Crystal Coffin (36 page)

He grabbed his phone and the Winchester and ran to Jack, not surprised to see the big horse still trembling. Light from the burning wreck, blood red and burnished black, danced devils in the flickering shadows across his flanks.

‘Steady mate,' he said, swinging up into the saddle. The cigarette pack crushed as he sat down and he moved it from his back pocket into his saddlebag beside his phone. He wheeled his big horse around and rode wide of the bonfire that had once been a Magna. Then he pointed his horse north to the boathouse, and pushed him to a gallop. But with every step, life oozed faster from the stallion where the blood ran down his rump.

Mad Murphy kissed his favourite hen and sat her up on his shoulder. He scratched his scrawny rump, flipped on the floodlights over his rescue boat and climbed up wearing mudgrey shorts and blue plastic rainboots to run the motor for a while to keep the oil up. He should have been out earlier, he realised, but Gertrude didn't want to go to roost until he'd freshened the hay in the laying nests ready for the morning. She was fussy like that sometimes, and while folks said he was mad pampering to his chooks to the extent he did, it worked for him and he figured that was all that mattered.

‘Pop's gotta go to work now,' he told Gerty, setting her down on the driver's seat. She hopped up onto the windscreen, using it like a perch while the engine gargled to life, but she clucked up a fuss as a chopper flew over.

‘Oiii!' Murphy yelled at the pilot. ‘Get a day job!' He cooed to his chicken, petting her feathers while the engine warmed over. ‘You do like the excitement, young lady,' he told her. ‘No, we ain't going out on the water tonight. If you want wind in your feathers I'll put the fan on when we get home.'

What a lunatic! It looked like he was headed straight into the power station. ‘Come from somewhere in a hurry,' he told his hen. ‘Woah!' he whistled. ‘Check out that bonfire, Gerty. That's infractions against the water resources, that is,' he said, casting off. ‘Looks like Maitland's place. He's in for it this time,' he grinned. ‘And you'll get wind in your feathers after all!'

‘He's done it again, Colonel!' Beattie called as the Iroquois set down. They had put down on a public lookout directly over the intake to the hydro-electric station that was sandwiched between Splityard Creek and Wivenhoe Dam. There was plenty of room here to wait for the RAAF troop transport full of ADGies. They were less than eight minutes away, and as the Iroquois side door slid open, Beattie followed Chang clear of the rotors to wait for them.

‘Our boy dialled two numbers in quick succession. And you're right, sir,' Beattie added, ‘triangulation confirms he's gone home. From here, that would be … that way,' he said, turning with his arm outstretched. But there was no need to point. A bonfire lit the way like a beacon.

‘Okay,' Chang said, as the ADGies arrived. ‘Let's see if we can't sneak over a bit closer for a better look.'

Nikki's hands may have been tied, but her legs and mouth were free. In the short drive to the boathouse, she had busted the glove compartment and the stereo controls inside the rented Mercedes and nearly screamed herself hoarse.

‘You killed my mum and now you want to kill me?
Why
?' she cried as the car pulled up.

‘You little fool,' Fletcher snapped, wrenching open her door. ‘Do you think I meant to kill her? I was safe behind her political career! Now if you're going to scream,' he added, ‘then I'll give you something to scream about. Bricker!' he called. ‘Throw her in the pit!'

‘Boss,' Bricker said, ‘the pit's full of —'

Fletcher glared at him and Bricker put his hands up in defence.

‘I'm doing it,' he said, already at her door. ‘Hope you like dog-paddling, kid,' he said, untying her arms so he could get her out. She struggled and kicked him in the shins, until he pinned her against the car.

‘Sykes!' Fletcher called, not wanting to help in case he got his clothes messier before the plane arrived. A man ran from the trees to help, this time from north of the cabin, and Fletcher pointed him over to the car. ‘Give him a hand!' he shouted.

