Honorable Assassin (39 page)

“Terry, the rules are that the next of kin
must do that and… well, I couldn’t bear to look at him and, you
know, the morgue is in Orange so it’s well out of our way.”

James had remained silent since exiting his
car, but inserted himself into the conversation with “it might be
best if you handed over those revolvers.”

There was no doubt that this had been
coming. They all knew the rules and the only reason the constables
had come on so soft is that they had known Terry a long time. For
his part, Terry was uncomfortable with letting anyone take his
guns; he was also uncomfortable with getting in the back of the
highway cruiser. James headed toward Molong while Billy drove Terry
toward Orange. Terry had not been given enough time to access the
underground bunker and retrieve the cash hidden there. That had
been his primary objective, not to overlook the fact that he would
have filled the trunk of his new car with ammunition.

“Superintendent? We have him sir, Terry
Kingston turned up at the family farm and was taken into custody by
the constables from Molong. He is currently at the station in
Orange. He identified his uncle’s body.”

“His uncle’s body? What’s that all
about?”

“His uncle died when his farmhouse burned.
The fire department couldn’t do anything for the house.”

“Could it have been Terry? He’s probably the
beneficiary of the insurance policy.”

“The neighbors say he was around a while
back, but that he hasn’t been on the farm for a couple of weeks. I
don’t think the officers from Molong consider this much of a
possibility either. He is all they’ve got, though. We had questions
last time we went to Orange and there’s a boat load more now.”

“All right, Sergeant. You and I will be
going out immediately. It’s going to be a long day.”

“I could have him transported here.”

“No, Sergeant, I have a feeling the real
story is out there. Have Linda Pierce brought in for questioning as
well. Do not let the two of them talk, keep them separate. We’ve
finally buttoned down a long running mystery. The problem will be
to get the story out of them since we have no real evidence. We
need to convince them we do and go from there.”

“Do you want Linda brought here?”

“No. There. Orange. Have a car ready for
when I get there. I’ll call C.I. Slaughter and get a substitute
sent in for you. You are driving me.” Barlow hung up the phone. It
was indeed going to be a long day as the sun was already going
down.

“Hello, Terry. It’s been a very long
time.”

“Aye. Last time I saw you, it was Inspector
Barlow.”

“And I thought I had gone as far as I could.
I expected to retire, as an inspector.”

“It seems fortune has smiled on us
both.”

“How so?”

“Well, you have become Superintendent and I
have the fortune to know the superintendent personally. I must say
we meet under remarkably similar circumstances as before. Are you
sure you’re not really the angel of death scouting for more
souls?”

“No, I leave the souls to the priests. I
only need the bodies.”

“Well, I’ve identified Uncle Ginger for you,
but that required no visit from the top. You have something on your
mind that needs to be let out.”

“Indeed I do. I need you to tell me about
your secretary, Linda Pierce.” The Superintendent’s manner was
grave. He was not greeting an old friend; he was investigating
murders.

“Linda? My secretary? Her name is
Pettigrew.”

“Yes, Linda. What is your relationship with
her?”

“She’s a good secretary. I met her, I don’t
know… uh, a few months ago. We hit it off. I dated her a few times.
She’s older than me. I had some fun with her, but we were never
meant to be together for long. When Gretta wanted to retire I
thought Linda would be a good replacement. She’s been working out
well.”

“I see. Tell me about her husband.”

“She’s not married. I’ve been to her house.
I’ve met her family. She lives on a farm with her parents.” Terry
knew he had made a mistake in having any connection with Linda
after they had set up her ex-husband, and he knew he needed to play
it cool and ignorant now.

The superintendent bored in with questions
about where he had been on this date and that date. Who had he been
with, who had he spoken to, what he had done. Terry could do
nothing but feign ignorance. He never knew where he had been or
what he had done on those dates. It was much too long ago to
remember.

