Dead Heat, page 35
Another rustle.
‘I can smell you, Georgia,’ said a man’s voice. ‘I can smell your Deet.’
Forty-six
‘Deet’s as bad as smoking a cigarette. Smell it for miles.’
Her blood froze.
‘You should have gone home, Georgia. Gone back to Sydney. You’re so stubborn.’
Tiny crackle of leaves being crunched underfoot.
‘You shouldn’t be here. You should be with your booksellers. Not meddling like some private investigator.’
She hugged the tree, her arms and legs wrapped tight around her branch, brain jammed in shock.
‘I didn’t know you were on board the plane, okay? I thought I was doing the world a favour, getting rid of Ronnie Chen and Lee and a woman I thought was a female hood. I’d heard Lee was in the area somewhere, and there he was at the aerodrome, being offered to me on a plate.’
She pressed her cheek against unforgiving bark, filled with a sense of horror. Disbelief.
Daniel.
‘I didn’t know Lee was undercover. I thought he’d killed Lucy, can you understand? Killed his own partner. My wife.’
Sweet Jesus. Sergeant Tatts was Daniel’s wife, Lucy? Sergeant Lucy Tatts, dark-skinned, dark-haired, a police sergeant off-duty and laughing carefree in the sun with her daughter on her husband’s shoulders, her arms around his waist. Sergeant Lucy Tatts.
‘How was I supposed to know it was the Chief who’d betrayed Lucy when Lee went down for it? Jesus, Georgia, can’t you see it was all a terrible mistake?’
No, no, she thought. What about an innocent man? You were so obsessed with plunging your avenging Scorpio tail deep into your prey you didn’t think about Bri.
‘I saw Tilly this afternoon. She told me everything. That you’re getting Chris Cheung to start an investigation. Good job he was out of the office when you rang. He doesn’t even know you exist, thank God.’
Sound of brushing leaves. His voice coming nearer.
‘Christ. Chris bloody Cheung, of all people. He’ll have me behind bars within seconds.’
She hugged the tree, loving the tree, filled with sick dread. It was like she’d been wearing a blindfold all this time and it had suddenly been whipped away.
Would you like a lift to Cairns? We could have dinner . . .
I’ll contact the AAI, then I’ll take you to dinner and give you a full report. How about the Pier?
When are you going home?
When do you leave for Sydney?
I think you should go home. Take a break.
Daniel had been trying to get her away from Nulgarra from the start. He’d seen straight through her all along, her attraction for him, and he’d tried to bribe her with free lifts, dinner, concern for her health. She wondered if he’d purposely misdirected the search for her life raft. A scattering of images streamed across her vision. Her reaching for him when Songtao exploded, but he was already ahead of her and racing for the port-side deck. Her standing in front of him, arms hanging as she wept after he’d picked her up from Margaret’s. He’d never touched her, she realised. She doubted he’d ever had any feelings for her. He was still in love with his wife.
‘You know I can’t go to jail.’ His tone was reasonable, calm. ‘I can’t leave Tabby to the Social Services, shoved from foster home to foster home, living with strangers. You can understand that, can’t you?’
It was then she comprehended the danger she was in. Tabby. He’d already killed for his daughter when Amy Robins got shot in the head on the way to court. There was no way Daniel would let her live. Not when Lee was on the other side of the world, gone for good, and she was the only person left with the guts to testify.
‘Look, all I want is for us to come to some agreement.’
What, she thought, like poor old Rog? Living every day in fear of being murdered should he say a word?
‘Just come out and swear you won’t tell a soul, or call Chris Cheung. Go back to Sydney and forget all this.’
Fat chance, she thought. You know I’m like a dog with a bone. You don’t trust me an inch, and you know it.
‘Dutch has agreed not to say anything. He’s waiting for you at the house. He caught that barramundi he promised you.’
You’re lying. You’ve shot him. You’ve killed Dutch.
‘Please, Georgia.’ Another rustling sound. ‘I won’t hurt you. I swear.’
He was so close!
‘Ah, there you are. I can see you hiding there. You must be exhausted. Come on out and I’ll drive you back. I’ve been worried sick about you.’
