Out of the Ice (33 page)

‘Anything from Georgia?’ I asked Silvia, hoping against hope.

‘No,
bella
. I call the police again. They are searching – but nothing. And the professor’s phoned, asking if you got in safely. I said you were sleeping.’

‘Thanks.’ An involuntarily shiver ran through me. Fabio knew where to find me, and that wasn’t a good thing. Even if he was legitimate, I didn’t want to see him again. The boys had disappeared into the ether and my Hamish wasn’t with them. I needed to get back to Antarctica, urgently.

‘Laura?’ said a deep male voice.

I turned. Silhouetted in the glass doors that led from the canal, suitcase in hand, stood David White. I blinked and stared as my ex-husband came at me like a bear. His aftershave, so familiar, almost knocked me off my feet as he shook my hand with a firm grasp.

‘Georgia said you’d be here,’ he said confidently.

‘Did you get my messages?’ I asked.

‘My SIM card’s not working properly. I’ve been held up in Dubai for hours. I was meant to get here last night, but Georgia probably told you that.’

‘David, Georgia’s missing.’

David looked confused.

‘No one’s seen her for over twenty-four hours.’

David watched my face for a few moments, then spoke briskly. ‘Can I borrow your phone?’ I passed it over and he called the police. He knew who to ask for. After a brief and difficult conversation in English, he hung up, furious.

‘They have no idea where Georgia is, and they were too busy with a flood of asylum seekers who arrived last night to send anyone to the docks. They’re not coping with all the refugees. And Professor Natuzzi asks them to go to boats all the time. Without Georgia’s involvement, they weren’t going to send police a day earlier than had been arranged for the operation.’

‘I went with Natuzzi,’ I said. David glared at me, surprised. ‘The boy I saw in the ice didn’t turn up,’ I continued. ‘Others did, though. And they’d definitely been in Antarctica. The men with Natuzzi paid cash to the boat captain.’

‘And no one was arrested because there were no police there,’ said David darkly.

So the men with Natuzzi weren’t police – I was right about that, but who were they?

‘You shouldn’t have gone to the docks,’ said David sternly. ‘You were meant to ID the boy at the police station.’

‘What was I supposed to do?’ I replied, tired and defensive. Within seconds of seeing each other we were getting into a fight. I wasn’t in the mood. ‘I couldn’t contact anyone.
You
weren’t returning my calls. And I thought Georgia might be at the docks.’

David, concerned, turned to Silvia who was listening worriedly. ‘Can I see Georgia’s room, please?’

I took David up in the lift, filling him in on the details of last night.

It was chilling to enter Georgia’s room and see it exactly the same as yesterday, with her clothes strewn on the bed. David looked methodically through everything. He took my phone and called the police again; the detective on the other end put him on hold. David cursed, his body pumped with rage – something I remembered from seeing him work difficult cases.

David stabbed the phone on to speaker, and as we waited I told him about the tunnel entrance in Fredelighavn; he listened intently. ‘Georgia told me about the Chatham boys,’ he said. ‘We’ve been in contact with American and British colleagues. Snow’s record’s clean, but these sort of men are smart, so that’s not surprising. Connaught’s shady – up until his early twenties he was known as Harold Westley, a primary-school science teacher in North London. When a father accused him of interfering with his son, Westley physically attacked him. He was charged with assault, but nothing else was proved. It was enough to make Westley change his name, though. And the boy’s family moved to Australia. You’ve met the boy – now grown up.’

I looked at him mutely, confused.

‘Simon Huxtable,’ said David. ‘The pilot at Alliance. So we think the Base Commander and Chief Pilot are in on this. And your original boy’s still down on South Safety Island?’

I nodded, reeling at the news that Simon was involved. He’d always seemed like one of the good guys.

‘Another pilot, Reg, tipped Georgia off that he thought Simon might have been doing irregular flights for quite some time. Simon’s fudged his records, but we managed, with help, to trace where we suspect he’s been. A line of Middle Eastern countries, where people smugglers then take the boys a short distance overland to boats. A British detective put Georgia in touch with Natuzzi, and with Natuzzi’s information we formed a pattern. Natuzzi heard that another group of pale boys was on its way. The people smugglers notice these boys because they’re as white as ghosts.’ David turned red, bottling up his emotions. ‘It would be like a feast for the men on South Safety with those boys, with no one knowing they’re there. We have no idea yet how many of the men are involved. But now, with the details you’ve provided, we can mount an operation.’ He softened. ‘Good work, Laura.’

