Flashpoint (21 page)

Cam frowned. Her face was pale under the bruises; he worried he was pushing her too far, but couldn't bring himself to end the interview, not now he was so close. ‘I don't understand. I thought she was supposed to be one of the richest people in the area, lived in that big mansion on Tannery Road.'

‘That's what she wanted people to think. Very few people knew the truth.' Her voice began to fade as exhaustion took over.

‘What truth?' He clasped her hand as excitement ballooned in his chest.

She continued to speak, each sentence now
punctuated with a heavy breath. ‘She was one of those old-fashioned types, all breeding and pride. She felt she had to keep up appearances at all costs, even after her brother squandered the family fortune. If you'd looked in the windows of that beautiful house of hers, you'd have seen antiques and priceless paintings. If you looked up good and close though, you'd have seen the antiques were reproductions, the paintings fakes. And upstairs, there was no furniture at all, just mattresses on the floor.'

‘How do you know this?'

No answer; the slits of her eyes began to narrow. He prompted her to stay awake with another squeeze of her hand.

She gave a start, trying to jerk herself into wakefulness. ‘She told me, swore me to secrecy. That's how come she asked me to witness the will. She wanted to carry her secret with her to the grave. It was all a matter of honour, you see.'

Cam shook his head, worried that the anaesthetic had left the old lady confused. ‘I heard she left nearly a million dollars to GLC, that she specified in the will it was to go to the science lab, as a bequest through Ruth Tilly, the executor.'

‘Oh, she left it to the school all right.' She took a deep breath. ‘About enough to buy a rack of test tubes.'

With a long exhalation, she fell asleep.

She'd never expected it to be like this; it should have been in a lace-covered bed with a gentle breeze ruffling gauzy curtains, and misty, like an old-fashioned movie. This was almost as bad as doing it in the back seat of an old bomb, except maybe an old bomb wouldn't have smelt so bad.

A small sob rose from her chest.

‘Ruby, are you all right?' Angelo was still on top of her. He extracted a hand from under her tank top and cupped her face.

‘I'm fine.' It was a relief to find he'd finally stopped, but she still had trouble breathing, as if all the air had been knocked out of her.

‘Did you come?'

‘Oh yes,' she lied. If that was what coming was all about,
Cosmo
should be sued for false advertising.

As he rolled off her she pulled up her panties and smoothed down her skirt. She felt sticky and unclean and more than a little ashamed. He hadn't even taken off his overalls, just unbuttoned the flies. It must have taken all of five minutes, though it had felt more like five hours. She sat up on the camp bed and watched as he lit a cigarette, the flaring match illuminating his face through the grey light of the room. God, but he was handsome. And she loved him. She wouldn't have done it with him if she didn't love him – would she?

As she got up from the cot, she knocked over the empty can of scotch and bourbon. She watched as it rolled across the oily floor, stopping against the used condom lying there like a dead jellyfish. She met his gaze with a self-conscious giggle.

He nodded towards the empty can and smiled. ‘You won't need the booze next time,' he said.

‘I guess I won't. I'll be an old pro by then.' Though I feel like one already, she thought. She sank back onto the cot and felt her face cave in on itself. Angelo sat down and put his arm around her shoulders. His other hand still held the cigarette. It created a curtain of smoke between them.

‘What's the matter?' he said in a gentle voice. ‘Are you sorry we did it?'

Between sobs, she said, ‘No, no, it's not that. I just don't want to go back to Sydney. I love you and I want to stay with you.' She saw a sudden ray of hope. ‘Maybe I could stay with your mum and dad, or maybe you could hide me in a cave and bring me food?'

When Angelo laughed at her comment, she knew her hope was lost.

‘You're a cop's daughter, Ruby,' he said. ‘Your dad would have the whole WA Police Service looking for you. Running away won't work. You'll have to just do what he wants and go back. You'll probably only be gone for a few days.'

She folded her arms and frowned at him. ‘Why is it that you always take his side? Is it some kind of a male thing?'

‘Don't talk crap, Ruby. It's just common sense.'

