Prohibited Zone (24 page)

‘Not long – fifteen or twenty minutes, depending on traffic. What's happening?'

‘They're onto us,' she said. ‘I think they know where Saira is. I need you to get to her before they do.'

‘Who are “they”?'

‘The cops. The one called Tarrant. He's been talking to my aunt.'

‘Your aunt?'

‘Saira's at her place.'

‘At your aunt's place?'

‘West! There isn't time! I'll explain later. Just go!'

As I drove she gave me an address at West Beach, told me to speed and rang off, saying that she'd call Saira and have her waiting and telling me to call her when it was done.

It was mid-afternoon and the traffic wasn't too bad. I made good time to West Beach, occupying myself by wondering how Kara could possibly think that hiding Saira at her aunt's place had been a good idea.

It was a simple, pale-brown brick bungalow on Formosa Avenue. It had a tile roof, striped brown awnings, a cream-coloured garage door, a built-in flower box and a stone facade around the base of the chimney. Saira must have been waiting with the door ajar because she emerged as soon as I pulled into the short concrete driveway. She was wearing a shirt, jeans and a coloured scarf fixed casually over her hair, and she was carrying a small suitcase. She got into the car and her beautiful eyes widened when she saw me.

‘Your face,' she said, touching her own.

‘It isn't as bad as it looks.'

‘What happened?'

‘Sort of a fight.'

‘About what?'

‘You, sort of.'

‘Oh.' She was quiet for a moment. ‘I am sorry.'

‘Don't be.' I reversed out of the driveway and drove back onto Tapleys Hill Road, a busy but narrow road that ran north-to-south along a strip of land between the airport and the coast. The runway was shimmering, giving off heatwaves in strong, steady pulses. I turned down a side street and called Kara.

‘I've got her,' I said.

‘Any trouble? Were you followed?'

‘Not so far. Not that I know of.'

‘Thank God.'

‘My bet is He had nothing to do with it.'

‘What are we going to do with her? I'm just about out of options.'

‘No more aunties? No little old grandmother?'

‘No need for sarcasm.'

‘Or irony?'

She made her beer-top noise of exasperation. ‘West, you are
so
fucking annoying. She's not
really
my aunt, I just call her that. She was my mentor at university, a bit of a pseudo-radical, but hardly anyone knows that we stayed friends. I really didn't think anyone would track her down. But she called me from the uni and told me a couple of cops had just been to see her. She said she'd been flustered and they might have cottoned on. I can't blame her. She's in her sixties.'

‘I don't blame
her
, either.'

‘How is our witness?'

‘Witness? Is that what she is to you?'

‘Of course not. It's just an expression.'

‘I hope you're not turning her into a commodity.'

‘I'm not! West, don't do this.'

‘Do what?'

‘Question me about everything.'

‘You prefer the subservient type?'

‘No, I prefer the type who isn't so fucking infuriating. Of course this is about Saira, but it's also about the story. We have to get the story out because it will force the government to change its policy. Can you see that?'

‘Sure.'

‘Okay.' She sighed audibly over the phone. ‘Give me strength. Put her on.
Please.
'

I looked at Saira sitting calmly in the passenger seat, gazing out at the mundane street. I gave her the phone and got out of the car. I had parked less than a hundred metres from the West Beach Surf Club, so I wandered down towards it. A low stone wall separated the one-and-only row of sandhills from the residential area and seemed to be keeping it at bay. The tide was out. It was a work day but there were still hundreds of people on the beach, mums and dads with small children, strolling old folk and young men and women strutting their stuff. It was a noisy, colourful scene full of well-fed and contented people. I wondered what they would think when Saira's story was told. I wondered if they would give a toss.

Looking south I could see the apartment buildings of Glenelg. They gave me an idea. I walked back to the car, where Saira was still racking up billing minutes on my mobile. I put my thumb and little finger to my ear and mouth, mimicking the act of talking on the phone, and pointed to my chest with my other hand. Saira nodded to show that she understood, said goodbye to Kara and handed the phone to me.

‘Kara?'

‘Yes?'

‘I think I know where we can hide her.'

I called Lucy and she didn't hang up, which was a promising start. I told her my idea and she said she would be happy to help. It took less than ten minutes to get to her place. She opened the door and looked at me in horror.

‘My God, your face is a mess!'

‘Yeah, so people keep saying.'

‘Come in and sit down.'

‘I'd better not. I'm in a bit of a hurry.' I went in, anyway.

‘Of course.' She looked past me at the multi-coloured car parked against the curb. Saira was looking at us through the side window. Lucy closed the door.

‘Is that the girl?'

‘Yes.'

‘How come you have her?'

‘It's a long story. Apparently her hiding place has been rumbled. I just picked her up in West Beach.'

