into you.’
You can expect it in a business like this where the people who make the rules are murderers. She had heard this from a speaker during her induction course all those years ago. It had never been more real. She nodded her thanks to the nurse but couldn’t speak.
First on the scene was Clive, with the police and ambulance following. The injured man was taken away first; the dead man waited his turn under a cover on the road.
‘Where’s Narelle Wong?’ Clive asked.
‘We had to handcuff her to the car. She kept trying to make a run for it.’
‘Let’s have a look at her.’
They walked over to where Narelle was sitting in the passenger seat.
‘This hurts!’ she said. ‘It’s cutting off my circulation!’
‘You were on your way to meet someone,’ Clive said. ‘Do you want to tell me who that person is?’
‘None of your business.’
‘I think you’ll find it is. Is it this man?’ Clive showed her a surveillance photograph of Joel Griffin.
‘I don’t know. Take this thing off me!’
‘You are aware you’re implicated in Jirawan Sanders’s murder? Certainly as an accessory before the fact.’
‘I didn’t know anything about that. I still don’t.’
‘We have testimony that she worked under duress at Life’s Pleasures and was under your control. That’s deprivation of liberty. Did you know that? You were also involved in the intended sale of her passport. These are serious offences.’
Narelle was dissolving into tears. ‘What would I know about any of that? My arm hurts!’
‘Get it unlocked,’ Grace said to the operative with the key, who was standing beside her.
‘Would you come with us, Miss Wong?’ Clive said. ‘This gentleman here will show you to a car. We’d like to speak to you.’
‘You haven’t told me who you are. Are you the police?’
Clive reached for a small wallet, which he flicked open for her. She stared at it uncomprehendingly.
‘This is my identification. I’m advising you that under our legislation we can hold you incommunicado without charge for fourteen days and I intend to do so. This man will look after you. Go with him, please.’
‘This is her ID,’ Grace said, handing the operative Narelle’s leather bag.
‘No, I’ll take that,’ Clive said.
Narelle turned to Grace. ‘You lied to me.’
‘Just this way, Miss Wong, with this gentleman here,’ Clive said. ‘We’ll get you in the car.’
‘I hope he kills
A tow truck arrived and removed Grace’s car. The smashed bike was also being readied to be removed. The traffic on the highway was crawling just enough. Someone handed her a cup of coffee. Clive, who had been overseeing the cleanup, came over.
‘You kept the media away,’ Grace said.
‘I want this under wraps. You handled it well. You kept your head under very difficult circumstances.’
One person dead, one person critical. Murderers both. Whatever they were, she wasn’t a killer. She hadn’t wanted to be responsible for anyone’s death.
‘I’ve missed my rendezvous,’ she said. ‘Do we know what’s happening down at Brooklyn?’
‘Sara McLeod is still down there. She’s moored a small yacht at the public jetty. I want you to stay in role. I have a surveillance team down there now and I’m organising a boat as well. They’ll be there as soon as they can. I’ve got you another car. I want you to go down there and tell her Narelle is dead.’
‘Then how come I’m alive?’
‘They were aiming for you and got her. You ran them off the road, killed one of them and left the other there. Then you took a side road into the bush and dumped Narelle’s body. As well as Jirawan Sanders’s passport, you have Narelle’s ID and you want to be paid for it the same as if you had delivered her in person.’
‘For them to believe that, the car has to be shot up in some way.’
‘No, you abandoned it. The one you’re driving is stolen.’
‘What am I trying to achieve?’ she asked.
Clive didn’t blink. ‘Griffin has given us the slip. We don’t know where he is. He’s definitely not down at the marina. I want to see if Sara McLeod will take you to him.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘He went back to his apartment building at Bondi Junction last night after he left your partner’s book launch. He never arrived at his unit in that building. Sometime since then he left without us seeing him. We think he must have a second unit in the building under another name and also had another car ready to go. He was probably driven out by someone else.’
‘Well, he’s made fools of us, hasn’t he?’
‘Give me your opinion. Does he know this is a sting?’
‘Whatever he thinks, he’s playing his own game,’ she replied. ‘And whatever we’re doing, it’s not relevant to him. We’re just something he has to deal with. Probably keeping his activities very secret is something he does regardless of whether he thinks he’s being watched or not.’
‘We have to take the initiative. Take the car, keep the rendezvous. You’re wearing your wire. It has a GPS in it. Whatever happens, we can track you. Don’t let him take your firearm.’
‘You want me to go now?’
‘Yes. We’ll be listening to everything you say but I want you to maintain the blackout. But if at any time you want to pull out, say “Time to go” and we’ll be there.’
Grace finished her coffee. ‘I’d better go then. But there’s one thing I want you to do for me. Ring Harrigan and tell him I’m okay, and ask him to tell Ellie I’ll be home soon.’
‘I’ll do that,’ he replied. ‘Here’s Narelle’s ID. Don’t worry. We’re with you every step of the way.’
She prepared by scrubbing off her make-up and slicking back her hair as if she’d washed her face recently. Then she drove away along the Pacific Highway in the growing dusk, making the descent to the river. She had thought the operation would be over by now but it felt like it was just starting. She wanted to ring Harrigan herself and talk to him, wanted to hear his voice, wanted to know how Ellie was. At least they were home, safe.
21
The route to Turramurra on Sydney’s upper north shore took Harrigan to another boundary of the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park, to the west of Duffys Forest. He drove north along Bobbin Head Road into the suburb, a landscape of private hospitals and private schools. The streets were lined with well-grown trees giving shelter to expensive houses on large blocks. There was very little traffic; no one was behind him. The dwelling he was looking for was on the eastern side of Bobbin Head Road, in a cul-de-sac on the edge of the national park with a view over an expanse of bushland. There was no
Harrigan reached for his backpack with its selection of tools and got out of his car. There was a high cyclone-wire fence identical to the one surrounding the Duffys Forest house. Again, trees and shrubs crowded against the fence and there was a Colorbond gate across the driveway, also locked. Harrigan looked through a gap between the fence and the gate, down the driveway to a house in the style of a suburban Spanish hacienda. The garden appeared overgrown and the property was enclosed by both the street trees and those growing on the block. Nearby was a mailbox combined with a doctor’s lantern, the red glass now largely broken. Despite this being a suburban street, there was a sense of isolation about the place. There was silence except for the sound of bird calls and the quiet hum of the day’s heat.
As far as he could tell, the fence surrounded the whole block. He was wondering where to start when a man in his sixties appeared in the opposite driveway and walked quickly across the road towards him.
