28

I called Bert. He did some checking and rang back.

‘First of all, Melody is okay. I radioed the boat and she answered. She said she’d been asleep and was fine and hadn’t seen or heard anything. I also talked to Goldsworthy. His security team checked on the boat an hour ago and didn’t see anything suspicious. Goldsworthy said he’ll increase the surveillance, so a car will check out the marina every half hour or so for the rest of the night and until further notice. And don’t forget that the marina has its own security. It’s a tough place to break into and presumably Harlin doesn’t even know Tasso has a boat or that Melody is on it. So I think you can relax about Melody for the time being. I’m more worried about you. Harlin knows where you live. You should get out of there.’

‘I’ve had a few.’

‘Even more important that you get out, then. I’ll pick you up in fifteen.’

He called me when he was in the car park and we drove to his place, a comfortable flat inside the city mile. We chatted for a while before I crashed.

‘Thanks for doing this,’ I said. ‘I guess it’s not in your terms of reference.’

‘Tasso told me to help you out if you needed it.’

‘Fine, then.’

‘Harlin is a problem.’

‘He is. He’s scared the shit out of Coy.’

‘Fortunately, looking after Coy is not in my terms of reference.’

Bert dropped me back at my place next morning and scouted it and checked my car before heading off. I told him my plans for the day and he agreed with them and asked me to keep him informed if anything changed. He also gave me hints on how to avoid being followed.

‘Do you also have any hints on how to tail someone without them cottoning on?’ I said. ‘I keep getting sprung.’

Bert laughed. ‘One day maybe I’ll give you some lessons. In the meantime, just don’t do it.’

I took a shower and made coffee using my trusty stovetop espresso-maker before heading to the shops. I bought a smart­phone, a tablet with a SIM card, and several hundred dollars’ worth of groceries. And I called in at a hardware store. Then I drove to the marina.

Melody was in a bikini, sunning herself on the deck of the boat.

‘Ahoy,’ I said.

‘Ahoy.’ She waved at me. I boarded while she donned a beach coat.

‘I brought you some stuff.’

‘Food? Brilliant. This ship has a great pantry, but fresh ingredients would be nice.’ We unpacked and stowed everything, and she seemed pleased with what I had brought her. I gave her the phone and she spent a few minutes putting it into commission, and then the tablet.

‘I thought you might like to surf the internet a bit.’ I gave her a voucher to an internet store where she could download movies and music.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’

We made coffee and drank it on deck, sitting in the shade because by now the sun was burning. The marina was peaceful and I liked the sound of the slapping of stays against masts and water against hulls. Gulls mewed overhead, and an occasional outboard motor could be heard.

‘I suppose you’re itching to take this baby for a run,’ I said.

‘I’d love to. But I won’t, unless Tasso says so.’

‘You’re warming to him, I take it?’

‘I am. He’s not my type, and I’m sure I’m too old to be his type, but I like him more than I did.’

‘What’s your type?’

‘I’m still trying to work that out.’

We rode that little wave for a while.

‘I’m not sure Tasso is Fern’s type, either,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’ she said.

‘She’s not happy. It’s not a happy relationship.’

‘It has endured.’

‘That doesn’t make it healthy. And especially not happy. I endured with Harlin.’

‘I don’t think Tasso hurts her. I’m sure he doesn’t.’

‘I don’t think he does either. Not physically.’

‘But mentally?’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

‘Speaking about Harlin.’

‘Let’s not.’

‘I think we should.’ I told her about my two visits the previous evening.

‘Coy’s right. Harlin will be looking for me. But he doesn’t know I’m here.’

‘Maybe not. Yet. But he’ll track you down eventually.’

‘What should I do?’ She had been lounging with her legs crossed, but now she sat up and put her feet on the ground.

‘You could leave. You could be in Sydney or Perth or Auckland by tonight. You could be in the US by tomorrow.’

‘You think I should leave?’ She sipped her coffee.

‘Yes, until Harlin is caught. I think you should get out of harm’s way.’

‘I don’t want to leave. I feel safe here.’

‘I could come and stay. You’d be even safer.’

‘No, I don’t think so. Not yet.’

Maybe I looked disappointed because she put her hand on my knee. ‘I just want time to myself. I don’t know how long I need it.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘You’re not hurt?’

