Dance with the Devil (21 page)

'Sorry. Simon never told me. But I can ask around at The Centre. It's been a couple of years, but maybe some of the older kids knew him.' He stood up. 'How long will it be before you might know something?'

'How long's a piece of string,' Mick mumbled. He looked across at Chayse. 'You staying? I could do with another pair of legs.'

'Another pair of feet, you mean,' Chayse replied. 'I'll stay. I think this is the best lead we've got yet.'

'Form F.' In another person, it might have been an exclamation but Mick rarely allowed himself the extravagance of excitement. 'Coroner's Certificate of Holding of Inquest. If Simon Hall died in prison, we should have a copy on file. It won't give his parents' address, but at least we'll have their full names.' He grabbed the phone, punched in the Records Storage number. 'Sally, I need a copy of Form F, with the deceased's name Simon Edmund Hall. Soon as you can. Thanks.'

Drew hesitated. At last they were getting somewhere. Or so he hoped. His blood raced at the possibility of seeing the man who had tried to kill him. 'Do you want me to wait? I could go with you if you locate a suspect.'

'We won't know how long this'll take, Drew. As you know, there are a lot of
acquaintances
in the drug world. And we'll have to track down the parents' address through a driver's licence or the electoral roll. Even when we get it, there's no guarantee they'll be at home or even that they'll know anything. We'll give you a call if we bring anyone in.'

'All right. I'll call in on Angie on the way back to The Centre. See if she needs a hand with the arrangements for Dario's funeral.'

Emma ached in every muscle in her body. Pleasantly, wonderfully, ached. She still felt a little disassociated from herself, as though Drew's lovemaking had set her free from all the worries and decisions that had surrounded her in the past few weeks. She knew it was only temporary, that reality, with all its associated problems, would soon intrude, but for now she enjoyed the respite.

Her heart beat faster as she thought of Drew. She had never cared for a man the way she cared for him. Had never felt another's suffering the way she felt his, or reacted so spontaneously to the grin that lit his face and crinkled the fine lines around those striking blue eyes. With every moment she spent with him, the barriers around her emotions were dissolving. At work, those barriers had been a necessity, her only way to cope with the horrors people inflicted on one another. But where Drew was concerned, they felt like an impediment to something good, something wonderful, that she wanted to seize and never let go.

How could her mother be so certain about love? At the moment, confusion seemed to be a more appropriate word for her feelings. Confusion, and this unfamiliar yearning…

Lying back on the bed, she felt the cool breeze on her naked body, and smiled. It had been many years since she had slept naked. Impossible in her work, and just as impossible with her father liable to wander around at any hour of the night and place himself in danger. On her holidays, it hadn't seemed important because there was no-one else to be naked for.

It was a luxury - being naked, sleeping in, making love…

The shrill ring of the phone cut across her day-dreaming. She leapt out of bed, grabbing her robe as she hurried to the living room.

Five minutes later, she stood under a warm shower. Well, so much for the fifteen minutes before her mother returned home that she'd promised Drew. Bruno had improved, but the vet wanted to keep him until the afternoon, so her mother wouldn't be home this morning after all.

An hour later, Emma walked into The Centre. No-one was in the front office, but as she passed Diane's open office door Diane looked up from the book she was reading and smiled as she removed the glasses perched halfway down her nose.

'Hello, Emma. Drew said to tell you he'll be out for a while. He and Chayse have gone to see Mick.'

'Has there been a breakthrough?'

'He didn't say.'

Just then the buzzer sounded. Diane stood up. 'That should be my client. You can wait in Drew's office if you like.'

'Thanks. I'll keep ploughing through the files.'

She closed Drew's door behind her, and sat down in his chair. It was no more comfortable than the other two, but she liked to swivel around in it, a fascination she'd had since childhood.

The 'possibles' pile had been messed about, and one of the files lay open on the desk. She flicked over a couple of pages, glancing idly at their contents. Suddenly she stiffened, her fingers moving over a copy of a police report.

