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Dan was asleep two hours before the sun sank below the horizon. He hadn’t expected to sleep well, but whether it was due to total exhaustion or the two glasses of whiskey he had drunk that afternoon, he woke feeling refreshed and more relaxed than he had in days. Outside his window the Timor Sea lapped softly onto the sand and the air was filled with the sound of birds. Not the piercing squawk of the seagulls he was used to, or even the harsh call of ravens and crows. This was the raucous screech of parrakeets darting through the pine-like casuarina trees, their feathers flashing with brilliant colours.
Claire joined him at the window, her hair still wet from the shower.
“I didn’t think you’d be awake this early,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than I expected,” he answered. “Maybe after breakfast I’ll even be ready to tackle those spirits your friend warned you about.”
She laughed. “Good luck with that! I hope you brought some shorts. It’s going to be hot again today.”
It was late in the dry season, and the monsoon rains had yet to appear. With them would come the humidity, but for now the air was dry and the sky clear.
They wandered down to the courtyard again for breakfast, and sat at the same table with the palm fronds whispering overhead and a faint breeze coming off the ocean. A waitress wearing only a halter-top and shorts came for their order and this time Dan indulged his craving for a steak, adding two eggs, fries and toast to the order.
“Making up for lost time?” Claire asked as she watched him eat.
He grinned and beckoned the waitress for another cup of coffee.
“Nope. Stoking up for a busy day. I don’t have to go over to Bathurst until tomorrow morning, but we’ve got a few hours until your plane leaves so I think we should make the best of it.” His leer and raised eyebrows left no doubt about what he was referring to.
“I thought you wanted to go to the museum. Didn’t you say you could get some information on those stolen items there?”
“It’s on the way to the airport,” he said as he pulled her to her feet. “We can stop there on the way.”
The maid had not yet made up the beds, and he eased her down on the rumpled linen. In the little time they had been apart her skin had taken on a deeper shade and it glowed like gold against the stark white of the sheets. God, he had missed her! Missed this joining. This sharing. This merging of their bodies. It was not just sex, although the release that provided was more than welcome. It was so very much more.
***
IT WAS HOURS LATER when they returned to the patio for lunch.
“You can’t seriously want seconds,” Claire said as she listened to Dan order another serving of grilled barramundi. “You won’t be able to move!”
“I have to refuel after all my exertions this morning,” Dan answered, his eyes betraying the laughter his face tried hard to hide.
“Yours? And what about mine?” Claire grinned and reached over to steal a tomato from his plate before changing the subject. “Anyway, I’ll talk to Waru as soon as I can. See when he’s going to be around long enough for you to meet him.”
“I’d like to know a bit more about these spirits he told you about.”
Dan, who had spent a lifetime dealing in facts, felt idiotic talking about spirits. “Maybe ask him if they have a name.”
Claire stared at him in astonishment. “You can’t seriously think a spirit had anything to do with these thefts! You must have spent too much time with Walker—and speaking of Walker, have you heard anything from Bryce?”
“No. I’ll try and call him tomorrow morning before I leave, but do ask Waru about those spirits. I know it sounds crazy, but so far every one of these reports has mentioned some spirit or ghost being in the area, and right now that’s the only thing I’ve got. That and a miniature helicopter with a weird paint job that probably has nothing to do with anything.”
“A helicopter?” Claire nibbled the end of a slice of cantaloupe. “There’s a guy who lives on an island in the inlet where I’m working who has a small helicopter.”
“I imagine they’re pretty common here,” Dan said. “As far as I can tell the whole continent of Australia runs on planes or helicopters.”
“True, but it’s not so much the helicopter as the man who owns it that’s interesting. Waru warned me to stay clear of Snake Island when I first arrived. He said it was private property and the owner doesn’t like visitors.”
“Private?” Perhaps Dan had been wrong to think this area was all now under aboriginal ownership. “You mean a white owner? But I thought . . . ”
“Yes, I did too, but Waru said there’s a few places not covered by the agreement the government made to turn the land back to the people. Most of them are industrial sites—gold and manganese mines over on the other side of Kakadu.” She inclined her head to indicate the direction. “And there’s a few others further south. But it turns out there’s also a couple of places that were sold off to the private sector before the deal was signed, so they’re grandfathered in. Snake Island’s one of them.”
The breeze had strengthened and it was ruffling Claire’s hair. She had turned her chair to put her back to the other customers who were coming in for lunch and the light played across the smooth, bronzed skin of her shoulders. Dan reached out and trailed his fingers down her arm.
“Did Waru say this guy might be dangerous?” he asked, concern tightening his voice. “Is he someone we should be worried about?”
Claire smiled and patted his hand. “No, I think he’s probably just a hermit. The whole island is posted with ‘Private’ and ‘Keep Off’ signs, and there’s no wharf. As far as I can tell they’ve never seen him in Maningrida, but Waru said someone saw the helicopter in Darwin and they said a weird looking guy got out of it.”