The two men man-handled Nikki into the cabin and she caught Bricker in the jaw with her heel. He yelped, squeezing her tighter while Sykes lifted the trapdoors and emptied out the first aid kit and signal flares from the compartment onto Maitland's work table.

‘Hey!' Maitland whined. ‘I'm working here.'

‘Help!' Nikki yelled, recognising his voice from his fight with Thorna that morning. But she saw from the defeated look on his face, that he wasn't about to budge.

‘Looks like you're nearly finished to me,' Fletcher said ignoring her pleas. ‘Clean up.'

Fletcher nodded at his two men and they lowered Nikki headfirst into cold dark water. They closed both trapdoors, sealing her into blackness, but they could still hear her cursing them through the floorboards as she sucked air from the remaining centimetres above water.

‘Well, go on,' Fletcher goaded. ‘Anyone else want to complain? You can join her.'

‘Bring any marshmallows?' Knox asked, pulling the Falcon up at a safe distance from the burning wreck. They checked around the stables first, then did a running room-by-room check inside the house.

‘Nothing,' Knox said, eight minutes later. ‘Not even your witness.'

Parry scratched the bald spot on the back of his head, certain that it felt like it was spreading. ‘Any idea where she'd go?'

Knox nodded, radioing Jody Davenport to organise another crime scene team from Ipswich and an ambulance — no need to hurry on the ambo.

‘Ambo's no prob, Sarge, but they say it could be a while before they get help out to us for the crime scene. Ipswich teams are still busy with that meatworks fire. They haven't got much to go on, so it's all hands on deck.'

‘Keep trying, Jody,' Knox growled. ‘We've got people dying out here.' Then he signed off and frowned at Parry. ‘Assuming Supergran didn't rocket here on her broomstick,' he said wryly, ‘it looks like there's someone else, either chasing them or being chased. And I reckon next stop we should try is where this whole mess started.'

‘Oh?' Parry said, getting back in the car.

‘Yeah,' Knox said, turning the car around. ‘It's right next door.'

Locklin urged his horse faster, but with every step the stallion's strength seemed to be draining. ‘Come on, boy!' he said. ‘Nearly there!' He could see the giant gum with the twisted branches and the fence where he'd woven the white branch as a top rail. He could see it, but like a bad dream it seemed to take forever to get near.

The big animal's chest heaved, his nostrils flared and foam gathered at the bit as his hooves leapt from the ground. They were flying, but not high enough. Jack clipped the wire and screamed as he went down, taking his rider with him.

Locklin rolled, landing metres from his horse.

He scrambled back, rubbing his old friend's neck as he explored the horse's body under starlight with his hand. He discovered the bloodied mess where part of his rump had been and wondered how he'd made it this far.

Locklin sank his head against Jack's. Nikki had to come first, but getting her out and getting back here couldn't take anything under twenty minutes even if everything went well, and it never did. But his horse would be on the brink by then, and his gut knotted up at the thought of him suffering.

‘Sorry, mate,' he said, pulling the Winchester from under his friend's shoulder. He checked the magazine, then he clenched his fists until his knuckles went white.

One bullet left, and he couldn't spare it for his friend.

Locklin came in on foot from the south, stopping just inside the treeline to recon the boathouse and count the opposition. He could see a man-shape outlined against the lake, motionless, as if admiring the view of a rising full moon over water.

On the far side of the boathouse, not far from the Landcruiser, a car door opened and an internal light came on. That made at least two. He figured another one, maybe two in the boathouse, bringing worst case scenario to four — unless there was another car load of bad guys driving around.

He saw a small white spark followed by a red glow in the trees west of the cabin and counted one more, someone who didn't realise how far a lit cigarette could be seen in the dark.

Locklin circled that way first, hoping to relieve the guy of any hardware while his mind was lulled into contentment by nicotine. He approached from the side, watching the man take a long drag on the drug before blowing smoke rings into the cooling night air. He was leaning against a tree, a medium-set man about the same size as Locklin, with one foot hooked up behind his other knee, and the silhouette of a rifle leaned against the tree beside his leg, like two friends sharing a smoke.