Coincidence
, she told herself, but the blood ran cold in her veins. She read the page again.

The name, the circumstances, were right. But it was years ago, surely it couldn't have any bearing on what had happened to Drew and Dario and the judge?

She picked up Drew's phone, stabbed in some numbers. She waited until it rang out, then hung up. For a few minutes she looked at the handset, rationalising why her call hadn't been answered, but it was a waste of time. All her plausible scenarios had holes in them.

One more try. But as each button dipped beneath her finger, her doubt grew.

It rang out again.

It was pure gut instinct, but Emma knew something was wrong. But was instinct enough reason to call the police? She could check it out herself, then let them know if she was correct. She was about to let Diane know what she was doing when she remembered Diane was busy with a client. She picked up a pen, scribbled a hasty note for Drew and placed it on top of the file.

Then she ran to the Land Cruiser.

Waiting.

Always waiting.

For all Hadley's patience there were times when the waiting felt almost intolerable. His planning, so meticulous, so painstaking, had started to go wrong when he'd decided to crucify the Defender, and now it looked as though it was still going wrong.

Even eliminating the Judge had not gone the way he'd planned. For the first time in nearly a year, the Judge had chosen a completely different site in which to fossick. So Hadley had been forced to relinquish his scheme for pushing the old man into one of the abandoned tin mines dotting his usual fossicking area and then stoning him to death. He'd watched and waited for hours until he'd decided on an alternative way for the Judge to die.

A cramp twisted his foot. He pushed down into his boot and forced the spasm to ease. He'd arrived in the early hours of the morning after hiding his van and travelling almost six hours through the mountains by foot. He hadn't wanted to chance being seen, even in this remote valley, for he knew how country folk kept an eye out for their neighbours.

The heat of a mid-morning sun trickled sweat down his back. He ignored it. At dawn he had cut the phone line. Then he'd waited. Waited for the Informer to leave the house as he did every morning and start doing his farm chores. But this morning was different. The Informer hadn't stepped outside the house.

Clouds drifted across the sun, providing him some respite from the heat. Every moment he waited increased his risk of discovery. Soon he would have to decide whether to leave…or go into the house after him. He knew the Informer had a woman living there - he had seen her in the house during one of his reconnoitres, swollen and heavy with child. But perhaps the woman was no longer there? Perhaps she'd left?

He would take the risk.

Silently he eased from his hiding place behind the shed and ran softly to the house. For such a big man, he was incredibly silent. Sure-footed as the jungle animals he admired.

He drew his knife, slipped the screen door open and eased into the house. Neat kitchen, dishes draining on the sink, a half-full coffee mug lonely on the table.

A sound. A soft footstep.

He slipped against the wall.

The footsteps came closer.

He hefted the knife, turned the blade up - and crashed the heavy butt onto a man's head as he walked into the room. The man slumped to the floor, twisting as he fell, exposing his face to Hadley.

A wild elation seized him as he looked down at the young man. The Informer. He forced himself to remain calm. He had a job to do.
Vengeance is Mine, sayeth the Lord
, and he was the instrument of the Lord.

He knelt swiftly and prised open the young man's mouth.

He grabbed his tongue.

The slippery flesh slid from his grasp. He grabbed it again, this time digging his nails in and applying pressure. He pulled the tongue out as far as he could, eased the knife blade into the mouth, and began to cut.

Drew pulled up in front of The Centre, turned off the engine and rested his head on the steering wheel. He felt emotionally drained after the hour he'd spent with Angie. Her grief was so devastating, so complete, that she seemed to have shrunk down inside herself. Only Steven brought a smile to her lips and broke the dark haze that engulfed her.

It was like a time warp, walking into The Centre - the kids playing basketball, pool, talking, laughing - as though the terrible events of the past nine days had never occurred. He stood for a moment, watching them, before shrugging off the feeling of unreality.

Diane's office door was closed, the low murmur of voices seeping into the corridor. Drew walked to the kitchen and turned the kettle on. No coffee would be strong enough to erase his sadness and grief, but hopefully bringing Dario's killer to justice would ease some of his anger and help Angie to deal with her loss.

