Heart of the Outback

by Lynne Wilding

  “Steve,” her tone was breathy with surprise. “I didn’t expect…” But oh, how she had hoped he’d be there, that somehow, miraculously, they could work things out.

  He strode up to her and took her in his arms. Finding her lips wasn’t difficult and kissing her was like receiving the key to the gates of heaven. He held her close to him and as he felt the warmth and softness of her mingle with his body he almost lost his focus. She felt so good, and it had been so long … Eventually sanity resurfaced and he pushed his head back from hers. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Westcott come down the plane’s steps and falter, his mouth agape. He noted that as usual the man was dressed in his country squire gear and clutched a black attache case in his right hand.

  “I love you,” he whispered to Francey then continued with obvious urgency. “Don’t ask me any questions, just pretend you’re ecstatic about all this.” He kissed her again. “Now I want you to head for the homestead and don’t look back. I’ll tell you what this is all about later.” There were so many other things he wanted to say, that he’d been a prideful fool, that what mattered was them being together — but now wasn’t the time. He’d eat humble pie when he’d attended to Westcott.

  “But …” Francey’s huge eyes widened. “What’s going on?” She was desperate not to move out of the circle of his arms; it felt so wonderful to be there.

  “Please,” Steve groaned, and using his eyes he tried to communicate the urgency of the situation. “My love, for once in your life don’t question anything, just do as I ask.” Seeing her frown, he added softly, “Clearing CJ may depend on it.”

  He stepped away from her and gave her a playful pat on the backside. When he spoke his voice was loud enough for Westcott to hear. “Yes, darling. We’ll talk about it at the homestead.” Then, he whispered the order through gritted teeth “Go, and don’t look back!”

  Controlling her puzzlement but tuned in to the unusual vibrations which emanated from him, Francey did precisely as she’d been told: she kept walking. What is he up to? she wondered. And that kiss. What did it mean? What she’d hoped — that everything was okay between them? Well, she wouldn’t let him get off that lightly — Steve Parrish had some explaining to do.

  For several seconds as she covered ground she dwelt on the sheer power of his kiss, how her knees had gone weak and every nerve ending she possessed had burst into life and sent pulsing messages of awareness throughout her body. Steve. Being in his arms again was glorious as was the ardour of his kiss. And how she wanted to believe his declaration of love.

  Steve had never said that phrase aloud before. Her lips curved in a smile despite her confusion. She wanted very much for it to mean that he’d realised how strong his feelings were, but was astute enough to sense that the scenario seemed planned. Again, as she continued towards the homestead, she asked herself … why?

  Steve glanced back at Francey to be sure that she’d put some distance between them then he tried to regroup mentally. With difficulty. The singing in his veins, the burst of joy that had raced through him at her spontaneous response to his kiss was hard to forget. Everything was going to be all right between them, her response told him so. Now, to the task at hand.

  “Westcott,” Steve greeted his quarry. There would be no pussyfooting about. He’d spent hours working out a plan of attack. “We need to talk.” As he spoke he studied CJ’s right-hand man. Les appeared to be having difficulty curbing his anger, a situation no doubt brought about by seeing Francey in Steve’s arms. A nerve in his temple had begun to throb uncontrollably and Steve saw his shoulders square under the tweed jacket — a dead give away for tension. Good, he wanted him off balance.

  “I don’t think we have anything to talk about,” Les muttered dismissively as he tried to sidestep him.

  Steve blocked his path. “’Fraid we do. We can do it here or at the station. Your choice.”

  “All right.” Les’ saturnine features set in a bored expression. “What is it now?” He glanced over the policeman’s shoulder at Francey’s departing figure. She was almost to the fodder barn and in half-a-dozen steps she would be out of sight and hearing. Another sweeping glance told him that no other workers were within view. He affected a casual stance, his left hand sliding into his trouser pocket. He waited for Parrish to speak.

  “New evidence has come to light in regard to Natalie’s murder,” Steve began. “These,” he pulled out a small plastic envelope which contained the two buttons and dangled them under Westcott’s nose, “were found under the verandah of your cottage. I want you to tell me how they got there?” He swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and tried to forget about his sweating palms. It was time for confrontation and this time there would be no repeat of what had occurred years ago.