Attack from behind would be difficult. Locklin could see that he'd be exposed for about twelve metres and would have to take him by reaching around the tree. He circled his target further, positioning himself for the dash and heard an engine, a plane. And his target moved to watch it come in.

‘Eric!' Fletcher shouted from the water's edge. ‘Get your butt out here and help Sykes and Bricker get the pontoon in the water!' Fletcher turned and looked in Locklin's direction. ‘Heath!' he shouted. ‘Get over here too and give us a hand.'

‘On my way!' Locklin's target shouted back, dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out with his boot.

‘No you're not,' Locklin said as he turned round to pick up his rifle. He was already offering it to him, business end first. ‘You're taking off your shirt and hugging the dirt.'

‘Who the hell are you?' Heath swore. Then he laughed. ‘All I gotta do is shout and there'll be more guns on you than ants on the ground.'

‘Think about that,' Locklin said with a thousand times more patience than he felt. ‘You shout and I'll have to shoot you to concentrate on your friends. You lie down here nice and quiet, and you get to live. Choose now.'

‘Heath!' Fletcher shouted again. ‘Where are you?' A white plane was coming in low over the lake and the men struggled as they dragged the pontoon down to the water.

Heath looked at Locklin and Locklin motioned to his fly.

‘I'm taking a leak!' Heath yelled as he handed his shirt to Locklin.

‘Drop your pants too, not all the way off,' Locklin ordered as he ripped the shirt in two. ‘Where's the girl? In the cabin?'

Heath nodded and dropped his trousers before lying down. Locklin used half the shirt to bind his arms behind his back and the trousers and belt to tie his ankles up to his wrists behind his back. The plane swung round to back into the platform as Locklin twisted the other half of the shirt into a gag.

‘This is so embarrasarargh —,' Heath said as Locklin pushed the gag in his mouth and fixed it in back.

‘You say something?'

‘Arrrghaarghh.'

‘Well I suggest,' Locklin said mockingly, ‘that you roll out there on the gravel when this is over and flop around when the police come so they know you're here.' He patted Heath's head and slung Rick's Winchester around his shoulder then picked up Heath's fully loaded rifle and ran towards the pontoon, pretending to do up his fly, as Heath would have done.

He stopped near the boathouse door and backed up against the wall. Fletcher and Maitland were in front of him. They were only a few metres away but facing away from him. Another two men stood one on each side of the pontoon.

‘Hey, Bricker,' one said to the other. ‘Watch your side, it's drifting.'

‘You're an idiot, Sykes,' Bricker answered. ‘We just have to hold it steady. The plane will hold it down.'

In under two minutes, the Cessna Skywagon did exactly that, backing itself in, like an old white pigeon backing onto its nest.

Against the boathouse, Locklin tried to look casual, hooking one boot up behind his knee. His heart smashed around inside his ribs, and he was thankful it didn't sound as loud on the outside as it did on the inside.

The side door of the Cessna folded open under the wing and the pilot and a Mediterranean-looking man climbed out onto the amphibious floats. They didn't plan on staying long, Locklin realised. They kept the engine running. A cabin light stayed on too, illuminating the fact that no-one else seemed to be behind the tinted glass. And Fletcher appeared upset by that. He wanted to know where the buyers were and the pilot and his sidekick shook their heads.

They began to argue, and Locklin took the cue to explore inside the boathouse.

‘It's not my fault, Aaron,' the pilot said. ‘My employers are very cautious,' he added. ‘They feel vulnerable to be present at the transaction. You understand? Too many things can go wrong. It's just a safety precaution, like Mr Moltoni here.'

Fletcher nodded a greeting before shaking hands with the Italian.

‘Mr Moltoni will verify the authenticity of the paintings and while we're loading them, he'll radio the buyers to confirm the acquisition has been made and they'll transfer payment electronically to your account, just as you requested. They suggest you ring your bank before I leave to confirm the deal has gone through.'