Crystal Coffin (31 page)

Chang sighed. ‘Any luck inside the hospital?'

‘Ryan is jogging towards me now, sir. He just went up to check if his sister might cooperate, but he's shaking his head. No luck there, it seems.'

‘All right. I'll organise triangulation from this end. He's bound to call someone now. Tell Ryan to stay there and see if he comes back. Stand guard on her door if he has to. We don't know what he's up to yet, and it looks like he's got the balls to try anything. Beattie, I want you back here. Can you catch a cab handy? Or do you want me to send a car?'

Beattie looked at Ryan and then at the old Bedford parked downslope from the public phone booth. ‘I have transport, sir. We, ah … we managed to acquire his vehicle.'

‘Good work,' Chang said, ignorant of all the facts. His thoughts were on the airfield. If he got rotors in the air now, he might be able to narrow their search area.

‘Get it back here as soon as you can,' he added. ‘It might hold a clue to what he's up to.'

‘Ah, Colonel,' Beattie added. ‘My RAAF base pass was in the car. Would you arrange to notify the main gate please that I'm on the way?'

‘No problem, Corporal. What's the vehicle?'

‘Registration number is 522 FGY,' he said, not mentioning that it was a cattle truck. It was only a short drive back to the air base, so that news would be all over it in about twelve minutes.

Detective Parry let down the electric window on the passenger side of his vehicle and caught the attention of a mother with a pram, who was joining a long trail of pedestrians headed up the busy main street in Lowood.

‘Excuse me,' he shouted politely. ‘Can you tell me which way to the police station?'

She pointed up the road and smiled. ‘Just follow the crowd!' she said. ‘You can't miss it. It's right next door!'

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the car in front to back into the last parking space in sight and waited another eight minutes at the pedestrian crossing ten metres further up the road, thinking that at least there should be parking behind the station.

Janet Slaney sang the last line of ‘Rock the House' and set her mike down on the piano with Tilly's music folder. ‘Hey Till, you want a punch? I'm dry as a ditch that's dry, dry, dry.'

‘Nah thanks,' Tilly said. ‘I don't think it's been spiked yet.'

‘Yeah, I don't know if the new bloke will do that. Seems kinda stiff-collared compared to Father Connolly. Might loosen up a bit though, if we work on him. Back in a tic. I gotta get some.'

‘Hey Janie, you seen him yet?' Meggie asked, meeting her younger sister at the drinks table.

‘Not yet, but you keep those lips on pucker stand-by. I get a good view from up on stage. I'll signal to you when I see him. Wow, look at all the people arriving and it's not even seven. Hey, there's Thorna Maitland!' she squealed, downing her punch in one gulp. ‘She's moving into his old place. I wonder if he's popped in to see her? I'll go ask. Oh, rats,' she added, looking for the best path to surf to her through the crowd, ‘where'd she go? Gosh! Look at all these people! This could be the biggest rave this town has ever seen!'

‘Calm down, Janie,' Meggie said as her sister headed back towards the stage. ‘It's not like they could afford fireworks or anything.'

Locklin needed to change cars. The Magna was fast and had put him ahead of schedule with at least half an hour still left before dark, but the army would be looking for it. He also needed to check if military police had been sent out to his grandmother's house yet, and if they had, he needed to know if his family was being held for questioning.

He couldn't go himself. He'd blow his own cover if everything was okay. What he needed was a middleman, and Father Connolly had offered.

He swung left under the half-dismantled railway bridge at the bottom end of Lowood and accelerated up the road between the high and primary schools to put St Joseph's directly in front of him.

He didn't get far. Traffic clogged the road. Couples with children and lovers with sweethearts straggled along the footpath between illegally parked cars, all of them converging into one big writhing mass at the top. And then he remembered. In the normal world, they were having a church carnival.

He pulled over and parked below the pedestrian crossing between two other late model sedans, thinking that at least he wouldn't have to park the Magna alongside the police station when he swapped it for Connolly's old Kingswood. Better yet, if Knox had been notified that he'd stolen a car, the sergeant would have a much harder time trying to find it in a street packed with more wheels than a second-hand car lot.

He jogged uphill, stopping at the curb with a crowd of others and saw his goal ahead of him. The Kingswood was beside the church, parked under the eaves. He looked left and saw the traffic had slowed, then looked right and saw the traffic had stopped. He saw a small gap and ran, but heard brakes. A dark blue bonnet skidded in front of him. He shouldered into it, rolling over it and landed on his feet beside the driver's window.

‘Sorry, mate!' he told the driver. ‘I didn't see you.'

Parry shook his head, thinking, sure mate. ‘It's a good thing I saw you then.'

Locklin snaked his way through the crowd outside St Joseph's, hearing whispers that didn't make sense.

‘East Timor,' a woman said on the stairs, ‘and not a word!'

‘Didn't give him time to say goodbye,' said another.

‘Wonder if he'll be back,' said a third.

Locklin waited for the women to pass him carrying their platters of sandwiches before running up the narrow flight of stairs. He genuflected to the pulpit and went straight to the father's ready room, where he stopped and tried hard not to swear.

‘Where's Father Connolly?'

A lanky young priest laughed without looking up as he fossicked through a barrel full of pens. ‘People have been asking me that all afternoon,' he said, seeming happy to find a blue felt-tipped pen. He drew a line down the back of his long finger to test it and scrawled tall letters on an open cardboard folder. ‘You haven't seen a butcher around with about a thousand pork sausages in his back pocket, have you?'

