‘Are you going to talk to me? You can talk. I know you can.’
There was an odd hint of hysteria in the woman’s voice. She was building up her excitement. There was some other edge too. Tears. Why tears?
‘I thought someone was following me tonight. But I got rid of them. No one’s coming to save you. You might as well talk to me. You’re not dying alone. Grace will be with you. And if we can, we’ll get your daughter too. We’ve got something that’ll turn her head to pulp.’
Keep talking, whoever you are. I’m waiting for you. Everything you say makes it easier.
‘Are you going to answer me? Open your fucking mouth. You can still talk.’ Hysteria again, this time wound up to a greater intensity. Strange anger, resentment. ‘Go on. Cry. That’s what you’ll do in the end. Everybody does. They cry and they shit themselves. They all say please when it’s too fucking late. When we open the door, you’ll come crawling out saying please. When you do, she’ll be watching you and it’ll be too fucking late. Then she’ll crawl in the dirt too. Everyone does.’
There was silence again. Still Harrigan waited.
‘You’re going to burn in your own car. We’ve done that before. The first time we ever did anything. I can’t wait to see what it looks like again, what you sound like. What do you think?’
Come in and ask me if you want to know so badly.
‘Joel will be here soon. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. That’s all the time you’ve got left. I’m going to piss on your face. You can lie there and drink it. I’ll turn on the lights, I’ll take your blindfold off. You can look up at me before you die.’
You are sick. You are so sick.
Suddenly the bright lights of a car glared through the cracks around the door. Harrigan heard her unlocking the padlock, then removing the chain. Maybe when you’d done this so often before you got arrogant. You didn’t see your victims as anything other than creatures waiting for slaughter, crying for mercy you didn’t have to give.
A key turned in a lock, then the door swung open. The glaring headlights lit up the interior of the hut, revealing only the empty mattress. The woman stopped in the doorway, startled. ‘Where are you?’ she shrieked even as Harrigan came out of the dark and hit her on the side of her head as hard as he could bring himself to hit a woman.
She went down, not quite unconscious. She didn’t seem to be armed. He got hold of the rope they’d used to tie his legs and began to tie her up. She tried to fight and bite him but she was too groggy and had no strength to match his. A stream of obscenities came out of her mouth, barely comprehensible. He still had his handkerchief. He took it out of his pocket and pushed it into her mouth. Then he picked her up and put her on the mattress. She was still making noise and began to wriggle, trying for the door. He looked around. There was nothing to tie her to to keep her in one place. Then she collapsed back, breathing hard. Her eyes rolled up and closed. He pressed her eye, a common test for pain, to see if she was awake. She didn’t respond.
He took the time to look at her. An attractive redhead probably just over forty. Sara McLeod? Nadine Patterson? What name would she answer to? He searched her, found her car keys in her jeans pocket and took them. She had no weapon of any kind and no mobile. He stood up. In the car lights, he saw the book near her head and picked it up. It was Justice Under the Law. He flicked it open to the title page and saw his signature. Bought last night at his launch by Joel Griffin, who was supposedly on his way here right now. It was his MO: everything planned to the last detail.
Carrying the book, Harrigan went outside into the free air, shutting the door behind him. It locked on closure. The key was still in the lock. He took it, then re-chained and re-padlocked the door. The lights of the car were glaring in his eyes and he walked around to the side of the vehicle, cursing whenever his bare feet trod on something sharp. The car was a blue Mazda he hadn’t seen before.
He looked around to see where he was. As he’d guessed, the national park. He’d been locked in a small, squat building situated on a low slope. Probably it had been put here during World War II, some home-defence facility close to the coast where equipment might have been stored or the home guard were expected to fight invaders. Darkened forest surrounded the open area it stood in, at that moment illuminated by the lights of the Mazda. At this time of night, it was a good place for a murder.
He searched the car. There was no gun and no mobile telephone. He opened the boot. A digital video camera and jerry cans of petrol. He closed it and looked up the way it must have come in. A fire trail cut through the bush up a steep slope, presumably towards the nearest ridge. Parked to the side of this trail a short distance up the slope, gleaming palely and pointing downwards to the open space, was Harrigan’s car.
Painfully, he limped up to it. The keys had to be somewhere here. How else was anyone going to turn it into a murder weapon? Then he saw rocks wedged against the front wheels. He tried the door. It opened. This was simple. Turn the whole thing into a missile. Who needs to start the engine? Just set it up so it rolls forward over whatever escarpment is below.
Harrigan was a careful man. He had a spare key concealed on the outside of his car for emergencies. He tossed his book on the front seat and set about checking for it; it was still there. Once he’d retrieved it, he began searching the car. They had taken his mobile, his gun, his backpack with its handy collection of tools. He had no weapon and he couldn’t call for help. How much time did he have? Time to drive out of here and get help? Griffin was coming, Grace with him. Griffin was supposed to be her target not the other way around. They’d be here very soon, if the woman in the hut knew what she was talking about.
Someone had been following her, she said, but she’d got rid of them. Did that mean Grace’s people were out there, tracking her? They had the means to do that. If so, why hadn’t they acted? Or had they already stopped Griffin’s car? He couldn’t know. He did know he didn’t trust Clive. If he drove out now, would he meet Griffin coming in? Where would that leave Grace if she was with him? No, he would wait. He couldn’t leave her alone in this place. There would only be Griffin, one man. She had to be armed as well. That was a point in their favour. And if no one came, then he would leave.
What he most wanted were shoes, but there were none, not even the pair of old thongs he usually tossed in the boot when he was going fishing. There were some rags. He tied them around his feet but they were almost useless. They had left his car tool kit behind. He searched through it and selected the heaviest spanner he could find. There was also the torch he always carried in his car, which was powerful. He took that as well. He made sure the handbrake was on, locked the car and took the keys. Then he went back to the Mazda, turned off the lights and locked that as well.
After this he followed in the direction his car was pointed. A breeze coming up from distant water ruffled his hair. Again wishing he had shoes, he reached the edge of an escarpment and looked down. A short, steepish fall onto rocks, young trees and ferns growing below. Soak the car in petrol and send it down here. Both of them burned to ashes, still alive when the fire was started. These were the people he was dealing with. No point in being sentimental about them.
A small arc of trees extended out from the forest towards the hut, coming closest to it on the far side near the back. He walked into the trees as quickly as he could, crouching down where he could stay hidden. It was a clear starlit night; extinguishing the headlights had brought a sense of peace to the scene. The silence around him deepened; he turned off his torch. In the quiet, he heard the calls of the night birds and rustling in the bush around him. Just the wildlife going about its usual business.