Can’t see me, impossible, too dark, too dark, black black black.
‘Come on, Georgia. Let’s go home.’
Tree, my friend, hard bark against my cheek like stubble, and you’re my friend, my tree.
‘Georgia. You’re scared, but there’s no need to be.’
Rough bark absorbing tears. Tears of fright. Of death.
‘I don’t want you to be scared. Please, trust me on this.’
Another rustle and the dry snap of a twig.
‘Why would I hurt you, of all people?’ His voice had moved. It had moved away.
She felt a rush of adrenaline. He hadn’t seen her. He’d smelled the Deet, that was all. He didn’t know if she was in a tree, on the ground or behind a bush, or he’d have come for her. He could have switched on a torch and found her in seconds, but he knew her well and wasn’t going to risk exposing himself to her in case she was armed.
‘You thought you were safe hiding here, didn’t you, Georgia?’ His voice had lost its cajoling tone and turned hard as he moved nearer again. She kept her eyes tight shut in case he saw them glisten in the dark.
‘You’re thinking invincibility is a matter of defence, but you’re wrong. You may have read Sun Tzu but you’re not a master warrior, never will be. You’ve put yourself in an extremely vulnerable position, don’t you realise?’
You’re more vulnerable than me because I’m up a tree and you’re on-the-ground croc food.
‘Haven’t you had enough?’ Back to cajoling. ‘Don’t you fancy a nice big glass of wine and having a laugh over tonight?’
Georgia hugged the tree and longed for a croc to come along and eat him. Come on, Nail-tooth, she prayed. Nice juicy supper here for you.
Small sound of leaves crinkling.
‘Come on, Georgia. Let’s go home.’
There was a rustle of a bush to her left.
‘That you, Georgia? Good girl. Just come on out, you’re safe, I swear it, just step out from where you are . . .’
Another rustle, larger this time, and unable to help herself, she glanced down, wondering what was down there but it was all black . . .
‘Keep coming now, Georgia, take it gently, carefully, you’re quite safe . . .’
An almighty crashing and tearing of branches made her open her mouth and inhale sharply, but she didn’t yell.
Scrabbling sounds, another branch cracking, then a man’s grunt.
Silence.
Her heart was pounding and she felt dizzy as she craned her neck round and round, searching for what had happened.
OhmyGod. Did a croc get him? OhmyGod.
A long rustle like something being dragged.
She was gripping the tree, trembling, sweating, breathing hard.
Silence.
‘Georgia? You there? You okay?’
Her breath caught in her throat.
‘I whacked him. He’s out cold. Some master warrior. Master wanker, more like.’
‘Dutch?’ she said. Her voice came out as a hoarse croak.
‘Yeah. You really think I’d leave you to face this plonker alone? I heard shots and hared back . . . He took a couple of pot shots at the boat, but I’m not daft. I wasn’t anywhere near it. I tracked you, waited up for him to track you too. Been watching you all the time. You did real good, you know.’
She heard him clear his throat.
‘Didn’t watch you when, you know . . . I didn’t look, okay?’
When she’d peed. Oh, bless him, bless him.
‘He’s not going nowhere, okay? You’re safe, it’s just me here, no crocs, no nothing, just me. You wanna come down now?’
Oh yes, yes, yes. And she was wriggling in her tree, easing her legs to clamp them around the trunk, her hands reaching for branches to lower herself.
‘Here, I’m just below. I’ll catch you if you take a tumble. Oh, wait, Georgia, love, hang on . . .’
He clicked on a torch and shone it up for her. Even with the torch’s light it seemed to take an age to clamber down. Her limbs were stiff and aching, her bottom and thighs numb. As she inched down the mangrove tree, her blood began to course and pins and needles prickled and sang through her veins.
When her legs touched the forest floor they crumpled, but Dutch caught her, held her upright. She flung her arms around him.
‘You amazing, wonderful person.’ She was half-crying, half-laughing, and she knew it was relief. ‘Dutch! I could kiss you to death!’
‘Hey, steady on,’ he said, but he was grinning.
‘I thought you were a croc!’
