Tropic of Death (44 page)

‘Because I’m off-duty,’ she said caustically. ‘And I’ve got this overwhelming urge to get drunk.’

53
‘Now the case is over and we’re no longer colleagues,’ grinned Jarrett, ‘I suppose a shag is out of the question?’

Rita looked at him over her strawberry daiquiri. ‘You mean you don’t want a serious relationship with me?’

‘I don’t know.’ He blanched a little. ‘I’ve never had one of those.’

‘Well, I’m in the middle of one. And I wouldn’t want you to two-time Erin. So count yourself lucky.’

‘Why?’

‘A night with me and you’d have trouble walking.’

Jarrett tilted his head as if to speculate whether the ordeal would be worth it. With a shrug of resignation he drank more of his beer.

They were sitting where they’d first met, in the bamboo rotunda on the bluff outside the Whitsunday Hotel. It was late afternoon and the weather was hot again. Jarrett was in a tropical shirt and surf pants. Rita wore a white T-shirt and shorts. They were on their fourth round of drinks, feeling slightly mellow. Sunlight gleamed on the blue of the sea below where the US aircraft carrier was on the move after weighing anchor at last, accompanied by a flotilla of yachts and speedboats.

‘War games are over,’ observed Jarrett. ‘We can wave bye-bye to the Yanks.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Rita.

‘You’re right. Won’t be long before they’re back. It’s like we’re a beach-head for the war on terror.’

‘That’d sound good in the brochures.’

‘Yeah, see Whitley and die.’

His words were drowned out by the roar of two Super Hornet jetfighters swooping low over the water then soaring over the coastal ranges seconds later.

‘Paul Giles called it a frontier outpost of the American Empire,’

said Rita.

They both fell silent as they finished their drinks.

Then Jarrett said, ‘I’m amazed Billy will go down in history as a serial killer when he wasn’t.’

‘Just a homicidal thug,’ she muttered. ‘There are worse secrets around.’

‘You weren’t supposed to tell me about the severed hands, were you?’

‘You’re entitled to know what I found and, frankly, I don’t care what Maddox thinks. The more he pressures me the more I’m inclined to respond in kind.
Lex talionis
, as Paul Giles would say.’

‘Which means?’

‘The law of retaliation.’

‘You’re in deep with those bastards at the base.’ Jarrett shook his head. ‘I should’ve shielded you from that.’

‘Once I decided to follow the evidence there you couldn’t get involved. You still have to live here after I’ve left.’

‘Well you haven’t left yet and you’ve still got Maddox to deal with,’

he said. ‘I’m happy to help. So if you need anything, just ask.’

‘What I really need, right now, is another daiquiri.’

‘Too right.’ Jarrett chuckled, looking at the empty beer bottle he was holding. ‘Here I am with a dead marine in my hand. Good drinking time’s being wasted!’

54
‘When were you going to tell me about Paul Giles?’ asked Luker.

‘When I got round to it,’ answered Maddox.

They were sitting across the desk from each other in Maddox’s office, neither of them bothering to conceal their mutual hostility.

Luker’s fingers tapped the desktop softly. ‘I only found out because Molloy mentioned it in passing.’

Maddox sat back in his chair and gazed at the battlefield photos on his wall. ‘Dealing with Giles is an internal base matter.’

‘That’s absurd and you know it.’

‘What I know is you haven’t been straight with me,’ Maddox countered. ‘When were you going to tell me about your deal with the bitch cop?’

‘As I explained to Molloy, she found out things the rest of us missed - things she was keeping to herself because of your heavy-handed methods. A more subtle approach was needed, one I could rely on as confidential.’

‘Piss on your subtle approach. I was too easy with her.’

‘Why not just kill her and be done with it?’

Maddox grunted. ‘Don’t think I didn’t consider it.’

‘You worry me, Maddox.’

‘I can see why. I’m not afraid to make hard decisions and stick to them, even if it means spilling a bit of blood, my own included.’

‘Yes, I’ve looked at your military record; you’re much admired for your valour. Special ops till your truck was blown off a road in Afghanistan. A shame it was friendly fire.’

Maddox winced. ‘Shit happens in war. What’s your point?’

‘The alliance owed you, so the top brass slotted you into a senior admin post for which you’re distinctly unsuited.’

‘In what way?’

‘Two ways, actually.’ Luker smoothed down a lapel of his blazer.

