Crystal Coffin (23 page)

‘I only met him yesterday,' she said, then she realised they'd want to talk to him too if they thought he was a friend. ‘He's a creep,' she added to deter them.

‘But you ran towards him?' Burkett asked. ‘And he came running but to be your hero?'

‘I did not run towards him!' Nikki defended, more hotly than she intended. ‘You scared me. And he's not my hero! He's just …'

‘Let's start this again, Miss Dumakis,' Parry offered. ‘We don't think you're guilty of your mother's murder.'

That hit her in the gut. ‘You don't?'

‘No,' Burkett said, backing off further. ‘We don't.'

‘But the sergeant in Sydney tried to arrest me!'

‘We don't think you're involved in smuggling or insurance fraud either,' Parry continued. ‘
But
,' he added with emphasis, ‘we think you know someone who is.'

Nikki stared wet-eyed, knowing instantly who he meant. She slumped against the tree.

‘Would you like to go somewhere else to discuss this?' Burkett offered, seeing the colour drain from her face.

‘Doesn't have to be a police station,' Parry said, in case she didn't know. ‘Anywhere you feel comfortable.' He looked over his shoulder at the rider, who was still watching. ‘Somewhere private perhaps?'

‘No,' she said, keen to stay in public. ‘Here's fine,' she added. Even if it was in front of Locklin.

‘You don't really need a solicitor yet,' Burkett added, seeing that she still didn't trust them, ‘but we can arrange a legal representative for you if it makes you feel better — one that won't be on anyone's payroll except yours.'

‘I can't afford a solicitor!' she said. ‘Aaron controls Mum's estate now!'

‘The state of New South Wales will pick up the tab.'

‘If the Federal Government doesn't beat them to it,' Parry added. ‘This case has been …' he struggled for a polite way of putting it, ‘politically prickly. The PM is keen to prune the problem out before he retires ahead of the next election and we'd like your help if you're willing to help sort things out. We can offer you protection.'

Nikki looked at Parry, encouraged by something in his voice to trust him. Burkett looked at Parry too, finally understanding how the old man had managed to get permission from parliament to work with him, hand in hand, Federal Police beside the local boys. Usually, they worked in cooperative teams, but Parry obviously had a way of earning trust and cooperation.

‘If we do this right,' Burkett said, grinning, ‘you'll get all your mother's money back.'

‘It's not the money!' Nikki blurted, waving her makeshift whip at him. She pricked her finger on it again and threw it on the ground. ‘It's just … it's …'

‘We know,' Parry said, understanding death from experience. ‘It's your mum that you miss.' He put his hand on her shoulder and she moved against him, sobbing into his jacket.

‘I'm sorry,' she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I thought I'd done all my crying on the train.'

Burkett stepped back, allowing them a moment.

‘No need to apologise, honey,' Parry whispered more affectionately than he realised. He patted her back, trying to remain professional, but he felt the loss of his own daughter as if it were yesterday. ‘It's nearly over,' he said, hoping it was true.

Scott saw Janet Slaney through the cafe window on his way to school and remembered his promise to stick close to the town gossip. He coasted his Yamaha downhill to the back of the cafe and parked beside the industrial bin to surprise her near the back door.

‘Hi Janet!' he said, as she came out. ‘Let me help you with that.' He took the overflowing waste bin from her arms, leaving her speechless for a record eight seconds.

‘You're not rostered to work this morning!' she said. ‘Don't think I'll let Mother pay you overtime for this.'

Scotty grinned. ‘Can't a guy do a girl a favour for no reason?' he said, nudging her with a wink and enjoying another eight-second silence. ‘It's not like you're the ugliest babe in school or anything.'

‘No way, Scott Mark Nolan,' she snapped. ‘You're up to something. I remember the last time you were nice to me. At Easter, remember, when we were dying eggs in Miss Tang's class, you hugged me and dipped both my pigtails in the ink behind my back. Mother hasn't forgiven you for that, you know. She had to cut all my lovely hair off to stop me staining all the furniture. Now look at it,' she said, twiddling the short blonde curls. ‘It's barely grown at all!'

