Bad Seed (38 page)

A tarpaulin, pilfered from the shed of the empty house, had been placed over the body of the young Augusta officer. His colleagues, angry and upset, were channelling their emotions into practical
activities – driving, or chugging across river, back to town to get help. Already, across the Blackwood, the flashing lights of the ambulance and fire truck illuminated the night. Here at the scene any spare vehicles, except for Jason's which would be needed for forensic testing, had been placed strategically with headlights blazing to light up as much of the property as possible.

TRG Dave's mood was in a downward spiral. ‘This is fucking hopeless. A siege, in a storm, in a power outage, on an isolated property with no mobile coverage. Is somebody taking the piss?'

The usual hi-tech siege paraphernalia – communications, monitoring equipment, sniper rifles et cetera – were all in a storeroom in Perth. They did have their UHF radios, guns, some stun and gas grenades, and a plan of the property had been downloaded to Dave's iPad before the signal loss. All they could do, for now, was lock it down and wait for help to arrive. Unless of course something kicked off in the house before that.

‘What then?' said Cato.

‘You come up with a plan, Santa.' Dave issued orders to some underlings. ‘And I'll take it into consideration.'

‘Do we have a megaphone?'

‘No. You could try shouting when the wind drops a bit.'

Cato gave in. He took to fretting about Hutchens and his family instead.

Hutchens wouldn't stop bleeding. The stain was spreading out over the rug. Bill lay slumped by the front door. As far as Hutchens could tell, he was dead, or not far from it. The room was no longer in darkness with the fire in the grate and the headlights blazing through the windows.

‘Party time,' said Mundine, thumbing out the window. ‘Your mates are here.'

After being ordered to draw the curtains, Marjorie, Melanie and Anne crowded together on the couch. Melanie sobbed while the other two looked fearful and murderous at the same time.

Mundine occupied the armchair, Bill's favourite, by the fire
and prodded the flames with a poker, the end glowing red. The Glock was resting on his lap and he'd brought out a bottle of red and offered it around. No takers. ‘I love it down here.'

‘David, this has to end.' Hutchens was faint from the beating and from blood loss.

‘It will, Mr H. Soon enough.' Mundine took a swig from the bottle and wiped his mouth. ‘We used to come here when I was a kid. Me, Mum, Paulie. Paulie had a caravan in that park just over the river.'

‘Yeah?' said Hutchens, not particularly interested. Trying to keep from passing out. Trying to see some way of changing the situation. ‘Uncle Paulie was it? One of your mum's boyfriends?'

‘One time we stayed in the caravan and this possum was thumping around on the roof, all night.' A lazy, contented smile. ‘We didn't sleep a wink. Paulie went mad, grumping around all the next day. He wanted to kill the possum, set a trap or something. I wouldn't let him. He gave me a real belting.'

‘Mum didn't mind?'

‘Mum wasn't there.'

Hutchens started concentrating.

Mundine was rummaging in his backpack. ‘I met Paulie again a few years later. He took a while to recognise me. I wasn't the same little kid he remembered.' A coil of rope came out of the bag, followed by a knife, a screwdriver, and a roll of electrician's tape. He lined them up on the floor next to the blood-soaked hammer. ‘We had a nice little reunion, chatted about old times.' He hummed. ‘Like yesterday once more.'

Hutchens lifted his chin towards the display of goodies. ‘Got some renos in mind, Davey?'

‘Of sorts.' He pulled out a chisel and added it to his collection on the floor. ‘By the time I got to Hillsview I knew the drill. Mr S. liked that. He spotted me straight away, knew where I'd been. He knew I was the one for him.'

‘This is all about you and me, isn't it, Davey?' Hutchens nodded towards his family on the sofa. ‘They're not part of this. Send them away, then you can get down to business.'

A soft whimper from that part of the room.

‘Do you know what it took for me to come and ask for your help that day?'

‘I do now.'

‘It was my fourteenth birthday. I'd decided enough was enough. It had to stop. Mum had never stopped Paulie. The other staff at Hillsview had never stopped Mr S. But that day I would end it. With your help, Mr H.'

‘I'm sorry, David. I really am.'

‘That's how society's meant to work, isn't it? The strong protect the weak from evil. That's right isn't it?'

‘Sounds like a good idea.'

‘When I got back he knew where I'd been. He knew nothing was going to happen to him. He knew I was all alone.' A tear rolled down Mundine's face. ‘He'd always known. That's why he picked me in the first place.' Mundine wiped his eyes. ‘He hurt me really bad that day. Made me bleed.'

He picked up the gun, strode over to Hutchens and pistol-whipped him. Then he took the tape and wrapped it around Hutchens' mouth. He kicked him in the head before going back to get the rope.

‘We have to go in.'

They'd all heard one of the women scream. TRG Dave shook his head at Cato. ‘He's armed and he's nuts. We have no idea what's going on in there. It was a one-off yelp. He probably just hit or threatened someone. Unless we hear more evidence of it really turning to shit we need to hold our nerve.'

‘It could be hours before the techs arrive. We can't just sit here.'

