Ash Island

by Barry Maitland

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve no idea…Sammy?’

  Sammy’s brow is gleaming with sweat. Then he breaks into a sudden frantic smile. ‘Luke!’

  They turn as Luke Santini rushes in. He takes Amber in his arms and looks around in consternation. ‘You okay? What’s going on? Sergeant Belltree?’ He releases Amber and comes at Harry, hands held up as if in blessing, then grips his arms, ‘Hey, this is a surprise.’

  Harry takes a step back, pulling away, then stops abruptly, feeling something hard jam against his cheekbone and a hand close round his throat. Another hand takes the pistol from his holster and he catches a glimpse of the motorbike rider, Vince Scully, and behind him Jason Tolliver, before the gun is whipped against his forehead and he falls.

  Voices, all shouting at once.

  Harry tries to focus. Pain is hammering at the side of his head. One voice emerges close by. Luke Santini.

  ‘No, no, it isn’t like that. They’re our partners now.’

  ‘Since when!’ Amber protesting.

  Harry misses the next bit as a wave of pain roars through his ears. He tries to move his hands and realises they’ve been handcuffed behind him.

  ‘…found out what we were doing. Tell her, Sammy.’

  ‘The blokes on the dock security cottoned on to it. I had no choice, Amber. I had to tell them everything. They let us go on with it as long as we brought in stuff for them. Meth, very pure, that’s what they wanted. I couldn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t agree.’

  ‘Damn right!’ Amber yelling, furious. ‘Well, it ends right now.’

  The room seems to go very quiet. Then Luke says, ‘Amber, these guys don’t negotiate. Don’t you read the papers? The bodies on Ash Island?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’ It’s Tolliver bellowing, his voice booming in the confined space. Harry opens one eye and sees him turn his back on them. He has a phone to his ear. His head and shoulders duck. ‘Sure. Yep, absolutely. No worries.’ He turns back. ‘Sammy, you and George stay here and clean up.’

  Harry remains limp as they drag him out by the feet and throw him into the back of the van. Amber and Luke clamber up after him and the doors are slammed shut.

  66

  It was easier trailing the yellow sports car on its journey into the city. When they reach the west end Kelly watches it turn into a narrow street, a Victorian terrace of boutiques and cafés. She drives past, circling the block and returning to pull into a dark spot at the end of the silent street, killing her lights. Ahead of her she sees the yellow sports car parked outside a Chinese restaurant. Amber jumps out and disappears down a laneway at the side while Luke stays in the driving seat. Then he too gets out, goes over to the dark restaurant window and peers inside, hands cupped around his face. He turns away, paces for a while. Pulls out his phone.

  The minutes pass. A couple appear and make their way unsteadily towards Luke, who is now sitting against the bonnet of the car. They stop and say something, and Luke checks his watch. He stands up, lights a cigarette and turns away, and they wander on, whispering and giggling as they pass Kelly’s car.

  Now another car appears at the far end of the street. Kelly doesn’t spot it at first, jet black, just a glitter beneath the street light, a big Mercedes gliding up behind the sports car. Luke snaps to attention, grinding his cigarette beneath his heel. A big man emerges from the driver’s side, another man from the passenger door, and they approach Luke, talk together, then all three disappear down the laneway.

  Kelly gets out of her car, closing the door quietly, and walks along the shadows against the shopfronts on this side of the street. She has no idea what’s going on, but is thinking that she should get the number of the Merc. Maybe it will mean something to Harry, if he’ll just answer her bloody calls. It’s one of those fancy number-plates, red numbers on black, hard to read. She’s forced to cross the street to make it out. She’s near the mouth of the alley as she writes the number down, then hesitates, hearing a woman’s voice from somewhere down there, a cry. The slam of car doors, an engine grinding into life.

  She ducks back into a shop doorway as a white van rumbles out onto the street, followed by a man on foot, the big man from the Mercedes. He stops for a moment on the pavement, looking up and down, then gets behind the wheel of the car and moves off. As soon as it’s clear, Kelly runs back to her car, which is facing the wrong way. She does a clumsy three-point turn and tears off after them. Catches sight of them again at the far end of Hunter Street, the white and the black, moving at a steady pace northward, retracing the route of the yellow sports car. Kelly wonders if they are heading out to the Sydney road.

