I woke, then heard the hotel phone ringing beside me and realised it must have been the catalyst. The red display on the clock said 4.20 pm. I’d been out like a Von Steiger brother after Mark Lewin had applied the sleeper hold. It had to be Clement, they’d found Crossland. I grabbed for the receiver, missed and knocked it off its cradle. It clattered on the dressing table and I had to haul it in like a fish.
‘Me.’ I said it short and quick as teen sex. I was expecting Clement’s voice. I guessed he’d called me on the mobile and I slept through it.
‘Snowy, it’s Alex Mendleson.’
I’m ashamed to say it meant nothing at first. Then I oriented. ‘Yes, Alex.’
The words swarmed around me. I got the gist: police had stopped them on the highway, she’d called Clement. He was too busy to take the call but the Sergeant had asked about Kelly. Had she been in contact, what was her full name, where did she live? And so on. All he would tell them was they were trying to eliminate her from an inquiry. After the policeman rang off they’d tried calling Kelly’s phone but there was no response at all. She’d had a terrible sense of doom then. She’d remembered an article in the local paper about a woman’s body found in the desert. She couldn’t think straight. She questioned the other girls: none of them had heard from Kelly since she left. The last time Sierra spoke to her, Kelly had said her ship had come in and she’d be heading overseas. There was talk of ten thousand dollars.
I had the impression Alex was driving. While she talked, I checked my mobile. There was a long text from Clement: the desert corpse had traces of tattoo ink on the lower left leg. Alex was still talking.
‘I remembered you said you were at the Mimosa. I want to hire you, Snowy, find her or find out what happened to her. I’m tough, but this … she’s not a bad kid. I rang her mum, she’s in Perth. She hasn’t heard from her in nearly a month. Normally she’d call her mum every couple of weeks. She thought she was with me.’
I asked her to try and calm. ‘Look, Alex, I’m not totally in the loop but I can tell you what I know. The body of a young woman was found in the desert. She probably died around the time of the Hedland show.’ I heard her gasp. ‘She was approximately Kelly’s height and there were traces of tattoo ink on what was left of her left leg.’
‘Oh my God, Kelly had a dolphin tattoo. It’s her, isn’t it?’
‘I think we’re looking at pretty solid odds.’
‘Is it the guy who took the photos? I’ll kill the bastard. The girls told me he offered them drugs. They only just came clean. Teagan and Briony took pingers. They didn’t say anything before, they didn’t want to get into trouble.’
My brain was two-timing. Clement knew how important it was to speak to Alex. If he was too busy it could only mean he’d located Crossland or had a hard lead.
‘Did they say if they saw him with Kelly?’
‘Wait a second. Teagan.’ Her voice rang shrill in my ear.
Teagan’s voice came on the line, shallow. ‘Hello.’
‘Teagan, you got drugs off the guy I pointed out in the photo?’
‘Me and Briony.’ Dropping her mate in right away.
‘And Kelly, did he give her drugs?’
‘I don’t know. She was hanging with the girl you showed me. He might have.’
‘Did you see her with any drugs?’
‘No. We kind of went back to our room.’
‘With the guy or on your own?’
‘He tried.’
‘So he didn’t come back?’
‘No.’
It was like trying to feed a cat a pill. ‘Did you see Kelly speaking to that guy?’
‘I don’t remember. We went back to our room. He might have gone back to the party.’
I asked to speak to Briony. She made Teagan sound like Geoffrey Robertson. But her answers were the same.
‘Where did he give you the drugs? At the party?’
No. He’d been waiting at the back door of the stage.
In turn I spoke to all the girls. Sierra and Dana both confirmed what they’d told me before: they didn’t specifically remember Crossland speaking to any of them – they’d only just found out about the drugs he’d supplied the others. All they remembered was that he’d been lurking.
‘With Kelly? Think.’
As usual, Sierra was the most productive.
‘Kelly was hanging with the girl whose picture you showed me, and the Asian dude in the suit, for quite a while. Then I’m not sure. I lost track of her. Then I saw her in the loo. She said, “Don’t tell A” – that’s what we call Alex – “I’m quitting.” I told her she was crazy. She said, “I’m getting big bucks. I was going to quit anyway when we got back to Perth and it’s what I’d make in a month.” We get two grand a week so it had to be real big bucks.’