I felt sick to my core. My boy was still there, with Connaught and Simon, being violated by them and who knew who else. Possibly even Travis. Vomit rose in my throat.

‘We have to get back to South Safety,’ I demanded. ‘And who
is
Natuzzi? Do you know him?’

‘Not personally. Georgia was dealing with him. You look like you don’t trust him?’

‘I don’t.’

David looked surprised. ‘Well, when someone bothers to speak to me I’ll find out more about him—’ David stopped as a male voice came down the line. ‘David? Hello?’

David took the phone off speaker and lifted it to his ear, but before he could say a word, the other man spoke rapidly. David grew as still as a statue. ‘We’ll be there,’ he said, hanging up. He looked at me. ‘They may have found Georgia.’

‘Is she all right?’

He didn’t answer as he tugged me out of the room, his face a rigid mask of anger.

‘David?’

‘Near La Fenice opera house, do you know the way?’

‘David, tell me she’s okay?’

‘Just get me to La Fenice; I’ll find it from there.’

I’d seen the signs to La Fenice – it was near the hotel. I led us, running faster than I ever had. We flew up to the main thoroughfare and after a few moments we turned at the sign. As the grand stone façade of the opera house came into view, David detoured down an alley, and then another, twisting towards a canal. The tide was rising, lapping across the narrow footpath. A distance away, uniformed police and plainclothes detectives huddled. It was a quiet, desolate area, devoid of tourists, at the back of buildings; there were no entrances onto the footpath.

As we ran into the clump of police I looked for Georgia – she wasn’t among them. They were all staring at something slumped against the wall. Lying with its face turned away was a bloated body. The jeans and white shirt, slimed with green, could have belonged to anyone. The hair was dark, blood-stained, covered with seaweed. But there was something about the hands that made me stop.

In death there was still a strength to the hands, a vitality. And then I saw Georgia’s rings – her sapphire engagement ring bit into her grey flesh, the gold wedding band on top. I heard a sharp cry and knew it had come from me. I was moaning, rocking back and forth. David bent over her body. I went to follow, numb.

‘Get her away!’ yelled David, lunging up and grabbing my arm. ‘Laura, get back.’ I pulled away and again moved towards Georgia, but two policemen forced me back. Filthy canal water rushed over my feet. Georgia must have washed up here yesterday at
acqua alta
. If she hadn’t been found, she would have floated away on today’s tide. I thought of the bruised, murdered woman being hauled, feet-first, out of a dank canal in Georgia’s favourite film,
Don’t Look Now
. Georgia’s body in front of me, and the one in the film, started to jumble together. Had Georgia fled down dark alleys before she was killed? Had she been terrified? I stared at her body wedged against the wall and couldn’t believe what I was seeing, the horrible, unreal finality of death.

•  •  •

As I sat in a small, poorly lit room at the police station while David went in to make a formal identification of Georgia, the scene played over and over in my mind. Georgia’s broken body, blood oozing from her head, dark and gelatinous.

Georgia had always been so animated when she spoke of Venice; she’d been looking forward so much to bringing her family next year when Stacey graduated. Georgia was such a loving mother – how would her children cope? And Jeff, her husband? They were each other’s world, a tight-knit family. My loyal, caring friend had been murdered.
And she would never have been involved if it wasn’t for me.
Tears seeped out; my head felt like it had been cracked by an axe.

Who had done this? Had Connaught and Simon arranged it? Or was it Snow? And was Professor Natuzzi involved?

Which one had sent her to a watery grave in the city she loved?

I was full of fear for my boy. If they had killed Georgia, what terrible things were they doing to him?

I had to find him, and the other boys, before it was too late. If whoever was behind this had even a hint that we were onto them, they could close things down. My heart started to race. If Natuzzi was in on it, they might have already taken the boys away when they couldn’t dispatch me into the freezing sea with Georgia.

David burst into the room, eyes ablaze with rage and adrenalin. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘There’s no more we can do here.’

‘Natuzzi. Are they speaking to him?’