‘You've been sucked in, then.'

‘As you predicted.'

She was looking thoughtfully at me now. Her house was dark, as it had been all summer, and cool. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top and her face was shiny, as if she had just been applying moisturiser. Her black hair was tied back, showing off her ears, which stuck out far enough to be cute but not far enough to be silly. Her lips, which were so good at kissing, were free of lipstick. She looked desirable but distant. I breathed deeply, savouring the smell of the house, the intoxicating smell of Lucy. I attempted to take her in my arms, but she grabbed my hands as they reached around her and brought them gently but firmly back to the front.

‘You're in no condition for that,' she said. ‘Besides, I thought you were in a hurry.'

‘Yeah, you're right. You're always right.'

She picked up a key ring that was lying on a small hallway table. It had a green plastic tag with the words ‘Beach house' written on it by hand, and a couple of keys. She gave it to me.

‘You know how to get to the house. Mike doesn't get back until the weekend so you at least have a few days. When you finish you can just drop the key in the letterbox.'

‘Thanks.' She led me to the front door and opened it, looking at me with eyes that squinted in the sudden light.

‘Lucy?'

‘What?'

‘You look particularly pretty today.'

‘Thank you. In contrast to you.'

‘We should talk.'

‘Yes, I suppose we should.' She smiled, but it was a smile without a future; the sort of smile, perhaps, that you'd give someone at a funeral.

We picked Kara up in town and I told her about our discovery of the Groskreutz house as we drove south along the Southern Expressway, which was in our favour again, towards Port Willunga. About halfway along, my phone rang. I held it to my ear, my other hand still on the wheel.

‘That you, Westie? It's Rolley.'

‘G'day Rolley. What's up? This car of yours has a bit of go, mate. Need it back?'

‘Nah, go your hardest – just don't stack it. But I thought you'd want to know what we found on your ute.'

‘What?'

‘Just a fucken trackin' device, that's all. Underneath the car behind the back bumper.'

‘You're kidding.'

‘Nah, I'm fair dinkum. Ever wonder how those thugs found you down at the beach? They was just trackin' yer over the internet, that's all.'

I was surprised that Janeway was smart enough to operate something so sophisticated, but he had been in the SAS and no doubt had learnt a few handy surveillance techniques there. Or maybe he had some help.

‘Where would he get something like that?' I asked, thinking aloud.

‘Aw, you can just buy 'em on e-Bay these days,' said Rolley. ‘Common as bat shit. What d'ya want me to do with it?'

‘I don't know. Stick it under a bus or something.'

‘Yeah, I'll think of something.'

‘Thanks, Rolley. I owe you a beer.'

‘How about a case?'

Perhaps only in South Australia could you find such a quiet beach hamlet less than forty minutes' drive from the CBD of the state capital. Nestled around a small but pretty cove, Port Willunga consisted of little else than a collection of holiday houses, many of which were occupied only sporadically during the year. Urban development was prowling its way towards and around it, but for now the place largely retained the charm of a faded seaside village. The beach was bordered at both ends by rocky points, and, towards the south, by a backdrop of sandstone cliffs. The black timber remains of a pier marched into the ocean and stopped knee deep, hobbled and helpless and useless.

Lucy's holiday house was on the esplanade, looking northwest over the gulf. It was a modest one-storey job with a kikuyu lawn that had died off in the summer drought. It was fronted by two large, tinted windows, both with retractable canvas awnings, not currently deployed. There was no garage so I parked in the driveway and we carried our gear inside. It was hot and stuffy, but I opened the front and back windows and soon a cross-breeze was bringing in fresh air from the sea. The room was furnished with a tasteful lounge suite and a coffee table. Framed photographs of the local area hung on the wall. A kitchenette was separated from the lounge room by a breakfast bar surfaced in jarrah and served by half a dozen high stools.

‘Nice,' said Kara.

She said she had to make some phone calls so I prepared a late lunch using groceries we had purchased on the way. Saira stood by the living-room window, looking across the esplanade to the coast, which we could see scalloping its way as far north as the old oil refinery at Port Stanvac.

‘It's been a long time,' she said.

‘Since?'

‘Since I have seen the sea. Last time was when I was on the boat.' She shuddered. ‘I don't like the sea.'

‘Come and eat,' I said. I had laid out on the breakfast bar a ploughman's lunch of smoked trout, olives, sun-dried tomatoes, a solid-looking bread and a couple of cheeses. Kara joined us and poured three glasses of a species of apple juice claiming to be organic. I supposed other stuff was synthetic. Maybe made out of coal. ‘I've spoken to Ray Khoury about staying here tonight,' she said as we ate. I looked at her sharply.

‘Do you trust him? Someone seems to know our every move. I wouldn't go blabbing about where we are to people.'