“Weird? Weird in what way?”
“They said he was tiny. Sort of hunched over, and he walked oddly.” She laughed. “And they said he was wearing too many clothes!”
Dan stared at her. “Too many clothes?” he asked. “What does that mean?” It was the same comment Walker had told him was used to describe a woman at Dawson’s Landing.
She shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s just what he said. Maybe the poor man was hiding some disfigurement or something.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of you being out there alone with someone who’s that reclusive. Those kind of guys can get violent if they think their privacy is being invaded, and it doesn’t take much to set them off.”
“I’m fine Dan. Really. I don’t go anywhere near the island. Even the dugongs stay away. It has a steep, rocky shore and they like the shallow water along the banks where they can find grass to eat.” She beckoned to the waitress. “Are you ready for dessert?”
He let her change the subject, but he still felt uneasy. Perhaps after he had dropped her off at the airport he would do a little checking into the owner of Snake Island. There was something very odd about having two people with a similar description in two different places.
***
THEY TOOK A CAB TO the museum, which Dan had been advised could help him learn about aboriginal culture and art, but the only person who might have been able to help him was down in Alice Springs until the following week, and her assistant could only advise him to go to Bathurst Island.
“Guess you’re headed to the right place,” Claire said with a grin as they went back out into the sunshine. “Odd they don’t know about the thefts. You would think someone would have told them.”
“I think the police may be keeping it quiet,” he said. “They told me in Vancouver the guys here think it might be local and they don’t want to scare him—or them—off.”
“Local?” Claire asked. “But Wurrumiyanga is an aboriginal village. Wouldn’t that mean that one of their own had stolen those things?”
“Yeah, it would. Doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the same with the thefts back in Canada.”
***
AFTER HE HAD WATCHED Claire’s plane take off, Dan made his way to the head office of the Northern Territory Police. Unlike the Darwin police department which covered the city, the Northern Territory police covered the entire state, a huge area of almost a million and a half square kilometers, and they also served as liaison for Interpol. He showed his credentials at the desk, and was immediately ushered into the Deputy Commander’s office.
“You’re certainly a long way from home. I can’t say we have too many Canadians paying us a visit.”
Deputy Commander Colin Harbinson leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. Unlike almost every other male Dan had seen that day, Harbinson was wearing polished leather shoes instead of sandals, long tan-coloured trousers instead of shorts, and a white short-sleeve uniform shirt. The pants and shirt were both crisply pressed.
“I am of course aware of both the assault and the theft, but I must say I’m surprised that Interpol is taking such an interest.” He nodded towards a file on his desk. “Assaults are unfortunately a regular occurrence in our aboriginal communities, as I’m sure they are in yours, and it certainly isn’t unusual to have an assault committed during a robbery.” He opened the file, lifted out an airline ticket, and slid it towards Dan. “I doubt the value of the items stolen would even cover the cost of your flight to Bathurst. A rock, a couple of old sticks and a pole?” His sneer of dismissal was barely audible, but the meaning came across loud and clear.
“Well, there are collectors for everything,” Dan replied, his voice carefully neutral. “The price they will pay for what they want doesn’t necessarily conform to logic.”
“And you think some collector would take an interest in this kind of thing?”
“It would seem so. There have been thefts of similar items from indigenous communities in both our countries, and the level of violence associated with them appears to be increasing. The only motivation we can come up with is personal satisfaction. It’s hard to see any financial reward.”
Something flitted across Harbinson’s face and was quickly suppressed.
“Well, keep me informed of your progress, although I suspect you will find your perpetrators closer to home than half a world away. As will we.” He closed the file, but as he did so Dan caught a glimpse of a sheet of paper with a bright yellow logo at the top. It looked familiar although it was only visible for a moment so he couldn’t be sure.
“Was there anything else?” The tone was unmistakeably dismissive, but Dan refused to take the hint.
“Yes,” he said, fighting to keep his tone even. “Two things. I would like to see the forensics report on the theft, and the medical report on the injuries sustained by the victim. I understand it was a particularly vicious beating and that he’s still in hospital?”
Harbinson wrinkled his brow. “I’m afraid there isn’t a full forensics report. There are only two police officers stationed on Bathurst Island, both aboriginal, and frankly neither one is capable of that sort of thing. By the time we heard about it and sent someone over there . . .” He left the rest of the sentence unsaid, but the implication was clear. Like the village where Jimmie had died, any evidence had been destroyed by the people themselves.
“And the medical report?”
“I’ll have one of my officers phone the hospital. You can pick it up there.” The interview was obviously over.
“One more thing,” Dan added. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me who owns Snake Island.”
“Snake Island?” Harbinson’s head jerked up and his pale eyes focussed intently on Dan. “I wasn’t aware of any thefts from out that way.”
