24

It didn’t take Matt long to find the old stock track that ran along the boundary fence. He’d been part of the search group that had combed that area on the hill in the first days after the girl had gone missing. It ran parallel to the dirt road he’d come down earlier, went up and over the hill, cutting through bush at the top and passing the barn at its narrow end.

As the incline levelled out, he stopped. It was a long time since he’d walked this fast, this far. His lungs were working hard, pushing gusts of steam into the cold air, and his knee felt hot and heavy, a sharp pain burning in the cruciate ligament he’d torn apart six months ago. He flexed the joint as he looked towards the Old Barn.

It was silhouetted against the dark sky like a gothic castle. The only light on the hill spilled from the windows at the far end, the lounge room he’d seen through the door when he’d spoken to Jodie. From this end, he’d be able to move around most of the building without being spotted from inside.

He pushed on through the bush to the edge of a clearing that circled the barn like a moat and started on a wide arc around the end of the building. Limping, trying to ignore the pain, he kept close to the shadow of scrub, heading for the back. He’d already seen the front, knew he wouldn’t be able to look inside without stepping onto the verandah. And he wanted to avoid that until he had some idea of what, if anything, was going on in there.

He rounded the corner and saw the scrub was closer at the rear, maybe twenty, twenty-five metres from the verandah. He stayed in the shadows of the brush, watching the building across the clearing as he edged his way along its back wall. Up ahead was a bank of glass, curtained, he guessed, judging by the dim light coming through.

A quarter of the way along the length of the barn, he froze. Just ahead, in the garden below the deck, a shadow moved. It backed out and stood up to the full height of a man. A single word broke the silence. ‘Fuck!’

Matt’s body tightened as his first questions were answered. Jodie and her friends weren’t alone. There was a man with them. And whoever he was, he was angry.

As the figure walked away along the garden bed, Matt looked for some sign it was Kane Anderson – but it was hard to tell at this distance in the dark. The guy’s shoes sounded like thunder as he took the steps two at a time and clomped three more paces to the bank of glass. He slid back a panel and the curtain behind it.

‘The fucking garden . . .’ was all Matt heard before the door was rammed shut. The curtain was pulled back in place and when it settled, a bright, narrow stripe of light shone through a gap in the drapes.

Matt moved fast but cautiously, keeping close to the scrub until he was in line with the stripe of light. He squatted on his haunches, breathing hard from exertion, wanting and not wanting to know what was going on.

He couldn’t see a thing from this distance. He watched the door, wiped his hands on his jeans and, for the first time in six months, wished he had his service automatic. It’s now or never, Matt. Go look or go home. He stood and ran, limping and low, to the garden bed, stopped a couple of metres to the left of the steps and windows.

He listened, mouth dry, breath jagged and knee hurting like hell. Rough male voices. A brief squeal. An angry female voice. It sounded like Jodie.

He looked along the length of the deck – new timber, four or five metres deep, waist-high handrail. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes briefly as he braced his hands on the rail then silently lifted himself over and onto the verandah.

He crouched beside a small wrought-iron table and counted two panels of glass before the door and the gap in the curtain. Shit. He hunkered down as low as his knee would allow and crept along the deck, hoping to God the curtains were thick enough to obscure his shadow.

Keeping his body away from the gap, he leaned against the doorframe and rolled his face towards the source of light. It took a moment to understand what he was looking at.

On the other side of the door, about a metre in, was a kitchen bench. White base, dark top, food and cooking equipment scattered on the work surface. Jodie’s friend, the tubby one, Hannah, the nurse, was standing next to it, her back to the door, her arms out straight and slightly raised, like she was making the shape of an arrow with her body. Tied to her right wrist and standing in the same position was the short woman with the curly hair, Louise. Matt moved his face a fraction further and saw the tall blonde. She was half turned towards him, making a semicircle with the other two, her left hand tied to Louise, the other one pulled tight across her chest. And she was crying.

A pulse drummed in his ears. Where was Jodie?

