After the Flood, page 20
When he had planned to remove the Frenchman his first concern had been, could the offensive part of the plan remain intact? His answer to that was, yes, with a few potentially minor alterations. The bike had to be removed, they would need to cover off the couple of calls they had made to him on his phone for when the police checked, but that was about it. So, the action could still go ahead. Initially his answer to the second question – Could they still escape after the action? – had been, probably not. But when he teased it out, he had become more optimistic. If all went to plan, they would be well clear before the actual detonation. With the Frenchman gone, that left Paul as the biggest single pointer to their involvement. But Paul would not be there at the time. Eventually he would be questioned and he might well fold. By that time, they would be in another state or even another country. And if things got really hot, there were contacts he’d made over time, people who could hide them, get them out of the country. Look at Baader-Meinhof, the Red Army Faction. They had been headline winners in the 70s, not just in their German homeland but all over the world. Or the Weathermen from the US. They had survived for years, and they had been the real deal. They were what this apathetic, over-stuffed world needed to regain its dignity. But they were all long gone and there was a void to be filled. He was the one to fill that void. And it was time now to embark upon the last leg of the journey. He shook her awake.
‘It’s time.’
Earle was a dab hand with the frypan. The pancakes were first rate.
‘You’ve been keeping this talent from us,’ said Clement squeezing fresh lemon over the neatly circular piping-hot pancake, then sprinkling a smidge of sugar.
‘Years of camping and fishing. The skillet is your most useful tool.’
It was 6.30 a.m. and Clement’s whole team was assembled in the station kitchen. Earle had rocked up with the pancake mix, lemons and maple syrup, for which Clement was very grateful. For one, he was hungry; secondly, he knew they all had another huge day in front of them and this was a good way to bond and get them enthused. Keeble had already delivered bad news on any chance of fingerprints from the pamphlets. If there were prints other than Rhys Earle’s they must have been on the pamphlets he’d already given out. There was only one set on the sheets she’d scooped up an hour ago. They would be Rhys’. Manners was pessimistic on getting anything from the phone number that had called Rhys.
‘We need to find this couple,’ said Clement aware that he was stating the bloody obvious since he had already briefed them all on what they had discovered the previous night.
‘While we cannot rule out Bagot or Gomez, I can’t justify further investigation of them at this time. The uniforms will follow up the beach carpark, see if Gomez might have been there Thursday but so far their alibies, while not proven, are most certainly intact. So, it’s Thomas and Frida, front and centre.’
Clement had left a message for Lilly asking her to get to the Earle household as early as she could this morning so Rhys could help her sketch a likeness of those he’d met. ‘Hopefully we’ll have a sketch of Thomas and possible others soon.’
‘I’ve already got the girl’s poster to every police station in the Kimberley and Pilbara,’ said Mal Gross. ‘When I get the others, they’ll go straight off.’
Clement said, ‘I want uniforms covering the town from top to bottom with the sketches. I want them asking pubs, roadhouses, cafés everywhere. Jo, I’d like you to hit the real-estate agencies, you never know, maybe they are staying local or did at some point in the past. Josh, matching the vehicle to CCTV. And just a heads-up everybody, I might have to call Perth in.’
There was a sense of disappointment.
‘We’ve done well but these guys could be in Perth or interstate by now.’
Clement reached down and picked up the t-shirt the couple had given Rhys Earle.
‘No point trying for prints, this shirt has been worn and washed. If you see anybody wearing a t-shirt like this with activist slogans, ask them when and where they got it.’
Earle, only sitting down now, being the cook and the last to eat, said, ‘I’m going to try the shops in town to see if they bought any t-shirts or took some on consignment. I’ll also chase up who distributes this brand. It seems to be called Golden and is manufactured in Vietnam.’
‘Let’s go, people,’ said Clement and they scattered.
She felt like she needed to pee again. Nerves. She still hadn’t told him about the early childhood clinic. Nobody there had known her name and she hadn’t seen any cameras but it was possible she’d missed one. She was more certain about fingerprints. She’d been careful, hadn’t left any. Anyway, so what if somebody had told the police about her? She’d been nowhere near the car. Without her name she was a phantom.
These reassurances didn’t quite work. There was a shade of doubt that crept back like a plucky cat after you’d shooed it away. What if somebody had seen her getting into the car? Then the police might somehow track back from the car licence and identify Thomas’ car with the mystery woman. Last night he had been in a good, positive mood and she had very nearly told him. Something though had stopped her. She knew he would vent. He’d never been violent towards her but he’d had no trouble planning how to kill Seydoux. She’d agreed with him about that. The bastard had double-crossed them and jeopardised everything they had planned. She felt no sympathy towards him. Long ago, she and Thomas had talked about the sacrifices they might have to make to spread their cause. She was ready for death if it came. Not that she desired it. If she could she would avoid it but if there were no way out, she was prepared. Life without Thomas would be meaningless anyway and she knew he was ready to die.
