Half Moon Bay (11 page)

‘But Alex, it’s only dinner. I’m sure I’ll be able to wheedle some more info out of him.’

‘You’ll wheedle something out of him, but I doubt it’s going to be information. Look, Ellie, you’re a big girl now, but if you play with men like Nicholas Lawson, you won’t be calling the shots. Let me check him out some more. I’ll be able to ID him from the photos when I get back to Sydney.’

‘Then we can both work from different angles,’ Ellie said, with her palms up. Alex had been distracted during the morning’s presentation. She’d watched him fidget with his phone, texting almost continuously.

‘Don’t be so pig-headed. It’s pretty obvious he’s interested in you.’

‘Interested because I might block his development.’

‘Don’t come running to me when you get hurt, Ellie. The jerk just about told me you were on his trophy list.’

‘Now who’s being melodramatic, Alex? He told me you’d warned him off. Sounds like misplaced jealousy to me.’ She turned and touched his arm, suddenly contrite for riling him so much. ‘If it’s any consolation, he’s not my type, but he may well hold the key to stopping this development and catching the lord mayor out.’

‘Yeah, yeah, and you’ll do anything to achieve that, including screwing strangers?’

She flushed guiltily. ‘I’m only talking dinner here. So, he’s attractive. So are you. I don’t see us falling into bed at every moment.’

‘Exactly my point. For God’s sake, Ellie, are you so in lust with him you can’t see what’s happening?’

She moderated her voice. ‘I’m not in lust with him, Alex, but nor am I a blushing virgin. If I get hurt, then it’s my problem and I’ll fix it. You’re never going to be replaced in my life by anyone.’ She put an arm round his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘We’re mates. That’s so much more important than a quick grope on a dark night, Alex.’

‘Yeah, sure. You’re not convincing me.’

‘Trust me, then.’

He shook his head, shaking her loose from his side. ‘Ellie, it’s not you I don’t trust . . . Just stick with the legal appeals. It’s not worth it.’

‘I’ll be fine, Alex. I’ll ring you tonight.’

‘I’m out at a function in Woolloomooloo tonight.’

‘I’ll send a text message, then.’

‘Just take care. You might be biting off more than you can chew. I’ve got to go.’ He pecked her on the cheek. ‘Call me.’

‘I will and I’ll email the photos through when I pick them up from the lab.’

‘Okay, do that. I’ll wait for your text, Ellie.’ He hesitated, his eyes dark. ‘And just remember, you’re not Nina, nor do you have anything to prove to me or anyone.’

Shocked into silence, she watched his retreating back.

Was that what she was doing? Trying to be her sister, live up to her tough reputation? No. She shook her head. No, I’m not Nina. She would have had Nick Lawson in bed on the first day she met him.

That little slither of desire snaked down her spine again. No man had ever been so obvious in his intent before. Even if you discounted the constant string of compliments, you couldn’t dismiss his invitation to dinner as anything other than a pick-up. Why did she find such Neanderthal behaviour so attractive?

Her phone rang and she snapped it open. ‘Hey, Ron,’ she said. ‘How’d it look from where you were sitting? Great . . . Thank you. No, I’m just outside in the car park seeing Alex off back to Sydney . . . Okay . . . I’ll be there. See you in two.’

With the presentation over, the hard work was just about to begin. They had a team meeting this afternoon to look over the submission against the approvals. Tomorrow she wanted to head to the harbour and talk to some of the fishermen. And then there was dinner tomorrow night. She bit her lip a little pensively. Dinner might provide some answers, but then again it might be full of temptation as well.

By the time Alex turned into his driveway the shrubs by the front of his house were dark shadows outside the yellow pools of the streetlights. He waited for the garage door to close, watching it roll down in his rear-vision mirror. Only then did he unlock his car.

He opened the door into the house a crack and waited in the darkness. Nothing. No sound, no movement. He banged the door wide on its hinges so it bounced off the wall, the sound echoing around the garage like a gunshot. With his other hand he flicked on the bank of light switches, flooding the townhouse with brightness.

‘Shit.’ Jan hadn’t lied. The place was trashed. ‘What the fuck is really going on?’ he whispered into the emptiness. He knew with certainty Teisha couldn’t have done all this. Picking his way through scattered papers, he made his way to his office. The filing cabinet drawers were hanging open, the swing files strewn in heaps across the floor. It was going to take days to bring it back to order. His hand shook as he reached for the cupboard door. Inside, the shelves were empty. Simmering anger overtook the spiking fear. His back-up hard drives were all gone. Untidy as he was, he was meticulous about saving his work and every New Year’s Day for the past ten years he’d started a new back up. Lucky for him he’d recently invested in iCloud so everything was stored electronically as well.