  They are on the highway, approaching the McDonald’s corner with the filling station where Kelly spotted Amber’s car, when she sees the vehicles’ indicator lights flashing a right turn and a sudden panic swells inside her. There is only one right turn ahead, onto the Ash Island bridge.

  She swerves across lanes. Turns off to the left and pulls in. What should she do? Call the cops? But then she wonders. As far as she knows, Amber and Luke are still back at the restaurant. Perhaps they’ve finished whatever business they had there and are now driving safely back up to Kramfors. Maybe they bought some dope, or just fancied a late-night Chinese. She tells herself she’s spooking herself. It’s the thought of Ash Island, dark and empty. What are the people in those two vehicles doing, going over there now in the depths of the night? She really doesn’t want to know. But she has to know. There is a story here, a big story, and somehow Ash Island is at the heart of it.

  She pulls out her phone and tries Harry’s number again. Again it goes to voicemail. ‘Harry,’ she says, almost a whisper, ‘It’s Kelly. It’s 2:45 a.m. I’m at Ash Island, following a white van and a black Mercedes sedan, rego TOLL1ES. I’d feel a lot happier if you could come and join me, mate.’

  Kelly restarts the car and goes back to the lights. They turn green for her, and, heavy with misgiving, she drives across the bridge over the black river and into the bleak darkness of Ash Island.

  67

  ‘I think they’ve killed him, Luke. Dear God, what have you got us into?’

  ‘It wasn’t me, for chrissake. You heard Sammy, they found out themselves, ages ago. Which isn’t surprising because you were amateurs, you know? Just not very good at crime.’

  ‘This isn’t crime, it’s justice. Using Konrad’s ships to make the money we need to fight what he was doing.’

  ‘Oh, come on Amber, that was chickenfeed. You take on big coal, you need big lawyers—big, expensive lawyers, and big media, and big politicians. Get your head out of your arse and be a realist for once. These guys are giving us a good deal, a share of their business in exchange for the use of your route.’ A pause. ‘Anyway, he’s not dead, he’s bleeding.’

  That’s true. The blow to Harry’s temple opened a gash which has clogged his left eye with dried blood. He forces himself to move, to try to act. Thinking that he must be getting old. His recovery time seems to be increasing.

  ‘Harry…’ Amber crouches beside him.

  ‘There’s a phone in my right pocket,’ he says.

  She feels. ‘No. They must have taken it.’

  She takes his handkerchief instead and presses it gently to his forehead.

  He says, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Luke speaks. ‘To Tolliver’s house, to talk things through. And listen, Amber—you too, Harry—these guys are fair, but they’re tough. Don’t piss them around. We’re in the drugs business whether we like it or not. We’ve just got to focus on what’s important.’

  Amber is silent for a moment; then, ‘Harry’s a policeman, Luke. They know that.’

  ‘Right, and Harry has to do the smart thing.’ He sounds impatient.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Harry has to do a deal with them, just like we do. He has a value.’

  ‘A value?’

  ‘Christ, Amber, wake up!’ Angry now. ‘A friend
ly cop is a real asset to people like this. That’s right, isn’t it, Harry? I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ Harry says. ‘But murder’s different. What do you know about the bodies on Ash Island?’

  Luke turns away. ‘Nothing. I’m just guessing it was to do with drugs. Doesn’t concern us.’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. That is a major investigation, dozens of police working on it. Sooner or later they’ll get to you. You got a phone?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He pats his pocket.

  ‘Call them now. If you don’t you’ll be an accessory to anything that happens. They’ll hunt you down, Luke.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen.’ The van bumps and sways. Luke grabs the side, mutters, ‘Don’t they seal the roads in fuckin’ Merewether?’

  They slow and come to a stop.

  The back of the van opens. Tolliver is standing there, Vince Scully beside him, swinging a short silver baseball bat in his right hand. The darkness beyond them is intense. No houses, no house lights.

  ‘Nice and easy, folks.’ Tolliver takes hold of Harry’s ankle and drags him out, grabbing his arm in a huge fist and hauling him upright. ‘Out you come, watch your step.’