She was in the process of choosing an appropriate response, either an angry yell or more tears, when they heard the primal thump of a Harley pulling up in the yard. She looked at Angelo with alarm.

‘Shit,' he said, jumping to his feet to pull a corner of the dirty blind away from the small window.

‘Angelo,' she said, beginning to panic. ‘I thought you said Cliff was in Toorrup for the day?'

‘It's OK. He hardly ever comes into this back
room. We'll just sit tight and wait for him to go, then I'll sneak you out. Besides,' he said with a shrug, ‘there's worse things I could be doing than just jabbing a chick in here. He'd probably laugh it off.'

‘Just jabbing a chick? Is that all it means to you?'

He clamped his hand over her mouth, cutting off the rest of her retort. ‘Sh . . . I didn't mean it like that. Listen to them, will you?' He nodded in the direction of the workshop. ‘He's got Ruth Tilly with him and he's going off his chops at her.'

The tin wall separating the room was peppered with small holes. He beckoned her over for a peep.

‘You stupid bitch,' the man yelled at Ruth. His red face, Ruby noticed, was a startling contrast to the white mane of his hair.

‘Is that Cliff?' she whispered to Angelo.

But Angelo was paying so much attention to the unfolding drama he didn't seem to hear her.

The man backhanded Ruth across her face, and the sound of connecting flesh made Ruby flinch. She grabbed Angelo's hand and he squeezed it, his body tensing as he leaned towards the door. For a moment she thought he was going to rush out and break the fight up, but he held himself back, continuing to watch.

Ruth fell to the ground with a scream. The man looked down at her; Ruby could see the contempt at the corners of his cruel mouth.

‘I'm sorry,' Ruth wailed, ‘it's you I love, not him. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I wouldn't have told you any of this if things hadn't changed.'

‘A cop, for Chrissake!' The man shook her from his foot as if she was a glob of mud.

Ruth sat on the floor, looking up at him. A thin trail of blood trickled down her chin from her split lip.

Ruth said, ‘I know him well, I know his triggers, I
know how to get rid of him. No one will be any the wiser.'

Ruby watched on, open-mouthed.

Ruth pushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled up at her tormentor. Soon she was pulling herself up and draping herself around him like a mink coat.

The man rubbed her cheek. His voice was softer now. ‘Well, get rid of him soon, then. You'll have to do better than before. That fire in the prefab was a disaster.'

Ruby gasped as the man's words registered. ‘My dad?' she mouthed to Angelo.

He shook his head and continued to peer through the tin. Ruth nodded, purring something into the man's ear. The man smiled and pushed her over the bonnet of a blue Ford Escort. Ruby could only see their legs, but she knew what they were doing. She felt sick. With her back to the wall, she covered her hands with her ears.

The tin walls shuddered as the door slammed. Soon they heard the bike start up in the yard. When the roar faded into the distance, Ruby uncurled herself from the floor and Angelo helped her to her feet. Her legs felt like jelly and her heart pounded as loud as the Harley's roar.

She clutched at Angelo's arm. ‘I have to go and tell Dad. I think he's in danger.' But when she turned to the door, he grabbed her and spun her around, holding her tight with a hand on each shoulder.

‘You can't do that, Ruby.' The urgency in his voice startled her. ‘They may not even have been talking about him.'

‘They're up to something, Angelo, and whether it's Dad they were talking about or not, I still have to let him know.' He shook her hard, making her jaws snap.

‘For Chrissake, Ruby! Have you any idea what you're saying? I thought you loved me!' He sounded
desperate. Sweat dripped from his upper lip.

Her throat contracted. ‘I do,' she said with a hitch in her voice.

Gently he pushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘Then don't tell your dad. If you told him he'd find out what you were doing here. You're jailbait, Ruby, you're under age. You want me to go to jail?'

She shook her head.

He trailed his fingers down the side of her face. ‘How about a smile? When people love each other, they're supposed to be happy. Are you happy, Ruby?'

She nodded and forced out a tight smile. ‘Let's seal our secret with a kiss, then.'

Cam's unheralded appearance at the door of the lab made Ruth look up in surprise. She put down her pen, frowning when he moved over to her at the central island desk.

