Tropic of Death (32 page)

‘What are you sulking about?’ she asked.

‘They’ve stirred the shit and told me to play along without giving me the full picture,’ he answered. ‘I’m under orders to keep up the pressure on Billy.’

‘Billy deserves it, but he won’t like it.’

‘He’ll go mental, but I suppose that’s the general idea.’ Jarrett gritted his teeth. ‘First things first. I assume you didn’t bring a gun with you from Melbourne?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Because you’re going to need one. I’m issuing you with a Queensland Police Service Glock semi-automatic, okay?’

‘I’m used to a .38 revolver, but that’s fine. What’s changed?’

‘I’ve been listening to the tapes of Billy’s interviews. Sutcliffe went in hard, did everything to provoke him. Got him as mad as a cut snake. You’re among those he’s blaming for his predicament.

Freddy Hopper too. They made it sound like Freddy grassed.’

‘We’ve got to track him down.’

‘There’s something else.’

‘What?’

‘After all that’s happened this weekend, the council’s panicking.

The environmentalists say they’ve got evidence the Planning Committee accepted bribes from Billy. If that goes public it could bring down the entire council. The government could sack them and it would serve the bastards right.’ Jarrett chuckled.

‘Anyway, they’ve opted for political expediency. The committee convened an emergency meeting this morning with one item on the agenda. They’ve accepted a new submission from the tree-huggers and revoked planning permission for the Ridgeway tourist development. Billy will lose millions. He’ll be out for blood.’

‘The Ridgeway. That’s the place I want to check out.’ Rita drummed her fingers on the desk. ‘Have you got the pathology reports to hand - the one for the man in the mud?’

‘Yeah, just a tick.’ Jarrett swivelled over to a filing cabinet, lifted out a folder and handed it to her. ‘What’re you looking for?’

‘The list of trace elements,’ she said, flipping through the file.

‘Here it is.’ She ran her finger down the document. ‘Yes, that’s interesting.’

‘What?’

‘Among other things, the lab found particles of cement powder stuck to the victim’s hair.’

‘I’m confused,’ said Jarrett. ‘What does that tell us?’

‘It might indicate he was killed at the Ridgeway building site.

Which would make the nail gun an opportunistic weapon, at least initially. And that would say something else about the profile.’

‘Would it tell us,’ asked Jarrett, lowering his voice, ‘if we’re looking for a serial killer or a hit man?’

Rita smiled as she shuffled the papers back into the file. ‘It would mean we’re looking for someone who’s both.’

They’d got him to say things he now regretted - such as yes, he’d witnessed Billy threatening the reporter over the phone, and no, he wasn’t convinced Billy was innocent of Rachel’s murder.

The word had gone out: Freddy’s urgent presence was required at the Diamond, but that was the last place he intended to show his face.

He’d spent the past twenty-four hours avoiding his home, the cyber cafe and the warehouse loft, instead living out of the back of his battered Land Rover. He’d parked it in a good hiding place

- a corrugated-iron shed behind a supermarket loading bay - but even venturing out on foot was risky. More than once he’d ducked for cover after noticing a pair of Billy’s nightclub goons on the prowl. They’d cruised past in their red Porsche Turbo, scanning the pavements through their designer shades. Freddy had thought about calling Rita Van Hassel until it occurred to him that any further contact with the police, especially Billy’s sworn enemy, wasn’t exactly a good idea.

The fried food smells along the seafront reminded Freddy he was hungry. He was walking along the lower promenade past shellfish bars and burger stalls, and gift shops selling toffee apples and fairy floss. He was heading for the Seahorse Fish Bar when, with another glance over his shoulder, he spotted Ice. She was strolling towards him like an exotic creature among the stands of beach hats, thongs and pink hula hoops. Freddy stopped and waited for her to catch up.

It was a while since he’d last seen her. She was spending more time away from Whitley these days, jetting back mostly because of business obligations. She’d touch base with Billy, who’d financed her off the streets, and Stonefish, who managed her website. In return they enjoyed her sexual services for free. Freddy was envious.

There were also her regular clients to satisfy. He remembered how Ice had started off as a fifteen-year-old street hooker down by the docks and how Stonefish picked her up one night and had instantly fallen in love - she had that effect - and got her onto the net. Now, six years later, she was extending her private market around the Pacific rim, with lucrative stopovers on the US West Coast and a growing fan base in Japan. And she didn’t look like an ordinary dockside girl anymore.