If only I had the legs.
‘What kind of girl was Kelly. I mean, how did she see herself? Ferrari, Hollywood …’
‘No, that’s more Teagan or Briony. Kelly was, I don’t want to say up herself, that’s not fair, but she would buy Vogue and talk about investment properties. You know, I think that kind of rich New York thing, a lot of class and style, oodles of money, a husband, children, horses to ride.’
‘Did you see her leave?’
‘No. Dana and I had enough, we went to bed. Some of the bar staff were there, you could ask them.’
Dana’s memory was no better. I was thinking of the Autostrada case. The girls were there, then gone. Crossland could easily have crossed paths with Caitlin O’Grady. Emily and Jessica were known to him. What had he told Kelly? We can travel Australia, go to Bali for a break. He probably showed her the cash he had from dealing drugs. He was likely flush. Don’t tell anyone. I could hear him now.
Dana was still on the line.
‘Was Kelly into drugs at all? Buying, selling?’
‘Not in a big way. She’d snort a line of coke if it was offered.’
I asked for Alex back.
‘You’re not going to like it,’ I said.
‘She’s dead.’ She was trying to prepare herself.
‘The man in the photo is a person of interest in a homicide.’ I wasn’t going to blow Autostrada. I imagined her smoking, trying to hold it together at the wheel of a rattling mini-bus. ‘This one is out of my hands but Dan Clement is as good a cop as I’ve seen. I’m sure he’ll call when he gets the opportunity.’
We talked on for a few minutes, saying the same things over. We rang off eventually, unsatisfied with reality, unable to change it now. The girls couldn’t place Crossland and Kelly leaving together. They’d mentioned pub staff being at the afterparty. Maybe one of them could? But the cops would speak to them soon enough.
Although … if they’d been taking drugs would they spill to a cop? All that was needed was somebody to admit to seeing Crossland and Kelly together after the party broke up. Of course, I had no business with this, except I had. I’d fingered Crossland seventeen years ago and been treated like a Carlton supporter in the Collingwood cheer squad. Clement was good but his role would be diminished from here on. The Commissioner was the same cop who’d cocked up the first time. I didn’t trust task force cops I’d never met. I thought back to how they’d missed the video of the van parked at the cemetery when I’d thought it was that SAS guy. I was going to see Caitlin O’Grady got justice. Might Ingrid Feister have seen anything? She’d been at the afterparty. I tried her phone, got a voicemail and left a message asking if she could call me. Then I did the same with Max Coldwell for the same result. I wondered if they were talking to each other now, if the romance had been rekindled. I had a brainwave. I checked my file and dialled Giant Resources in Port Hedland.
‘Angus Duncan, please.’
‘He was up at Tenacity Hill. I’ll see if he’s back.’
The guy who answered didn’t even ask who was calling. After a minute, Duncan came on the line. I told him it was me.
‘Hey, Snowy, good to see Ingrid return safe and sound. How can I help?’
‘I’m not sure you can but I thought I’d try. That night of the sExcitation show, there was a fellow there … I’ve got a photo … I’ll send it through in a minute. Anyway, one of the dancers has gone missing. They thought she’d up and left but it’s possible there was foul play. I’m trying to establish if they left together.’
‘Are you working on this?’
I understood his confusion.
‘Not really. Doing a favour for a friend.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t see how I could help.’
‘I’m talking about the party after.’
‘Oh, right. Not really a party, just pizza and a beer. We didn’t stay that long from what I remember. Left about one.’
‘Maybe if you see the photos. Would you mind?’
He said no but didn’t sound hopeful. I told him I’d ring him back in five after I’d sent them from my phone. He gave me his mobile number. It took quite a few minutes to send the photo I had of Kelly and the still I’d taken off Alex’s video. That one in particular was pretty poor quality. I watched the clock tick by and called. I was already figuring other possibilities if this hit a wall.
‘I remember the girl,’ he said. ‘The best looker, I thought. She chatted to Ingrid for a while. The guy seems familiar but I couldn’t swear.’