‘Have you heard of knocking?' she said in her school-marm tone.

He put his hands palm down on the desk and leaned in towards her, not answering her question. She didn't flinch or take her eyes from his. Her bottom lip was split and swollen; she licked it as if savouring the taste of her own blood.

‘Is this what the police call intimidation tactics?' she said. ‘If it is, it's not working. All you're doing is giving me the opportunity to examine your scars more closely.' She clucked her tongue and peered into his face. ‘You certainly made a fine mess of yourself, didn't you? How many skin grafts have you had?

‘I've come to search the lab,' Cam said impassively. Unnerved at last, she took a breath. Her eyes flickered.

‘Whatever for?'

‘I have reason to believe these premises have been used for the manufacture of illegal drugs.'

‘Drugs! That's absurd!' She slipped off the stool and faced him. Her hands on the desk were clenched, the knuckles stood out like ridges of ivory.

Good sign, Cam thought.

‘Your boyfriend, Cliff, hangs out with members of the SS motorcycle club. I believe he's had you making amphetamines in the school lab for them. I'd like to think you're being coerced into doing this. Your cooperation with me now will go a long way in a plea for leniency with the judge.'

She laughed. It may well have been her way of covering up her insecurities, but the sound still caused a shiver to run up his back. ‘I'm sure your theory sparkles with crystal clarity in the attic of your mind,' she said. ‘But I'm afraid it's lost on me. I hope you haven't told too many people about these suspicions of yours: I'd hate to see you end up with egg on your face.'

‘Touching,' he said as he headed towards the kitchenette.

‘Wait, I'd like to see a search warrant,' she called, a splinter of panic in her voice.

Cam allowed himself a smile. ‘You should've taken time to update yourself on the new laws before you got involved in this venture. The Criminal Investigation and Fortification Removal Bill 2001: Part 4, clause 45 states that a police officer without a warrant may enter and search premises and places and stop and detain persons. Subclauses 46 (1) and (2) provide that the police without a further warrant, may stop, detain and search a person or any conveyance if they reasonably suspect the person or conveyance is in possession of anything that may be used to commit an S4 offence . . .'

‘Oh for God's sake, just get on with it then.'

He'd got under her skin at last; he'd have quoted another three pages if necessary. She returned to work at her desk while he got to work.

Almost an hour later and his search had revealed nothing. Ruth smiled when he slammed the last cupboard door. It wasn't as if he'd expected to find anything major, but he'd hoped for at least a box of coffee filters or some suspect chemicals. Nothing he saw in the lab would serve any purpose other than innocent school science lessons.

He nodded towards the snake in the glass tank. ‘That's
a tiger snake. Highly poisonous.'

‘How very observant of you.'

‘May I see your permit?'

‘Is this the best you can do?'

Cam put out his hand and clicked his fingers. She sighed and extracted the permit from her desk drawer. After a quick glance, he handed it back.

‘Everything appears to be in order, although it says the snake has to be returned to the wildlife sanctuary tomorrow.'

Ruth gave an impatient sigh. ‘I wouldn't be so irresponsible as to keep a poisonous snake in a school science lab, would I? I borrowed it for the holidays to chart some of its behavioural characteristics. Would you like to see my notes?'

‘That won't be necessary, but I intend to check up on its return to the sanctuary.'

‘Be my guest. Pop in again tomorrow and we'll have a drink. We have yet to reminisce.'

Cam rammed his hands into his pockets. ‘I want to see a copy of Miss Jane Featherstone's will. I believe you were an executor.'

With a hand on her chin she said, ‘Let me see if I can find it.'

She made a play of looking down her cleavage then reached for the fly of her jeans.

‘Cut the crap, Ruth.'

She folded her arms. ‘Well, you don't expect me to have it here, do you? It's in a bank vault in Toorrup, you silly billy.'

‘Bring it to me at the station Monday morning, then.'

He'd already requested a copy from the Supreme Court, but would have to wait until Monday for that, too.

‘Yessir!' she saluted.

‘I also need to see receipts for the chemicals you purchased for the re-stocking of the lab.'