  Amber and Luke follow cautiously, looking around—indistinct dark mounds are visible in the moonlight, the stars bright overhead. ‘Where the hell are we, Jason? You said we were going to your place?’

  ‘This is more private, mate. My home away from home.’

  Beyond him Harry sees the dark curved hump silhouette of an odd building he’s seen before—one of the old radar huts on Ash Island.

  Tolliver flicks on a torch and points the way with the beam across the broken concrete apron. ‘Come on guys, careful does it.’

  ‘No!’ Amber says. ‘I don’t like this. I’m not—ah!’ She gasps as Tolliver grips the back of her neck with his free hand. Scully has taken hold of Luke’s arm and is marching him towards the corrugated steel sheet panel that seals the entrance to the hut. He takes a remote from his pocket and points it at the panel, which clicks and springs open a few inches. He hauls the panel open and they are bundled inside. A smell hits them. Stale gas fumes and musty age and urine.

  The door slams shut behind them and Scully gives Luke a shove. He stumbles, falls and swears. Tolliver pushes Harry to the floor beside him, steps back and points the beam of his torch at Scully bending over a gas camping light. It hisses into life, casting a baleful glow over the vaulted space. Harry guesses it was once a maintenance workshop of some kind. There are black oil stains on the concrete floor, oil drums against the wall. A pulley with chains and a hook is suspended from the ceiling and beyond it in the shadows what looks like a vehicle inspection pit cut into the floor. The only piece of furniture is a single heavy chair. Tolliver gestures to it. ‘Take a seat, Amber, while we get ourselves organised.’

  Amber stares at it with distaste that turns to alarm as she makes out the duct tape curling from its arms, the stains on the concrete beneath it.

  She backs away, but Scully grabs her and pushes her down onto the chair, then stands over them, a gun in his hand, while Tolliver pulls out his phone and turns away to make a call. Harry hears the odd word, ‘…Boss…Sammy…’ but nothing to say who he’s calling. Amber meanwhile is leaning forward in the chair, urging Luke in a low murmur to do something, while he looks pointedly away. Harry notices his hand moving to the pocket where his phone is.

  ‘Okay, folks.’ Tolliver has finished his call and turns back to them. ‘We’ve got a short wait until the big man arrives. He’ll get everything sorted. Just relax till then.’

  Harry moves his hands behind his back, searching the floor with his fingers for anything—a nail, a piece of wire—that might help him spring the handcuffs. He feels something, fragments of something hard and brittle, but he can’t make out what it is.

  Amber is protesting again, rising from the chair, and Tolliver goes over to her and puts a hand on her shoulder, pressing her back. He leans down to whisper something in her ear. Harry can’t hear what it is, but when Tolliver straightens up Amber is rigid, her eyes wide with fright.

  68

  The darkness closes around Kelly’s car as if she were a thousand miles from civilisation. The mangroves that the headlights move across are alien, twisted things growing out of black mud. There are no lights on the road ahead, no cars.

  A bend in the road. Now for a brief instant she does see a tiny prick of light, way off down a side track. She stops, reverses and turns down towards it, a glimmer in the darkness. Her headlights pick out a building, a dilapidated house with a single lit window. There is an old truck standing outside, but no white van or black Mercedes. She turns around and heads slowly back to the road. She recognises landmarks now that she’s passed on her earlier visits to the crime scenes—a stand of casuarinas, and here on the left some crumbling brick walls and a ruined fence. She glances at them as she passes, and almost misses the glint of white in the moonlight. She pulls in to the side and gets out of the car.

  Feeling suddenly exposed, Kelly picks her way carefully along the road back to the ruined compound, wondering if she was mistaken. She moves in across the yard between the collapsed structures, careful where she steps, and then comes to a stop. Yes, there it is, a white van. Standing next to it the slight glimmer of moonlight on the polished black Mercedes. They are parked outside a strange curved-roofed building, like a Nissen hut. She makes her way cautiously towards it, and makes out a faint line of light on its end wall. Closer still, she sees that the light is leaking from the edge of a corrugated steel panel.

