Dead Heat (17 page)

Inside the house, using Suzie’s phone, she resisted calling triple zero and rang Daniel Carter instead.

“Hi. It’s Georgia here. Georgia Parish—”

“Christ, as if I don’t know who you are . . . What the hell’s going on? I got an anonymous call from some bloke saying you
were okay, but what the hell happened?”

“I’ve no idea. They picked me up, realized they’d got the wrong person, and dumped me out of town.”

“So the anonymous caller said. Where are you now?”

“Suzie Wilson’s house. I want to call the police, well, I know I am, but I’m worried it might be nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Well, there’s all these crows and kites gathered in the forest. And an awful smell. I’m talking a really, really awful smell.”

“And you don’t think it’s a dead rat.”

“No.”

“I’ll be there in twenty. Sit tight.”

D
aniel arrived looking cool and crisp in chino shorts and a loose blue shirt. Nice legs, she thought. Long and muscular and
tanned, and not overly hairy. He even had nice knees, lucky man.

“What on earth happened to your hand?”

“Looks like hell, doesn’t it?” she said. “It is hell, actually, because in their hurry to get away, those damned thugs managed
to slam it in their car door.”

“Will it be okay?”

“Oh, sure. In a little while.”

Like never,
she thought. If I ever get married, I’ll have to wear my wedding ring on my right hand. Or on my index finger. Or just not
get married, and keep life and all its little complexities of chopped-off fingers out of sight.

“Who were they?” he demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t pick up any names?”

“They didn’t introduce themselves, if that’s what you mean.”

“Shit. Why
you
?” He held up his hand before she could reply. “I know, it was a mistake. But who the hell
were
they after? And who was your anonymous caller? The guy who told me you were okay?”

Realizing she was backed into a corner, she hastily said, “What I called you about? Shall I show you?”

Without waiting for him to agree, she headed to the backyard and to the fence at the far end. He took one breath of the stench
and said quietly, “Shit.” He looked into the forest, expression unreadable, then with a single fluid movement he vaulted the
fence and paused, head cocked to one side, listening. Unholstering his Glock pistol, he started moving soundlessly into the
undergrowth, and within seconds he’d vanished.

She was filled with dread at what he might find. What if, she thought suddenly, the Chens had decided not to keep her mother
and had dumped her body here? A wave of sheer panic washed over her. She could hear the baseball bat smacking into the side
of her mother’s head with a hollow slapping sound and see the trickle of blood seeping from beneath the black trash bag onto
the floor. What state was her mother in now? Bleeding slowly to death from her shattered head? She had to hurry. Try harder
to save her.

She started at the sound of a twig snapping, but it was only Daniel, Glock holstered. He sprang over the fence and walked
toward her. He was shaking his head.

“What was it?”

“Pig. A record-breaker too, around three hundred pounds. Got shot maybe two days ago.”

“A
pig
?”

“Feral,” Daniel added. “They’re a pest up here.”

Georgia looked toward the dripping rainforest, the tendrils of creepers against the fence. “Are you sure it’s just a pig?
Nothing more?”

“If you don’t believe me, look for yourself. He’s fifteen yards in, five yards to the right. Watch out for the maggots.”

“No thanks.” She felt her tension ebb away. She was so grateful it was just a pig. Thank God.

They both looked up at a sudden noise. Three crows were dive-bombing a kite.

He said, “Did you know Mrs. Scutchings’s place was turned over yesterday morning? She came back from buying her morning newspaper
to find it ransacked. They even ripped out her baseboards.”

The Chens. That’s when they’d found Suzie’s fanny pack and the disk, which had led them directly to her. Georgia was glad
Daniel was studying the flurried aerobatic display and not her face, which had gone rigid. “Poor Mrs. Scutchings,” she managed.

“Have you heard from Lee Denham?”

“No. Sorry.” At least not today, she added to herself.

He gestured at the house. “What are you doing here?”

To buy herself some time, she began to walk back along the yard to the front of the house. Daniel followed. She desperately
wanted to tell him everything, have someone strong and professional to lead on and take charge, but she daren’t breathe a
word about the Chens or her mother.

