Twenty-nine

“Cooper,” the deep voice answered. If Detective Inspector Hank Cooper was tired or had been sleeping, this was not detectable in his voice. It had taken what seemed like ages to drive back to the Kurrajong Heights hotel, get access to their telephone, and secure an operator on the exchange. It was late, but Billie was not tired. She had never been so awake in her life.

“Detective Inspector, this is Billie Walker,” she told the voice.

“Ms. Walker?”

“Thank you for your private number. I didn’t expect to call you so soon, or at this hour.” She looked at her watch. It was after eleven now. “It’s an emergency,” she said.

“Where are you?” His voice was now firm and direct.

“I’m at the Kurrajong Heights hotel, but the emergency is not here. There is a remote homestead at Upper Colo where five young women, girls really, may be trapped, and I believe . . .” She considered her words carefully. “I believe a war criminal is living there. I discovered an oil drum full of gold teeth. I believe the man has been selling the belongings of deceased prisoners of war, concentration camp victims, through the Georges Boucher Auction House, and perhaps elsewhere. The homestead and outbuildings are full of European paintings, sculptures, and objets d’art. He must have good contacts here and in Europe to have brought so much over.” She swallowed. “These girls with him . . . I think they are in grave danger.”

“A war criminal? A Nazi, you mean? Are you certain?”

The Nuremberg trials had only ended in October. Over more than a year Billie had read about the former Nazi leaders being tried by an international military tribunal for crimes against humanity and other war crimes. The evidence against them was chilling. One key element was the requisition of the belongings of civilians, particularly Jews and others considered enemies of the state. Silverware, jewelry, paintings—anything of value was taken as war loot. Gold fillings were taken from the living and the dead, and even hair was collected and sold to create textiles after being shaved off the victims.

She took a breath. “Dead certain,” she said to the inspector.

“And an oil drum with gold teeth? And some girls are trapped, you say?”

“Yes, their families have been worried, unable to reach them, and after investigating I believe the situation is worse than they thought,” she said with emphasis. “And, yes, I found gold teeth and fillings in a shed on the property. Hundreds of them, at least. I held one in my own hand. That’s what they did at the camps. They pulled out the teeth to melt the fillings down. It’s . . .” Horrifying. “It’s what Adin Brown happened across when he recognized his great-aunt’s necklace. There is no doubt that boy was right, though I don’t think he realized the scale of what he’d discovered. Some chain of people, some group, are bringing the stolen property of war victims here to Australia, probably through the docks, and stashing it in this remote homestead. Maybe in other places, too. Adin got too close for comfort when he recognized that bat-shaped necklace of his great-aunt, and he was nearly killed for it. Please trust me, Inspector. I wouldn’t be calling you at this hour if I was not absolutely sure. I know you would be putting yourself on the line a bit, but if I am right, and I am bloody sure I am, you’ll be responsible for bringing in a war criminal.”

There were no sounds save for the crackling of the line as the inspector absorbed what she was telling him. If they really had formed some sort of a bond of trust, this was the moment it was to be tested. The silence stretched and stretched. Billie worried that the line had been cut off.

She could not walk away from this. Shyla was in there, and it was highly likely she did not know she was in there with a Nazi. A killer, probably. There could be no other explanation for a man living so far from the city with a homestead full of treasures and his house staff practically held captive. He was paying for his lifestyle with the belongings of murdered Jews and political prisoners.

“How did you get there? Were you seen?”

“It’s a long story, and I’ll explain later, but a friend of mine tipped me off. No, I wasn’t seen.” She stopped there, not wanting to involve Shyla more than Shyla might wish. She is inside the homestead and I am worried about her, she wanted to say. She was worried about Shyla and she was worried about what that sobbing meant. Who had it been? Shyla, or one of the girls she’d been anxious about? “I have reason to believe there may be underage girls in the house, possibly being held against their will, though I have not seen them with my own eyes.” Not yet.

“You got a tip-off about a Nazi war criminal and went in there yourself?”

“Not quite,” she replied. “I didn’t realize how serious it was until I saw it myself.” Did Shyla know what was in the sheds? Did the other girls know? “I’ll explain when I see you, just trust me. I am not mistaken about this,” she insisted. Her hand holding the receiver was so tense the knuckles had whitened.

“I’ll have to get a warrant,” Cooper replied after a spell, evidently taking her word. “I’ll pull some strings, but it will take a few hours. I could be out there by . . .” Billie did the math. It was perhaps a two-and-a-half-hour drive from the city to the homestead. Her heart sank just thinking about the time it would take. “I could get there by, say, six, soon after sunrise, with a warrant. The magistrate won’t like me waking him . . .” he said. “But I’ll be there.”

Blast, Billie thought. Of course Cooper would have to play it by the book. She thought of calling Sam for backup. But would that help? Could he get there much faster? Could the two of them get the girls out safely—that is, if the other girls were there at all? The little woman in her gut told her the girls were there, and the situation was bad, very bad indeed. Thinking of Shyla shut in that house with a Nazi made Billie’s guts churn.

“The girls may be in danger. I know one of them. And I heard . . . sobbing, coming from a room that is boarded up from the outside.” Her arms came up in gooseflesh as she recalled the haunting sound. “I don’t like them being left there until morning,” she explained. “Is there any way of getting to the man sooner?” Just to be sure, she told herself. Just to be sure they are unharmed and he can’t get away.

The line was silent for a beat. “I have someone I trust at Richmond station. They’re only an hour or so away. I’ll call and get him to come and pick up the girls.”

“No,” she said instinctively. The man could get spooked and it was all backward, the girls being taken away and not the man who was living off the contents of that horrible drum. “They’re young Aboriginal girls, Inspector. From what I can tell they would not want to go with the police if they can avoid it. Can you get the man on suspicion and have him held? Can he be picked up, considering what is in the sheds?”

“I’ll still need the warrant.”

“I didn’t imagine it, Inspector.”

“I don’t doubt you, Ms. Walker.”

Billie ran it through in her mind. “If police come for the girls, and they have no warrant and can’t hold him, I worry what could happen.” She’d been unnerved by the contents of the shed and what she’d heard. She’d have to quiet the uneasiness in her belly and wait. “You get your warrant.”

“I will, Ms. Walker. I give you my word.”

“You can call me Billie,” she told him.

“Billie,” he said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

She described the homestead and its location in detail, gave the specifics of the motorcar and its license plate, and Cooper signed off to set the wheels in motion. She hung up and leaned against the wooden partition of the telephone box with her eyes closed.

She hoped she knew what she was doing, too.