  She reaches out to it, and at that moment becomes aware of light reflecting off the trees by the road, and then the harsh beam of headlights turning into the compound. She scrambles away from the hut and drops down behind the van as a vehicle drives straight at her and pulls up. Peering through beneath the van, Kelly makes out feet dropping to the ground on both sides of the vehicle. The headlights are switched off and she’s blind in the sudden darkness. She holds her breath, staring, listening. Then the crunch of a boot right beside her makes her jump and strong hands grip her arms.

  69

  ‘Ah, here he is.’ Tolliver strides over to the door and throws it open. ‘Boss?’

  The muffled sound of male voices from the doorway and then a sudden yell, a female voice that Harry recognises. He watches as Tolliver backs into the hut followed by the islander, George Taufa, dragging Kelly Pool. Tolliver grabs her other arm and together they haul her in and throw her to the floor. She grunts as she hits the concrete, and tries to struggle upright, clutching her shoulder.

  And then another figure strides in through the doorway, slamming the door behind him. Frank Capp. As he turns towards them the light catches the shattered left side of his face and Amber gasps. Tolliver whispers in his ear, pointing out the captives, and Capp’s eye settles on Harry. He comes across and squats down in front of him, puts out a hand and twists his face around so that he can see the bloodied temple.

  ‘Still on the run, Harry? Well, this is as far as you get.’ He moves in closer and strokes his own ruined cheek. ‘By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be pulp.’

  ‘Sorry, wait…’ Luke is struggling to his feet. ‘I don’t know who you are.’

  Capp swings around to stare at him. He goes over, grips his hand and Luke winces. ‘Name’s Capp, mate, Frank Capp. You’re a friend of this piece of shit, are you?’

  ‘What?’ Luke glances down at Harry and looks quickly away. ‘No, no, not at all. I’m a friend of Jason…’ He nods encouragingly at Tolliver, who doesn’t respond.

  Capp tightens his grip. ‘Jason doesn’t seem to know you, mate.’

  ‘We’re in business together, Frank! Tell him, Jason.’

  But still Tolliver says nothing.

  ‘What business would that be, mate?’

  ‘The goods…from the ships!’

  Capp shakes his head. ‘Nah. Can’t say we’ve heard of you.’
/>   ‘For chrissake, me and Amber here—we set it up, with Sammy.’

  ‘Sammy I know,’ Capp says. ‘He works for me. But you and Amber here…’ He shakes his head. ‘History, mate.’

  ‘No, look, you don’t—’

  ‘Sit down and shut up.’

  ‘You’re not listening—’

  Capp lashes out with a savage kick to Luke’s knee. He falls to the floor, screaming.

  Capp turns his attention to Amber. ‘You’re in the hot seat, love.’

  She looks at him, eyes wide. ‘My name is Amber Nordlund. My family—’

  ‘Nor-d-lund.’ Capp turns it over, slurring it through his uneven mouth. ‘Yes, I know about Nor-d-lunds.’

  ‘Well, you’ll know they’re not people to annoy.’

  Capp grins. ‘From what I hear, darlin, you’ve annoyed them pretty bad yourself.’

  Amber opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

  She swallows, then tries again. ‘Luke and I would be very happy for you to take over the shipping business, Mr Capp.’

  He nods. ‘Good on ya.’

  ‘We would like to leave now, and you won’t hear from us again.’

  Capp laughs. Then something catches his attention. Harry follows his gaze to Luke, hunched up on the floor. He has got the phone out of his pocket and is busy trying to tap in a number.

  Capp roars and runs to him, stamping on his fingers and crushing the phone beneath his heel. He turns and calls to Taufa, who is holding a roll of tape. Together they bind the writhing figure on the ground, hands, legs and mouth, then drag him upright and loop his wrists over the hook of the pulley chain. With a rattle and a screech Luke is hauled up, up until he’s suspended like an animal carcass, feet dangling.

  ‘Now…’ Capp starts giving rapid orders. Tolliver takes the gun while Taufa and Scully move among the prisoners, searching them, taking the phone from Kelly’s pocket. Then they roll a large steel oil drum into the middle of the space and begin filling it from heavy plastic sacks with some kind of white granular material. It isn’t until they open a jerry can and Harry smells the diesel that he realises what they’re doing. They’re making a bomb, a crude ANFO bomb.