Frustrated, Barlow left the interrogation
room to talk to Linda but he found that she was not there. She had
not been at work today nor had she come home. Her father had told
the investigator that had been sent to pick her up, that she had
left with a bikie gang and he did not know when she would be back.
He didn’t remember what the name on the jackets was. He said he
couldn’t read it properly. The investigator knew the Valkieries had
gone through town two days earlier. That was the only gang that had
been seen.

Sergeant Black and one of the locals were
left in the room with Terry. They continued to grill him about his
whereabouts on certain dates and he continued to tell them he could
not remember. To give them anything would be suicide. He also came
to the realization that he should have had a fabricated log book
for his activities for every day of the last few years. Something
like the truck drivers are expected to keep, only for everyday
business activities. What he did have was his signature on a number
of dated documents at the insurance agency. He would not pull them
out unless pushed into a tight corner and they were of questionable
value since they were dated in one handwriting and signed in
another. He often signed documents days or weeks after they had
been drafted, depending on his schedule.

“I think you should tell me what this is all
about. I’m getting a little tired of all these questions I can’t
answer, and I have no idea what they pertain to. In fact, I would
like very much to consult my solicitor.” Terry had not spoken to
his lawyer for quite some time but Mr. Streng had always been in
the background at the agency. The attorney seldom took criminal
cases any more, but in Terry’s case there would be no question.

“You are entitled to a solicitor when we
actually charge you with a crime,” Sergeant Black retorted. “Until
now we have been having a quiet conversation, there has been no
charges filed against you.”

“A quiet conversation in a sound-proof room
where I am not allowed to smoke, where I am being filmed, where
there is a one-way mirror that I am undoubtedly under observation
from.” Adopting a woman’s voice, Terry finished with, “Well, thank
you for the tea and crumpets, I must be getting back to my
washing.” The high-pitched quavering voice Terry adopted for the
last statement made Superintendent Barlow laugh out loud on the far
side of the observation mirror.

“He certainly is a cool customer. Especially
considering that he just identified the charred remains of his dead
uncle. His last remaining relative. This is the sort of man to plan
the set up of Lee Pierce. He’s also correct. We have nothing to
hold him on. I had hoped he would slip and let something out, but I
don’t think that will happen.” Barlow rose from his chair and went
back through the door into the room. “Mr. Kingston, are you aware
that your secretary is consorting with outlaw motorcycle gangs and
is probably planning to rob your agency blind?”

“That’s why we have an accountant and a
solicitor to keep an eye on each other. A system of checks and
balances.”

“And who keeps their eye on you?”

“Nobody needs to. I do nothing wrong. I may
have one too many from time to time and I do like to boff the
ladies, but there’s nothing wrong in that, is there?”

“You should be more careful with whom you
consort. You might find yourself in dire straights otherwise.”

“I’ll take that under consideration. Now, if
there’s nothing more, it has been an incredibly long day and I
would like very much to get a shower and go to bed.”

Billy drove back to Molong in silence. He
was not privy to the questions asked in Orange, but he assumed they
were regarding Terry’s whereabouts for the last couple of days. He
assumed it was about the fire. His shift had been over for hours
and he was more than ready to go home to his wife. He and Terry
parted on friendly terms with no love lost.

The young Kingston stood, facing the
blackened remains, waiting for something. He didn’t know what it
was he was waiting for. He more felt than heard the old generator
kick on underground. If he had not known it was there, or if the
wind had been blowing, he would not have felt or recognized the
tremor. The barns had escaped the flames, though it completely
destroyed the house. There was no power to the lights in the barn
and there was no flashlight in the Toyota, so Terry fired it up and
turned on the headlights. Inside the barn, the concrete block was
exposed. That seemed odd, but the hoist was not attached to the
lifting ring. He ran the cable out and hoisted the block. Of
course, Terry had a key for the security door.

“That took balls, if you’ll pardon the
expression, Constable.”