‘Of course I’m not hurt. Just irritated. I have something else for you.’ I went to the car, grabbed my purchase from the hardware store and returned to the boat.

‘You bought me an axe handle? You’re sweet.’ She studied it. It was a solid, nicely turned lump of eucalypt.

‘I thought it might be useful.’

‘I’m sure it will be.’

‘Maybe keep it next to the bed.’

‘I’ll keep it near, always.’

‘How long will you stay here?’

‘Tasso said I could stay as long as I like. And I’m going to keep this place so clean and ship-shape he’ll want to take me on full-time as crew.’

I headed to the office. I didn’t think Harlin would find Melody too soon, but I still worried about her. Tasso called me into his office as soon as I arrived. I checked that the jammer was switched on.

‘Your boat is in good hands,’ I said.

‘It’s still there, then?’ He was sitting at his desk with the usual disorganised pile of paper and books.

‘Of course it’s still there.’

‘Bert told me about last night. You’ve been taking risks.’

‘I’ve upset a few people.’

‘Maybe you should keep your head down for a few days. Maybe you should stay on the boat, too.’

‘The thought had crossed my mind, but I’m waiting to be invited.’

Tasso laughed. ‘You’re a slow worker, my friend. But whatever you do, don’t go home for a while. Stay in a hotel somewhere, if not on the boat.’

‘I’m worried about Melody. Harlin won’t rest until he hurts her again.’

‘She’ll be okay. The boat is being watched.’

‘Yeah, I guess so.’

He stood up and walked to the full-length window overlooking Adelaide Oval. ‘Where are we up to with Ecstasy Lake?’ he said.

‘You’ve submitted the exploration lease application, right?’

‘Right.’

‘So is there anything else we need to do?’

‘In terms of the application, no, unless you want to butter up the minister a bit more.’

‘It’s possible to overdo that sort of thing.’

‘He has that contract I gave you?’

‘I believe he has. He would have received it last week.’

‘But you haven’t heard his reaction.’

‘No.’ Tasso thought for a moment. ‘Maybe I will contact the bugger. Invite him for a drink, a discreet drink. My hotel room.’ He picked up the phone and asked Fern to put a call through. We waited for her to call back.

‘There’s something else that’s bothering me,’ said Tasso. ‘A loose end.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘The contract between Hiskey and me. As I said before, it’s not a smoking gun. It doesn’t incriminate me or Goanna Mining. But I still want to know where Hiskey’s copy is. I don’t want it surfacing at the wrong moment. So what the hell did Hiskey do with it?’

‘Remind me how long he had it before he was killed.’

‘A few days. He came to the office before he went up north. We both signed and he took his copy with him. He went up north the next day or the day after. And then he was murdered the night he got back.’

The phone rang and Tasso answered it. ‘Hello, Minister,’ he said in a jovial voice, winking at me. As he smooched with the minister I thought about Hiskey’s contract. I thought of an avenue we hadn’t explored. Tasso hung up the phone. ‘He’s busy tonight, but he thinks he can get away tomorrow by about seven. You come along, too. My place.’

‘Alright.’

‘What about Hiskey’s contract?’

‘I’ve had a thought. I’ll let you know.’

Adelaide was just big enough to have a street—or at least half a street—dedicated to sleaze. By day, Hindley Street was a place of greasy food outlets and locked doors. Come night, the greasy food outlets would still be there and doing a roaring trade, and the locked doors would be unlocked and the low-lights would be on and there would be beautiful, bored, erotic girls inside who would make promises with their eyes they wouldn’t keep, except maybe to those with enough gold in their pockets. And the lonely and intoxicated would enter, for a fee, and sit there clinging to their drinks and their dreams.

But it was still morning, and the street had a menopausal look about it. The End of the World Hotel was open and I walked in. The place was empty except for Marianne, Hiskey’s girlfriend, punching numbers into the till; not even the Professor of Alcohol was in his corner yet.

‘Remember me?’

She looked up. ‘Yeah, you were at Mick’s funeral.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you followed me back here. Westie, wasn’t it? What can I do for you?’

It was early in the day for a drink, but I thought one wouldn’t hurt. ‘A schooner of Pale.’

She pulled the beer. I remembered how she had been on the day of the funeral, worn and tear-streaked with grief. There was less sorrow in her face now, but no more happiness.

‘I wanted to ask you something.’ I sipped my beer.

‘Yes?’

