Good Money (35 page)

Van Zyl knew Finchley; they were members of the ‘Bow-Tie Club' with Brodtmann. It was possible that Finchley introduced him to Cesarelli because Cesarelli was looking to launder his money. Along comes Van Zyl with a proposal about the Bailey Range joint venture. Anonymous investors, hiding behind various company names — so that even Brodtmann didn't know Van Zyl had money in Bailey Range. But Van Zyl and Cesarelli both lost millions on the deal. Only to see Brodtmann prosper, mining iron ore.

But how did Merritt Van Zyl become the
Mr Funsail
in Adut Chol's book? That a man like Merritt Van Zyl even knew Adut Chol was absurd.

I held my arms across my chest, trembling. Van Zyl wanted revenge on Brodtmann. He had lost millions, not to mention costing Cesarelli a small fortune. Had Van Zyl suggested to Cesarelli that he might kidnap Tania? Van Zyl knew Tania was really Nina, heir to the Brodtmann's billions. In one horrible crime, he could have his retribution on Brodtmann and Cesarelli could have the ransom.

And Cesarelli had given that task to Adut Chol. And the boy had dutifully written down Tania's address and the name of the client. Mr Funsail.

But then Adut changed his mind — kidnapping was way more serious a crime — and had refused to go ahead with it. So Cesarelli had him killed.

The room was tight around me; I felt trapped. I needed fresh air in my lungs and I made a dash for the door and flung it open, breathing, gasping. Ida was standing on the step.

‘You're early,' I said, trying to compose myself.

‘Rod wants to get a good start.'

‘But what about Randall? He won't know where we are.'

‘He knows, Rod's told him.'

‘I just have to make a call first.' I had to tell Phuong about Van Zyl.

Rod tooted the horn on their four-wheel drive. ‘No time,' Ida said. ‘Do it when we get back.'

Rod gave me a curt nod. ‘All set?'

I patted my bag. ‘I suppose.' We drove around the edge of town until we were on the main highway, a single lane of bitumen that soon turned to dirt. After that, the going was slow and rough and vaguely sickening. In the empty, continuous desert — and with the sun directly above — I had no point of reference other than the low hills to the east. It really was a nice day. Clear skies, nice breeze wafting. We were a dull party though, with no games of I-Spy, or idle chitchat.

‘Here,' said Ida, the first words anyone had said for an hour. She had a map spread out on her knees and was checking it against their GPS. Rod slowed and turned onto a track without a signpost. The road was rutted and progress was difficult, and we passed another hour of tedious lurching and reeling. Ida pointed to a rocky point around a depression in the sand, near a sad stand of saltbush and a bunch of spinifex. ‘This is it,' she said. ‘Dead Mans Soak.'

Rod stopped and we all got out. There was nothing special about it that I could see. It was a scrubby plain, swept by a continuous gritty breeze — and circling high above, a lonely wedge-tailed eagle. Other than the low whistle of the wind, silence was all around. Ida opened the rear door to get some water. I pulled out the backpack, heaved it over my shoulder and ventured out to the ridge, glad to be out of the car. I walked a short distance, about a hundred metres, to the rock formation. From across the hills to the east, I heard a melancholy cry, like the bellowing of a sick animal, possibly a donkey's bray.

Rod was moving the car, searching, I assumed, among the rocky peaks for some shade to park under.

I climbed the rocks to see the nothingness beyond them. The sweep of the desert gave me a woozy rush and I was grateful for the wafting air that lifted my hair and cooled my neck. The problem was one of scale: here you had one small human, and her little problems; and over here, inconceivable breadth, bearing witness for a gazillion years. But now was not the time to dwell on such things. The sooner we checked the place out, the sooner I could get back and report Van Zyl to Phuong — or if not her then Randall or one of the local police.

