Black Ice (25 page)

A curlew screeched its plaintive cry in the still night air, then was silent. In the quiet he heard drunken yelling as a car burned rubber, and glass crashed on the bitumen, but it was far enough away not to worry him. Five minutes passed, and he was tempted to get on with the job, but someone had once told him it was important to check out a place before you broke in, just to make sure.

He cursed as he saw a police car cruise slowly up the street of the house he was observing. Obviously they were keeping an eye on the place. Pulling his sleeve up, he checked the time, then settled down to wait.

A long uncomfortable hour went by before the patrol car drove by again. Brett checked his watch, then moved out of the house.

It was simple enough to scale the rickety wood and wire fence separating the two properties. In the dark he tripped over a pile of metal pipes lying on the ground. One clanged against another, only a small sound, but abnormally loud to his anxious ears. He dropped to the ground, his dark clothing blending in with the earth and grass. He made out the shapes of metal panelling, and realised he'd stumbled over fencing materials.

For five minutes he waited, listening for other movements which would tell him that someone had come to investigate the noise.

When all remained peaceful, he crept to the back door. The lock on the security screen door gave him more trouble than he'd anticipated, but eventually it opened for him. The timber door proved no problem. He reached into his pocket, fingered the smooth butt of his .38, and drew it out. The metal was cold in his palm, and his nerves settled a little.

Once through the laundry and kitchen, he shortened his footsteps. He had to find the room the child was in. He hoped she'd be in a room by herself and not sleeping with the artist. Although he didn't really want to kill the child, he'd always had a well-developed sense of self-preservation, and if he had to, he would kill the mother as well.

His eyes had grown more accustomed to the dark now, and he could see that the first bedroom off the hallway dividing the living and sleeping areas had been turned into an office. A light shone dimly from another doorway further up the hallway.

Sweat began to form on his palms. He wiped them on his jeans, transferring the gun from one hand to the other.

A small alcove revealed doors to the bathroom and toilet. He walked past, then stopped at the doorway illuminated by the soft light.

He tensed as he stepped into the room and walked towards the bed.

The child was smaller than he'd thought from his glimpse of her in her mother's arms.
Smother
. The word came back to him, and he looked around quickly for another pillow. He didn't want to risk taking the one from beneath the child's head and waking her. He wasn't sure he could do what he had to do if she struggled.

A cushion. On the chair. His breath whooshed out in relief, and he picked up the cushion, the gun still clenched in his fist.

He moved closer to the bed.

Bent down.

The child's eyes were partially opened, though she was obviously still asleep.

He moved closer, the cushion grasped tightly in both hands.

Brett reeled backwards in shock.

The cushion fell from his hands.

He retreated to stand next to the window, grabbed his mobile phone from his pocket. The gun jerked as he pressed a menu number.

He held the phone to his ear with a shaking hand, and waited for his call to be answered.

After three rings, a sibilant 'Yes?' pierced his ear.

'The kid - it looks like me.' Shock raised his voice above the whisper he'd intended. 'Like … when I was little.'

'Yes. The resemblance is amazing, isn't it?'

'Who is she?'

'Your niece.'

'My niece? Then that means … Daniel Brand …'

'Exactly. You always used to say you wanted an older brother.' A bitter laugh mocked him. 'Someone who could keep me off your back.'

Brett swore, fierce, low, and vehement. 'You had me try to kill my own brother!'

'Just think of the inheritance.'

'What bloody inheritance?'

'Brand is worth a fortune. His daughter will inherit. If
she
dies …'

The full import of the words began to sink into Brett's shocked brain. He gazed back towards the child. She snuffled, and flung one arm above her head.

He walked back to the bed, the gun still raised, but he focussed only on the child. His niece! But how -

At odd times he'd wondered if he'd been adopted. There'd been no physical resemblance to the couple who'd raised him, and the man he'd called father had often sneered at him that he was a bastard. Hell! He hadn't just been swearing had he.

'So Harry wasn't my father?'

'No more than Gloria was your mother.'

This confirmation that the mother he'd loved had lied to him was nearly as devastating as discovering he'd almost killed his own brother. Brett ended the call, shoved the mobile into his jacket pocket.

He needed to think. Without distraction. Without interference.