‘First, you should never have been assigned a managerial role over civilian personnel. It brings out your sadistic side. Second, you’ve exploited departmental latitude to transform a basic security unit into a commando squad answering only to you.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. It answers to military intelligence on both sides of the Pacific. Men like you don’t see the big picture.’

‘Men like me?’

‘Spectators. Those who jeer from the stands while men of courage put their lives on the line to keep you safe.’ Maddox jutted his chin out as he warmed to his subject. ‘There’s a whole crowd of you - professional bystanders - and I’ve had a gutful of your opinions. Civil servants, politicians, journalists - all clamouring for a diplomatic retreat instead of confronting and defeating the enemy.’

‘I see,’ said Luker, getting out his cigarettes. ‘Mind if I smoke?’

‘Smoke yourself to death for all I care.’

‘Thanks.’ He drew out a Gauloise, tapping it against the soft blue pack to tidy the tobacco. ‘You must have killed a few people in your career.’

‘Yes, mostly hostile combatants.’

‘Mostly?’

‘Plus a few terrorist sympathisers, subversives. All of them enemies of freedom.’

‘There’s a problem with your reactionary logic, of course,’ said Luker, lighting up. ‘The defence of democratic values can’t just come through the barrel of a gun. Otherwise you end up becoming an enemy of freedom yourself.’

‘Have you killed anyone, Luker?’

‘No. And I don’t intend to.’

‘In the field of security and intelligence, that makes you a coward. If you didn’t have men like me around, there’d be no democratic values left to defend.’

Luker breathed in smoke with a shrug. ‘Sadly, you’re not alone in your ideology. But let’s get back to the case in hand. Paul Giles, where have you got him?’

‘A holding cell down in the compound.’

‘I need to talk to him.’

‘Be my guest, but you won’t get any sense out of him. At least his mental state means we can wipe the slate on the nail-gun murders. No further action required.’

‘Which only leaves the mystery of Steinberg’s death.’

‘Huh,’ said Maddox with a bitter laugh. ‘Been listening to Van Hassel?’

‘No, I just don’t believe in a coincidence that’s so convenient.

Especially when there’s a paramilitary squad operating under the radar.’

‘You’ll find it hard to get an audience for that. Having Steinberg out of the way is too convenient for everyone.’ Maddox waved it aside. ‘Anyway, the priority is to get Steinberg’s disk back. That’s the case in hand. Van Hassel says it’s going to “an idealist with balls”, so we need to focus on the anti-war protesters and their fellow travellers. They’re the ones you should be worrying about instead of getting up my nose.’

Luker finished his cigarette. ‘Giles first,’ he replied, dropping the butt onto the carpet and grinding it in with his heel. ‘We have to decide what to do with him.’

As he stood up and walked to the door, Maddox added meaningfully, ‘Luckily not all decisions are left to spineless arseholes like you.’

Luker had to swallow his disgust and refrain from slamming the door behind him as he left. He took the lift down to the basement and walked through the connecting tunnel to the compound with a sense of unease over Maddox’s parting comment. It had left him wondering what he might find. The duty guard led the way into a small adjoining block and down a corridor to the holding cells, where he unlocked one of the doors. When the door was opened Luker groaned at what he saw.

The body of Paul Giles, his bare feet dangling, hung limply from the bars of the cell window, eyes bulging, tongue protruding, skin bloodless, a torn strip of cotton shirt knotted around his neck. He’d been left hanging there for some time, as if his exit mattered to no one.

55
Rita woke feeling remarkably clear-headed after her night out with Jarrett. She’d remembered to drink water to offset the alcohol and counter any dehydration from too much dancing. He’d treated her to dinner at the sailing club, which was hosting a 1980s disco party, and they’d hit the dance floor with a vengeance. It was the sort of blow-out she’d needed. Afterwards, Jarrett brought her back to the hotel, dropping her at the entrance, where she’d rewarded him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek before saying goodnight.

After showering, she towelled herself in the morning sunlight streaming across the balcony, pulled on a white shirt, denim skirt and sandals and headed down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast.

Her mood was upbeat despite the prospect of more disk-chasing on behalf of Maddox. As long as she could put the nail-gun killings out of her mind, the chore seemed less arduous.