‘No. What about Father Connolly?'

‘No, Father Connolly hasn't got the sausages. He's in East Timor. I'm telling everyone at seven. Here, read this. Sorry to rush off,' he added, stickytaping the cardboard sign to the door, ‘but everyone wants me at once!' He shouted louder over his shoulder as he got further away. ‘Feel free to stay if you can help!'

Locklin stared at the cardboard sign.

 

Big Hi to Lowood from Fr Tim Siddel

Sad goodbyes from Fr Patrick Connolly

posted to East Timor from today
.

 

Locklin took the keys to the Kingswood off their hook above the phone. He looked out the window to the car parked below, knowing Connolly wouldn't mind if he borrowed it for a while. But someone had let the tailgate down and set two big ice tubs in the back. One guy had filled the tubs with canned drinks and was pouring salt over the ice to keep it cold longer, while two elderly ladies set up tables around the car. They'd stacked paper napkins on the roof and spread a tablecloth across the bonnet to butter hot dog buns. Locklin knocked his fist against the windowpane and hung the keys back on the hook.

He went back to the steps, looking through the crowd for a short cut to the Magna and saw Janet Slaney on the flat deck of a truck trailer that had been converted into a mobile sound stage. She was singing ‘Beautiful Stranger' at a volume that kept everyone at least two metres from the loudspeakers, making a noisy corridor that was braved only by an ear-muffed sound technician. He was bundling spare power cords into a storage cupboard under the stage and Locklin waited for him to finish before sticking his finger in the ear that would be closest to the speakers and bounding quickly down the steps. He made it past the first speaker, holding his chin down so Janet couldn't see his face as she flapped around the stage, and he nearly made it to the far end.

‘Looking for me?' Meggie Slaney said, jumping in front of him. She put her hand on his shirt and pouted her lips. ‘I'm ready for your apology,' she said, puckering.

‘Sorry,' Locklin said, stepping around her.

She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him closer. ‘I can think of a much nicer way to say sorry, can't you?'

‘No, I mean sorry, I have to go.'

‘Go? Go where?'

‘Away from here,' he said, mimicking her tone. He glanced down the hill towards the Magna. It looked like some nut was about to park him in. ‘Come on, Megs,' he pleaded. ‘Give me a break, hey?'

‘You can't dump me again, Jayson MacLeod. Kiss me and make up and I'll forgive you.'

‘You dumped
me
.'

‘Aren't you devastated?'

He'd already spent hours thinking about that question. Had he been devastated that she wanted a ring or nothing from him before he left for East Timor? Yes. Had he been devastated when she hadn't written or returned his calls? Yes. And had he been devastated to lose what he had thought was love? Yes. But was he devastated now?

He looked at her long blonde hair that smelled of lavender and thought of short dark hair that smelled of baby soap. He gazed into big green eyes smudged with make-up and saw sad brown eyes smudged with pain. He held her skinny white wrists ringed with gold chains and remembered slim red wrists ringed with blisters. Then he smiled.

‘No, Megs,' he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘But thank you anyway.'

Above them, Janet cheered through the microphone and leapt around the stage. ‘Woah, yes!' she cried. ‘I knew it, you
two
!' Locklin looked up at her and shook his head, as she launched into the first verse of ‘Like a Virgin'. He pulled away from Meg and turned straight into Thorna Maitland, who was carrying drinks.

‘Hey, I know you!' she said, realising the young man in front of her was more than just the hired help that Freeman's foreman had put on while he went on holidays. ‘I thought I recognised you this morning near the house, but you took off before I got close enough to be sure.'

‘Yes, you know
him
,' Meggie hissed, remembering the options in her magazine quiz, and wiping his kiss off as if it was spit. ‘That's Jayson MacLeod!
Hey everyone
!' she yelled, but not loud enough over the crowd. She took a deeper breath to make his life a living Hell.

Locklin clamped his hand over her mouth and pulled her into a tight cuddle. ‘Not now, Megs,' he said as she struggled. ‘I'm in enough trouble.'

‘We need to talk,' Thorna cut in, leaning closer. ‘I think Eric's up to something.'

‘I know,' Locklin answered. ‘But I have to go. Do you know where my grandmother's place is?'

‘The ostrich farm?'

He nodded. ‘Go there. Don't go home. He's got friends coming for supper and I don't think they'll have a play corner for your kids.'

‘Nikki's there!'

‘She didn't come here with you?'

Thorna shook her head.

‘All right,' he said. ‘I'll check on her. Are you going to behave now, Megs?' he added, but she wriggled and struggled and tried to bite his hand as her way of saying no.

‘Sorry then,' he said, backing towards the soundstage. He couldn't hand her to Thorna. She had hands full of drinks and kids to take care of. Instead, he waited until Janet danced to the other end of the stage and then kicked the bolt across to open the giant cupboard underneath.

The front and sides of it were solid ply, but one of the panels in the back was only wire mesh, which suited him better. She could stay there for more than a few minutes with plenty of air and light.

He positioned his body to hide what he was doing from the busy crowd and in one swift movement, bundled Meggie in on top of the orange power cords and slammed the door. He slid the bolt across again hearing muffled poundings from inside and asked Thorna to let her out again after eight o'clock. By then — whatever happened — it wouldn't matter.

Thorna put her mouth closer to Locklin's ear so she didn't have to shout too loud over the music. ‘I'll ask Sergeant Knox to meet you out there?' she asked, guessing that he was headed out to Freeman.