He moved back to the bed and stared at the child, at the curly black hair, the broad cheekbones and wide mouth.

His niece. The implications echoed in his mind. He'd been set up good, hadn't he. He swore viciously. Well, for once, the tame tiger was going to roar at the handler. There was no way he could kill this child. It would be like killing a part of himself. He'd done some vile things in the past, but -

'Put the gun down.'

Brett swung around, gun raised.

 

Even in the dim light Daniel could see the shock in the eyes of the balaclavaed man. Saw the frantic assessment of the dressings on his arm and back, the pyjama pants. He fought to stay calm. If Kirri hadn't woken him to say she'd heard a voice …

He clenched his teeth, his guts still twisted with the horror of seeing the gun pointed at Catelyn. Now it was pointed at him. But it was wavering. 'Put the gun down and let's talk,' Daniel said, his voice soothing, conciliatory. He motioned behind his back for Kirri to stay in the hall, then took two slow steps into the room.

Brett was confused. Brand wasn't seriously injured at all! Had he been lied to about this as well? Anger, pure and violent, raged through him. Was this a setup? How the hell could he get out of here?

The mobile in his pocket started to vibrate. Brett instinctively grabbed at it, forgetting the gun in his hand.

Daniel launched himself across the small space separating him from the intruder.

Kirri ran into the bedroom, saw both men fall to the floor.

The muffled crack of a gunshot clutched fear at her heart.

Catelyn began to cry, a loud, frightened wail that had Kirri rushing over to her. A quick look reassured her that Catelyn had simply been scared by the noise, and she turned to where Daniel was easing himself off the coughing, convulsing body of the intruder.

She gasped at the blood on Daniel's chest, but he wiped it away with a distracted hand, and she realised it wasn't his.

'Phone for an ambulance,' he instructed her. 'And the police. Tell them to notify Mick.'

Kirri picked Catelyn up and made her way to the living room. Catelyn's crying stopped immediately and she snuggled against Kirri's neck. The calls didn't take long, but when she returned to the bedroom, Daniel was sitting next to the intruder, his arms on his knees, head bowed.

He had attempted to staunch the flow of blood from the wound in the intruder's lower chest, but this appeared to have been futile. The hastily folded pillowcase was saturated with blood. Kirri looked down at the still body.

'Is he …'

Daniel raised his head and looked at her. He nodded.

Kirri continued to stare at the body while her hands automatically soothed Catelyn. She knew she should feel something, anything, but she felt numb. This man had tried to kill her daughter. Why? Who … 'Take off the balaclava,' she told Daniel.

He flashed her a querying look, but reached over and gently pulled it off. Kirri watched the black hair spill out as the fabric pealed off the man's head. She moved so she could view him from the side. He was quite handsome.

He was also the man whose profile she had sketched. The straight, well-defined features, the long dark lashes, the full mouth … She hadn't realised they were so familiar.

'Did he say … anything … before he died?'

'Just kept asking me to kneel. His voice was so weak, I couldn't make out the other words.' Daniel pulled himself to his feet and began to walk towards Kirri. He needed to feel her and Catelyn warm and safe in his embrace, needed to hold them, assure himself they were unharmed. He reached out, then looked at his hands and saw the intruder's blood. 'I'll wash this off. Go into the living room and wait. You can't do anything here.'

Kirri nodded, and walked away. Daniel stood a minute longer and gazed at the body of the man who had brought terror and pain into the lives of his loved ones. His hands began to tremble, and soon his whole body was shaking with reaction. When the trembling eased, he felt exhausted, stretched beyond the limits of his emotions. But by the time he reached the bathroom and scrubbed at the blood on his hands, and the traces left on his chest, guilt was creeping insidiously in on him.

He replayed the scene in his mind, trying to be certain that there was no other way he could have protected Catelyn without placing her in greater danger. If it was the same man who had tried to kill him and Kirri before, then Daniel was sure nothing would have stopped him from carrying out what he so obviously had intended.

But still the guilt persisted. He had leapt at the man, and although he hadn't intended it, this had resulted in his death. Now Daniel would never know if he may have been able to persuade the man to put the gun down.