‘Now that’s a real compliment. Loyal to their offspring, patient, stealthy, and cunning as hell.’ He shone the torch at Daniel’s slumped form. ‘Not like that wanker. Arrogant little shit thinking he could get one over us.’
Georgia gazed at the rumpled dark-blond hair, the handsome face lit white in the hard light of Dutch’s torch. Slumped on the forest floor, Daniel Carter looked peaceful and calm.
It is important that form be concealed . . . so that preparedness against them be impossible.
Daniel’s form had been so well concealed she’d never once contemplated his involvement. Now it seemed obvious. He’d been on a flaming warpath to avenge his wife.
Without Dutch and his bush-lore, she knew she’d be dead. Daniel wouldn’t have feared the jail sentence as much as being taken from his daughter. She gave a violent shudder. She owed Dutch as much she owed Lee and Des and Stevo.
She felt the weight of guangxi pressed on her shoulders, but she didn’t care. She could see guangxi for what it was. Debts for her life that one day she would repay. She and her following generation owed four men big time, because without them, she’d be dead and her children wouldn’t exist.
After a long while she said, ‘What are we going to do with him?’
‘Truss him up then take him to the cop shop. How does that sound?’
‘Perfect.’
Dutch shone the torch at Daniel’s Glock by his feet and picked it up. ‘Meantime, we’re not moving till it’s light. Coming out here earlier I saw some croc tracks. Real big ones. I reckon Nail-tooth’s displaced a big bull and he’s about, and not in a very good mood.’
‘Jesus.’
Dutch patted her on the shoulder. ‘We sit tight until light, okay? Then I’ll scoot along and get the boat, and we’ll be having a cooked brekky before you can say gidday.’
She gave him a grateful smile.
‘Right, let’s hog-tie this fuckwit – I’ll have to improvise, use some vines – and while we wait for daylight, I’m going to light a fire to keep that bull croc at arm’s length.’
Forty-seven
It was one of the longest nights of Georgia’s life. Despite Dutch snoring like a truck engine – the first time she’d ever found that particular noise a comfort – every dark minute seemed interminable. She was propped against the trunk of another mangrove tree, hungry and thirsty, and she’d almost fallen asleep several times, but on each occasion she pulled herself from the brink with a little start, blinking rapidly in the pitch, terrified Daniel had escaped and was about to kill her.
The first sign that dawn was approaching was a bird twittering in its roost before falling quiet again. A couple more twittered, and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when a flying fox crashed into a branch above her head.
Dutch gave a long, loud yawn, murmured, ‘All right, love?’ and stretched. She heard a bone pop and his satisfied groan, then he busied himself building up the fire.
Georgia squinted through the trees and could just see the faintest dusting of light on the horizon past the river. Gradually the light thickened into a broad pale stroke of dawn and more flying foxes flapped and crashed through the branches.
After Dutch’s efforts, the fire was crackling nicely, and she could just make out the silhouettes of bushes and trees, and the dark shape of Daniel’s slumped form on the rainforest floor. Daniel hadn’t appeared to have moved during the night, and was in the same position Dutch had left him after he’d bound his hands and feet. The vines looked frayed around his feet, but since vines usually looked frayed, she thought nothing of it because his eyes were closed, his chest seemingly motionless.
‘Is he okay?’ she asked Dutch.
Dutch didn’t bother looking. ‘You care?’
‘Well, not really, but—’
‘And if he wakes and starts talking,’ Dutch added, ‘don’t you even think of untying him, even if he says he’s having an epileptic fit or heart attack or something. He’ll have you so fast, you won’t know it. Get it?’
He gave her a glare.
‘Got it,’ she said meekly.
Passing her the Glock, Dutch got to his feet. ‘See you in a bit,’ he said. And with that, he disappeared.
Georgia glanced at Daniel – still motionless – and went to find a place to pee. Just out of sight, but not too far, in case she met the big croc Dutch had warned her about, she put the Glock on the ground and squatted behind an almost impenetrable root system of mangroves.