We have friends in the police, we will find out.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Daniel, but he might mention something to another cop, and they’d tell another, and it would
get back to Jason Chen and his father and they’d kill her mother without a second’s thought and then come after her.
One knuckle at a time.

“Georgia?”

“I hoped it might help me come to terms with her death. Seeing where she lived. What type of person she was . . .”

He gave her a look that told her he was finding that hard to believe, so she hung her head, finding it no difficulty to look
shamefaced since she was lying through her teeth. “Okay, so I’m nosy. Is that such a crime?”

“Not in itself, but—”

“Her house has been ransacked too,” she said, wanting to avoid the lecture she reckoned was coming.

“Vandals,” he said. “I’ll bet they were here the second they read about her death in the newspapers.”

For a moment she was filled with doubt about the Chens trashing Suzie’s place, but then she remembered the break-in at the
healing center.

They were at the front of the house, and since it felt like the sun was trying to cook her brain, she moved into the feathery
shade of a bunch of black palms. Brushing the sweat from her forehead, she then busied herself in inspecting the bandage,
already filthy, while Daniel stood close to her, studying his fingernails. He had strong, lean hands that were lightly freckled,
and his knuckles were bruised. She hoped the thugs were suffering from the punches he’d thrown at them.

“Did you speak to the Air Accident Investigators?”

He let his hand fall to his side. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that.”

Looking up she saw that the kite was now high in the sky, wings spread into peerless blue, and the crows had dispersed, leaving
it alone to soar the thermals.

Daniel said, “The report says the plane ran out of fuel, which means it was pilot error.”

“Doesn’t the aerodrome have records of who refueled which aircraft and when? Then we could prove Bri filled up.”

“No record. No need. They’ve their own tank.” He sighed. “They reckon Bri was in such a hurry to take advantage of the brief
break in the storms he miscalculated, believing he had enough fuel to make it to Cairns, when he hadn’t.”

Shocked, she said, “But he’d never do that!”

“It’s not the first time it’s happened. A bloke had to ditch his Cessna in the Tasman Sea last year because he was in too
much of a rush to beat the southerly coming in to fill up. The insurance company came good, though. Pilot error is okay, like
reversing your car into a lamppost. Insurance covers those glitches. That’s what it’s there for.”

Hell. She hadn’t considered the insurance before. Would the insurance company pay Becky if the plane had been sabotaged? After
September eleventh, she doubted insurance companies covered malicious damage or terrorist acts. Maybe she should leave the
sabotage well alone and protect Becky and her vulnerable family against a bunch of suits who would leap at the chance not
to pay out.

Find ’em for me. Swear it, Georgia. For me. And for Suzie.

What next? Bri wouldn’t want Becky and their kids to suffer, but she couldn’t repress the vision of saline sheets draped across
Bri’s legs and feet, the way his boots had melted into his skin, the fury in his blood-filled eyes. She had promised him.

She’d have to see Becky, she realized. Sit down and talk it through. See what Becky wanted. And talk to Bri again too, if
he was up to it.

“How’s Bri doing?” she asked.

“Not so good. Sorry.” Daniel ran a hand over his head. “I think Lee’s trying to distract us. By getting us to look for a phantom
saboteur, we’re not looking for him. Lee can continue, business as usual. We can’t be in two places at once.”

“Why do you want him?”

“He’s a member of the RBG. The Red Bamboo Gang.”

A little shock beneath her breastbone. Lee’s and Jason Chen’s T-shirts.
Windsurfers Do It Standing Up.

“He’s quite near the top of the people-smuggling pile. Helps a guy called Chen Xiaoqiang oversee the gang here and in Fuzhou,
China. Bribes the right officials. Disposes of those who don’t fall in line. Launders money through various companies around
the world. Hong Kong, L.A., Rio, you name it, Lee’s got a finger in it. Take Lee out, and we’d stand a chance at nailing the
bastards, but he’s too clever. I get within spitting distance of him, and he vanishes like a puff of bloody smoke.”