As he placed the steaming mug on his desk, a drop of coffee spilt over the side. He grabbed a piece of notepaper to soak it up. The unfamiliar handwriting caught his attention. He quickly scanned the message.

The colour drained from his face.

He snatched up his phone, punched in the number on the paper. The ring tone went on and on, burring into his stomach, escalating the alarm tightening his chest.

'Answer, answer, answer. For pity's sake, answer.' Drew muttered the words like a litany. Finally it rang out. He dialled the faults number and spoke to an operator who informed him that if anything had happened to the phone he was ringing, there would be no way of knowing because the number would still ring in the Exchange.

He crashed the receiver into the cradle.

Damn Emma! Now he had no way of contacting her. Why didn't she have a mobile phone!

He picked up the receiver again. Within thirty seconds, Mick's gravelly voice answered. He filled the detective in on Emma's note.

'Don't worry,' Mick reassured him. 'We'll check on Emma as soon as we can. Right now we're going out to see Simon's father, or rather his stepfather. Form F paid off. His name's Hadley Morgan. And the driver's licence and rego checks show he owns a van.'

They had him!

Maybe.

A weird mixture of elation and worry swirled through Drew. They had a suspect at last, but what if he wasn't at his home? He could have moved on, could have…

He cut through his speculation. Emma could still be in danger.

He raced out the door.

A cry jerked Hadley around like a marionette on a string.

Silence.

Then the cry, softer, less demanding, more enquiring.

A baby.

He looked back to the young man, to the blood pouring onto the vinyl flooring.

Just then the clouds parted and sunshine streamed in through the kitchen window, bathing the face of the young man in a golden glow. A glow broken by the shape of a cross. Hadley looked up at the timber cross-section forming the shadow.

The baby cried again.

It was a sign.

He knew it was a sign.

The Informer was meant to live. His life in exchange for that of his child. Hadley rolled the man face down to prevent him choking on his own blood, and stepped silently into the hall.

He held the knife in readiness as he reached a bedroom doorway. A woman lay on a double bed, her breasts rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. He slipped into the room, made his way slowly to the bassinet. The baby caught sight of him and cried out.

The woman stirred.

Her head turned.

The knife came down as though it had a life of its own. The tip dripped blood onto the woman's white blouse as it halted a hair's breadth from the end of her ribcage. She sniffed and rubbed her nose in sleep-filled stupor before snuggling back into the pillows.

The knife stayed motionless above her as her breathing deepened. Hovered, unmoving, until she settled once more into a deep sleep.

It turned towards the watching infant.

Tom couldn't have taken Mary into Cairns to see his parents, they were away on holidays. And the baby was only six days old, Mary wouldn't be driving into town to go shopping. Besides, J.D. had promised to get their supplies for them. So why weren't they answering their phone?

The trip back to the valley gave Emma plenty of time to run possibilities through her mind. The moment she had seen Mary's maiden name on the police report marked Simon Hall, she knew the connection couldn't just be a coincidence.

Mary had been one of the four people sharing a house with Simon Hall. One of the four
addicts
, Emma corrected herself. Mary had not been in the house when Simon was arrested, and no incriminating evidence was found in her room so she had escaped arrest.

But she was another link in the chain. Drew, Dario, Judge Abercrombie. Was one of Simon Hall's cohorts responsible? Was there something incriminating that he thought someone may have found?

Was Mary going to be his next victim?

Emma had to warn her. Her foot pushed harder on the accelerator.

Pain, throbbing and insistent, filled Tom's head. He opened his eyes. The timber floor was sticky with blood, the taste of it coppery in his mouth. He swallowed, and cried out in agony.

The cut edges at the side of his tongue grated against his teeth and pain jolted to join the deep ache at the back of his head.

He pushed himself up, swayed and leaned against the wall. Red mist swirled through his head. He closed his eyes, breathed slowly and took stock.