‘Did Mick leave any stuff with you?’

‘What sort of stuff?’

‘Papers, letters, notes, that sort of thing.’

She had intelligent brown eyes. ‘I have a box of his stuff. I haven’t looked at it. I don’t know what’s in it.’

‘Could I see it?’

‘Has Sonia sent you?’

‘No. As far as I know she doesn’t even know you exist. I’m working with Tasso at Goanna Mining. We don’t get along with Sonia.’

‘In that case, yes, you may have a look through the box. In fact, you can have it.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I finish early today. Come to my place at six and you can pick it up.’ She wrote her address on a scrap of paper.

She lived in a suburb in the northern badlands, a small and not very attractive fibreboard place shielded at the front by a couple of peach trees, laden with fruit. A small white car was parked in the driveway. There was a weathered Aussie Rules footy and the carcass of a motorbike under the trees. Boys, I thought. There was a strong smell of ripe peaches. I rang the doorbell and Marianne greeted me and invited me in. She led me to the kitchen and asked if I wanted a cup of tea. She boiled water and put two teabags into a pot. There was a photo in a frame on the wall showing two lads with mischievous grins.

‘They’re my boys,’ she said. ‘They’re bigger, now. Big boofy teenage boys.’ She rolled her eyes in mock horror. We sat at the kitchen table, separated by a fruit bowl. ‘My husband pissed off a long time ago and left me to raise those two on my own. I’ve worked all my life to do what I could for them. They’re good boys, but they’re wild. They’re all wild out here.’ She poured tea into two cups, and while I took my first few sips she left the room and came back with a cardboard box. ‘This was Mick’s.’ She put it on the table and removed the lid. It was about a quarter full with paper. ‘Were you looking for anything in particular?’

‘Not really.’

She reached into the box and pulled out the document on the top.

‘Not this?’ She handed it to me. It was on the letterhead of a major legal firm and looked very much like a contract between Goanna Mining and Hiskey. ‘You mentioned you worked for Goanna Mining.’

‘Yes.’

She sipped her tea. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to claim Mick’s ten per cent share of the company or anything like that. We weren’t married. We weren’t even de facto. I was just a girlfriend of his.’

‘I wasn’t worrying.’

‘I hadn’t looked in the box until this afternoon. I’m only a barmaid, but I can read. I don’t think you’re being completely frank with me.’

‘You’re right. It’s what I was looking for.’

‘I don’t suppose it’s any of my business.’

I didn’t say anything. I glanced at her serious brown eyes. I didn’t feel I could hide much from them.

‘When you followed me to the bar after the funeral, I told you that Mick and I had things in common. Do you remember?’

‘Yes.’

‘One of them was a love of country.’ I looked at her blankly. ‘I’m Aboriginal, Westie.’ I still wasn’t making the connection. ‘My father was white, my mother was half-caste—they still used that term in those days—from near Parakilla. They came to live in Adelaide and I was born here, and Mum died when I was nine. But my country is up there. Mick talked a lot about his exploration work when he was sitting at the bar, how he loved it up north. We worked out he’d spent a heap of time in my country. It was what drew us together.’

‘So you know Joe Bettong?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I know Joe Bettong. But I haven’t been back to Parakilla since I was a girl, not since my mother died. I should have gone back, I should have taken the boys. But I grew up white. Aboriginal kids got teased at school.’ She shook her head. ‘No, it was much worse than teasing. They got racially abused, every damn day of their lives. So I decided to be white. I have light skin; most of the time I got away with it. I was ashamed to be Aboriginal. So ashamed. I was petrified someone would find out.’

‘And now?’

‘And now I realise I was stupid.’ She blinked hard, several times. ‘I need to go back there. I need to find out what it means to me. It’s my country. They’re my people. I turned away from them and I haven’t had the courage to go back. I was going to go with Mick. He said he would take me.’ She took another sip of her tea.

I put the contract back in the box and fitted the lid over it. She put her hand on the lid.

‘I think I can trust you, Steve. I know why you want the contract, and you may take it and everything else. I only ask one thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘That you remember this if the time ever comes when you have to deal with my people.’

Tasso was still in the office when I got back. I handed him the contract.

‘Where did you get this?’

I told him the story.

‘Mick Hiskey is surprising me more in death than he did in life,’ said Tasso. He put the contract in the shredder and we watched it disappear.