Including his password, he realised, with a leap of his heart.

‘Shit.’ He hurried back to the car and grabbed his computer case from the front seat. He’d need to change that now. ‘Shit,’ he swore again.

He had to use his mobile broadband to log in as the intruders had smashed his modem and wi-fi network. It took a couple of minutes to initialise, but he could only summon the energy to set his office chair upright again and pack a few files on his desk. There was still no word from Teisha, and Sammie had phoned him twice during his drive back from Half Moon Bay. He was going to have to report this to the police, but there were too many questions he still didn’t have answers for.

Finally the log-in screen popped up and he signed in, relieved to find the only recorded activity was him. Either they weren’t looking or they didn’t care because they had everything they needed.

But who the hell were they? Was it the same cartel as last time? The sharp pain just under his ribcage reminded him his ulcer was still there. Once he’d changed the password he let his head drop into his hands. What the fuck was he going to do now?

Option A: Ring the police, report Teisha missing and the break-in. Make it their problem.

Option B: Stall Sammie, and probably Jan, a little longer. Meet this Lachlan and see what the fuck was going on; do a deal.

Option C: Let Sammie report Teisha missing and then run the very real risk of being accused of doing something to her himself.

He desperately wanted a drink, but if he started, he might not stop. He’d always known that nothing came for free and the Porsche was no exception. Was this all tied up with Half Moon Bay and Nina Wilding? Should he tell Ellie the truth? He’d hoped by giving her the information about Nicholas Lawson that she’d take it at face value and concentrate on the land development, not go chasing the truth about Lawson.

But what if she didn’t? When Nina first started making inquiries about the drug-trafficking links between BBS in Afghanistan and ex-Australian Defence Force personnel, he’d been right behind her. He was going to have a scoop on the story from the Australian end. The night before she was shot he had a phone call. Much like the one from this Lachlan character. They’d bought his silence with a green shopping bag stuffed with used one-hundred-dollar bills, and the threat of ending up dead, like Nina. That bag had sat under his mattress for twelve months before he relented and spent the contents. Ruby was the result.

Could this be part of the same debacle? He had to make a decision and soon. He might not love Teisha, but he didn’t want any harm to come to her either. He felt sick at the thought of it. And Ellie? The acid rose in his stomach again. Could he really leave her in harm’s way?

His mobile rang and he groped in his pocket. Blocked number.

‘Hello.’

‘You’re back. We need to talk.’ He recognised Lachlan’s voice.

‘We do, but first where’s Teisha?’

‘She’s safe, but pretty pissed off with you. I don’t think she’s ever going to be friends with Eleanor Wilding either.’

‘Who?’ Alex fought to stay calm, easing forward in his seat.

The laughter was soft. The undercurrent sent a chill up his spine. ‘Don’t bother playing games. You know Nina Wilding’s little sister has picked up the story again. We can’t allow that to happen. Your choice. Stop her or we will. Either way, Teisha stays with us until it’s resolved.’

‘This is bullshit.’ Alex’s hand shook with anger and fear in equal measure. ‘You can’t do this. You can’t hold a woman prisoner without ramifications. This isn’t Afghanistan.’

‘You’re right. We have witnesses who saw you and Teisha arguing last Friday night. If anything happens to her, they’ll go to the police with their evidence.’

‘No! No, I won’t let you do this again. I’ll go to the police myself.’

‘Try that and both women will be dead and we’ll have a nice little pair of cement boots made to fit you as well.’

Alex felt his temper flash. ‘I’ve got all the details from last time, you arsehole. Bank accounts, phone taps, customs records. I kept them all for just this moment. You might have got away with killing Nina in Afghanistan but not here, not in Australia. They’ll believe me.’

‘We’ve got your hard drives. You know that, you’ve been home half an hour. You can’t win. The day you bought your little red sports car you gave us your loyalty.’

‘Bullshit! I left that story alone and still a woman died. You didn’t keep your side of the bargain. There is no loyalty and you’re not getting away with this.’

‘You’re wrong, Alex. You’re an idiot if you think otherwise. Stop Eleanor. We’ll be in touch.’

Alex dropped the phone onto the desk and bent double, feeling a tension headache lock him tight in a vice. ‘Fucking hell. What have I done?’