Michaels had not come here for the peace and quiet, or to kill himself, but to meet Crystal. The poor fellow probably had no idea he was a threat to Van Zyl, as was anyone who understood the financial workings of the deal. I was convinced, now, that Michaels was just one more casualty in Van Zyl's insane war against Crystal. If I could find evidence linking Van Zyl to Michael's death, it would add more weight to my case when I spoke to the police.

I looked about me. Below, stamped upon the soft red dust, were tyre tracks. Big fat tyres, like those on a Range Rover or a Hummer. There'd been no rain for weeks and the tracks were perfectly preserved. I turned around to announce my discovery to the Lloyds but I couldn't see their car, only a rising line of dust that continued into the distance.

The beer at the pub had made me slow-witted — the comprehension dawned in slow-motion: they had left me behind.

I sat on a precipice of orange boulder. I picked up a stone and flicked it down onto the tyre tracks. This place wasn't Bourke Street, but surely, sooner or later, a car would come.

No. Not sooner. Maybe not even later. Maybe never.

Trying to walk back to town was dumb. Waiting was suicide. Oh silly, silly me.

The eagle circled. It looked menacing.

I tried to think. I could do this — I just had to use my brain. Survival required a few simple things. I had some water and some bread. Out here, that would probably last me a day or two. Maybe three. Then I'd die.

To make matters worse, I was busting. The art of outdoor urination had always eluded me. Whenever I attempted it, some disaster befell me. I'd squat and lose my balance and tumble backwards, arse-first, into the bushes. Once, a bug crawled into my undies. Usually, I'd just get wee all over my shoes, socks, and jeans. With a sigh, I climbed down and looked for a suitable place. Not many trees to go behind. But then who was going to see me? In the curve of rock, I took off my shoes and socks, and to be extra sure, my jeans as well. I crouched down and felt sweet relief.

At that exact moment, I heard an engine in the distance. I tried to hurry but some things can't be rushed. At last, I pulled up my undies and ran out to see what was coming. It was about five hundred metres away, a four-wheel drive, large, probably a Land Cruiser, approaching from Laverton and travelling east of me. There was not enough time to run back and put my jeans on; if I wanted this car to stop I had to start jumping up and down now. I was about to start flapping my arms but realised this was unnecessary. The car had turned, and moved with determined speed towards me. An unsettling thought came to me then; there was nothing out this way, no facilities, no town, nothing to see. Either this vehicle was off-course, or it was coming for me.

Panic rose in my chest. I pushed away thoughts of outback horror stories. I tried to still my shaking hands, the tingle in my nerves.

Calm down, I told myself. You're being melodramatic. Or perhaps not. A man had died in suspicious circumstances not far from where I stood. Some caution might be called for. I went to the backpack, took out the breadknife and folded it under the elastic of my undies.

The car stopped about twenty metres from where I was standing. Crystal Watt stepped out, wearing a khaki skirt and pink satin shirt.

‘Hi, Crystal,' I yelled, relieved. ‘Wow! Perfect timing.' Under normal circumstances I'd avoid her. She was corrupt and conniving and she'd had me beaten up. But if she gave me a lift out of here all would be forgiven.

‘See? She has no pants. She is an idiot,' Crystal said to someone in the car.

‘Oh,' I laughed, feeling a little bashful. ‘I had to take a p—'

‘I offer my advice. But you don't take it.' She was walking towards me.

‘Huh?'

‘In good faith, I come to you. I ask you, leave us alone. All you had to do.'

‘I don't understand. You're here to give me a lift back, right?'

The driver's-side door opened and the racist and contemptible Tom Ashwood, former Victorian police constable, now — what? — some kind of dodgy body guard, stepped out. To my amazement he had a pistol in his hand and was pointing it at me.

‘You could have done the decent thing,' Crystal was saying. ‘I imagine now you're sorry?'

I was. I should have run back and put my pants on. And my shoes — why didn't I just leave them on? The knife in my undies was digging into my hip. Ashwood had a gun pointed at me. Tania had died a horrible death. ‘I'm very sorry.'