‘A fucking meat market.’ The voice was coarse, manic, muffled a little by the glass but unmistakably Kane Anderson’s.

Shit. Shit. Matt rolled his face away from the glass. Where was Jodie? He rolled towards the door again, searching frantically. He moved further into the gap between the curtains, risking being seen. Then he saw her. She had her back to the kitchen bar, one arm outstretched towards Hannah, their hands out of sight under the bench. He couldn’t see her other hand, just the tight, tense way she held her body. And her lips pressed together under huge dark eyes.

Blood pounded in his ears. Anger and fear in equal amounts. He automatically reached for his gun holster. But he had no holster, no gun, no weapon. Just empty, shaking hands. He saw Jodie turn her head towards something out of his sight, saw her eyes widen in fear.

‘You can fuck one up now and do the rest later.’

That wasn’t Kane. It sounded like him but it wasn’t. Deeper, no lunatic menace.

Was it Travis Anderson? Christ, were they both here?

It didn’t make sense.

He heard Kane laugh again, saw Hannah turn her head. Matt looked past her, past Louise and saw Kane grinning, his crazy-man eyes hard and cold as an ice floe. He grabbed a handful of the blonde’s hair, snapped her head back and wrapped a meaty hand around her throat.

‘Leave her alone, you fucking animal,’ Louise yelled.

Then Travis Anderson stepped in front of Louise, his eyes dark with intent, a pistol in his hand, pointed at her head.

No. Please, no.

Gunshots went off in his memory.

Five loud cracks.

Two, a beat, three more.

Bam-bam. Bam-bam-bam.

He tasted bile. Sweat was cold on his face. He was breathing so hard, his head spun.

‘No!’ The word came from Jodie. It was loud and firm and angry.

Matt shook his head. Stay with them. Do that, at least.

Travis’s eyes were still on Louise. ‘Shut up, bitch.’ He straightened his gun arm and pulled himself up into a firing stance – turned slightly to the left so his gun shoulder was forward and braced. ‘Leave that one, bro. I’m fucking sick of this loudmouthed bitch. She goes first.’

Matt could see four of them – Travis, Louise, Hannah and Jodie. He held his breath as their reaction unfolded. A sneer turned up one side of Travis’s mouth. Louise’s knees buckled and she swayed a little. Hannah stood like stone. Beside her, Jodie’s chest heaved in and out as she breathed hard. Her eyes flicked around the room. She turned to the raised bar. She reached across her body with her free hand, shook off the makeshift bandage, wrapped her fingers around a heavy-based glass tumbler.

‘You weak, sadistic bastard!’ Louise shouted.

A voice from out of sight cried, ‘Shut up, Lou.’

‘Yeah, Lou,’ Travis said. ‘When the hell are you going to shut up?’

‘I’m not, you piece of shit. I’ve got four kids. I’m going to make sure you know what a waste of space you are before you shoot me.’

Jodie lifted the tumbler off the bar. Her lips were pressed tightly together, eyes hard and focused. On Travis.

Matt heard her voice in his head. I can hit a bullseye at ten metres. He pulled his eyes from the window, looked quickly around the deck. He wanted a weapon. Anything to hold in his hands.

When he turned back, Travis was lifting his thumb, pulling back the pistol cock.

Anger churned in Jodie’s gut. She was not going to stand there and do nothing while Louise got shot in the head.

The tumbler was smooth and cold in her left hand. It was an easy shot with her right hand. She could crack Travis’s skull at this distance – with her right hand. But her right hand was tied to Hannah.

‘You goddamn coward!’ Louise yelled.

Jodie had only one chance at this so she had to make it count. She pulled back her arm and unleashed the tumbler. It crashed into the glass behind Lou, opened up a spider web crack and made Travis’s head snap around.

Now. She pulled her unbound hand to her chest, braced her shoulders and threw herself forward.

In the moment she slammed into Travis, the instant her shoulder crunched and the air was crushed from her lungs, the barn exploded around her.