‘Congratulations, Cam, that is a much more plausible request, though again, you're out of luck. I gave them to Jeffrey the other day; he needed them for the accounts. I believe he and Anne are at home now; why don't you go and pay them a visit?'

***

Still smarting from his unsatisfactory confrontation with Ruth, Cam decided to leave the ute in the car park and walk to the Smithsons' across the school oval. It would take a few extra minutes, but he needed a walk in the fresh air to calm down. The sky was a perfect blue, the grass lush and emerald green, conditions that usually brought back memories of Aeroguard-flavoured sandwiches, victorious football games and drunken parties. But close as he felt he was getting to the end of the case, he felt no adrenalin rush today, and he proceeded to the Smithsons' house, his steps weighted with caution.

He rapped on the door, straining for sounds from within. When there was no response, he stepped off the veranda and walked around the side of the house; no car in the garage, no washing on the line, the windows all heavily curtained. He tried the back door and found it locked. With a string of expletives and a savage kick, he propelled the Smithsons' empty garbage can down their driveway.

Back at the ute he almost missed the flyer fluttering under the windscreen wipers. Damn this laidback country town, he thought, slapping his hand down hard on the bonnet; there should be zero tolerance for this kind of thing.

But when he ripped the paper from the wipers, about
to ball it in his fist, something made him stop. He knew what it was before he'd even unfolded it.

His heartbeat sped to join a nightmare rhythm of buzzing in his head. He had to fight his tingling fingers for the control needed to open the note. And when he did, all his fears were realised.

His legs felt as if they'd turned to wet newspaper. He had to lean against the ute. He rubbed his face, pressing his fingers into the sensitive scar tissue of his neck. The sharp pain restored his senses enough to focus on the note. It was just like all the others – same paper, same strange mirror image lettering – but the contents were unlike anything he'd ever received; this wasn't just a threat, this was a fact:

We have your daughter. Come to the house indicated on the map if you want to see her again. If you are not there by 2 pm she dies. Come alone or she dies. Bring other cops, she dies.

There was a mud map beneath the writing. He had to travel about ten kilometres down a dirt track to an abandoned farmhouse. He knew the road; the turn-off was just before Glenroyd. It would take a couple of minutes to get there, but he'd no idea how long it would take to get down the rutted track.

He looked at his watch: 1.35.

He took some deep breaths; slow is fast, he reminded himself. As the engine turned over he reached for his mobile phone. Ruby was at home packing; this had to be some kind of horrible hoax.

The phone flashed no service.

He hurled it at the passenger side door and grabbed the radio mike. It came away in his hand; someone had cut the wire. He slammed his hands on the steering
wheel and looked at his watch again: 1.37.

After one last look at the note, he got out of the ute and scanned the deserted car park. Ruth's car was gone. There was no one left at the school. He spied a rock lying close to the curb and secured the note under it, then kicked at the dirt and gravel until he had drawn the shape of a large arrow. With all his communication systems down, it was the best he could do.

Cam cut the corner too fast from the bitumen to the dirt road and fishtailed across its width, skidding up clouds of red dust. Slow down, the voice inside him said, but his body wouldn't listen; his foot was an immovable weight on the accelerator.

Soon, the leviathan shape of a hay truck loomed ahead. Large cylindrical bales of hay bulged from its barely visible sides through a smokescreen of dust. He gripped the steering wheel tight, edging close enough to be seen in the driver's side mirrors.

Nineteen minutes left. He'd never get there at this rate. He hesitated before switching the siren on. Would the sound carry all the way to the farmhouse? Would the bikies hear it and presume he'd brought a mob of cops with him? He risked a short blast. The truck driver gave him a cheery wave, but the road was too narrow for him to pull over and he was forced to drive in the spewing wake of the truck for a full minute before it pulled into a farm gateway and he could overtake.

With fifteen minutes to go, he hurtled past the truck, sweat stinging his eyes. He took off his cap, wiped his face with it then tossed it onto the floor on the passenger's side.

Which was when he caught the movement in his peripheral vision.

But by then it was too late.