“None that I know of. It’s just that I know someone working near there who mentioned the island is privately owned.” For some reason Dan felt a reluctance to let Harbinson know about his relationship with Claire. “I didn’t know it was possible to buy land here.”
“I see. Well that really isn’t anything we would have information on, and as it has nothing to do with your reason for being here . . . ”
Again it was a dismissal, and this time Dan was happy to act on it. He needed time to digest what he had just seen and heard, and while he wasn’t any closer to finding out who owned Snake Island, his interest had moved up several degrees.
After the chill of Harbinson’s office, he found the heat outside the building welcome.
***
FIVE O’CLOCK THE NEXT morning found Dan sitting out on the patio drinking his third coffee of the day as he waited for his call to be answered. The air was filled with the sound of cicadas, and even with the glow of the street lights along the Esplanade dimming his view of the stars, the night sky was spectacular. He was trying to identify the constellations when Bryce picked up his phone.
“Searles.” The voice was brusque.
“Guess I didn’t catch you on lunch like I hoped.”
“Dan? Hell, lunch is just some crappy snack bar from the machine if I’m lucky, but thanks for trying. How was the flight?”
“Don’t ask, and there’s another one coming up in a couple of hours.”
Bryce laughed. “Sorry to hear it, but you’d be better off talking to a psychologist about that. Anyway, I can’t talk for long and I’m guessing you’re calling about Walker, right?”
“Yes. I left him with a phone but he’s not answering it.” In the darkness Dan shook his head at his own naiveté. Of course Walker wasn’t answering. He never did.
“Well so far the news is good. Mark—he’s the orthopedic guy—says he can put in an artificial hip and knee and realign everything. It won’t be perfect, and there’s going to be quite a bit of rehab to get the muscles working right again, but it’ll be considerably better than what he’s got now.”
The surge of relief Dan felt was short-lived.
“Of course that’s assuming he actually turns up for the surgery. It’s scheduled for tomorrow morning and Mark said your friend wasn’t exactly enthusiastic when he laid it all out for him.”
“Yeah, well if he does show, could you let me know? Or better still call me and put Walker on the phone. I’d like to talk to him.”
***
MORNING SPRANG TO LIFE with a suddenness Dan found hard to believe. One minute it was dark and the next a brilliant orange ball was lifting above the horizon, blinding him as he dialed Markleson’s number.
“Where the hell are you?” Dan could almost smell the smoke from Markleson’s pipe as the familiar voice rasped over the air. “You coming back any time soon? We need you here, not sunning yourself on some goddamn sandy beach.”
“Too hot for that, and you already know where I am. I’m flying over to Bathurst Island in a couple of hours to check out the thefts over there.” Dan offered a silent vote of thanks to whatever spirits had given him Markleson for a boss and not Harbinson. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, but meanwhile I’m wondering if you’ve made any progress on that helicopter?”
“Yeah. Hang on a minute.” He heard a match flair and an indrawn breath before he heard the answer.
“It belongs to a guy by the name of Jean-Jacques Chauvet and it’s registered in the Dominican Republic.”
“So it probably did come off a yacht,” Dan said, disappointment colouring his voice. “Well there goes that lead.”
“Not so fast. There’s more. Remember you also asked me to check out that weird pattern you called the Vèvè of Ayizan?”
“Yeah. That’s the design painted on that helicopter. Why?”
“Well I gave that job to Carstairs—remember him? He’s that zealous young over-achiever more commonly known as the pain-in-the-ass. Drives everyone in the office nuts, but he outdid himself on this one.” There was the sound of papers shuffling. “Turns out Ayizan is the high princess of Voudou. That vèvè-thing is her symbol.”
“Well Haiti is next door to the Dominican Republic, and Voudou is the religion there so I guess that makes sense.”
“True, but what’s interesting is Chauvet owns a big chunk of land on Porcher island, up there near Rupert. He bought it a couple of years ago and apparently his daughter spends a lot of time there.”
“And? Are you going somewhere with this?”
More paper rustled over the air. “Ah, here it is. Erzulie. That’s what the daughter calls herself, although her real name is shown as Samantha. Carstairs says Erzulie is another one of the Voudou spirits. She’s supposed to be a pale, white-haired woman associated with water and like all the spirits she’s referred to as mystère or invisible.”
“So . . .?”
“You ever ask yourself which one of us is the boss and which one the detective? Remember those white hairs you sent in to forensics? Well I just got the report. They come from a female with something called Xeroderma Pigmentosum. Carstairs looked it up. It means lack of pigmentation in the skin and/or the hair. An extreme case is albinism. Quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”
It was indeed quite the coincidence, but Dan didn’t have time to spend on it. His taxi to the airport had arrived.
“I have to go. Any chance you could scan all that and send it to me?”