Crystal laughed. ‘Yes. Now. But it's too late. So give me the report.'

‘No.'

Crystal rushed at me and grabbed a chunk of my hair before I could react. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Let go,' I yelled, trying to push her away.

She yanked my hair upwards. ‘Just tell me where the report is.'

Hair follicles stretched the skin on my nape. But I could handle it; I'd spent four hours in the hairdresser — my hair had been yanked, peroxided, and blow-dried.
That
was torture. This was nothing. ‘I don't have it. It's back in the unit.'

‘Liar!' she said. ‘We've been all through your stuff. You have it with you. Now, give it to me.' Crystal let go of my hair.

Ashwood made a show of aiming the gun at my head. A bullet to the head is more persuasive than hair pulling. I nodded to the backpack. ‘There.'

Crystal ripped it open and found the laptop. She walked around to the front of the car in her fancy high-heeled boots and placed it on the ground in front of the front tyre. Then Ashwood and I watched as she got in the car and drove over it. It crunched into pieces.

‘You didn't have to do that — wreck the whole computer. Couldn't you just break the DVD?'

Tendons in Crystal's neck protruded as she left the car and strode around, strutting like one of her peacocks. She started going through the backpack, pulling things out, and discovered the printed version, the one I showed the Lloyds. And then it hit me. The Lloyds. Those poor, shattered fools were thralls of this woman. Crystal took a lighter from Ashwood's front pocket and flicked it. Flame lapped the pages and caught. She waved the burning mess about until it was completely alight, allowing the smouldering ashes to fall to the ground and die out on the dirt. ‘Your little game is over.'

‘It wasn't a game,' I said, one hand creeping towards my undies. If she grabbed my hair again, I'd be ready.

She looked at Ashwood, shaking her head. ‘She's completely deranged.'

‘Once again, Crystal, you have underestimated me.'

‘Darling, I don't estimate you at all!'

‘But I know all about what you did to Tania. I know how you hounded her to make a false sample report for your precious Blue Lagoon.'

‘What you must understand,' Crystal said, ‘is that Nina was clever. She was good at all that geology business. She knew all the right things to put in to make it convincing.' She was walking around, coming towards me then moving back.

I put my hand down my undies and held the knife, thinking I'd wait till she was close enough to take a swipe at. They traded looks.

‘Really, darling,' Crystal said. ‘Are you hormonal or something?'

Ashwood put an arm around her shoulder and they stood there, having a good laugh.

I withdrew my hand and pointed a finger at them. ‘Nina didn't want to do your dirty work.'

‘It is true. She resisted this idea.'

‘So you
forced
her to do it.'

Crystal sighed. ‘Forced. That's a strong word. I like
persuaded
.'

Ashwood laughed. ‘Forceful persuasion.'

‘How?'

‘Oh, family matters,' Crystal said airily.

‘You threatened to tell Brodtmann about some error of Nina's. You'd done it before, told Brodtmann she'd stuffed up?'

Crystal shrugged. ‘We put on some pressure and she caved in.' Her face darkened. Making this admission annoyed her. She inhaled, put her hands on her hips. ‘You little heart bleeder, you don't understand. This is business — it's how we do it. You have to be tough. There's no room for the sweetie darlings who go around all kind and
after you
and
please
and
thank you
.'

Ashwood was nodding. ‘You're as tough as they come.'

‘You have to be.' She flashed her teeth at him, then she turned back to me. ‘But after she made her new report, Nina became devious. She left for Melbourne and threatened to go public with the first report if I didn't leave her alone.'

‘So why didn't you?'

She shook her head and her glossy hair swished around like in a shampoo commercial. ‘She had the report. She had the power.'

‘So you went to her salon and threatened her.'

‘Threaten? No. I asked her for little favour, just to break the silly thing.'

‘When she went missing, you had your muscle trash my flat.'