When she saw Freddy she smiled and strolled towards him, her impressive breasts seeming to target him, like cruise missiles.

‘So you’re back in town,’ said Freddy.

‘Not for long,’ she said in her husky voice. ‘Just sorting out business as quickly as possible.’

‘In other words, slumming it.’

She gave a soft laugh. It made her bust sway. Freddy swallowed.

Her first round of cosmetic surgery had come when she’d turned seventeen - implants that gave her double-E breasts, a birthday present to herself. Next she’d had her upper eyelids done, followed by her lower eyelids. That’s when she’d told Freddy that she was modelling herself on Lara Croft. More bouts of plastic surgery re-sculpted her nose and cheekbones. She had a rib removed, then liposuction on her buttocks and thighs. Finally she’d spent thousands of dollars having her teeth done. Freddy didn’t think Ice much resembled the Tomb Raider heroine, but the effect was stunning as she sauntered with him past racks of flippers, goggles and inflatable ducks.

‘Have you managed to track down Stonefish?’ asked Freddy, trying to sound casual, but something in his tone must have betrayed him.

‘Why? Jealous?’

‘Because everyone’s looking for him and no one can find him.’

‘If Stonefish wants to stay hidden, I’m not going to give away his hiding place.’

‘So you
have
seen him,’ said Freddy. ‘A word of advice: don’t tell anyone, especially Billy.’

‘Do I
look
like I’m stupid?’

‘Actually,’ Freddy replied with an appraising glance, ‘you look like a million bucks.’

She gave him a raunchy smile. It went with the outfit. Ice was wearing a metallic tank top and hot pants with matching boots. Her exposed midriff revealed the diamond stud in her navel. The gem was real. So were the jewelled studs in her ears, nose and tongue. More diamonds were set in the rings she wore through her pierced nipples and clitoris. Freddy had only seen them once - she’d flaunted them on a dope-fuelled night further north - but the image was imprinted on his memory. Somehow the diamonds whet the appetite, just as they did in the explicit pictures displayed on the net, advertising her wares and her trade name, Ice for Spice.

Freddy stopped outside the Seahorse Fish Bar. ‘Join me for lunch?’

‘In there?’ she asked distastefully.

‘Why not? You ate there as a kid.’

The point seemed to hit home.

‘Okay,’ she said, and strode in ahead of him.

The hubbub of conversation died for a moment as she entered; a pause in the clink of cutlery, eyes staring, then whispers and some snide laughter. Then the chatter resumed.

‘Satisfied?’ she said as they sat at a window table.

She gazed glumly through the glass at the amusement park on the far side of the esplanade. A Ferris wheel revolved sluggishly above the thud and grate of dodgems. The ghost train wobbled past players prodding at mini golf. Further along was the pool hall and bowling alley, shabby buildings with darkened doorways.

Freddy was aware that as a teenager Ice knew them all, her jaw held open, her knees grazed as she knelt on the asphalt. And the cheap arcades with video games and pinball machines, providing curtained little rooms at the back where she’d earn fifty dollars an hour under sweating drunks. Scenes from her adolescence.

She sighed. ‘Sometimes I hate this place.’

‘Then why come back?’ he asked.

‘Commitments. And it reminds me what I’ve escaped from.’

But there was a false note in her voice.

‘Maybe you can’t get away,’ said Freddy. ‘Maybe you carry it with you.’

She looked across sharply but the waitress arrived. Ice glared at him. ‘You buying?’ she demanded.

When Freddy nodded she ordered a plate of oysters. He had to check his wallet. It contained one ten-dollar note.

‘Cash was never your strong point,’ she said. ‘That’s the only reason you never had me. Now you can’t afford my rates.’

‘At least I got to check out the merchandise.’

‘When?’

‘The night we got zonked on hash up at Port Douglas. You did the full strip. Even flashed the sparkler in your clit.’

‘I’d forgotten.’

‘I never will.’ He plucked a credit card from his wallet. ‘This one’s healthy.’

He ordered flounder and chips in batter.

‘Anyway, this dump can go to hell,’ she resumed. ‘I’ve asked Stonefish to flog my penthouse. So I might not come back again.’

‘Where will you live?’

