Murdoch poured fresh coffee into his mug, sat down at his desk, booted up his computer and eased into the one day the police station should have been closed. He had been in Jackson’s Ridge for going on twenty years. When he’d started out in enforcement, he’d been a city cop. Moving to the country had been like a breath of fresh air. He’d married one of the local girls, had kids, and gradually fitted into the community. When he retired he planned to stay here. But as much as he loved Jackson’s Ridge, he hated it when the small-town thing went a little crazy on him.
Hardened criminals and stupid kids he could understand, their motivations were straightforward, but investigating ordinary citizens—people he knew and saw most days—made his stomach queasy. It was like ripping the lid off a trash can. In the light of day, nothing looked good.
The sound of the front door creaking jerked Murdoch’s head up. Coldly, he eyed the two men who strolled into the field room. Carter he’d expected, but not Marc O’Halloran. “What are you two doing here?”
O’Halloran’s gaze was openly curious as he looked around the tiny police station. “I’ve got withdrawal. Just wanted to breathe in the scent of crimes being solved.”
Murdoch didn’t fight to keep the sour expression off his face. “I’ve done some checking. Your psychological profile isn’t the best.” He clicked on his screen saver. “Way I heard it, you might be a cop, but in the last case you worked your methods bordered on the criminal.”
O’Halloran studied an open file on Murdoch’s desk. “I prefer the word unconventional.”
Murdoch closed the file. “Either way, you’re not sticking your nose into this investigation. According to Auckland Central, you’re on leave until you get some perspective back.”
O’Halloran hooked up a chair and sat down. “Thing is, I can help you.”
He leaned forward and pointed at a map of Jackson’s Bay Murdoch had spread out on one end of his desk. “Lately I’ve noticed traffic along the beach road, always at night, and with no lights. I’ve had a look around, and no one’s fishing or swimming. The vehicle gets parked—” he indicated a position on the map “—there.”
Carter’s gaze narrowed. O’Halloran had just pinpointed the location he had found and relayed to Murdoch. “It’s a four-wheel drive. There’s a track leading up the hill to Dani’s place.”
O’Halloran sat back. “Have you gotten a visual?”
Carter propped himself on the corner of the desk and set a small gear bag he was carrying on the floor. “Not yet.”
The front of Murdoch’s chair hit the floor with a snap. “Wait just one minute. If I let you in on this, you follow orders, and Ray Cornell—or anyone else at Auckland Central—doesn’t hear a whisper.”
O’Halloran showed the first trace of animation. “As far as I’m concerned I didn’t come in here today.”
“Good.” Murdoch shoved a calendar across the desk. “There is a pattern to it. And somehow Dani is connected to almost every crime. The first fire was Barclay’s, and that was a couple of weeks back. Pete’s wife, Sybil, had a physiotherapy appointment with Dani.”
“Maybe that fire isn’t part of the pattern.”
“The same accelerant was used. The likelihood that we’re dealing with different offenders is remote.”
“So what do we have, aside from Dani Marlow and the accelerant, that’s solid?”
Murdoch’s expression turned grim. “Since last night’s fire, a long list of suspects—all of them with ostrich contracts—and the fact that Walter Douglas got to the Barclay fire early. According to one of the volunteers, he was warming up the engine when he got the call.”
“And this.” Carter opened up the bag and pulled out a plastic bag containing a canister. “I’ve been checking for theft, but instead I found an empty tin of accelerant in Dani’s barn this morning. It wasn’t there yesterday.”
Murdoch’s jaw tightened. “Which means it was placed there last night, after the ostrich facility went up. I’ll have to get it to Mason. It’ll take a day, but I’m willing to bet that if this is a set-up, we won’t find any prints.”
An hour later, with a plan in place, O’Halloran rose to his feet. He paused at the door to reception and eyed Carter. “Heard you worked with Cornell on a couple of cases, but I didn’t expect to see you doing police work in Jackson’s Ridge. But then, correct me if I’m wrong, you two are related, right?”
Murdoch muttered something dire beneath his breath as O’Halloran walked out, whistling.
When O’Halloran was gone Carter pulled up a chair and sat beside Murdoch. “Don’t worry about the nepotism thing, he’ll never use it.”
The computer screen glowed bright blue as Murdoch clicked on the mouse. “You were right, Susan Marlow has a file, but not the usual kind.”
Seconds later the file flashed up on the computer.