Scotty wiped the smile from his face, remembering that he was the first one to call her porcupine head whenever she spiked it up and coloured the tips, ‘Well, I think it makes you look like a rock star,' he said, not really lying. ‘You sing like Madonna so you might as well look like her too, hey?'

Janet turned pink. ‘Gee, Scott,' she said. ‘You really think I sing like Madonna?'

Scott pushed past her to lean on the bench beside the doodlebugger. He wanted to shake the awkward silence that followed him inside. ‘Umm, yeah sure, I guess,' he added quickly. ‘You just need a little more practice, I reckon.' Instead of yacking all the time, he thought but didn't add. ‘Maybe you should see the music teacher about helping you cut a demo tape for radio?'

‘Oh, Scott!' she said, turning to liquid and melting all over the floor. ‘Do you really think so? I mean, nobody's ever said anything that nice to me before. I mean, Mrs Johnstone says I'm the best singer she's ever had in the choir, but then she's only been teaching choir for a year, hasn't she? And in Lowood of all places. I mean, how many good singers could she know to compare me with? And you know Mother, well, she doesn't like me singing at all. You know what she thinks about wasting energy on artistic pursuits. But, oh … a demo tape for radio! Why, the whole world could be listening!'

Scott looked at his watch, keen to get to school for the first time in his life.

‘Yeah sure, Janet. I gotta go now. Catch ya this afternoon?'

‘Hang on,' she said, reaching for her own schoolbag. ‘You're pushing your bike, aren't you? I'll walk with you. We can chat about this on the way. Mother,' she shouted, without taking a breath, ‘I'm off!'

‘Righto, luv,' echoed a voice from the stockroom.

‘Would you like to be my manager?' she asked Scott as the front door chimed open. ‘I might need a manager if I'm going to be on radio. All the rock stars have managers, you know. Oh hi, Mr Knox!' Janet said, passing him coming in as she went out. ‘Mum's in the back. Mother, Graham's here!' she shouted.

‘Righto, luv,' echoed the voice again. ‘Come on through, Graham!'

Scotty smiled, never happier to see a cop. ‘Hey, sergeant! How's the squad car running?' he asked, keen to dodge Janet's question. ‘Want me to pop up and give her a service some time for you?'

‘No, Scott,' Knox said. ‘You know it has to go to a qualified mechanic.'

‘You're sure? I heard you in town yesterday. Sounds like her pistons are ready to come out and shake hands with you.'

‘Speaking of hearing people in town,' Knox said, resting a heavy hand on Scott's shoulder. ‘That wasn't you I heard revving up Main Street a few minutes ago?'

‘Me, Sarge?' Scott said, grinning. ‘You warned me not to put her on the tar when she's running.'

‘You're not riding her on the footpath then, I hope?'

‘Well, yeah,' he said, knowing deaf old Mrs Thompson had seen him plenty of times when he'd coasted past and teased her dogs. ‘What's wrong with that?'

‘Dangerous driving, if you run a pedestrian down. Leave your bike at home from now on, okay?'

‘But how will I get to school?'

Knox grinned, taking his hat off. ‘I'm sure you'll think of something.'

‘What if I push her around town with the motor off?' Scott persisted. ‘I could sit on her and coast all the way to school in neutral. She'd be quiet as a pushie then.'

‘And push her uphill to get home? Off with you, grub. Get to school. I'm not that thick.'

‘Geez, Sarge,' Scotty wined. ‘You sure know to ruin a guy's fun.'

‘Consider that an official warning too,' Knox added, trying to get the last word in. ‘If I catch you, it's straight to community conferencing — and you know what that means.'

‘Yeah, yeah,' Scotty mumbled as he left. ‘Admit I did it. Suffer the consequences, blah blah.'

He felt doubly sorry for himself, pushing his bike up the hill past St Joseph's with Janet Slaney yabbing in his ear. As he turned the corner into Prospect Street, he considered jumping on and coasting down to the high school just to get away from her.