Even so, her muscles felt bunched as they drove through dark just starting to fracture with the sun’s slow rise. He was anxious, she could tell, because they were heading back to Broome and even though the marina was on the southern outskirts, if the police had made any links, they must be looking for them. Had he known about the clinic, he would be much more anxious. Yes, it was as well she’d said nothing. Thomas was always going on about betrayal and though she did not think what she had done was in any sense a betrayal, maybe he would see it differently. As if reading her mind, he turned to her.
‘Don’t worry. I don’t think they would have linked us yet, and when we leave here, we’ll be towing a boat on a trailer. They won’t look twice.’
He can’t be that confident, she thought, or he wouldn’t have insisted they both cut their hair and change into neat, suburban arsehole clothes. He was wearing a polo shirt. He never wore those. This one had a rugby look to it, horizontal fat stripes followed by thin stripes. He’d let her be except for snipping her hair and having her change into a sunhat and a pair of clean jeans. She would keep quiet about the clinic. This time tomorrow it would all be over, so why create a potential drama now?
As soon as Risely had entered, Clement had gone to his office and briefed him.
‘Should we go to the press?’ asked Risely.
‘You’re asking me?’
‘Yes. What do you reckon?’
Of course, he had been thinking about what was the quickest and best way to find Thomas and Frida. The phone call to Rhys proved a dead end. The phone had been reported stolen from a youth hostel and the service terminated later that day by the owner.
‘It could help. But it also might tie us up with a lot of false reports. Manners and Shepherd are crosschecking calls and messages to Seydoux. They’ll try and match the callers’ details to driver’s licences and vehicle licences. Maybe they’ll get a driver’s licence photo match to the Frida sketch. And they’ll also check to see if any of the callers might own a Sahara. Either way we could get their real names. Hopefully they’ll get something very soon. They’re also checking CCTV. We can backtrack from the car regos. If Thomas and Frida know we’re onto them they might ditch the car.’
‘Let’s give it till lunch,’ said Risely.
Clement found Beck Lalor waiting for him outside his office. He had forgotten he’d messaged her.
‘What did you want, sir?’
‘Di Rivi is flat out on the Meda case and she has some unfinished stuff on the Lizard Minerals case in Halls Creek. I was hoping you might help out?’
She beamed. ‘Love to.’
He told her to sort it out with di Rivi and not to hesitate to ask him if she needed help. Then he turned and saw Mal Gross escorting Rhys Earle into the room.
‘How did it go with Lilly?’
‘Yeah good, I think. I did my best,’ said the boy shyly.
‘Thanks for that.’
Mal Gross said, ‘I’ve got them and they’re going out any minute. Here are your copies.’
He handed photocopies to Clement who only now noticed the boy was carrying a Tupperware lunch box.
‘Dad forget his lunch?’ he asked.
The boy bit his lip. ‘If Thomas has a criminal record, his fingerprints would help, wouldn’t they?’
‘They certainly would. But we won’t get any off the t-shirt.’
‘I was thinking you might get some off this, but.’ Rhys peeled off the top of the lunch box.
Clement found himself staring down at a shiny black rock the size of a clenched fist.
‘It’s the lump of coal Thomas gave me. I haven’t touched it since the day he gave it to me.’
22
They were sitting having coffee in the canteen when the hum of the approaching plane reached them. The main flight direct to Perth had already left. Most of the workers took that. A few of them though lived in the Pilbara or Broome and they travelled on the small plane the short trip across the ocean to the mainland. It was a fairly quick turnaround for the flight back and even though it was only a few hundred metres to where it would land, Paul knew he should get moving. He reached for his bag.
‘I had better head out,’ he said.
‘I’ll miss you,’ she said.
He was too embarrassed to say he would miss her too. He reached down and picked up his backpack and was about to head out.
‘Hey, no goodbye kiss?’
Before he knew what was happening Ingrid had leaned over and kissed him on the lips. ‘Plenty more where that came from,’ she said and smiled.
‘Thank you,’ he said, feeling that was inadequate.
‘You’re welcome.’ Her smile showed dimples, made him feel good.
He walked across the linoleum floor to the door and turned for one last wave but she had already headed off to her work and was almost out of the canteen. He stepped out from the air-conditioning into the heat and watched as the plane landed. Walking was effortless. But as he reached the plane his gut tightened. He was not looking forward to what lay ahead.
‘Real nice set of prints,’ said Lisa Keeble. ‘Well, two sets of prints, one being Rhys’, but the other set is now in the system.’
Clement knew she would let him know as soon as there was any hit. Rhys had headed off to school. His father was still in town trying to get a lead on the t-shirts.
‘I’ve got her!’ Josh Shepherd was across the room proudly bouncing on his toes like Steve Smith at the batting crease. Then he tempered that. ‘At least we’re ninety-nine percent –’
‘Tell me,’ said Clement. Ninety-nine percent he would take in a heartbeat.
‘Annika Styles.’
Shepherd placed a New South Wales driver’s licence printout on Clement’s desk, the sketch Lilly had done beside it. ‘No criminal record.’
Clement had no doubt it was the same woman as in the sketch. Shepherd continued.
‘There were two calls between her and Seydoux, one on the day before he died.’
‘How come we didn’t find her before? I asked Manners to call everybody who had contacted Seydoux’s phone number.’