A leaf rustled to her right and her nerves fizzed. Jesus, it was just a skink scooting past, a bronze-coloured lizard the length of her little finger, and it had nearly given her heart failure.
God, she hoped Dutch wouldn’t be long. It was creepy being out here alone. She glanced at the Glock to one side, then saw her urine had drowned an ant. Tough luck, she told it, it’s survival of the fittest out here.
She was still crouched, just about to finish, when she heard a whisper of leaves behind her. She didn’t even pause. With her mind screaming, crocodile, Georgia launched herself forward at the same time as something grabbed her shirt from behind.
Yelling and screaming, she lashed backwards, heard a grunt, and then she was free, scrambling and yanking up her knickers and shorts and she was galloping past a clump of tassel ferns, pulling her shorts over her hips, fastening the top button –
Bang!
A great flurry of wings and startled cries from flying foxes and birds, she didn’t see exactly what, her legs were already pumping her, driving for cover.
Two more shots.
Daniel had the Glock! How the hell had he untied himself?
Head down, she blasted through a barrier of dense bushes that slashed and cut her arms and then she was clear and running so fast she collided with a tree fern and sprawled to the ground. She could hear Daniel behind her and she scrambled up and raced across a little glade of herringbone ferns, wanting to scoop round and head for Dutch’s house, but he was heading her off and forcing her west and deeper into the rainforest, deeper into the mangroves.
Crocs love mangroves.
Georgia swung out, racing for the river again, the muscles in her back tight, waiting for a bullet to smash into her. Legs pounding, she hurdled fallen branches, leaves snapping against her face.
How could she outrun Daniel? How could she stop him in his tracks? Her hand-to-hand combat skills were zero. She could try to hide again . . .
Crack!
The blast from his pistol was close. He was closing in. Daniel was moving faster than her, much faster.
Got to stop him. Got to stop him before he kills me.
Dutch’s voice in her head.
The males get real aggressive in the wet . . . The saltie will have you any time, any place, quicker than you can say “sausage sarnie”.
Nail-tooth, she thought. Nail-tooth, wake up, boy, nice brekky coming for you.
The sound of a bullwhip next to her ear, a bullet just missing her, and Georgia dived left again, saw the glistening of wet mud ahead and she burst on to the riverbank and immediately swung left.
The sky was turning blue, the forest lightening. The tide was out and the soft mud revealed crocodile tracks criss-crossing the riverbank. Small tracks. She wanted big tracks. Huge tracks. She wanted Nail-tooth.
Up ahead a pint-sized croc galloped down the muddy bank and exploded into the water. Her breath was hot and raw in her throat, and she knew she was beginning to tire. Daniel would catch up with her soon.
She was sobbing, almost chanting as she ran. Nail-tooth, Nail-tooth, Nail-tooth.
Georgia gave an involuntary yelp as she recognised the outcrop of elephant grass dead ahead, the swathe of flattened grasses beside it. Nail-tooth’s highway to the river. Oh shit. She was here. She was in Nail-tooth’s territory. Her legs suddenly weakened and she had to scream at herself to keep running, keep running.
She hurdled a broken fan palm and ran straight down Nail-tooth’s highway. She could hear vegetation snapping as Daniel raced behind her. He shouted something, she didn’t hear what, because she had seen a warning shiver of grasses ahead.
Suddenly the grass parted, and he was there.
Rounded shoulders above an immense, armoured head. Jaws as wide as the bonnet of a car, filled with teeth the size of her forearm. The crocodile faced her, ominously still, motionless.
She was screaming and yelling as they locked eyes.
The huge reptile slowly raised its plated body.
Then he charged.
The sound of grass hissing. His head snaking from side to side. His massive tail thrashing as it propelled him forward at a tremendous rate.
Her grandfather’s words in her ears: Look at where you want to go. Her eyes fixed on an Alexander palm to her left and her body leaped for it, hands outstretched, knowing he would crush it in an instant, pulverise her as fast, but reaching all the same.
Her hands brushed the bark of the palm just as Nail-tooth hit her legs and she went flying straight over his head and shoulders, crashing on to his spine hard as bitumen before she was flung sideways and on to her left hip into the grasses.