‘Hey, Scott,' she said, distracting him with a sneaky voice he'd never heard her use before. ‘He can't see us now. We could coast from here and he'd never know.'

‘Hey, Janet,' Scott said, mimicking her tone and grinning. ‘I was kinda thinking the same thing.' Maybe there was hope for her. ‘Get on,' he said, hopping on first. He waited until her arms were around his waist and pushed off into a cool breeze.

‘Wahoooo,' she screamed as they accelerated down the steep path.

Scott grinned, wanting to make the same sound. He checked his rear-vision mirror to make sure no cars were coming, then leaned hard to swing across the road into the teacher's car park. As he did, he saw a Landcruiser crest the hill up by the church, but he had to look back to where he was going as he jumped the gutter.

Janet screamed again and waved to her friends as they pulled up inside the gate. Scott shook his head as he got off, but it wasn't the ringing of her voice that he was trying to shake out of his ears, it was the horrible thought that he'd recognised that car. He chained his Yamaha in the racks beside the pushies, and while Janet ran off giggling past the art block to meet her friends, he jogged back to the gate for a second look.

It was there all right, parked right outside St Joseph's.

It couldn't be, he decided, shaking his head again and heading off to class. If Eric Maitland was back in town, the last place he'd go would be to church.

A plump old woman drove a tractor slowly around the church grounds while her skinny husband tossed the last few bales of hay off the trailer onto the ground behind them as seating for the carnival. He jumped down when the trailer was empty and kicked over a few bales that had fallen sideways. Then he climbed back onto the trailer and give his wife the thumbs up to head home.

Eric Maitland waited until they chugged and rattled over the crest of the hill before he opened his vehicle's tool kit and took out a pair of wire cutters — a pair with insulated handles. He glanced around to make sure no-one was looking and then paid a quick visit to the church's phone connection.

The conduit that protected the live wires was only visible for about a hand width above the ground before it disappeared between hardiplanks on the southern corner, but Maitland only needed a fraction of that. When he was done, he went back to his car and waited.

He sat quietly behind the darkened glass of his car for half an hour, sweating as the sun rose higher, even though his dirty work was nearly done. An army jeep pulled up less than thirty minutes later to do the rest and he watched the two soldiers climb the church steps like a pair of puppets dancing on a string.

He gunned his four-wheel drive to life and grinned as he turned it around. His brother's wife may have been dead, he realised, but the contacts she'd left them with in the ministry were still very much alive.

‘Excuse me, we're looking for Padre Patrick Connolly?' the Corporal said.

‘You've found him,' Connolly said, looking up from the parish paperwork. He expected to see military uniforms. Civilians called him Father and he knew it wouldn't have been long before they tracked their AWOL soldier down. The surprise was, they weren't military police. There were no distinctive MP armbands around their biceps. Their uniforms confirmed that they were army. They both wore the rising sun on their shoulders and the corporal had a V-shaped chevron under his. Neither of them wore sidearms, which meant they'd been assigned to a duty that didn't expect trouble.

‘What can I do for you, Corporal?' he asked cautiously.

‘Corporal Heffernan, sir,' the taller one with the chevron said. He didn't salute, but that was because Connolly wasn't wearing a uniform.

‘Alpha Six, 6RAR,' the corporal went on. ‘We've been posted to Patrol Base Marko. That's East Timor, sir, about fifteen clicks …'

‘I know where it is, son. What's the problem?'

‘You're invited. These are your orders.' The corporal handed over a sealed white envelope, the content of which had been faxed through to the air base commander at Amberley.

‘My re-enlistment's been accepted?' he asked, bewildered. His latest application was still in his pocket.

Connolly used a letter opener the shape of an army ceremonial sword to open his orders. Unfolding the official letter, he discovered it was true. ‘I thought they were giving preference to younger men?'

‘We need all the help we can get now that refugees are starting to come back. There's a lot of kids up there who got separated from their parents. You can hitch a ride up with us and get off at Maliana. We leave in forty.'

