Kelly intended to arrive early at the nursing home, but there is an accident on the motorway up to Newcastle and long delays so it’s lunchtime before she arrives and no sign of David Suskind sitting outside. She gets a park not far away and settles down to wait, hoping Karen Schaefer has come to see her father again.
Towards two she sees the white Nissan pull into the driveway. Kelly picks up the camera and takes pictures as Karen Schaefer gets out and helps her father down from the passenger side. She’s wearing jeans and a check shirt and there are streaks of mud down the flanks of the 4WD. She helps the old man to the front door of the home. Once Karen returns to her car Kelly starts her own.
They follow the same route as before, across the Hunter River to the Bucketts Way and on to Stroud. In the town Kelly gets close enough for a clear sighting of the Nissan’s number plate and she puts a call though to Harry.
‘I’ve found her again, Harry—Donna Fenning, Karen Schaefer. I’m on the road north of Newcastle, following her. She’s in a white Nissan Patrol, and I’ve got the number.’
She gives it to him and he tells her to be careful and he’ll get back to her. They continue out into the open country and on towards Gloucester. The humped silhouette of the Bucketts comes into view as Kelly’s phone rings.
‘Kelly? Harry. Are you still following her?’
‘Yes, we’re nearly at Gloucester.’
‘Listen, I want you to turn back.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want you to follow her anymore.’
‘What are you talking about, Harry? What’s going on?’
‘Please just do as I ask. I can look after this.’
‘I’m not going to lose her again!’
Harry begins to tell her again and she cuts in, ‘Okay, okay. I’ve got the message. The signal’s not very good here. I can hardly hear you. I’m pulling in.’
She hangs up and comes to a stop on the hard shoulder. Ahead of her she sees the white vehicle reach the top of the next rise and vanish over the crest. She thumps the steering wheel, then mutters ‘Bugger it!’ and pulls back onto the road. She puts her foot down. Maybe Harry’s arranged for the police to stop the Nissan and doesn’t want her involved. But she can still follow and make sure.
Kelly spots the Nissan again in Gloucester, at the far end of the main street, turning left onto Thunderbolt’s Way. There are no police cars waiting on the other side of town and the road ahead seems clear, with very little traffic.
Suddenly the Nissan slows and turns onto a side road. Kelly pulls to a stop at the sign to Cackleberry Valley, wondering what to do. If the cops are waiting up ahead on Thunderbolt’s Way they’re wasting their time. She has no option but to follow the Nissan.
After a while she reaches a forest just at the point where the road becomes dirt. She has to slow down, avoiding potholes, but she can see the cloud of dust kicked up by the Nissan ahead. They emerge at last into a broad green valley dominated by the lowering grey dome of the mountain far ahead. She rattles across a cattle grid, hits tarmac once again between fields of grazing cattle, and sees a distant red roof nestling in a copse of dark trees. A sign says no through road. She pulls to a halt and calls Harry’s number again. No signal. She drives on.
The road ahead ends in a circular driveway around an ornamental fountain in front of the homestead, but Kelly turns off before she reaches it, into a yard beside an old timber barn. She comes to a stop. No one seems to be around and there’s no sign of the Nissan. She checks the phone again without success and gets out of the car. There’s a strong smell of silage and horses and, from somewhere beyond the barn, the sound of hooves. She walks cautiously to the end of the barn and peers round the corner, then jumps as a voice close behind her says, ‘Ah, you must be my old schoolfriend, Laura King.’
Kelly spins around. ‘Donna Fenning.’ There’s a man by her side.
‘And you are Kelly Pool.’ Karen Schaefer peers at Kelly in that mildly troubled way of hers that Kelly once found reassuring. ‘Craig?’ she says. The man takes hold of Kelly’s arm in a firm grip. ‘Let’s go inside.’
They march her into the sudden darkness of the barn. Motes of dust float on the beams of sunlight that shaft through the ancient timbers. As her eyes adjust Kelly sees an old tractor and an even older sedan, covered in dust and the fine webs of bush spiders. Craig Schaefer pushes her roughly against the car and pats her down, finding her phone in the pocket of her jeans. He hands it to Karen, who flicks through to recent calls.
‘Who’s Harry?’ she asks.
Kelly says nothing.
‘You called him on the way here. Who is he?’
Kelly looks her in the eye and says, ‘He’s a police officer. He’s on his way.’
‘That’s crap,’ Craig says. ‘Cops don’t give out their mobiles. Anyway…’ He raises an eyebrow at Karen and taps his watch.
‘Yes, I know. We’ll have to continue this conversation later.’ She looks around, frowning, then nods at the boot of the ancient Holden. She strides over and fiddles with the latch and the hood swings up. ‘Put her in here.’
‘No,’ Kelly cries, and jumps away from Craig, desperate to get to the barn door, but he grabs her arm and swings her around hard against the side of the car, knocking the breath out of her. Before she can recover he hoists her up and tumbles her into the boot and slams down the lid. She screams and kicks, the sounds deafening inside the steel shell, until at last she forces herself to be still, and her world shrinks to the suffocating dark silence of a coffin.
She reasons with herself. She has done this before, she can handle it. She must concentrate on controlling her breathing, she must think ahead. But when they’ve done whatever they have to do, what then?
She begins to explore her coffin with her fingertips. She encounters an old piece of carpet, musty with age, and several nuts and bolts. No sign of a jack handle or a tyre lever. What else does she have? She feels in the pockets of her jeans: some coins, keys, wallet, a small notebook and a ballpoint pen.
Then the silence is broken by the muffled sound of the barn door creaking open. She stiffens. I can’t let this happen again. And then, The pen is mightier than the sword. She grips it in her right hand as there is a click and a flood of light, a dark silhouette against the light and a figure looming down to take hold of her. She lashes up at it with her pen. Feels it sink into something soft and hears a shriek, a horrific shriek she dictates to herself, a howl cut abruptly short. She hauls herself upright and sees Craig Schaefer stretched out on the barn floor. His legs twitch and then are still. Kelly’s pen is buried in his left eye.
Kelly clambers out of the car boot and stares down in horror at the motionless figure. She crouches by his side and tries to feel for a pulse in his neck. Nothing. Dear God, I’ve killed him. Her phone is sticking out of his pocket and she snatches it and runs for the door. There is no one around, no sign of Karen. The still air, the distant whinny of a horse seem unnaturally innocent. She runs to her car, scrambles in, starts the engine and lurches into gear.
Her eyes flick continuously to the rear-view mirror, but no following vehicle is visible through the cloud of dust she raises. She presses her foot down hard and doesn’t let it up even when she hits the rocks and potholes of the dirt road through the forest. The main road appears at last and she swings towards Gloucester, wondering what to do. At the roundabout at the head of the main street she sees a sign to the police station up to the left. Hesitates. Turns right, forcing herself to slow down across the pedestrian crossings until she is clear of the shopping area and on the road back to Newcastle, expecting the howl of police sirens any moment at her back. But they don’t come, and on she drives, through Stroud and then into Newcastle, where she becomes lost. She has no idea where she is and finally pulls into a pub car park. Only then does she turn off the engine and, with a shaking hand, ring Harry.
‘Harry? Harry, is that you? I’ve killed him. I’ve killed Craig Schaefer.’
‘Hang on. Slow down. What happened?’
She tells him the whole story.
‘Where are you now?’
She peers out and reads the name of the hotel.
‘Stay there, Kelly, and don’t speak to anyone. I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’