Carter leaned over his shoulder and stared at the screen. The first complaint was dated twenty-four years ago, the last just two years later. “That’s three complaints she logged in three different towns. Two breaking and entering, the last one detailing a serious assault.”
“All three complaints withdrawn, no conviction obtained, and after that…nothing.”
Murdoch tried another check, then another, but after the date of the final complaint nothing further had been lodged.
Carter studied the name of the offender supplied in the first two complaints, Jordan Carlisle. The third, more serious complaint was listed as an unknown offender and it had been lodged by a neighbour, not Susan Marlow. “Any idea who this guy is?”
Murdoch frowned he did a search on Carlisle, but drew a blank. “A dead end. Figures. The computer files only go back so many years. If I want the file, I’ll have to request it.”
“Do it.”
Murdoch folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do. I’m not in one of your death squads.”
Carter reached for patience. “The SAS doesn’t run death squads—that was in the Second World War.”
Murdoch gave him a hard-assed look. “Really?”
Carter clamped down on his temper. “Are you getting the file?”
Murdoch tapped out an e-mail and pressed the send button. “What do you think?”
Carter headed for the door. “You don’t want to know.”
He knew the approximate date when Dani and her mother had turned up in Jackson’s Ridge, but that left a four-year gap since the date of the last complaint. Four years in which they had disappeared off the scope.
The facts weren’t conclusive; just because Susan Marlow had never lodged another complaint that didn’t mean they were on the run, but for Carter a final, vital piece of the puzzle had just dropped into place. He had worked undercover operations for years, he knew how to disappear, and he was certain that was what Susan and Dani had done. He knew from what his mother had let drop that Susan Marlow had been hiding from something. When Susan and Dani had first arrived in Jackson’s Ridge their possessions had amounted to little more than a couple of suitcases and a car, and for the first few months Susan had refused to use charge accounts, insisting on paying for everything in cash. If his calculations were correct they had spent at least four years on the run, and more probably six.
He was finally beginning to understand why Dani was so hard to reach. If the man who was stalking them was who he thought it was, it was no wonder she had a fundamental distrust of relationships and men.
Dani heard the truck before it pulled up out in front of the house. Albert Docherty, the owner of an antiques shop in Mason, jumped out of the passenger seat and jerked his head at the two men with him. Dani took him through the house, pointing out the furniture that was to go while the driver of the truck reversed and backed as close to the front steps as he could get.
Docherty eyed the furniture in the master bedroom with a pleased look. After a brief inspection, he handed a cheque to Dani. “This stuff doesn’t come on the market very often. Shouldn’t have any problem selling it.”
With a curt nod, he motioned his men to start packing the pieces. The process took time, as every drawer and mirror had to be removed and wrapped, and the bed was ornate enough to be a difficult proposition to dismantle, let alone lift.
Dani watched as the rooms emptied out. The men were pleasant and professional, but it didn’t change the fact that she was losing something precious. When the last piece was gone, the house felt bare and hollow. She’d kept the furniture in her room and David’s, one couch in the lounge and the kitchen table and chairs. The family portraits and paintings still hung on the walls. David had wanted to sell them, but there was no market for portraits, just the frames. For the tiny sum they’d realize selling the frames, Dani had decided David could afford to keep that link to the past.
The man lifted binoculars to his eyes and watched the final piece of furniture being loaded. A pity it all didn’t stay in the house, but that didn’t matter. Satisfaction curled in the pit of his stomach. The plan was proceeding. He wanted to see Dani lose the way he had lost. Slowly, bit-by-bit, piece-by-piece, her life ground away until she had nothing.
Dani studied her bank statement in the glow of light from her desk lamp, reached for the calculator and ran some figures. When she was finished, she sat back in her chair and ran shaky fingers through her hair. Once she banked the cheque for the furniture and for David’s car the account would fatten up, but not enough. She would have to find something else to sell. On Galbraith the only thing of value left was the breeding herd.
Pushing back her chair she rose to her feet and walked down the hall, leaving the house by the nearer exit of the back porch instead of her usual route through the kitchen. Grimly, she drank in the balmy air and stared at the spectacle of diamond-bright stars and a night sky so clear it looked like black glass. The clarity meant there was little moisture in the air, and no likelihood of any soon. The endless hot days and nights were sucking the station dry. Today the number-two well had dried up, which meant she’d had to move the cattle from the back block of the station in closer to the house. The move meant more pressure on the grass, and more feeding out of precious winter food.