‘
Minutes?
'

He nodded again. ‘Sorry about the short notice, Padre. Office of the base commander tried to ring, but your line's dead.'

Connolly picked up the handset and listened to silence on the line. Strange, he thought. It had been working when Ken Murphy had called him out that morning to give last rights to his favourite chicken. ‘Did they report it?'

He nodded. ‘That's why they sent us, sir. Telstra told them the line was down and they wouldn't be able to get a repairman out to look at it until this afternoon. I have orders to get you back to the air base in time to make our flight. You can pick up a full kit of uniforms and grab a shower at a stop-over in Darwin, but can we help you grab anything here that you need before we leave?'

Connolly rubbed his chin, his mind racing with a thousand questions at once. Could he just get up and walk away from his parish? Sarah Hendersen and her fiancé had an appointment after work to finalise their wedding. Old Mrs Heggarty wanted to see him after lunch about the craft competition for the carnival. Tilly Thomas was coming in to rehearse on the piano with Janet Slaney. He still had stalls to finish setting up for the carnival that night and the semi-trailer he had booked for the stage entertainment was running late. Volunteer helpers would be back after lunch, but on top of everything, he had Jayson Locklin to worry about.

‘I have to organise a replacement,' he said. ‘I can't just abandon my parish.'

‘Excuse me, sir, I should have mentioned it. A replacement's already being sent by the Brisbane archdiocese. Someone must have been awake at HQ to expect you to ask that one, sir. They made sure it was confirmed before we left.'

‘How soon?'

‘Within the hour, I believe. But we must leave now, Padre. I suggest you call your replacement tomorrow from Timor if anything's urgent, unless you want to leave them a note?'

Connolly turned over a blank piece of paper and realised he had nothing to say. As special as the community was to him, he knew that his replacement would handle everything just as well. People would show up with problems and they would be comforted. The carnival would go on without him. Tilly Thomas would play the piano while Janet Slaney sang. Sarah Hendersen would marry Joe Sippel. Mrs Heggarty would judge the fundraising competitions. And Jayson Locklin would stay a day or two longer until their discussion sank in and he'd get back to his unit in East Timor in whatever way he had it planned.

The lad was a survivor, Connolly realised, who knew where he belonged, just as he did. The only things he picked up were his Bible and reading glasses.

‘Do you want to lock up?' the corporal asked, following him out.

‘No, son,' the padre answered with half a smile. ‘The church is like the army. It's always open for business.'

‘Explain,' Fletcher said.

‘I cut the phone line so he couldn't ring out or receive calls. Saved me having to go in and spend an hour trying to think up things to say to keep him busy. I knew he was alone, so I just sat in the car and watched for visitors.'

‘And?'

‘There weren't any,' Maitland said, pleased with himself.

‘Excellent,' Fletcher said. ‘Then we've probably nipped out any problem. Just in case, I've already commenced security enhancements on business this end. You keep a lid on things your end and we'll concentrate on getting the next shipment delivered.'

‘Yeah, right,' Maitland said, realising that meant he wouldn't be getting any sleep soon. ‘I just have to pick up a water pump before I head back. I'll get you to reimburse me for that.'

Fletcher rolled his eyes. His stepbrother was always fretting over money. ‘More seepage in the pit?'

‘More than a bit. I don't need the space this time round with only two items to process, but we'll have to do something to get it ready for next time. Plaster a concrete blend up the walls maybe.'

‘Don't bother for now,' Fletcher said, as if speaking to a child. ‘Let it fill. You can pump it out tomorrow. Until then you're busy.'

‘Oh man, yeah. What time you got collection pegged for?'

‘Same as last time.'

8pm.

‘And the girl? How long am I expected to play nursemaid?'

‘Don't worry about her,' Fletcher said with a grin in his voice. ‘I'll make sure that someone catches up with her.' For more than just one murder, he thought, still playing with the idea. The following shipment wouldn't be due for another three months after this one, and he was certain he could replace his stepbrother by then.