‘We have to.' Dave tossed a look at a muscled geek sitting under a flapping tarp. He was nursing a laptop and muttering expletives at the heavens. ‘Tristran's trying to tap into the emergency band so we can talk to them on the mobiles. Meantime, sit tight. I promise you, if it really goes off we'll be in there.'

‘Show me the property plan.'

‘Magic word?'

‘Please.'

Dave brought it up on his iPad. The living room, where smoke curled from a chimney and where the yelp had come from, was at the front of the house. It and the kitchen dining area were connected in an open-plan layout. A short central corridor led towards the back of the house with bedrooms coming off either side. At the back, the bathroom and laundry. Vehicle headlights illuminated the front and sides of the property but the rear was inaccessible to vehicles and still in gloom. Cato knew Dave had stationed four of his squad plus the two uniforms from Nannup around the back. They would each have their flashlights trained on the rear doors and windows.

‘The occupants can't come out without being seen.' Dave powered down his tablet. ‘We've got it covered.'

‘And if it does go pear-shaped?'

‘Doors down, guns blazing, fingers crossed.'

Cato gave a terse nod of thanks and stepped back out into the rain. He knew Dave was probably right but that didn't make it any easier.

There was another yelp from inside.

‘Shush,' said Mundine.

The women were now trussed up together, the rope wound around them all and tape covering their mouths. Anne Coucher had used her remaining tape-free seconds well.

‘You're a cowardly piece of shit and you're going to die by morning.'

She'd received a punch in reply. The outraged yelp had come from Marjorie on her mum's behalf.

‘There,' he'd said, once he finished tying them together. ‘Like a bunch of flowers. Lovely.'

Hutchens felt dizzy and very tired. Blood continued to drain from his various cuts and abrasions, and, as the doctors had warned, it just wouldn't stop. Would he bleed out and die? He didn't know how long he had left.

‘When you're alone in the world you get plenty of time to think
about stuff,' said Mundine. ‘I worked a lot of things out. I worked out what that stink was coming off Mr S. It was leaking shit. Somebody must have been up him too when he was a kid. Gone at him so hard it stuffed up the plumbing.'

A second coil of rope came out of the bag and was wound around Hutchens' arms and legs until he was hogtied. Utterly helpless, just the way Mundine intended it. Hutchens made a gagging noise. Mundine pulled the tape away.

‘What's that, Mr H.?'

‘I can't breathe. I'm dying.'

‘And?'

‘You know you're not walking away from this, don't you?'

‘I know that. None of us will be walking out of here. That's the point.'

Hutchens saw his daughter's eyes fill with terror. It was heartbreaking. He shook his head sadly. ‘Here's me thinking for a while you were smarter than you looked.'

‘Yeah? Hostage situations 101: this the wind-up is it?'

‘A nice little bit of blackmail money from yours truly. Some compo from the Inquiry. And as a bonus you get to load me with Sinclair's murder. Sweet as. Now you've blown it all with that temper of yours.'

Mundine snorted. ‘Money? What do I need that for? You reckon when I was lying there covered in Sinclair's stink I was thinking jeez this'll be a good little earner some day? Fucking idiot.' He picked up the hammer. ‘As for the Inquiry – bit of a laugh, nothing more. You were the last on my list. My job's just about done. Who cares after that? I've already had the worst happen to me.'

Out of the corner of his eye Hutchens could see movement on the couch. The rope was unravelling. Marjorie twisting and stretching her hands and arms. Keep mad boy talking.

‘What happened at the Mundaring pub that night?'

‘I was in Sinclair's car. He gave me a packet of chips and a Coke and told me to wait while he had a beer or two. I was fine with that. Happy to sit there and bleed my arse out on the seat.' He grabbed the bottle of red and took a swig. ‘Later on you took a swing at him in the car park. Pissed as but you landed a couple and put him down.
Nice work. Then you got in your car and left. I took my chance and finished the cunt off with a brick from the builder's skip.'

‘How did he end up at John Forrest?'

‘I nicked a shovel from the tradies' stash and drove him up. I was fourteen, Mr S. used to take me for “driving lessons” up there if he wanted a bit of privacy and the romance of the open air. Torched his car back in Guildford later, burned a treat.' He shifted the hammer to his right hand, took the chisel in his left and crouched down beside Hutchens. ‘So now you know everything, Mr H. You can die happy.'

Marjorie smacked him full force across the side of the head with the poker. ‘You talk too much, fuckwit,' she said.

The storm had passed. Sun flickered on the still waters of the Blackwood and a pod of dolphins broke the surface, their spray hanging in the air. By the river's edge, half a dozen pelicans waited patiently for the remnants as an angler gutted his catch on a wooden bench.

By dawn the scene had been pretty much cleared and left to forensics. Both Hutchens and Bill Coucher had been medivaced by the Flying Doctor Service up to Royal Perth. Bill's gunshot wound to the stomach was life-threatening and the next twenty-four hours would be critical. Hutchens' blood loss had been stemmed and would be carefully replenished in a fine balancing act between the specific need to avoid clotting around his angioplasty and the general need of his body to have some blood in it. Cato left the details to the docs and hoped for the best. Hutchens' family were being put up in the Augusta Motel ahead of some questioning by detectives brought down from Bunbury. The young Augusta cop, Jason, would have his post-mortem later that day.