‘Right now. He’s legitimate. He wasn’t in on it. He’s a big name in Venice, internationally renowned. He pays the boat captains so they bring the kids to him. Natuzzi and his bodyguards are devoted to helping them.’

So the thugs were bodyguards, and it seemed I owed Fabio an apology for running away. But I still wasn’t sure about him.

‘So we have no idea who did this,’ David said, lowering his voice so no one but me could hear. ‘I suspect that Connaught and Simon are behind it, and probably Snow Flynt. But I feel there’s someone involved this end as well. Two detectives, one from our squad, and one from the Australian Federal Police, are flying over with Georgia’s family tomorrow. And the AFP Commissioner has spoken to her Italian counterpart, so they’ll be pulling out all stops in the investigation.’ He was now whispering in a low rumble. ‘As far as the Venetian police know, I’m staying here. But we need to get down to South Safety – and no one here is being told that, for operational reasons.’

I nodded, grateful for David’s plan.

‘Can I see Georgia now?’ I asked.

‘No.’

David stood with his legs apart like he was about to have a fight.

‘Please, David, I need to say goodbye.’

‘I think you don’t.’ He sat beside me and held my hand. ‘Remember her like she was. She wouldn’t want you to see her like this.’ My body tensed and then crumbled – I started to sob uncontrollably. David held me tight.

•  •  •

Five hours later we were on a plane, on our way to Buenos Aires. Venice drifted below, lights twinkling in the dusk, soft and deceptive. I could barely see through swollen eyes. Tears kept seeping out.

David was hunched over my computer the entire flight looking at the photos of Fredelighavn. I explained everything I knew, but he kept asking questions, trying to ascertain all angles, tapping notes into his own laptop.

I wanted desperately to contact Kate but David wouldn’t let me. We needed to arrive unannounced, he said tersely. Our friend, and one of his own, had been killed. We were set to avenge her death. Fury rose in me, unstoppable, at what they’d done to Georgia.

At Buenos Aires we were met by an Argentinian pilot, who flew us to Ushuaia. There we transferred to a smaller plane and flew to Base Martinez, an Argentine station on the Antarctic Peninsula. The irony didn’t escape me that my Spanish compatriots were going to play a key role in the mission. Argentina and Britain were usually at loggerheads over their disputed territories down here, but children at risk had united them – along with a firm directive from the Antarctic Council. If the boys on South Safety were like the others, they could be Mexican, Guatemalan, and other Spanish speakers who’d been sent across the border from Mexico into the United States, hoping for a better life, only to end up with Snow.

As we touched down at Base Martinez, waiting for us were two British detectives, Ben and Heather, mid-thirties, untalkative, and an Argentinian detective, Carlos, who was whippet thin with warm, animated eyes and a grin as broad as Georgia’s. I took one look at him and burst into tears again, remembering my vivacious friend. David squeezed my hand impatiently. ‘Keep a lid on, Laura,’ he whispered. ‘We need you to concentrate.’ A white heat of anger blazed through me. Here was the patronising David I’d left behind. Rather than explode, I walked away, gazing at the sea to try to calm down.
Focus
, I told myself, just as two sleek, black humpback whales came cruising through the water, a mother and her calf. A sign.

When I walked back to the group I was strong. And full of rage.

We just fitted into the small propeller plane that had skis beneath its wheels. As soon as we were strapped in, the plane took off. David and the detectives leaned towards each other and spoke soft and fast. I didn’t know why I was being left out but I didn’t care. I thought only of my boy.

South Safety Island came into view and my heart skipped a beat. It was a sparkling afternoon and I could make out pods of whales – humpbacks, orcas, southern right and the small minke – gliding through the pristine water. On the giant blue icebergs, Adélie penguins huddled, staring at the water until one brave bird went first and the others followed in a mass of black and white.

Small bits of icebergs, growlers, floated in the deep blue ocean, and smaller bergy bits bobbed about. Summer had arrived.

As we banked over Alliance Bay and flew above the red rooftops of Fredelighavn, the giant, bleached whale bones stood out starkly on the beach. At Alliance Point, the Adélie rookery was packed with hundreds of thousands of birds stretching up the hill as far as the eye could see. Leopard seals roamed the water beneath the cliff. Elephant seals lolled on the beach and Weddell seals swam between the rusted hulks of the abandoned ships.