He couldn’t marshal his thoughts. Like a loose ball-bearing rattling inside a hub they ricocheted around his head.
Ellie, Teisha, Nina, drug smuggling, money laundering, Lachlan . . .
It was impossible for him to make any sense of it. Why the fuck did Nina involve him in the first place? And now Ellie. If he tried to warn her off, he knew she’d only search more ferociously and even a small effort would uncover the stinking truth. On the drive home from Half Moon Bay his friend had confirmed Nicholas Lawson was a combat engineer and he’d been in Afghanistan at the time of Nina’s death. He was the major in charge of the company Nina had been travelling with. The man was up to his neck in this, but should Alex tell Ellie that now?

‘Shit,’ he groaned. ‘What the fuck do I do?’

With her skin still tingling from an early morning swim in an ocean turned grey by the scudding cloud, Ellie ate her breakfast in front of the computer, feeling very satisfied at yesterday’s results. The effects of her presentation had exceeded her expectations and the response from the community had been enormous. With her inbox full of emails pledging support, and even donations, she’d finally closed her computer down to prepare dinner.

The icing on the cake had been the obvious aggression from Lord Mayor O’Sullivan. Not once in her presentation had she raised the suspicions about council corruption. She’d run the whole thing just the way they’d planned. A vision of life before and after misguided developments had ripped the heart out of numerous Australian coastal towns. No mention of bribes or dodgy dealings.

O’Sullivan did his cause no good when he bailed her up afterwards, throwing wild accusations around of her sabotaging the economy and smearing people’s reputations to deliberately keep Half Moon Bay in the Dark Ages. With icy disdain, she’d withstood his barrage, refusing to be drawn on any of his outrageous accusations. Her smile was going to outlast his tirade if it froze on her face.

The inimitable Mavis had sprung to her defence and, with a waving handbag and a few well-chosen words, she’d sent the mayor packing, a crimson tide flooding his face.

As Ellie turned to thank the older woman, she’d caught the considered gaze of Nicholas Lawson. The secretive little half smile taunted her. She rechristened him Nicky in her head. It seemed to dilute some of his danger.

She felt quite smug. Did he realise he was being manipulated too? It had amused her to see the women lining up to bat their eyelashes at him after the council meeting. He was obviously used to all that adoration, smiling warmly and spreading easy charm. Not one of them left disappointed.

She also had to acknowledge he’d given his own impressive presentation. He spoke with confidence and flair. She’d reddened at his compliments of her work. ‘Ms Wilding’s work tugs at the heartstrings and stirs the tear ducts. Let’s not forget, though, her images and our design are not mutually exclusive. We could be very good together.’

The scowl on Alex’s face hadn’t been hard to miss. It would have been even worse if he’d spotted the scratches up the passenger door of the Porsche. Ellie winced. It wasn’t going to be pretty when he discovered it, but Alex wasn’t the man she remembered so fondly.

She’d spent hours on Google last night and found a veritable treasure trove of information. So many people had no security on their Facebook pages, which made it easy to click on one friend, then follow the network far and wide.

Teisha and Alex appeared in several photos together, but Teisha also made many appearances with girlfriends or other men. One man reoccurred more than the others.
Lach
. He looked to be twice Teisha’s age, but from the way she was pressed up hard against him she didn’t seem to mind. Did Alex know she had a sugar daddy? Was that the real reason for wanting to drop her?

She’d searched Facebook, LinkedIn, MySpace and Twitter for Nicholas Lawson, but only turned up a couple of photos of him at charity functions with beautiful women on his arm. Both were in the last two years. His Facebook page was locked up tight and she wasn’t about to try friending him.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. The pillow was lumpy, the mattress hard as she drew threads between Lord Mayor O’Sullivan, Lawson, property developments, drug smugglers, Alex and Afghanistan. She was sure they were all connected, but that connection eluded her, along with sleep.

This morning she read articles about the decline in the fishing industry in Yamba and Port Newel. The stocks were low and many trawler men were walking away from their livelihoods. She finished the last mouthful of porridge, wondering if that accounted for the pensiveness she sensed in Felicity. They’d been friends a long time and Ellie felt sure Felicity was hiding something. Were she and Dan about to lose the boat? She couldn’t imagine Dan doing anything other than stand legs astride on the deck of a pitching trawler. He was honest as the day is long. He wouldn’t be involved in drug running, even if his livelihood depended on it.

Today she was going to visit the wharves. Four days ago O’Sullivan said the boat was four days away, but first she wanted to talk to Alex. She glanced at the clock again. It was still early, just before seven-thirty.