I apologised for the photo quality.
‘Like I said, Snow, we didn’t stay that long. I’m too old for pubs, even if the sheilas are cute young things and Shaun, my client, was tired after a long day.’
‘I thought I might try Ingrid.’
‘Don’t think she could help. She and Max left with us. They had an early start.’
It was all less than I hoped for. I thanked him and rang off. Should I call Clement? No, out of necessity he’d delisted me from what was now a big official police investigation. If I told him what I was doing he’d order my arse out of there, officially at least. I chucked my stuff together. I could make the Sandfire Roadhouse for dinner.
As he’d been led to the plane, Crossland had asked constantly what it was all about. Clement had said nothing other than it concerned the theft of a phone and conspiracy to distribute drugs. On the plane ride Crossland had fallen into a sullen funk. Mal Gross radioed through with an update on Kelly, now identified with her full name Kelly Davies. There was no signal on her phone and it had not been used since August 17, the night of the Port Hedland gig. Prior to that gig she’d been surfing Instagram and Facebook but there was no activity since. Her mother had not heard from her, nor had the sExcitation girls. They were awaiting his call in Dampier. Clement had no doubt now that Kelly Davies was the dead girl in the desert. Gross also told him that, as per his instructions, Lisa Keeble and her tech team were already on the road to Wyndham. They had been standing by at Derby and left as soon as Crossland was in custody. If Kelly Davies had been in any part of Crossland’s vehicle, he was certain Keeble would locate traces.
By the time they entered the station it was close to 11.00 pm. The day had begun in the gloom of the mangrove flats near Derby. It seemed interminable. Risely was waiting for them.
‘Perth says you can start questioning.’
Mal Gross led Crossland into the interview room. Nat Restoff was tasked with watching over him. Shepherd stretched out on the sofa and announced he was starving. Clement told him he could go home.
‘No, I’ll stick around.’
Everybody wanted in on the glory. Gross had bought a burger for Graeme Earle. It was cold now but Earle stuck it in the microwave. Clement had declined the offer. He’d make do with toast if he got hungry.
‘You okay?’ he asked Earle.
The microwave pinged.
‘Will be after this.’
It was weird, thought Clement. They all knew they were on the verge of solving the state’s greatest crime mystery but it was as if they were embarrassed to admit that.
Clement grabbed a coffee. It was probably a dumb idea. His head was thumping. It seemed he’d been flying and driving for as long as he could remember. In his office, he popped two Panadol from a blister pack and swallowed them dry. He picked up the report on Kelly Davies assembled by Mal Gross, scanned it to make sure Gross had given him all the relevant facts and then sent a text to Snowy Lane. Got Him.
While Earle ate, Clement went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He’d been running since 5.00 am but he felt charged. He made a quick call to Alex Mendleson. She sounded worn down. She told him she’d spoken to Snowy Lane and he had warned her to expect the worst.
It was 11.30 pm by the time he and Earle were sitting opposite Cross-land. Clement passed a white coffee and two biscuits over to Crossland then switched on the camera, gave the time and date and introduced the parties. He asked Crossland for his full name.
‘Shane Jason Crossland.’
The answer was given begrudgingly. He showed Crossland the Lipton phone, which was sealed in a plastic bag.
‘Recognise the phone, Shane?’
He shrugged. Clement asked him for an answer on the record.
‘I might. Can’t say. Plenty of phones look like that.’
Clement watched Crossland sip his coffee. He’s off balance, thought Clement. He wonders how much we know. Clement began by asking for an account of his movements that day. Crossland lolled his head, bored and annoyed.
‘From when I got up?’
‘Yes, Shane.’
A sigh. ‘I woke up about eight, eight-thirty, I pissed in the bush.’
‘Where were you?’
‘I don’t know. In the fucking bush near Kununurra.’
Clement tried to show no surprise. ‘You sure it was Kununurra?’
‘Yeah. Everybody said go see Kununurra, so I did.’
