'What? No ... you shot Keith?' Jay asked.
'He was carrying a gun and he started to raise it and I ... I ... just fired. He was coming for us ... I swear.'
'OK, OK. Settle down.' Jay hit the steering wheel. 'Shit! Did you hit him?'
'I'm not sure. I suppose. I couldn't see out of the window and the shots took the wind out of me. I don't know. God, I hope not. Fuck, what have I done?'
Jay attempted to comfort her. 'It'll be all right. Like you said, he had a gun.' He tried to convince himself that Sarah had done the right thing. 'What the fuck was he doing there?'
'I killed him, didn't I? We have to go back.'
'We can't go back. There'll be police everywhere. We have to keep moving. Why was he there in the first place? Why would he want to kill us? It's not right – it's Keith. Why the fuck would he want us? This isn't good.'
Sarah sat up. 'Wait, do you think he had a hand in all of this? Oh, shit. Do you think . . . Lazarau?' She let the name hang in the air.
Jay checked and adjusted his mirrors. The thought of Keith Harper wanting to kill him tightened a knot in his stomach. He shook his head. 'It can't be.'
'I swear he had a gun on us. He had the power to move Lazarau in general population. He had the contacts for the hit on Lazarau. And I've been saying all along that the information flowing out of the Agency has been slow. It makes sense.'
'What would he gain from killing me . . . us?'
'Maybe he wanted the document. Maybe Bowen was working for him and he thinks you killed Bowen.'
'Shit.' He hit the steering wheel again. 'This is all screwed up. Did Uncle Pat mention anything to you about Keith?'
Sarah appeared to be considering her answer. A slight pause that lasted a touch too long for a simple yes or no. 'He reiterated not to contact anyone in the Agency. And he did add especially not to contact Deputy Director Harper. He didn't say why and I didn't ask.' She rubbed her eyes. 'This hasn't been right from the start. Take a look at your wrist.'
Jay figured Sarah's pause was due to shock and dispensed with his suspicions. He turned over his hand and pulled his sleeve back. He stared at the rose tattoo. It was possible that Bowen was working for Keith, he thought. But what would Keith have to gain from the interrogation report of the Iraqi general? Perhaps he was manoeuvring himself into a deal with Zinner. That's assuming Primrose was working for Catherine's father. The interrogation report had some political clout . . . He cut himself mid-thought. 'Is there an election coming up?'
'What?'
'An election. Federal election.'
'It hasn't been called but it can't be too far away, why?'
'If released to the public, that report would ruin the current government. Once an election is called, there's no turning back. Make it a much easier campaign for Zinner and his party.'
Sarah nodded her agreement. 'Makes some sense,' she said. 'We need to find an internet café and get a message to the Director. Let him know what we think.'
Jay nodded. 'And you need to make a phone call. Arrange an interview with Catherine. We need to find Primrose.'
'You think it's a good idea for me to interview her?'
'She hasn't seen you, as far as I can tell. We've got to give it a shot.' He checked his mirrors again. 'I have to get this off the street. There are a shitload of cafés up and down here. One of them is bound to have internet access.'
'Where are you going to park?'
'Jay noticed a parking sign ahead for the Parklands and recalled it was an underground lot. He hoped it was still open. 'I'll park underneath the Parklands. You find a café while I sort out the car. Meet me inside the entrance to the carpark in thirty minutes. Do you remember the web address and password Uncle Pat gave us?'
'Yep.' She unbuckled her seatbelt and Jay noticed her hands still shaking. 'See you in half an hour,' she said.
'Be careful,' he replied.
Sarah crossed the street and disappeared into the first café. He wondered when the shock of shooting Keith would hit her. Her initial response with the noise and mayhem was natural. It was once the incident had sunk in that concerned him. At least she hadn't actually seen the fall of shot, he thought. He started the car and headed for the underground parking.
The carpark was three-quarters empty and he found a spot in a corner. He parked and set about hiding the evidence of the shattered window. The window would only wind down as far as the lowest bullet hole. He surveyed the other cars in the vicinity until he noticed what he needed. Another four-wheel-drive parked opposite and down a couple. The vehicle had window sox – screens that slip over the doorframe and cover the window. They block out direct light; a handy invention for those with kids.