  Les snorted. “How the bloody hell would I know? I wasn’t there, remember. You have my statement.”

  “A statement that can’t be corroborated. We’ve only your word that you were driving around aimlessly in your car. I put it to you, Les Westcott, that the night of the murder Natalie came to your cottage. You both argued. You lost your temper and hit her, then strangled her.” He stopped for a moment to let Les digest his words. “You see, Les, we’ve worked up a profile on you. We know about your ambition to control CJ’s business empire and how you thought that by marrying Natalie you’d be one step closer. But she wasn’t interested, was she, Les? I think that recently you perceived Natalie as a threat to your long-term plans and that’s why you got rid of her.”

  “This is preposterous!” Les guffawed. “You’d never prove any of that in a court of law and you know it. Besides, CJ’s confessed to Natalie’s murder. All this supposition is a waste of my time and yours.”

  “Maybe but at least I’ll thwart one of your ambitions. Once CJ’s gone you’ll want to marry Francey. It’s now the only way to get the control you want.” Steve’s sweeping arm encompassed the property. “Well, you won’t be the one to marry her, old son. I will.”

  With narrowed gaze he watched Les’ features tighten. That had gotten to him. A sheen of perspiration began to dot the man’s forehead. Instinctively he knew that Westcott was remembering him embracing Francey. He felt his senses sharpening … just a little bit more and he’d crack. But he wasn’t out of control. Yet. “We’ve patched things up, as you just saw. Shame, isn’t it?” He grinned aggravatingly at him. “All those years, scheming to get your hands on what CJ owned. It’ll never happen. And you can make sure of another thing, once I’m ensconced at Murrundi with Francey it’ll be goodbye Les Westcott — for good.”

  A muscle began to throb in Les’ jaw as he thought this new development through. Was Parrish telling the truth about him and Francey or was it a bluff? He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the confusion, the doubts. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself, for he had planned every step with such care. He looked at Parrish and wondered … could this dumb ass copper be about to destroy everything? No, his determination firmed, he wouldn’t let that happen.

  “I hope you’ve made contingency plans,” Steve went on, almost conversationally. “We know you’ve stashed plenty away over the years you’ve been with CJ. In fact, I just might have his accountant check the books. Maybe you’ve helped yourself to a couple of million you shouldn’t have.”

  Les’s hand shot out of his pocket, the index finger prodding Steve’s chest. “You stupid cop.” His heavy breathing mixed with an escalating anger became lost in the vastness of the land around them. “If I did what you said, do you think I’d be stupid enough to leave a trail for someone like you to follow?”

  “Probably not,” Steve conceded. Christ, he hoped Erin was recording all this, including his own increased heartbeat. “You’re smart, Westcott, I’ll give you that. Your plan almost succeeded. If it wasn’t for me all you had to do was bide your time, be nice to Francey. She might have married you eventually.” He repeated, “You’re smart, no doubt about it. I’ll bet you’ve got away with murder too. Natalie’s. Ho
w did it happen?” His tone turned conspiratorial. “Did she come to your cottage and tell you she’d changed her mind about marrying you or …”

  Out of nowhere a thought came to Steve. “Maybe she came to ask you to help her kill Francey. We’ve assumed that she wanted to because Francey stood in the way of her total inheritance. There was a fight and you lost control. Is that how it happened, Les?” He didn’t take his eyes off Les’ face. He watched a shiftiness come into his eyes and saw his mouth tighten with anger. The needling was starting to get to him. Good.

  The policeman’s goading and the self-satisfied smile on his face made Les’ anger rise another notch, to near boiling point. Suddenly he recognised his immediate problem — Parrish! On no account was this cop going to ruin his plans, his dreams, when they were so close to fruition. Frustration and blind, uncontrollable rage churned together. He couldn’t let that happen, not when he’d worked so damned hard. He deserved his reward — CJ’s millions — for the years of servitude and kowtowing.