As she waited for him to pick up the phone, she carried on scrolling through the articles on the trawlers. The trouble had started in 2008 with a change in government policy. Things didn’t look to have improved much since then.

The phone rang out. No voicemail. Ellie typed a text.
Call me when you wake up. It’s urgent.
Maybe Teisha had reappeared?

An hour later, dressed in jeans, T-shirt and a sleeveless Polartec, she slung her backpack over her shoulder. She snagged a cap and her waterproof from the line of brass hooks by the back door. Shadow watched her go with mournful eyes. Who said dogs didn’t understand humans?

The clouds drooped even lower, their bellies swollen with rain. It was only a matter of time before the leaden skies dumped a deluge of fat raindrops. Ellie sniffed the air as she unlocked the car door.

She’d barely reached the Pacific Highway before she needed the windscreen wipers on full. The visibility was woeful and she slowed to a crawl approaching the turning to Port Newel. The local radio station was cheerfully announcing that a severe weather system was heading their way, threatening an unseasonal deluge. A truck going in the opposite direction sped through standing water, covering her car in an opaque wave. Her windscreen wipers were doing nothing.

As she edged down the off-ramp her phone rang. It would just have to go to voicemail. It took another five minutes before she pulled up in the car park by the wharves. A line of trawlers were backed into their berths, nets hanging from their rigs, their usually jaunty paintwork dulled by the weather. Any photos she took today would be sombre and melancholy. She shrugged her waterproof on, pulled her cap down hard, tucking her ponytail out through the gap in the back and down the inside of her jacket. Optimistically she slid the hood up. Today was not the day to be asking questions, but she had to start somewhere.

She made a run for it and headed along the wharf, past six trawlers. Some of the fleet must still be at work. The snack bar’s awning was straining under the load of water and she ducked under it, hoping it didn’t choose that moment to let go. The bell on the door tinkled as she opened it.

‘Hello, love. Day for ducks out there,’ the lady behind the counter said.

‘I reckon even ducks’d have trouble in this lot,’ Ellie replied, easing her hood down and smiling at the middle-aged woman. ‘I’ve picked the wrong day to take photos.’

‘Yeah, doesn’t feel like it’s going to let up in a while.’

Ellie nodded. ‘Not many trawlers in. Must be catching something.’

‘Nah, more likely they’re staying out, desperate to find something to fill their holds. This weather’s going to kill off any chance of a good catch for the next couple of weeks. All that muck from the cane farms will get flushed out the Clarence and into the ocean.’

‘Hmm,’ Ellie replied. The age-old argument about the environmental damage of cane farms wasn’t likely to be resolved any time soon.

‘So what can I get you?’

Ellie caught sight of the woman’s faded name badge. ‘A coffee would be great, thanks, Jean.’

‘What sort?’

‘Cappuccino? Regular?’ Ellie hadn’t expected to find real coffee at a working dock, but even Port Newel had become more cosmopolitan in the last two years.

‘Coming up.’ The lady blasted steam out of the spout. ‘Any food to go with that, love?’ she asked over the racket of the grinder.

Ellie didn’t feel like eating, but business was going to be slow for Jean today. ‘Raisin toast would be good.’ The seagulls would love that.

She wandered back to the wide front windows and perused a patchwork of advertisements, the smell of toast already filling the small space. Further up the wharf two people swathed in yellow waterproofs were holding an animated conversation. She could see the beard on the one facing her, but she couldn’t tell if the other one was a man or a woman.

Their body language piqued her interest and she pulled her camera free, her fingers automatically adjusting settings for the low light. The joys of digital meant she could hold the camera in front of her, angle the screen and take photos without appearing to be doing just that. Zooming in, she could see it was two men and neither looked friendly.

Behind she heard the scrape of a knife followed by the rustle of sandwich wrapper. She made her way back to the counter.

‘Those two don’t look like they’ve had a good day,’ she nodded at the couple up the wharf.

‘Gazza’s always whingeing, but he’s doing all right. Must be. That’s his new Pajero out front. More money than my caravan’s worth.’

‘Gazza owns a trawler?’ The first frisson of excitement ran through Ellie.

‘Yep,
The White Bird
. Prettiest boat in the row because it does the least work.’

‘Really?’ Ellie’s pulse was racing.

Jean pushed the coffee and brown-paper bag across the counter. ‘Doubt he’s ever done an honest day’s fishing in his life.’

‘Sugar?’ Ellie wasn’t going anywhere. Experience had taught her that take-away shops in small communities were usually manned by personable people. With the rain still bucketing down, Jean had plenty of time to chat. ‘Thanks.’ She popped the lid on the coffee. ‘His crew must be special, then.’