A thunderous crashing filled the air. And full-force screaming. Then a deafening blast of sound overrode it all, made her hands fly to her ears as it pounded her eardrums. Sharp needle-pricks of pain rained over her face and something hard rammed into her legs, taking them out from under her. Sudden, forceful grappling was all around her, shoving her sideways, sending her headfirst into a tangle of dining chairs.

A single sound cut through the confusion. A hoarse mewling, barely more than a murmur, but Jodie heard it. It came from somewhere over her shoulder, made her lift her head free of the chairs, turn fearfully in its direction. As her eyes moved across the room, she registered the debris, overturned furniture, a wrought-iron garden table, shouting – but couldn’t process it. Not once she’d seen Lou.

Louise was on her knees, her arms raised and outstretched to where she was tied to Hannah and Corrine, and her face was angled down to a patch of bright red blooming high up on the front of her shirt. She looked up at Jodie, confusion and terror in her eyes. ‘I . . . I’m . . .’ Her eyelids fluttered and she tilted forward, only stopped from tumbling to the floor by the tethers binding her to her friends.

Jodie crawled the short distance to Louise, caught her as her dead weight pulled Hannah and Corrine to their knees.

‘Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus,’ Lou whimpered.

Jodie pressed her free hand to Louise’s shoulder, felt the thick wetness of blood on her palm. She saw shards of glass on the floor, remembered flashes of pain on her face. ‘Are you cut? What happened?’

‘Oh Jesus, Jodie. He shot me. He fucking shot me.’

It took a moment, maybe half a second, for the words to sink in – half a second of holding her best friend in her arms, of listening to Lou’s tremulous moans, of fear and anger running riot inside her. Then, like a gasp, like a nuclear explosion, the panic was blown away, replaced with a clear, urgent, compelling image of what she needed to do.

Jodie lifted Lou from her lap, lowered her to the floor, yelled, ‘Hannah!’

Both Hannah and Corrine were on their knees and motionless, staring open-mouthed and white-faced across the room.

Jodie could hear voices behind her – loud and angry and male – but she couldn’t take her eyes off Louise. Just hoped Travis and Kane beat each other to death.

‘Hannah!’ Jodie dragged on the tether at their wrists, pulled her closer. ‘Help me.’

Hannah turned, saw Lou, let out a shaky, drawn-out ‘oh’ as she stared at the growing spread of red Jodie was trying to hold back with her hands.

‘Come on. You know what to do.’

Hannah looked at Jodie, looked down at the blood. She didn’t move, didn’t do anything. Christ, what was wrong with her?

‘Help me stop the bleeding.’

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears, her lips quivered and she shook her head as though she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing.

It was so completely unlike Hannah that for a moment Jodie didn’t know what to do. But she couldn’t wait. She hauled on their tether, pressed Hannah’s hand to Louise’s bloody shirt. ‘Keep pressure on it.’

Lou’s face crumpled in pain. ‘Oh God, it hurts.’

‘I’m sorry, Lou. I’m so sorry,’ Jodie said.

She wanted to hold her, to let her know she wasn’t alone. She lifted her free hand and froze. Something cold and clammy slithered up her spine. She turned her palm up, uncurled the other hand, held them side by side. And her throat closed over.

Her hands were covered with bright, fresh, red blood. As though she’d been washing in it.

As though she’d been holding them to her own stab wounds.

Her heart crashed against her ribs. Terror was a fist in her gut, squeezing, twisting, making her head spin. She looked down at her stomach, expecting to see more blood. A waterfall of it. Running down her thighs, dripping onto her bare feet.

But she didn’t. Her shirt was hanging open, torn down the front. The flesh underneath was white, clean, intact. She looked back at her hands. Looked at Lou.

‘Oh no. No.’ It’s not you, Jodie. It’s Lou. Lou was shot and bleeding and crying. ‘No, no.’ She thrust her free hand onto Hannah’s, made her push harder on Lou’s wound. ‘Not Lou.’ She gritted her teeth, breathed hard, fought to ignore the coppery smell of blood in her nostrils. ‘It’s okay, Lou. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.’