His jaw rippled with tension, but she could see he was making an effort to relax when he took a couple of deep breaths and
gave her a rueful smile. “I feel I know the man inside out I’ve been after him for so long, and I’ll bet my last dollar he
knows I’m in the area, trying to track him down. Lee’s fabricating the sabotage story, interfering with my efforts to run
him to earth. Cunning bastard.”

Sweating helplessly in the stagnant mangrove air, she remembered Lee reproaching her on Three Mile Beach.
You owe me.
Daniel was right—Lee had known Daniel was in the area, and now she knew why Lee hadn’t wanted her to tell anyone she’d seen
him. He was a member of the RBG, working with the Chens, who were holding her mother.

There was a long silence while she reviewed Lee’s involvement with her mother’s kidnappers against his saving her life. She
still couldn’t tell Daniel about Lee, she realized. It came back to the same old thing.
We have friends in the police. We will hear.

“So.” Daniel cleared his throat. “When are you heading back to Sydney?”

“Soon,” she said vaguely.

“Route eighty-one was given the all-clear this morning. Would you like a lift to Cairns later? I’ve got someone to see down
there, it’ll be no trouble.”

“Er . . . that’s kind of you, but I’ve a few things to do. I’ll, um, maybe head there in a couple of days or so.”

“Oh. Well. I thought perhaps”—he looked almost embarrassed—“you might have dinner with me.”

A tingle ran down her spine. “Daniel, I’d love to, but . . .” She trailed off, desperately trying to think of an excuse that
would make him see it wasn’t that she didn’t want to have dinner with him, but had a genuine reason not to.

He gave her a smile, one of those that lit his face and made her feel fourteen all over again. “Come on, you’ll love it. I
know this great place overlooking the sea. They’ve one of the best wine lists around, and have a selection of oysters from
all over the place.”

Small swoop of delight, astonishment. He knew she loved oysters? Or just a guess? Was Daniel Carter
interested
in her? The thought made her flush, and his smile broadened to a grin.

“You’re on?”

God, she was tempted, but the sudden thought that she couldn’t call her mum to say she’d be late, that she was having dinner
with her old school crush, extinguished the feeling.

She’d been twelve when she’d gone to her first evening barbecue on the beach. Unchaperoned, she’d felt proud and grown-up
and slightly smug that her friends from the commune hadn’t been invited. Around ten o’clock someone’s father said it was time
to take her home or she’d be late. She had refused his offer. Wouldn’t her mother be worried? he asked. No, Georgia cheerfully
told him. My mum isn’t like other mums, she’s chilled.

But when Georgia turned up past midnight, she discovered her mother wasn’t chilled at all.

“How dare you be late!” she had yelled. “The next time you’re enjoying yourself and want to stay longer,
call me,
or you’ll never be allowed out again!”

She couldn’t remember her mother ever shouting at her or Dawn before. Georgia had been so shocked that she spent her teens
constantly ringing home, which all her peers found odd considering she had the coolest mum around.

“Daniel, I’d love to,” she said, “I really would, but—”

He shuffled his feet and looked aside. “It’s okay. Next time maybe.”

“Yes, please.”

Flapping aside a mozzie droning by her ear, she gazed at the thin film of what looked like dust on the surface of the Parunga.
It wasn’t dust, she knew, but nutrients stirred up by the crabs feeding on the bottom of the river. Jesus, she’d almost forgotten
why she was here. Suzie and her private research. Mingshu and her brother. One ransacked clinic, two ransacked houses.

“Daniel, am I right in thinking you speak Chinese?”

“Holy heck, however did you know that?”

“Oh, something I heard at school probably,” she said. She remembered the hours she’d spent poring over Sun Tzu’s two-thousand-year-old
text and could even remember some now.

“Disorder arises from order,” she said, thinking of her previously calm and ordered life, now blasted apart.

His eyebrows lifted. “Cowardice arises from courage.”

“And weakness from strength.”

“You are a bundle of surprises,” he said. “How do you know Sun Tzu? It’s not exactly required reading in Australia, although
I believe it’s used in America for courses about management leadership.”

“I was planning on being an ascetic nun.”

The eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. “Really?”

“I thought it would complement a warrior who was deeply entrenched in the politics and psychology of conflict.”

For a moment he appeared completely nonplussed.