When David saw the state of the paddocks he was going to throw a fit. Some were little more than dust, and would have to be resown. The paddocks that had fared better had only done so because they were infested with weeds and overrun with the native kikuyu grass that had the advantage of being hardy but was low on nutritional values. Those paddocks, too, would have to be resown.
The Galbraith bad-luck streak was in full flight, and it didn’t look like giving up any time soon.
Dani stared through the trees toward Carter’s house. It was in darkness, which meant that wherever he’d gone, he still hadn’t come back.
Taking a deep breath, Dani turned to walk back into the house when something shimmered at the edge of her vision.
Adrenaline pumped. A hoot, just metres from where she was standing, resonated through the night. Something floated, eerie and silent overhead. Letting out a breath, Dani forced herself to relax. A morepork.
Shaking her head, she skimmed the expanse of lawn and the dark shrubs that edged it. She frowned. Something had moved—a rearrangement of the shadows that couldn’t be explained by a nonexistent breeze or the soundless flight of a morepork.
Seconds ticked by as she waited and watched. A chilled certainty gripped the back of her neck. Someone or something was out there.
Stepping inside, she grabbed a flashlight then, with a soft tread, she threaded her way through the trees until she reached Carter’s house.
She knocked on the door, but she was already certain he wasn’t home—his truck wasn’t parked in the garage—then stepped inside.
Feeling like a thief, she walked through to his bedroom, flicked on the flashlight and slid the drawer of his bedside table open. The handgun was missing, but it was the other item she was interested in.
She stared at the contraption. Now that she could see it fully, it was easily identifiable. She’d read enough about Special Forces to understand the kind of work they did and some of the equipment they used. These were night-vision goggles.
Slipping the goggles from the drawer, she slid it closed, flicked off the flashlight and slipped outside.
She examined the night-vision gear. There was no manual, but how difficult could it be? Flipping the power button, she slipped them over her head. Instantly, Carter’s front yard sprang to life in shades of a ghostly, luminous green.
Satisfaction took the edge off her tension. She wasn’t hunting a prowler who could possibly be the arsonist terrorising Jackson’s Ridge, she was just checking out her place. Something was lurking around. It was most likely a stray cat or dog, in which case she was more likely to see it at night. If it was a person…
Her stomach tightened at the possibility. If there was a prowler, at least then she would know and she could do something about it.
Adjusting the fit, she stepped off the veranda and merged with the shrubs at the edge of the lawn. It took a few moments to get used to the feel of the goggles and the surreal cast they gave to the landscape. She could see perfectly as long as she was looking directly ahead, the problem was with her peripheral vision. In order to widen her field of vision, she needed to constantly move her head from side to side.
Keeping to the edge of the lawn, she began walking, first of all reconnoitring around her house and the barn, then widening the circle to include the groves of trees and the paddocks immediately surrounding the house.
The crunch of a snapped twig jerked her head around. Something moved, dissolving into the bush line. A branch quivered, as if it had been pushed aside and had just flicked back into place and the marrow in her spine froze. Whatever had passed through the trees was too large to be either a cat or dog.
For long minutes she stayed still and silent, straining to listen, but with the faint breeze that had begun sifting through the treetops it was difficult to pick up the subtler sounds.
A rustling in the shrubs behind made her freeze. He must have doubled around.
Adrenaline pumping, she didn’t question her automatic assertion that whoever had made the noise was human and male as she spun—and stumbled into the hard wall of a chest. A hand closed over her mouth, muffling the small sound that erupted.
“If you press that button, it goes to thermal.”
The image changed. Carter’s outline took on a yellowish glow.
Slowly, he released her. “Depending on the ambient light, sometimes it’s better to switch to thermal, but in your case…” He removed the goggles from her head. “The less you know the better. The idea that you’re out here in the dark stalking a prowler makes me crazy.”
“I wasn’t stalking anything. I was just…looking.”
“Next time you have the urge to ‘look,’ make it go away. When did you get the goggles?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“Sneaky. I never even checked on them until tonight.”
Beneath the surge of embarrassment at being caught out, her interest sharpened. If he wanted the goggles tonight, that meant he was up to something. “I didn’t think you were home. I didn’t hear your truck.”
“That’s because it’s parked down the road.”
“Something is going on.”
His hand closed over hers. “That’s why you have to come with me now.”