‘I’ve got pads in Santa Barbara and Vancouver. And a suite in Yokohama - they can’t get enough of me there.’

‘Have you told Billy?’

‘Not yet. Billy’s got a lot on his mind at the moment - too much even for a blowjob.’ Ice pushed back her hair and gave him a cold smile. ‘And he’s really pissed off with you, Freddy, among others. Have you been talking behind his back?’

‘No! I’m being used to get at him.’

‘Well, he thinks you’ve been squealing to the cops and his boys are out looking for you.’

‘I know.’

‘So if you want to stay healthy, keep your head down.’

‘What the fuck do you think I’m doing?’

‘What you’re best at - getting yourself in the shit.’

Her oysters arrived.

‘Pity there’s no fizz to go with them,’ she said. ‘But you were never one for a champagne lifestyle.’

Freddy folded his arms in a huff. ‘Unlike you, I suppose.’

‘Bloody right. I’m making a stash since I’ve gone corporate.

Ice for Spice Online International - want one of my cards?’ He shrugged and she gave a harsh chuckle. ‘Male instinct is the safest bet there is.’

She squeezed lemon over the oysters and sprinkled on Worcestershire sauce. Then she lifted a shell, tilted back her head and slid the soft pulp down her throat. She licked her lips and gazed at him through lustreless eyes.

‘So in future, if you want me, it’ll cost you international rates.’

Her husky voice mocked him. ‘Plus the price of an airfare.’

Freddy didn’t say anything. He just looked into the plate of fish and chips being shoved in front of him and thought about the smooth, winking diamond in her clitoris, and how he’d never get to see it again.

Thoughts of Ice and her custom-made body filled Freddy’s head as he walked from the seafront down an alley by a supermarket to where his Land Rover was discreetly parked in a shed behind the delivery trucks. He was about to get in when he was grabbed from behind, his arm twisted against his back and a gloved hand clamped over his mouth. His muffled cries went unnoticed as he was lifted bodily into the back of a van, convinced that Billy’s goons had finally caught up with him.

But it was even worse.

As the van’s rear door was slammed behind him, he found himself being dragged in front of the man who’d already inflicted manual torture on him, the man who’d threatened to go all the way and carry out castration. The American, Kurt, sat on a bench with a big metal nutcracker in his meaty hand, nonchalantly crunching walnut shells and eating the nuts. The symbolism wasn’t lost on Freddy as he was manhandled onto a stool between Kurt’s knees.

‘You haven’t phoned me, Freddy,’ he said.

‘I’ve been looking for Stonefish, believe me! But I can’t find him.’

‘Should I believe him?’ Demchak asked his two assistants, who were holding Freddy from behind. ‘No? Okay, yank his pants off.’

‘No!’ screamed Freddy, trying to resist. But he was helpless.

His jeans and underpants were tugged from his legs and flung on the floor of the van as he thrashed around, until Kurt laid a calming slap on the side of his face that half stunned him. Freddy squatted on the stool, naked from the waist down, with his cheek burning and a ringing in his ear, feeling dizzy. A sharp pain in his groin helped him refocus as he realised his scrotum was being squeezed in the metal jaws of the nutcracker.

‘It’s truth time, Freddy,’ said Demchak, breathing into his face.

‘Tell me where Stonefish is hiding or your balls come off.’

‘Please, you’ve got to believe me!’ begged Freddy, bursting into tears. ‘I just don’t know. I swear.’

Demchak, his eyes unblinking, stared at Freddy.

‘Okay,’ he said at last, removing the nutcracker.

‘Thank you,’ blubbered Freddy, grateful for the reprieve.

Because that’s all it was.

‘You’ve got one last chance to find him,’ warned Demchak.

‘The next time we meet, if you’ve got nothing to tell me, your nuts are mine. Three strikes and they’re out. Understand?’

Freddy nodded. Then he was picked up and hurled from the back of the van, grazing his knees and elbows as he landed on the concrete surface of the loading bay. His jeans and underpants were flung into his face as the van screeched off and disappeared down the alley.

In the sudden silence, he looked around. No one had witnessed his humiliation. He pulled his clothes back on, feeling pathetic, but at least it had clarified one thing. With two sets of thugs coming after him - both criminal and official - he desperately needed help. There was only one person he could think of who might come to his rescue, and he no longer cared that she was a cop.