She sat under a terrace umbrella, watching the parrots scavenging scraps from around the tables as she tucked into bacon, eggs and hash browns with a hearty appetite. The morning newspaper was spread in front of her. The front-page splash ran the latest revelations on the evil deeds of Billy Bowers - evil deeds he hadn’t committed, as it turned out, but that was classified.

A shadow fell across the table as she pushed away an empty plate. She looked up to see Luker standing there in sloppy beach clothes and sunglasses, sporting the pallor of a hangover.

‘Sit down,’ she told him, gesturing to a waiter. ‘You’re in time for coffee.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, slumping into a chair. ‘You seem cheerful enough.’

‘I am. I had a night out on the town - drinking, dining and dancing. Just what I needed to forget all the crap I’ve had to deal with.’

‘Then it’s a pity I have to remind you.’

‘Why, what’s happened?’

Luker pursed his lips and said nothing as the waiter returned with a coffee pot and filled their cups. They both liked it black.

‘So?’ asked Rita, as the waiter retreated.

‘I found Paul Giles dead in a cell at the base last night. He’d apparently hanged himself.’

‘Shit.’ Rita rested her elbows on the table. ‘You say
apparently
.’

‘When they got him back to the compound they washed and clothed him but didn’t call a doctor or provide medication. They locked him away and left him isolated. What effect do you think that would have?’

‘With his bipolar condition, it’s enough to induce suicide.’

‘I agree.’

‘You’re suggesting his death was a foregone conclusion?’

‘A conclusion that was helped along, one way or another. For all I know, he was lifted into the noose.’

‘You’ve spoken to Maddox?’

‘He almost dared me to challenge him. I can’t because there’s no proof and Maddox has powerful friends. But there’s something else,’ added Luker. ‘No one questioned Giles. There’s no record of an interview. I wasn’t informed and when I arrived it was too late. All I’ve got is a field report, illustrated with photos from the trophy shed, which has now been wiped clean.’

‘And you’re telling me this because … ?’

‘You spoke to him. You looked inside the shed. You’re the only witness.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘I’m the one who has to compile an official report for my masters in Canberra so I need to hear your impressions before I can judge what I’ve been presented with.’

‘If you insist.’ She spooned a little sugar into her cup, stirring absent-mindedly. ‘The shed housed a souvenir collection.

Newspaper clippings, downloaded photos - a chronicle of the killings - and four sets of severed hands nailed to crosses. On a bench was a meat cleaver, bin bags and a cordless nail gun. The sight, the smell, the flies were gross, and thanks for making me recall it.’

‘Sorry, I needed corroboration. Why the nails and the crosses?’

‘Crucifixions. Paul was steeped in symbols of the Roman Empire.’

‘I see.’ Luker rubbed his chin, his worry lines tightening. ‘The report includes what passes for a confession and a motive. It’s a single sentence typed on a sheet of Whitley Sands notepaper, signed by Giles. I can quote it exactly:
I tracked them with Panopticon and executed them because they posed a lethal threat to the Zillman project, which must be preserved as her legacy.
What do you make of that?’

‘They’re not his words. When I spoke to him, he was nowhere near that coherent. Besides, he never referred to “the Zillman Project”, he talked about Audrey. He said he had to protect her.’

‘Well, at least that fits.’

‘You think so?’ Rita drank her coffee and looked out over the sea, which seemed empty with the aircraft carrier gone. A rising wind was whipping up the waves. ‘I’m not cheerful anymore.’

‘And I’ve still got my suspicions.’

‘There’s one other person who can help,’ sighed Rita. ‘You should talk to her.’

‘Who?’

‘Audrey, of course.’

‘But that’s impossible,’ said Luker.

‘If you’re going to put security protocols in the way …’

‘No, no, no - you don’t understand,’ he interrupted. ‘It’s impossible to talk to her because Audrey is dead.’

‘Dead?’ Rita nearly spilt her coffee. ‘I spoke to her on the weekend.’

‘You did?’ asked Luker sceptically.

Rita felt genuinely upset. ‘When was she killed?’

‘No one killed her, she’s not another victim,’ he said. ‘Audrey died a year ago.’

She stared at him, bewildered. ‘Am I going crazy, or are you?’

‘Neither of us.’ Luker rubbed his temples. ‘This will take some explaining.’ He dragged a glass ashtray towards him. ‘You’re more intimate with Panopticon than I’d guessed. I didn’t realise you’d experienced direct contact with it.’