He went to the trunk of his rental and removed a pair of pliers from the car toolkit. The pliers were perfect for removing an aerial from an older-style sedan directly opposite. He then bent the aerial so that it looked like a large fishing hook at one end. Taking his time, making sure he wasn't being observed, he moseyed toward the four-wheel-drive that had the window sox. Less than a minute later, he had the window sox in hand and was walking back to his vehicle. It took another minute to fit them to the car.
Jay returned the pliers to the toolkit and removed a screwdriver. He again went to the other four-wheel-drive, this time removing the number plates. He fitted the new plates and, satisfied with the alterations, drove out of the underground carpark. With another twenty minutes to kill, he parked a couple of streets away from the pickup location.
The twenty-minute wait didn't seem that long, not with the thoughts running through his head. He sat in the rental and smoked two of Sarah's cigarettes. New residential developments around the Southbank Parklands had attracted the 'coffee crowd'. Great access within reach of the city and a short walk to the hub of Brisbane's arts and cultural centre. Jay marvelled at the designer clothes, bleached hair, thin-framed spectacles and catwalk-like prance toward the cafés – and that was just the men. He fixed his attention onto the tattoo and wondered why Primrose had felt the need to permanently scar him. He knew Primrose was psychopathic, an obvious assumption from the manic killing of Bowen. He wondered why Bowen had become involved with Catherine and shook his head at his own stupidity with her. He put his thoughts aside and drove the couple of streets to pick up Sarah. She was waiting as planned.
She climbed into the rental and they headed south. Jay drove onto the highway and checked the speedometer. The last thing he needed was to be caught speeding.
'I left a short message about the Deputy Director,' Sarah said. 'And I rang around to find out who was handling the investigation with Catherine and Bowen.'
'And?'
'I ran into some luck. She's obviously been to the hospital and given an initial statement. There was a delay with her formal statement because the feds have become involved. She's meeting with them lunchtime tomorrow.'
'Where?'
'Canungra police station. I've told my contacts there's been a change of plans and that I'll be interviewing her. They're arranging for her to be there at ten.'
'Did they buy it?'
'Sure did.'
'Good. I know a little out-of-the-way place to stay.'
'Where?'
'Bearded Dragon.'
'Say again?' she asked.
'A hotel at Tamborine in the Gold Coast hinterland. The Bearded Dragon.'
'What kind of bizarre name is that for a hotel?'
'You'll be surprised by this joint. Beautiful country-style setting in a fairly secluded location. Very nice and private.'
'If you say so. At least we'll have plenty of time to prepare. I'm looking forward to interrogating that little bitch.'
'Yeah. No prep tonight, though. I want you fresh for it. We get there tonight and crash out. Tomorrow morning we'll go over what you'll say to her.'
'OK. Can you stop in at the next service station? I need to use the ladies.'
Jay pulled into a 24-hour service centre, one of the larger ones that contained a couple of coffee shops and the obligatory McDonald's for weary travellers. He reverse-parked far from the entrance but near enough to see the punters coming and going.
Four people sat on the edge of a garden-bed beside the front entrance, smoking. Their cigarette haze drifted towards the fluorescent lights above their heads. Jay reached across to Sarah's bag for her packet of cigarettes. He pulled it out, flipped the lid and looked inside. Empty. Dammit. He pulled out his new phone and called Sarah. There was no chance he'd risk being in a public place just for a packet of cigarettes. An engaged signal sounded in his ear. He checked the number and tried again. Still engaged. Strange, he thought. Who could Sarah be talking to?
Five minutes later, the automatic doors swung open and Sarah emerged. Jay called her mobile, watched her retrieve it and answer.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
'Need cigarettes.'
She didn't answer. Instead, hung up and went back inside.
While he waited for her to return with his cigarettes, he wondered who she'd been talking to. Uncle Pat had been clear in his order to only communicate via the internet.