Tuesday afternoon
Panos Sordina’s Office, Darwin
Everything had been going fine until Ellie Porter started sticking her nose in. The drill site was away from most of the regular scenic tour flight paths, and no one would ever have cause to go down the back; it was almost two kilometres from the highway gate to the eastern boundary. None of the tourist boats travelled that far down the river. The place was miles from anywhere. It should have been perfect. But she had to start snooping. And when Fairweather heard that she had been out there – and there was no doubt he would – there would be consequences. It was a complication he didn’t need. He didn’t know what he would say to her on Saturday, but that could wait. In the meantime, there was another problem to deal with.
‘What box, Susan?’ As Panos pressed the phone to his ear, he could feel the blood thumping through his veins.
‘Oh, just a small box I found in the shed.’
‘What was in it?’ His words were like bullets.
‘I have no idea. It wasn’t mine to look at. It had her father’s name on the top.’ Susan’s voice trembled. ‘She was really happy to take it.’
‘I bet she fucking was.’ He’d seen no box in the shed. It would have been burned if he had. No matter how hard he tried not to think about it, Panos knew he was responsible for Peter Porter’s suicide. He might as well have put the noose around his neck himself.
‘Panos? Have I done something wrong? I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Susan’s voice was teary, and a bolt of regret jarred through him. He rubbed his forehead with his fist and his anger eased a little.
Susan was his wife and he’d loved her when they’d got married, but he’d loved the money she’d inherited from her first husband just a little more. She put others first, and her martyrdom always irritated him. And now despite her illness and the loss of their beautiful home in Darwin because of his gambling, here she was, feeling sorry for Ellie Porter because her father was dead.
Peter Porter’s death haunted him. He had been found hanging from a beam, a tumbled pile of mango crates beneath his dangling legs. Eyes bulging, red spots on his cheeks. In the recurring dream, Peter called Panos to help him, his hands reaching out. A dream that made him jump to Fairweather’s bidding every day since. He had hoped he’d get away from him when he’d married Susan’s money, but a visit from Mick, Fairweather’s frightening offsider, had put the fear of God into him. It had been a clear warning: do as he was told or he would end up dead too.
Lately, that was looking like an attractive option.
Panos ran his hand over his eyes, trying to blot out the memory; he didn’t want to think too much about what Mick had meant.
‘Panos?’ she repeated softly.
‘I’m here.’ He tried to inject some life into his voice. ‘I’m sorry I snapped, darling. You know how hard it was for me when Peter died.’
‘I know, Panos.’
‘Are you feeling okay?’
‘Yes. I’m not too bad. It’s been nice to have some visitors.’
He’d been waiting for this to happen ever since the call from security that someone from Makowa Lodge had flown over the drill site. Ellie Porter would not let it go. They should have put the new barbed wire fence at the front gate, but that would have been like telling passers-by ‘Illegal Drilling Taking Place On This Property’.
He should have gone to the farm and spent the weekend with Susan, but his guilt kept him away. The guilt about trying to convince Peter to sell, the guilt about Susan having to live in that dump, the guilt about what was happening down the back, they all gnawed at his insides like the cancer that was slowly killing his wife.
So he’d slept on the couch in his office, eaten at McDonald’s around the corner, and taken a small measure of pride in the fact that he’d stayed away from the race meeting.
He’d have to go to the farm soon or find a laundromat. Especially if there was any chance of a face-to-face meeting with Fairweather. Last time they’d met, he’d looked at Panos as though he’d crawled out from under a rock.
‘I’ll be home on Friday night. I’m pleased you had some company. I’ll call you tomorrow night.’
‘Love you, Panos.’
‘Ditto.’ He stared into space as he ended the call. In his own way, he did love Susan. She was a kind woman and had never uttered one word of complaint about their situation. He didn’t deserve her.
Only a few minutes passed before the call he was dreading sounded on his other phone. He looked at it as it chirped out the happy ringtone, and dread clawed at his throat. The ringtone did not reflect the caller on the other end of the line. When Mick had given him the phone that was to be used only for contacting Fairweather, it had been set up for his use, but Panos had not been brave enough to change any of the settings. So the happy tune stayed; it was almost obscene.
The music got louder.
He had to pick it up. And he would have to meet with the cold bastard; it was inevitable. Panos needed more money.
And I deserve more. This deal was worth millions to Fairweather. If he wanted Panos to do his dirty work and secure more committee votes, it was going to cost him.
His hand reached out in front of him, slowly, tentatively, as though the phone would rear up and bite him.
‘Yes?’ He injected confidence into his voice.
‘Panos.’ The voice was soft and the cold spread through his whole body. ‘I’ve received a very disturbing call from the site.’
‘Which site?’
‘Don’t play with me, Panos. I know Ellie Porter has been out there. You’ve just spoken to your wife about it.’
Christ help me. He’s tapping my phone as well? With Fairweather’s reach, Panos should have realised all of his calls would be tracked but for God’s sake, he’d only hung up a few minutes ago.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I was just pondering the situation when you called. Susan said Ellie had visited her. Maybe she didn’t see anything.’
‘You’re lying to me, Panos.’ When Fairweather spoke his words were like chips of ice. ‘I know you’ve spoken to Ellie Porter. Twice. In fact, I have transcripts of both calls in front of me. What do you think is in that box?’
God help me. ‘I don’t –’
‘Think back carefully. Did you give anything to Peter that had the company name on it?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?
‘One hundred per cent.’
Fairweather paused, and then seemed to come to a decision. ‘You have one way to redeem yourself, and one way only. She knows too much and she’s threatened to go public with it. You let me down with her father. You won’t let me down again.’
Perspiration rolled down his neck and a sharp cramp clenched Panos’ bowels.
‘Helicopters can be very unsafe. Especially over the wild gorges of Kakadu National Park.’ Fairweather’s voice hardened and Panos looked at the drop of perspiration that had rolled off the end of his nose and landed on a piece of paper on the desk. He watched as the circle spread and blurred the text.
‘I don’t understand.’ The numb feeling had spread to Panos’ mouth and for a moment, his vision clouded at the edges. A strange, stretching numbness pulled at his cheeks.
Am I having a stroke? Please, God.
‘I’m really not very happy with you, Panos. For the past six years, I’ve continually bailed you out of the problems you’ve made for yourself. I’ve been very patient, but now it’s time to repay that debt. Even if you have to be up there with her and bring the bird down yourself, her helicopter will crash. Do you understand me?’
‘I can’t do that.’ Panos shook his head from side to side. He was dead either way.
‘You will.’
‘No.’ His voice was a bare whisper.
‘What did you say?’
‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Panos sniffed, not surprised to feel the tears on his cheeks. ‘I can’t. It’s over. I’m out.’
‘I am disappointed, Panos.’ Fairweather’s voice was even, almost chatty.
‘I’ll get a loan. I’ll hand over the property. I’ll sign it over to you. It’s yours anyway, we both know that. That’ll clear all my debts.’
‘Oh no. I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.’
‘I’ll –’
‘Goodbye, Panos.’
The cold silence of the disconnected call surrounded him as Panos dropped the phone and lowered his head to the cold leather-topped desk.