By the time he reached the living room, police sirens were wailing their way towards the house. Kirri was sitting on the lounge, cradling Catelyn in her lap. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, face pale as the white orchids on her blue satin robe. He sat down and took her in his arms. Catelyn moved, bumped his injured arm. He grunted, but ignored the pain as Kirri's tears fell hot against his neck. Her body shook with quiet sobs, and he held her close and uttered words of comfort, easing his own distress as much as hers.

 

'Some crims hand it to you on a silver platter.' Mick walked into the living room shaking his head. 'He had his wallet in his back pocket. According to his driver's licence, his name is Brett Gavin Lewis. Name familiar to you?' he asked. Mornings this early weren't his favourite time of the day, and he sank heavily into a lounge chair opposite Daniel and Kirri.

'No,' Daniel replied, and Kirri shook her head. Catelyn was sound asleep in her arms, oblivious to the movements of uniformed and plain clothes police officers. It was a relief to Kirri to know the only fright her daughter had received was being woken by the gunshot.

'We'll run a fingerprint check and try to trace his family for a positive ID. They might be able to give us a clue to why he was trying to kill your daughter, Kirri,' he inclined his head towards Daniel, 'and you, Daniel. Though if he was a contract killer as you seem to think, it might not be easy to trace who hired him.'

The Scenes of Crime Officer emerged from the hallway. 'We'd like to see over the rest of the house, Mick. Are you nearly finished here?'

Mick nodded, then looked at Daniel and Kirri. 'I'd like you to come down to the Station and make a full statement. I'm sure you'd like to get dressed first.' He turned back to the other officer. 'Okay if they go into their bedroom?'

'Yes. But the kid's room is out.'

'I'll need clothes for Catelyn,' Kirri protested. 'And disposable nappies.'

Mick scratched his head with the end of his biro. 'There's a 24 hour mini-mart not too far from here, they should have something. You can follow me there on the way back to the station.'

 

Kirri and Daniel drove back to O'Connor Valley under a dawn sky tinged with pink, Catelyn sleeping peacefully in her safety seat.

Kirri was exhausted, but she'd insisted on driving. She glanced at Daniel, saw the lines of pain etched around his mouth. 'As soon as we catch up on some sleep,' she said, 'I'm going back to see Gran. And when the police are finished with Emma's and Drew's house I'll go back there and get the rest of Catelyn's clothing and supervise the cleaning of the bedroom.'

A contradictory growl rumbled from Daniel's throat. 'Kirri, you're not -'

'I know you don't want me going back to Emma's house, Daniel, but I feel terrible about her coming home to find her house has been the scene of a murder.'

'Mick did say he'll organise professional cleaners.' Daniel's tone was weary, as though he'd resigned himself to losing the argument with her.

'I know. But I have to make sure it's done properly. And while Gran is still in intensive care, I'm going to stay in Cairns. The valley's too far away if …' Her throat closed over at the thought her beloved grandmother might still die.

A large, warm hand settled comfortingly on her thigh. 'We'll stay at a motel, sweetheart. Book in under assumed names.' Daniel's voice was soft with concern.

Kirri nodded in agreement. 'Just as long as we let the police know. Mick said they'll give us what protection they can.' The words were said with assurance, but Kirri knew no-one could protect her from the nightmare of seeing her daughter so close to being killed.

 

Mick Landers leaned back in his government-issue chair, frustration gnawing at him.

Lewis's licence had a Tweed Heads address, but the uniformed boys down there had informed Mick it wasn't kosher. A check of the licensing records showed the previous address had been Sydney, and the one before that, Tasmania. Mick was waiting for these to be checked out. There was no sense of urgency now in the enquiry. The would-be killer was dead.
If
someone had hired him it should be only a matter of time before a clue would emerge. Or so Mick hoped.

According to the Brisbane fingerprint bureau, Brett Lewis's fingerprints had been scanned into the Australia-wide database held in the COPS system in New South Wales, but a series of major electrical storms had hit Sydney last night, and the mainframe computer was down. Mick grumbled about the vagaries of modern technology and put in a request for the boys at the Campbelltown fingerprint bureau in Sydney to do a manual check. He knew, though, that they would be less likely to give immediacy to a request from a North Queensland colleague about an attempted killer who was already dead, than to their own more pressing cases.