We shivered in those peculiarly cold first seconds after dawn, although we were both warmly dressed – me in my leather jacket and Geoff in his plus the parka. Geoff seemed to be dozing so I checked the. 38, but he suddenly spoke.
‘D’you think you’ll need that?’
‘I hope not. Does it bother you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. So it should, but I haven’t shot anyone on my side for years.’
Not much of a joke, but the best I could do with locked joints, a stiff back and a ricked neck. I used the torch to study the map. I wasn’t looking forward to slogging through the rain and mud looking for someone who mightn’t even be there, but I did want to get out of the car. When I felt I could see well enough to keep my footing, I opened the door and stepped out into the wet world.
Geoff got out the other side and turned his back to the wind. The rain was still falling but not as heavily as it had during the night.
‘Bugger it!’ He slammed his mobile shut. ‘Batteries.’
‘Use mine.’
He took it from the glove box and I moved away while he made the call. Water from the trees dripped down my neck but I was so damp it hardly mattered.
The car door slammed. ‘No change.’
‘Let’s get going. I think I’ve got my bearings. The shacks are down here. We can follow the fence and then work our way right.’
Following the fence meant, in fact, hanging onto it. The ground was so slippery and muddy that, even in my hiking boots, I slithered rather than walked. Younger, lighter and fitter, Geoff didn’t have to grab at the fence so often, but he fell once and muddied himself all down one side. The fence turned left and we had to go right. There was an old track that had once had a layer of coal scree over it. Now it was a black, gooey mess we inched along beside rather than on. The water was ankle-deep in spots and where there was no tree shelter the wind whipped us in wet gusts.
I pointed. ‘Down there.’
Three fibro shacks, or rather two and a half, clustered in a clearing in the middle of a steeply sloping sea of mud. Fifty, maybe sixty metres away. Geoff didn’t seem to be paying attention so I pulled at his sleeve, but he was looking back up and to the south. He pointed.
‘What?’
‘By that big rock.’
I peered through the rain.
‘Van,’ Geoff said. ‘Covered with a tarp.’
He was right and I felt my pulse rate go up a notch as I looked at the greenish, humped shape. I nodded and turned my attention back to the shacks. There obviously hadn’t been any intention to re-build them after the initial damage; stumps had collapsed, sending them skewwhiff, and iron was missing from the roofs. On one, a deck had fallen away and hung off the structure like a rickety fire escape. The far one looked to be in the best condition with a more or less intact roof, several intact windows and a couple of long props holding a skillion in place. It had a deck that had once run around three sides. Only two sections remained and one was poised over a gully where the water from higher up roared down at breakneck pace. I could see sizeable rocks rolling in the water along with tree branches and other debris.
I took out my Swiss army knife and handed it to Geoff.
He was too surprised not to take it. ‘What the fuck’s this for?’
‘You’re going up to the van. I want you to disable it anyway you can.’
‘What’re you going to do?’
‘Flush him out.’
‘I want to help.’
‘You will be helping.’
‘No way. I…’
‘You’ll do as I say, Geoff. That was the deal, remember? We’re almost there. Talbot’ll be tired, wet, cold and hungry most likely. And scared. I won’t have any trouble with him.’
‘What about… her?’
‘She’ll be all right.’ I shoved him hard. ‘Get going.’
He moved off up the slope towards the van. When I was sure he’d committed himself, I began to work my way down towards the shacks. There was no substantial cover – just a few scruffy bushes, an almost rusted-away car body and a disintegrating heap of timber and rubble that had once been an outdoor dunny. I made all the use I could of the cover and slowly, wetly – slithering and bent double – reached the back of the shack where a decayed set of wooden steps had been reinforced by several brick-filled milk crates.
I took out the. 38, tested the milk crates for stability, went up them and turned the door handle. It swung in with a loud creak but the rain had got heavier and the pounding on the iron roof would’ve drowned anything but a heavy metal band. For the first time I thanked the rain. The house was a ruin; cracks in the walls, gaps in the floor, sloping door jambs. It smelled of mice, rot and damp. I was in what had been a kitchen, but the equipment had been stripped out and the only piped water came from a hose from the outside running into a pipe where the sink had been. The roof leaked and there was plenty of water on the floor. I checked two uncloseable doors, one on either side of the passage after the kitchen. One room empty, the other full of rubbish.
I heard sounds coming from the front room and paused outside a door more or less fitted in its frame. A radio was playing and a man was raising his voice above the music and the noise of the rain.
‘Turn that fuckin’ thing off. I want to fuckin’ talk to you.’
‘I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit.’
I shoved the door in and went into the room with the gun held down by my leg but in clear view. Megan French was lying on a mattress. A portable radio was by her side. She wore black – jeans, boots and a sweater. Talbot was standing over her, awkwardly angled with his back to me. He heard me come in, spun around and had to grab the wall for support.
‘Who the fuck? Jesus, the fuckin’ private eye.’
‘That’s right. This is the end of the run, Talbot. The police’re on their way.’
He was tall and lean in mud-splattered white overalls with a denim jacket over them. He was unshaven and the dark stubble gave his narrow face a saturnine look. His eyes were shrewd as he backed up to the wall. ‘Bullshit. You’ve come for her. Well, you can have her. Just leave me alone.’
‘Damien.’
‘Shut up! Fair trade? Her for me?’
‘No trade, Talbot. Megan, your mother sent me to get you.’
She’d been lying down until that one word – mother – brought her upright. She sprang from the mattress. I could see the athleticism that had carried her over Tadpole Creek so easily, but her dark, beaky face was twisted with rage.
‘Mother! Some fuckin’ mother. That stuck-up bitch abandoned me at birth.’
‘Yeah! Tell ‘em, Meg.’
Talbot was high on something or perhaps coming down. His hands were clenching and unclenching as he flexed muscles in his arms and shoulders. He was going to be hard to control.
‘You can talk to her about that,’ I said. Just come with me, both of you.’
‘No!’ She threw herself in front of Talbot, who’d been waiting for something just like this. He grabbed her around the throat in an arm lock and took something from the bib pocket of his overalls. A click and a twenty-centimetre blade was against her throat.
‘Put the gun down or I’ll take her head off.’
I wondered if he had the strength to hold her. She looked physically capable of contesting with him, but the knife made the difference. He had the point under her chin and she could feel it.
‘You’re in trouble, Talbot,’ I said. ‘I mean over the guard. But it’s not the end of the world. If you let Megan go and come with me it’ll be better for you. Something in your favour. You’re looking at prison but not forever. Harm her and it’s entirely different. Kidnapping plus more violence and you’ll be lucky to be out before you’re fifty.’