According to Crossland, he’d been at the pub at Kununurra till 10.30 the previous evening. He’d then driven towards Wyndham but got tired and pulled off the road, ‘doing the right thing, like they tell you’, about 11.00 pm. He’d then woken up and pissed and driven to Wyndham where some time late morning he’d had a breakfast. He didn’t know the name of ‘the joint’ but described where it was and the waitress. ‘She should remember me, I gave her a five buck tip.’
Clement didn’t detect false bravado. He’d already been sceptical that Crossland could have made Wyndham from Derby. He was ninety-eight percent certain now that whoever had been at the creek wasn’t Crossland. He took Crossland through a chronology of when he had hired the car and driven north from Perth. Crossland claimed he was doing a ‘northwest holiday’.
Clement checked his watch. It was after midnight now. ‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me all about your trip.’
It was close on 8.30 when I wheeled into the Sandfire Roadhouse parking lot, rush hour. Three big rigs, a couple of campervans and a handful of cars were scattered like mahjong tiles beneath a breathtaking cape studded with the most brilliant stars. I stepped out into fresh, cool desert air tainted by tobacco smoke. A couple of blokes stood by the tavern door, fags in their mouths, beers in their fists. It felt sacrilegious. Inside, the community of travellers tucked into steaks and hamburgers. I took my spot, ordered a burger with the lot and a beer. By now Crossland might have been shot dead trying to escape whatever Clement had going down, or he might be in custody and have already confessed.
Or they could still be looking for him.
I tried Clement’s phone again just in case and got a voicemail. I left a message to call me when he had a chance. The burger, in Australian tradition, contained beetroot and while it wasn’t the Taj Mahal of burgers, it did the job. There was no need to rush, I sipped my beer while I traced my steps back seventeen years to when Grace was a baby and I’d first begun on the case. Could I really be at the end of that long journey? Resisting the urge for a second beer, I paid up, filled my tank, had a pee and stood under the stars. For an instant I was once more a tiny figure in a huge volume of space. I guessed an astronaut must feel like this when they float outside their ship. It was wonderful and uplifting, and I laughed at the absurdity of forcing myself back into the tiny cramped confines of my little metal ball and hurtling south towards Hedland. But that’s exactly what I did.
Driving a lot faster than I should have, I reached Port Hedland in well under three hours, still too late for the pub to be open but I headed there anyway. I swung into the area out front. It looked dark inside. I checked my phone. One text, Clement: Got Him.
I didn’t feel elation, just relief. I might have given up then, gone and pressed the night bell at the motel and asked for a room, but I saw a side door of the pub open and a young woman exit, smoking. I walked to where she’d emerged from, a saloon bar, low light inside, a few young men and women having a drink and eating potato chips: staffies, an Aussie tradition. You stayed sober till you’d got everybody else pissed, then had a go yourself. I was still kind of floating, I don’t know how else to describe it. Nearly twenty years of your life you’ve had this thing, pricking you, one minute light as a feather, another, deep in your soul. Part of me still didn’t believe it could all be finished. I had to make sure it was. The door had snapped shut so I tapped on the glass. A young guy I recognised from my time here before got up and wandered over to open it for me. He didn’t recognise me.
‘Sorry mate, we’re closed.’
His name leapt out of the ether.
‘Dougal. Richard Lane, Private Detective, remember?’
He did with that prompt. I asked if I could have a few minutes of their time. He let me in, locked the door and kindly offered me a beer. I was more interested in the potato chips, I was starving. There were three young women and three guys. I introduced myself.
‘I don’t know if any of you guys remember the night of the sExcitation show here. There was a bit of a drinks and pizza party upstairs afterwards. Did any of you go to that party?’
Two of the guys and one blonde with an English accent, sunburned cheeks and curly hair had.
‘Do you remember this guy at all? He might have been with one of the dancers.’
I produced my phone and showed the best photo of Shane Crossland I had.
The blonde girl giggled. ‘Yes, I remember him: Shane. He wasn’t with a dancer though.’
One of the other girls smiled and slapped her playfully. ‘You didn’t?’
I’m old and slow. It took me a beat to catch on. ‘Are you saying you were with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long?’
She made a distance sign with her hands. The others burst out laughing. I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘couldn’t resist. Basically the whole night. I had to kick him out at a quarter to ten next morning, my shift was starting.’