  “Yes, damn you,” Les yelled, in an explosion of unexpected emotion. He furtively scanned their surroundings, no-one was in sight. He knew what he had to do now. “You’re not as dumb as I thought you were,” he admitted in a mercurial reversal to momentary calmness.

  “Natalie came to me. She looked a mess, eyes half glazed, probably doped up, features twitching. Said I had to help her take care of Francey and if I did we’d split CJ’s fortune between us. Then, in a crazy, disjointed speech, she told me that she’d caused Richard’s death, that she’d killed him because CJ was going to leave him everything and she didn’t think that was fair.” He shook his head and then continued. “The woman was certifiable, almost foaming at the mouth. She thought she was clever though, that no-one would discover the real cause of the stampede.” He paused again to study Steve’s face. “You found those cartridges and started an investigation because she was too damned lazy to get off her horse and pick them up. She never could attend to detail,” he added with a disdainful curl of his lip.

  A strange gleam came into Les’ eyes. “I got very angry when she told me about Richard. You see, I loved him; he was my one true friend. He didn’t deserve to be trampled to death.” He stopped talking, reliving the scene in his mind.

  “So …” Steve prompted, unable to believe how well the interrogation was proceeding. He’d managed to push the right buttons and Les was blurting it all out almost as if he was at confession. “That’s when you killed Natalie. You got so angry you lost your temper?”

  For several seconds Les stared owlishly at the policeman, and blinked as if his thoughts were elsewhere. “Oh, I knew what I was doing. I considered it a community service. I saved the courts the problem of dealing with Natalie. I smacked her across the face and she went crazy. Came at me with her fingers curved like talons. I hit her again and this time my fist connected with her jaw. She fell to the ground and just lay there.” His smile reflected pure pleasure. “Then I knelt down, put my hands around her neck and squeezed every scrap of life out of her.”

  “After which you carried her to the pool and rolled her in,” Steve said helpfully, for the recording device’s benefit.

  Les’ eyes narrowed as in his mind he went back to the night it had happened. Reliving it was giving him the same sense of satisfaction, of rightness. He nodded and stared momentarily at the plastic bag in Steve’s hand. “That’s when the buttons must have come off her shirt. When I dragged her across the verandah and down the steps.”

  “I guess you were the one who placed Mike Hunter’s Swiss army knife near the pool to incriminate him.”

  He nodded. “And I encouraged CJ to confess to the crime to save Francey. That was easy — he wanted to protect her.”

  Steve hoped Erin had got every word. They had him. A wave of satisfaction raced through him. He’d mentally agonised whether he had the balls to pull the interrogation off and it had gone so damned well — almost to textbook. The weight of the past, his failure to close, began to lift off him … at last. He’d known that Westcott’s temper would get the better of him one day and now the man’s powder-keg fuse had finally betrayed him. With difficulty he controlled the elation and instead began to feel something else, a vague sense of discomfort. Westcott was too smart and had confessed to the crime too easily, as if it didn’t matter. As if he wasn’t worried about being arrested by him. Then came the words …

  “Now I have one last person to deal with,” Les’ tone was soft, menacing. “You.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Before Steve could block the move Les swung his attache case in an arc and struck Steve in a blow to the side of the head with enough force to knock him off his feet and onto his back. Instantly Les fell on top of him and used his knees to press Steve’s forearms to his body, preventing him from moving. He unlatched Steve’s gun, took it out of its holster and pointed it in his face. Then he rolled off him and stood up.

  “Get up.”

  “So you’ve got my gun, what do you plan to do? Shoot me, here?”

  “Don’t think I wouldn’t like to,” Les snarled. Too late he realised that his lapse of self-control had almost brought him undone.

  “Do you think I came alone?” That should make Neil and Erin run to the hangar at full pace. How long would it take them to reach it? Three, maybe four minutes.

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Am I? Two officers are at the homestead waiting for me. I said I’d be about twenty minutes. They’ll come looking for me soon.” He had no intention of revealing that he was wired. That might tip Westcott’s temper over the edge again, something he didn’t want to do because he had control of the gun.