‘Special.’ Jean laughed outright this time. ‘Yep, you could definitely call them special, but I doubt they’d see the irony in that. Jase, him with the beard, lost a hand in Afghanistan, poor bastard. Bad enough having a father like O’Sullivan, let alone coming home a cripple.’

‘Ouch.’ Ellie’s ears pricked up. Mayor O’Sullivan’s son had gone to school with her. Despite his father, he’d been an average teenager with acne and no real stand-out features, hanging on the fringes of the cool group. Sad to hear he’d been injured in Afghanistan. Yet another victim of war. ‘How on earth does he work as a fisherman?’

‘Well, now, I don’t rightly know. I seem to remember my saintly ex-husband always telling me “one hand for the boat and one hand for yourself”. I guess that means he’s only looking after number one.’

Ellie stirred her coffee in silence.

‘I’m speaking out of turn, but if those lads are fishermen, then I’m the Queen Mum. O’Sullivan is likely bankrolling them, along with every other small business who voted for him.’

‘O’Sullivan’s the new mayor?’

‘That’s him. You can see his ugly mug on billboards all over the shire.’

‘You didn’t vote for him, then?’ Ellie dropped the spoon into the proffered hand. Jean shook her head and tossed the rubbish into the bin.

‘No way. I went to school with the shite. I’d rather cut my own hand off than vote for the fool.’ She looked at Ellie, her gaze stopping on the camera. ‘You’re no more a fan of O’Sullivan than I am, Ellie Wilding. Sorry I missed the meeting the other day.’

Ellie couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. ‘Sorry, I should have introduced myself to start with.’

‘No need, love, but I hear you gave that developer what for.’

‘I think it was a draw. But it was great to see so many people turn up.’

‘And they’ll stay the distance. No one wants that butt-ugly development. Eileen Bell would turn in her grave if she knew.’

Ellie laughed. Her sentiments exactly. ‘At least they haven’t demolished her old house.’

‘No, but the local kids have been hanging out in it so it’s probably only a matter of time before they burn the darn thing down. They’ve even christened it “the playpen” on account of the bloody great fence that’s been erected around it.’

Outside, the two men were on the move: Gazza towards his flash new car and Jase towards the café.

‘Guess they’ve given up,’ Ellie said.

‘He’ll sit in that car for another half an hour on the phone like he’s some big shot. All sorts of wheeling and dealing go on in this car park. I don’t like it, but what can I do? Old man O’Sullivan owns the place. I keep my nose out of his business and my rent stays steady. Can’t wait for pension age. I’ll be through that door so fast it will hit me on the way out.’

‘What on earth is there to wheel and deal in out here?’

Jean tapped her nose. ‘Anything you want to buy, Gazza and Jase can source it.’

‘Sound like a couple of used-car salesmen.’

‘Yep, they could probably do you one of those too.’

The door opened, letting in a swirl of wet air, and Ellie came face to face with Jase. She was shocked by his appearance.

‘Excuse me.’ He brushed past her, not making eye contact. ‘Hey, Jeanie. Carton of chips and a sausage roll, thanks, love.’

‘Jason? Jason O’Sullivan?’ Ellie knew she was risking a great deal, but the opportunity wasn’t going begging.

He swung around and she noticed he shoved his stump into his jacket pocket. ‘Yeah?’ His hard gaze raked her from head to toe, nothing friendly in his face. With hair plastered flat by the rain he looked gaunt, unwell. Not much remained of the gangling teenager. Ellie felt a tug of sympathy. She knew all too vividly the horror of war.

She bobbed her head and smiled. ‘Ellie, Eleanor Wilding. We went to school together.’

For the briefest of instants Jason’s face lit up with teenage memories before the present came crashing back down.

‘Yeah, I remember you.’

‘How’s it going? What are you doing now?’

He frowned, adding to the darkness under his eyes. ‘Trying to scratch a living out of fishing.’

‘You were in the army, weren’t you?’

‘Was.’ The aggression, the anger in his movements was obvious. He jerked his arm clear of his jacket. ‘And this is all I’ve got to show for it.’

‘Oh, Jason, I had no idea. I’m sorry. It must have been very difficult for you.’

‘Still is. I would have been better off dead.’

Ellie flinched. It felt as though he’d slapped her. She saw a flash of remorse as Jean snapped at him. ‘That was uncalled for. Remember who you’re talking to, Jason.’