not the school, not your boss. If someones trying to kill Tess I want to do some digging around before we announce ourselves.
She didn’t think he’d buy it, but he shrugged good-naturedly. Sure.
He began to slow the car. They’d come to an intersection in the middle of a broad plain under the vast sky, nobody and nothing about, only their car, a distant blue mountain range, wheat struggling to grow in red soil, and a couple of stunned crows perched on the rim of a scummy sheep trough. That was the universe. The city was an unimaginable place to Leah just then.
Where are we going? she asked, as Theo turned off the highway.
Short cut, Theo said.
To where?
Horsham. Thats where we strike the Western Highway to Melbourne. Check the map if you don’t believe me.
Thats fine.
It was a fast dirt road, that was something in its favour. The big car floated above the corrugations. Soon the other road was far behind them and they were surrounded entirely by failing crops on low hills stitched together by dry creek beds, tired fences and sheep pads. Tess fell asleep. Leah’s eyes grew heavy.
She shifted position. Something was digging into her. She frowned. The dead mans watch. She dug one finger into her hip pocket to fish it out.
But just then Theo seemed to be fighting the steering-wheel. The car was swerving in the powdery dirt and gravel at the side of the road. She ignored it at first, trying to retrieve the watch, the steel band catching on the stiff seam of her pocket. Then it was free and she was reading the inscription on the back of the watch, To Theo, from your loving Anna, when the car slowed and carefully pulled over, and Leah heard, Might as well get out and stretch your legs, girls, we’ve got a puncture.
chapter 16
In the long days and hours of his ride through the endless wheatbelt country, van Wyk had come to realise how ill-equipped he was for this assignment. He was used to city streets, alleys, corridors, shadows. He was used to working close, in and out, no fuss, no trace. Out here, he felt exposed. Hours might, go by and he’d not see another human being, much less signs of habitation. There were no shadows out here, nowhere to hide in waiting.
Hed felt better when he finally spotted the blue Magna driven by the private detective. Yesterday, in Prospect. His skin had tingled then. The hunt was on. Now all he had to do was follow the Magna until it led him to the target.
In the past, he’d always worked from a profile of the target: photographs, home and work details, routine movements, the names and addresses of friends and acquaintances. This time all he had were photos. How do you anticipate the movements of a kid who’s done a runner?
So thank God for the unwitting private eye, who had all the know-how, gadgetry and technical back-up to tap phone calls and follow the kid.
The whole thing had almost come unstuck after the debacle in Leighton Wells yesterday. The detective guy had thought he’d lost the target, according to his logbook, but the silly bitch had later used her mobile phone, and that had led the Magnaand van Wyk on the Yamahato a bed-and-breakfast place in the foothills.
Van Wyk had thought he’d have his chance then God, had it only been a few hours ago? Amazing how time flew when you were having fun. Hed dismounted from the Yamaha and wheeled it off the farmhouse track, into the shelter of some tree on the lawn, scouted around until he knew the layout of the place, saw the farmer leave with his wife, and ascertained where the target was.
And there was the second woman. Oh well, two for the price of one. He watched and listened for a while, using night-vision binoculars. Saw them getting undressed for bed and an old hunger had stirred in him for a moment. You’re a professional, he’d chided himself.
Then he spotted the private eye. Hed already located the Magna, parked down by the road gate. Theo Reed was watching the cottage from a nearby clump of bamboo. Van Wyk saw him glance at his watch as if deciding whether to announce himself to the women there and then, or wait until morning.
Then the farmer and his wife returned, and that seemed to settle the matter for the detective. Van Wyk saw Reed duck away from the sweep of headlights and begin to retreat down the slope of lawn, shrubs and trees.
Right to van Wyks position. Van Wyk shot him in the head with the silenced .22.
Working quickly then, he’d hunted in the mans pockets for keys and wallet, and run back to the Magna. A quick search revealed paperwork that detailed the case and the guys name: Theo Reed.
What to do? There was an extra element of risk in entering a darkened building and shooting not one but two people. And what if a noisy disturbance resulted, shouts, screams, glass breaking, lights coming on?
Best to wait until 4 a.m., when they would both be sound asleep.
Except he’d tripped over a concealed sprinkler in the lawn and the bitch who was travelling with the target had blundered in. He hadn’t wanted to risk another shot, so on the spur of the moment had decided to pose as Theo Reed.
But the woman ran.
Leah, he knew her as now.
; She was the one to watch. Shed evaded him in the darkness and got the target out of there before he could get close enough to kill them.
And so van Wyk had pushed the Yamaha into a dam and shoved the body of the private eye into the boot of the Magna. No sense in the farmer reporting a crime before van Wyk had finished doing what he’d been hired to do. Then he’d set out after the women, pushing the Magna hard, coming upon the crash scene and the Range Rover hoons again. Who were those guys? Then, still posing as Theo Reed, he’d saved Leah and the target.
Good. It would be a close shooting after all, now that he’d got the targetboth targetsonto this lonely back road.
Two quick shots, up close, then vanish.
But first, fake a puncture.
chapter 17
The wind was blowing sullenly through tussocks of grass and drooping wires. The arse-end of the universe, as Leah’s father would have said. Well, this was it, this place, far from anywhere.
Leah stood close to her open door, keeping it between herself and the man posing as Theo Reed. Who was he, really? Fortunately Tess was on the other side of the car, but wasn’t likely to stay there, for shed stepped into long grass at the edge of a rain-eroded ditch and was walking the length of the car, examining the tyres. Cant see any puncture here, she called across the roof of the car.
Leah and the killer were on the drivers side, nearest the middle of the road, standing on corrugations and an underpinning of rock that had broken through the gravel laid by roadbuilders long ago. She made no attempt to examine the tyres but watched the killer, just as he watched her.
He knew. A silent communication passed between them and he immediately fished inside his jacket, beginning to close in on her as he did so.
Leah pulled the door toward her as if in fear of him, as if it would shield her. The killer sneered. Futile, he started to say, when she shoved the door hard away from herself, slamming it against him.
He stumbled back with a soft groan of pain, momentarily holding both arms around his stomach.
Leah! What are you doing? Tess protested.