  Francey, back at the homestead and standing by the open police van, gave a squeal of alarm as she realised what had happened. For the last five minutes she’d stood in a state of shock listening to the conversation between the man she loved and Les Westcott, occasionally shaking her head in amazement as the truth of Natalie’s and Richard’s murders were revealed. Thank God, CJ wasn’t there, he’d be devastated.

  Erin looked at Neil. “Steve’s in trouble. Westcott’s got his firearm.”

  Neil nodded as he stepped out of the van, away from the recording. He looked at Francey. “Can you monitor this for us?”

  She nodded. She’d become used to various pieces of electronic equipment on the property and in the Learjet. “Please, go,” she said, her tone urgent. She watched the two sprint off in the direction of the hangar, her heartbeat thudding in her chest. Please, God, she silently prayed, don’t let Les hurt him.

  “I don’t believe you,” Les scoffed.

  Steve shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He was busy watching Westcott’s every move, hoping for a weakness, a lapse in concentration. Anything that might allow him to snatch back the gun and the advantage.

  Les tried to think clearly. Could Steve’s words be another bluff, like his reconciliation with Francey, or was Parrish telling the truth? A wave of heat suffused his body and his stomach muscles rippled, knotting hard. What were his options? Kill Parrish. Yes. God, he wanted to, so much. The policeman had made him lose control, got him to admit to Natalie’s murder, so he had no choice. But, he could save the situation; he could win, providing he got rid of Parrish and no-one knew about it.

  Les motioned Steve forward with the gun. “Walk in front of me, to the plane.”

  “Going for a plane ride, are we?” Steve spoke the words casually but inside he was anything but. Hell, where were “the troops”? A sense of déjà vu washed over him as he stumbled unenthusiastically towards the Learjet. Him, a professional had allowed himself to be caught off guard. Shit! Hadn’t he been down this road before, a couple of times? His brain went into mental replay: with Karrin in Newtown and then in that liquor shop. He remembered clearly what had been whispered behind his back. Parrish hasn’t got what it takes. Parrish can’t finalise a situation. Parrish can’t function under stress.

  Maybe they’d been right. Westcott certainl
y had the upper hand at the moment and if Neil and Erin didn’t come in time … The man was a criminal, a murderer. Now he was about to make his getaway and he was powerless to stop him.

  “You’ll never get away with it, you know.”

  “Oh, no? Once we’re on that plane I can go wherever I want to. Did you think I wouldn’t have a contingency plan?” He prodded Steve in the back with the gun’s barrel. “How do you feel about a free-fall at six thousand metres — minus a parachute — over some remote outback area? Quite possibly your body will never be found, and it’ll look as if you’ve just disappeared. The authorities won’t know where to look for you.”

  Steve didn’t care to answer the question about free-falling, so he remained silent.

  “Westcott!”

  A shot rang over their heads and lodged in the plane’s fuselage.

  Les pushed Steve forward then swivelled around to see two police officers sprinting towards them, their guns drawn. Damn! Parrish hadn’t been bluffing. He hesitated for a second, unsure of the distance and an unfamiliar gun. He took aim and fired two rounds, and whooped with satisfaction as the male officer dropped to his knees, hit in the thigh. The other officer knelt to render assistance.

  Les began to shudder with repressed rage. All his plans and his dreams had been undone by this dumb copper. Escape was now his only option even though his confession to Steve would be just his word against the policeman’s. Damn Parrish. The man was smarter than he looked. Kill him, a voice inside his head encouraged. His eyes narrowed in speculation. There’d be witnesses — the two cops — and he knew how the police worked, they never gave up if you killed one of their own.

  Les’ preoccupation with Neil and Erin was the diversion Steve needed. Ducking at the waist as he turned, he lunged at Les and caught him around the legs. All those tackles in the police rugby league team hadn’t been in vain, he thought as the rangy man toppled to the ground expelling a grunt of pain and dropping the gun. They rolled around on the dusty earth, each trying to land telling blows. Steve’s fist made contact with Les nose, hard enough to cause a trail of blood to run down his cheek. Then Westcott’s elbow caught him in the diaphragm. Winded, he fought for breath but managed to get another fist onto Les’ jaw before his opponent brought his right fist up in a powerful uppercut.