Lou had to be okay. Because Jodie wasn’t going to lose her.

She wasn’t going to run and she wasn’t going to lose another best friend.

It was going to be different this time.

Jodie would make it different.

She had to.

‘Jodie, look,’ Corrine hissed.

Corrine’s face was still turned to whatever was happening behind them. But Jodie didn’t need to look. All she needed to know was that Travis and Kane were beating each other up instead of pointing a gun at them. ‘Help me get the ties undone.’

‘Look, Jodie.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Corrine. Help me here.’

‘Jodie. It’s Matt.’

Jodie lifted her eyes, not sure she’d heard right.

Corrine’s gaze didn’t move from across the room. ‘He came through the window.’

Jodie glanced at the back wall. One of the huge panes of glass was smashed, its curtain was torn from the track, the one next to it billowing gently in a draught of cold night air. Matt came through there? She swung around to the frantic sounds behind her. Two men were flailing and grunting on the floor. Above them, Kane lifted a knee, dropped a kick into the fray. One of the men on the floor raised a fist high and drove it into the other man’s gut.

Oh God. It was Matt.

Matt had come back. He’d understood.

Jodie couldn’t take her eyes off him as he wrestled Travis’s arm to the floor, slammed it against the timber. ‘Drop it, arsehole!’ he yelled.

The gun fell from Travis’s hand. Matt grabbed it, rose to one knee, held it with both hands, aimed it at Travis.

Matt was a cop. It was over.

Relief flooded her like a cup of sweet tea. Tears welled in her eyes. Louise was going to be okay. They were going to go home. She looked at Corrine, saw fresh tears. Maybe she’d never stopped crying.

She turned back to Matt, saw Kane raise his arm. She ordered her brain to scream, felt the sound welling up from deep inside but it was jammed in slow motion. ‘Noooo!’

Matt turned his head. The poker from the fireplace made contact just below his right ear. The momentum carried him to the floor.

Travis scrambled out from under him as Kane raised the long, lethal spike of metal above his head.

‘No!’ Jodie yelled again – this time in stereo.

‘No!’ Travis shouted, and from the floor threw himself at his brother, buried a shoulder into his thigh, knocked him down.

‘Get off me,’ Kane roared.

Travis punched him in the face.

It silenced him and sent a wave of horror through Jodie. He did that to his own brother?

Travis pushed himself to his feet, not taking his eyes off Matt’s prone body. ‘Fuck.’ He reeled away. ‘Fuck.’ He ran both hands through his hair, struck a foot out at his brother, connecting hard in the ribs. ‘You killed a fucking cop.’

‘No!’ Jodie screamed. She’d killed him. He’d come back for her and she’d got him killed. Oh God, no. She tried to stand, to go to him. Louise cried out as the movement jolted her injured shoulder.

‘Get up.’ Travis dragged Kane to his feet, shoved him towards Matt. ‘Go through his pockets. Get his gun.’

Jodie watched Kane use the toe of his boot to roll Matt over then closed her eyes. Shut out the sight of Matt’s lifeless body on the floor. She remembered the look on his face when she’d yelled at him on the verandah. Surprise, irritation but underneath it, that alertness. She thought he’d never see past her words – so few people in her life had. Now she wished she hadn’t taken the chance because he had understood her. And he’d been killed for it.

So look at him, Jodie. He’s taken a risk for you. Burn his face on your brain. You owe him that.

Kane was kneeling beside him, shoving him about as he went through his pockets. She ignored him, concentrated on Matt’s face. It was turned towards her now and she committed to memory his soft mouth, the lines around his eyes that she’d liked. She tried to remember the colour of them. She’d liked that too. Green, with a lighter shade that glinted in the sun.

And then she saw the colour she remembered was bronze. Because his lids were open and he was looking right at her.