‘She was the one who left a message saying she and her girlfriend were driving on the Gibb River Road.’
Clement remembered now.
Shepherd continued. ‘She used a fake name. The phone company details said the phone was owned by Annika Styles. No one of that name with a driver’s licence in WA but her name popped up in New South Wales and her licence photo matched the sketch.’
Styles and Thomas had bought themselves time. They could be in Melbourne by now.
‘What about a vehicle?’
‘She is not registered as the owner of any vehicle anywhere in Australia,’ said Shepherd.
So, the car likely belonged to Thomas.
Paul looked down through the windows of the small plane at the ocean below. There are plane rides, or more generally journeys in your life that impress themselves on you like a hot iron on soft skin, he thought. You know at the time these are moments you will either want to never forget or never remember. His first arrival into Brazil had nothing about it that announced it would be a defining moment. He was excited, yes, a new culture and all that, but he had not yet met Gabrielly, was not even aware of her existence. On the other hand, on the flight back to Australia he felt that all his insides had been hollowed out and bales of straw stuffed in their place. With each passing second, he was rocketing away from the only place in his whole adult life where he had felt joy. It was the end, a finality that could not be massaged, nor argued with. The only impetus for leaving was that to stay would have been worse. It was a time in life where the practicalities offered an excuse you could gratefully accept.
Apart from today’s, all the other flights to and from the island since he’d started had been as inconsequential as a drive into the office. They had nothing to say about who he was.
Today was different.
This moment, suspended in the air between departure and arrival, was a metaphor for where he found himself in life, between past and future, despair and hope. He had read with amazement about how great men had experienced in their lives some epiphany where all the pieces of their previous life coalesced, where the flashing neon sign said dig here, where their lives made sense, their purpose suddenly made clear. Yes, he thought he too had been gifted that – the books he’d found, Thomas, the ideas and experiences they had exchanged, flowing out of them like lava. But up here, looking down like an osprey, he had his own epiphany – that you never quite knew where you were in the chain links of your own story. He could never be happier than he had been with Gabrielly, and he had thought, erroneously, that meant he could also never be happy again, but that doesn’t have to be true. And the evidence was right there in front of your face every day, even in signs as simple as an old person shuffling off to buy some meagre essentials for life. Their youth has gone. It will never be recaptured. Their loved ones are likely gone too. And yet they can find some pleasure, even if it’s only feeding a pigeon.
What lay ahead of him would not be easy. Thomas would resist, he was sure, at first. But perhaps he could explain it to him just as he himself was thinking this through right now: that we don’t know for certain that some path has been predestined for us. Yes, based on past experiences, we might convince ourselves with absolute certainty this is why we are put on this earth, but we are looking at it from the limited perspective of men. From up here, like an osprey, we see that when you are standing on the ground things can block your vision. There is no way you can know what may be around the corner, possibly even … hope.
Rhys’ lump of coal had come up trumps. They had a match. Clement sat there absorbing the news, relief infusing his body. Earle’s quest for answers on the t-shirts had proven fruitless but the hot chips he had brought back suddenly tasted like the best he’d ever had.
‘Thomas …’
‘Berrymore,’ said Keeble and spelled it for Clement so he could write it on scrap paper in front of him. ‘Born fourteenth of June nineteen ninety-three, Liverpool, New South Wales. Drug-dealing bust nine years back. Looks low-grade. I’m copying you the file now.’
She stared down at her phone and pressed. Beat the old fax machine.
He called Manners immediately with the good news.
‘Need you to do the electronic legwork: car registrations, credit cards, phone records, money, everything. And call Perth and get them involved with all this. Banks, social media, you know the drill.’
Graeme Earle was gobbling chips and grinning.
‘Told you it would work out.’
They were flying now: two names, Thomas Berrymore and Annika Styles. He reined himself in. Okay, these two had lied or at least been deceptive but that didn’t mean they killed Seydoux. They could be freaking out about the clinic and nothing more than that. But it was progress, and if Keeble could get her hands on Berrymore’s vehicle, it might be game over.
Berrymore’s criminal file gave as next of kin a Jennifer Davidson of Fairfield, New South Wales. The phone number was a landline that rang dead.
‘Shepherd,’ he yelled and Josh appeared in the doorway.
‘I want you to track down Jennifer Davidson. She was in Fairfield, New South Wales nine years ago.
Shepherd took the note Clement had handed him and dashed over to his computer. By the time he reached it, Manners was standing in front of Clement, flushed with excitement.
‘Berrymore is the registered owner of a tan two thousand and four Toyota Sahara. Perth licence plates. I’ve copied Mal Gross and Risely. No hit on any credit card.’
‘Keep looking for anything and everything.’
Earle said, ‘Why don’t I give Jo a hand. Check caravan parks, realestate agents, motels, Kimberley and Pilbara.’
‘Good idea.’ The car registration would make things so much easier. ‘And could you check with Mal, make sure he’s across the rego and every eye we have is looking?’
Earle left for the front area that was the domain of Mal Gross.
Clement was so pumped he nearly smacked a fist into his palm. It was all coming together. He looked out to see Beck Lalor hovering by Graeme Earle’s desk, obviously looking for him.
