With information needed quickly it was all hands to the pump. Including Emmaline. She had never been to Alice Springs before and found it to be surprisingly green, like an oasis in the desert, Anzac Hill dominating the town, the buildings glowing white in the hot sun. In the distance lay the MacDonnell Ranges, red and flat-topped like a giant fence encompassing the south of the town, broken only by Heavitree Gap, all roads and rail south funnelled towards it.
The dealer she found herself at had a view of the Gap. With Cooper putting together the off-the-book list, they were checking out one of the registered dealers, his services luridly advertised on the picket sign hammered into his well-tended garden. He was welcoming as she introduced herself, a twinkle in his eye that suggested a certain admiration of her looks. Possibly in the expectation that there was not much behind them. A sadly typical reaction that she enjoyed shredding to pieces.
She showed him the photos of Ian and Naiyana.
‘Seen them in here?’
The dealer was in his fifties, with neatly parted hair she supposed was meant to read as ‘refined’ but just came across as ‘staid’. He tore his eyes away from her face and gazed over the top of his spectacles at the photos.
‘I recognize him. He had a lot of gold on his hands. Nuggets, shavings, dust. Too much for me. He refused to provide a name or ID either. I’m no fool, miss.’
‘Detective,’ said Emmaline. ‘And her?’
He shook his head. ‘I would remember her. Not often I get two pretty women in my humble shop.’
‘Usually you’d have to pay them,’ she replied, unable to hold back.
The man’s eyes darted towards Oily who stood in the background.
‘Don’t expect any help from me,’ said Oily. ‘You dug your own grave.’
‘How much was he trying to sell?’ asked Emmaline, refocusing the dealer’s attention.
‘Just under an ounce.’
‘And how much would that get?’
‘Fourteen hundred,’ said the dealer, stuttering a little.
‘And are you sure you didn’t buy any?’ asked Emmaline, her eyes boring into the washed-up letch’s face.
‘None. I wasn’t buying.’
‘But I bet you sent him to someone who was. I bet I could find them on that computer of yours,’ said Emmaline, nodding at it.
‘That’s private property.’
‘And this man may be involved in a series of brutal murders. So, give me a name.’
The name they got was for a guy who worked out of a pub on Feldman’s. Cooper warned them that the place was rough, frequented by bikers, hoods, anyone who was looking for action or trouble. Emmaline decided to test that.
Being late afternoon, it looked quiet, just a few bikes and cars dotted around outside.
Eyes turned to them as they entered. She asked the ham-faced barman to point her in the direction of Jeremiah Tung. The barman shook his head. As Emmaline tried to figure out if it was an outright refusal to help or that Jeremiah Tung wasn’t in the building, Oily tapped her shoulder and directed her to a heavy-set man in a denim jacket with the initials JT stitched onto the back.
She and her undersized and slightly intimidated posse approached.
‘Jeremiah Tung?’
The man in the denim jacket turned, eyebrow raised. His age was hard to determine, his face puffy with fat, smoothing any worry lines that might reveal his years, but she felt it was safe to say somewhere between thirty and forty.
‘I need to ask you about some gold.’
The eyebrow remained up. ‘I think you’re mistaking me with Fort Knox,’ he replied, a hint of Kiwi to the accent.
‘I don’t care if you bought it or what you did with it. You see something going at a good price why would I stop you? That’s for the local cops,’ said Emmaline, looking at Cooper who was a few steps behind her.
Jeremiah Tung didn’t answer. But he didn’t turn away either. She showed him Ian’s photo.
‘I just want to know how much he sold.’
Jeremiah Tung’s mouth twisted in thought, nostrils flaring. ‘I’ll speak with you. Alone.’
Emmaline nodded for Oily and Cooper to stay put and followed Tung to a back corner, home to the eye-watering reek of the nearby toilets. Maybe this was the corner he always used to conduct deals, the stench an incentive to hasten business along.
‘This gold. What’s it to you?’ he asked.
‘The guy flogging it might have kidnapped a mother and son. As I said, I don’t care about the deal, only how much he has.’
‘And the local blue?’
‘If they haven’t made a move yet then you must be too small-fry for them.’
Jeremiah looked momentarily offended by this. Then he shot her a beaming smile. ‘I bought the guts of an ounce. He wanted fifteen hundred. I gave him nine.’
Nine hundred. Enough for a week, maybe ten days at a stretch. There was a chance that Ian had then moved on to other dealers, but she guessed he wouldn’t want to hang around long. Especially with no guarantee that the next dealer wouldn’t just get a friendly call from Jeremiah and be ready to mug him of the rest of it.
She was about to leave when Jeremiah called her back.
‘He asked about buying a second-hand motor too. I directed him to my brother. On Trieste.’
Emmaline’s rapid-fire tour of Alice Springs’ lesser lights continued. Jeremiah Tung’s brother – also heavy-set and wearing an excess of denim – confirmed that a man fitting Ian Kinch’s description had bought a motor. An old Holden Commodore with two hundred thousand on the clock and no air con. For five hundred. Meaning he had four hundred left. Enough for a week, if he was sleeping in the car, which would be uncomfortable despite the Commodore’s size. It had been purchased under a fake name – Ted Grant – but though he could hide his name, Ian couldn’t hide his face. The licence plate number was immediately passed on to Cooper to run an ANPR check, though out here they would be lucky to get a positive.
Emmaline asked one final question. ‘You see anyone with him?’
Jeremiah Tung’s brother shook his head. ‘Not that I saw.’