“Of course, Sergeant Black.”
Senior Constable First Class O’Reilly emphasized the word
‘sergeant’ in response to being called Constable. She was
considered a first class officer and she did indeed have what it
takes to enter difficult situations.

“A lot of men would think twice
about walking into the Valkieries’ clubhouse in or out of
uniform.”

“I was there looking for someone
in particular who was not a club member. If she were a club member,
I would not have gone there. Anyway, I took Tank with me. I didn’t
get anywhere as it was. They gave me nothing. I didn’t see anyone
fitting the description and I had to ignore a lot of what I did
see. That’s a sordid bunch, there.”

“You don’t suppose they did away
with her, do you?”

“Sergeant, they may have done
anything with her. It is out of character for a farm girl and
secretary of an insurance agency to suddenly up and run off with a
bunch of bisexual bikies. It doesn’t fit, unless she took a sudden
liking to women. Women in black leather.”

Sergeant Black had a sudden
intuition, fed by the expression on her face, that perhaps Senior
Constable First Class O’Reilly had taken a sudden liking to women
in black leather, but he held his tongue.

“They could have started pimping
her out, but that is not what they do as far as anyone can tell”
O’Reilly continued. “They may have used her up and eaten her alive
for all I could tell. The men in Orange kept a sharp eye on them in
and out of town. They saw a woman in business attire riding with
one of the gang, but did not see who it was. I’m convinced it was
this Linda Pettigrew, but I can’t say where she went.”

“Very well, Constable O’Reilly,
I’ll make sure the Superintendent knows of your invaluable
assistance.” The truth was he was desperate to prove how valuable
he could be. Black knew the Superintendent had only a few years at
the best and would be replaced with someone who had no knowledge of
him or love for him. If he were to make a mark, he needed to move
soon, while his star was still on the horizon. At this juncture
that meant finding Linda and bringing her to talk to Barlow. But he
had no clue where to look. Finally he concluded that his best
chance of finding Linda lay with observing Terry Kingston. Terry
was the key to it all.

“Did ye bring me a cigar,
mate?”

Terry jumped out of his skin.
Before he knew it he had a .38 out and cocked.

“Oh, oh, oh. Terry, you wouldn’t
shoot your old uncle would you?”

“Ginger, for the love of God. You
scared me right out of my trousers.”

“Only two kinds of men coming
through that door, friends and enemies and I don’t have many
friends.”

“So you hide under a blanket and
scare the life out of one of the few you do have?”

“Precisely.”

“Shit, how did you expect to get
out of here? How did you close the slab behind you?”

“House jack and a bit of timber.
This is a bloody good place to hide.”

“For a while.” Terry did not look
entirely convinced.

“You have fresh air, bottled
water, food. I wouldn’t want to stay down here long but a couple of
days is no strain.”

“You’re dead, you know. I
identified your dead body at the morgue.” Terry lit a
cigarette.

“I’ll thank you to address me as
Horace in the future. I needed a change anyway.”

Terry grinned. “Uncle Horace.
Sounds like some child-boffing pervert from a wizard book.”

“Have a care young man. This old
pervert might boff your ears for you.”

Terry spread his arms and hugged
his uncle in an unprecedented rush of emotion. Ginger thumped him
on the back and asked if there was a chance of getting out quietly
and if Terry had any cigars.

There was no doubt about the Helping Hands
cutting Terry a check for the disastrous fire and the death of his
uncle. There was actually a substantial life insurance policy that
both Kingstons had forgotten about. It was paid automatically and
in perpetuity by Mr. Streng, Esquire, in Terry’s name. Mr. Streng
made a small percentage for representing the interested parties,
and a much larger commission for selling the Kingston Agency that
was snapped up within days of going on the market. It should have
sold for more, but time was of the essence.

Ginger could not be convinced to leave the
area with a pile of cash. He had not raised and trained his nephew
in the clandestine arts just to be shoved under the bed when the
action started. He was already dead in the eyes of the law and the
bastards had burned his home, so he felt he had a legitimate
grudge.