Dead heat, p.18
Dead Heat, page 18
A ball of rage lodged itself beneath her breastbone and she felt an urge to scream. One day, she thought, I’ll get the bastard. No matter what it takes.
*
Inside the office, Evie was eating her way through a packet of marshmallows and reading a newspaper, fleshy bare feet propped on a box of paper towels.
‘You all right?’ Evie asked. ‘You look a bit peaky.’
‘Have you seen a black Merc around this morning?’
‘Nope. Friends of yours?’
‘No.’ Georgia ran a hand over her cropped hair. ‘Just curious, that’s all.’
‘Only thing of interest in my week was that copper Sergeant Carter turning up.’ Evie gave her a keen look. ‘He dropped off that mobile for you. Expensive prezzy, all up. You fancy him, then? He’s a bit of all right, wouldn’t blame you if you did.’
Georgia decided not to go along the matchmaking route and said, ‘Evie, do you know the story about Daniel Carter and Amy Robins?’
‘Sure, everyone knows that one.’
‘Not me.’
‘Oh, right then.’ She popped two marshmallows in her mouth and spoke as she ate. ‘Your mate Carter brought Robins down. Oh, couple of years back now. She was part of some violent triad gang in Brizzy and not over-enamoured with being caught. She was facing more than fifteen years behind bars, leaving two kids behind . . . Rumour has it she swore she’d get him back for it, take his little girl and make her suffer . . . Tammy, isn’t it?’
‘Tabby.’
‘Yeah, right. Well, Robins knew where Daniel lived, where Tabby went to nursery school . . . She was going to get a mate to pick up the little girl and hold her till she got out on bail, but when Carter went and picked Robins up from jail to take her to court, funny thing, but Robins made a break for it and got shot in the head for her trouble.’
Disbelieving, Georgia said, ‘Daniel killed her? An unarmed woman?’
‘Officially she grabbed the other sergeant’s gun. Riggs, I think it was, but unofficially, well, you’ve heard the story.’
‘Good grief.’ Her voice was slightly strangled.
It’s a real eye-opener, Lee had said, and he was right. She could understand Daniel’s terror for his daughter but even so . . . Threaten anyone this man loved and you certainly paid for it.
*
After a quick and deliciously cold shower, Georgia jumped into Evie’s Suzuki and three hours later was on a dusty bare outback road and listening to Crowded House fade in and out on the car radio. Hot air was blasting through the open windows and the freedom of being able to see clearly without great hanks of hair stinging her eyes was a revelation, as was the breeze against her neck. She would, she decided, keep her hair cropped short for a while yet; it was much cooler.
She felt much more positive, more confident than before, and knew it was because Lee was going to help her find her mother. Although on one level, she found the idea of him as her own private hawk disturbing, she was also oddly comforted by his impassive pledge to protect her. She didn’t suppose she could want for a better qualified guardian, a man who killed others with no seeming regret.
A signpost pecked with bullet holes flashed past and she hurriedly stuck her foot on the brakes and came to a sliding halt. Reversing through the cloud of dust settling behind her, she saw an ill-kempt single bitumen road to the right, and the signpost opposite read ‘est ood’.
Assuming it meant Restwood, she swung right and drove down the narrow road, passing the odd water tower, a couple of rotting homesteads and a handful of bedraggled wallabies gorging on the sudden feast the storms had brought. Clumps of vivid green grass and wild flowers had sprung up after the rain but she knew that in a couple of days they would have withered and died, dissolving into the baking dust.
She’d driven well over 200 Ks inland from Nulgarra, through the rainforested hills before dropping down into the red of the outback, when the Restwood Detention Camp loomed into view. An ugly sore of tin and fibro huts surrounded by tall metal fences, it was topped with rolls of razor wire and there were watchtowers on every corner. The sun was blazing between bunches of angry grey clouds and the air was hot and moist and pulsing with the sound of insects.
Remote, secluded, and far from prying eyes, the detention camp was set in a rain-soaked, dirt-dotted area with scraggly trees as far as you could see. The bleak vista would, Georgia thought grimly, give the inmates depression as well as deter escapists. Without a compass or GPS to hand, who’d want to break out to try their luck in this baking wasteland?
An armed guard in uniform slouched against a gate, smoking a cigarette. The huts were ranked in line, like an army camp, and their windows were thick with grime. As she approached, the guard dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his boot.
Georgia wound down her window and the guard bent to give her the once-over. ‘You’re late,’ he said reprovingly. ‘We expected you half an hour ago.’
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Any ID?’
She pulled her Visa card from her bag. ‘It’s all I’ve got, I’m sorry.’
‘Can’t let you in on that.’
‘But you were told I’d be coming!’
He didn’t look as if he cared, just shrugged carelessly. ‘No authority, no can help.’
Authority, authority . . . Georgia scrabbled in her handbag and pulled out her mobile. As she dialled Daniel’s number, a cloud swallowed the sun and a handful of raindrops splashed on to the Suzuki’s bonnet.
‘Carter,’ he barked.
‘It’s me, I’m—’
‘You know where Lee is?’ His voice was sharp, eager.
‘No, I’m at the gate. Can you talk to the guard? Confirm I’m legit?’
She passed the phone to the guard, who listened briefly as he looked at Georgia, nodding from time to time. ‘Yeah, yeah . . . Okay.’ He passed the phone back. ‘Park your vehicle there.’ He pointed at a handful of utes set on one side. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Twenty-five
It started to rain as another guard escorted Georgia around the periphery of the detention camp. She saw one of the white fibro huts was streaked with black and that its roof had a great gaping hole in its middle.
‘What happened there?’ she asked the guard.
‘Bunch of Afghanis burned it out.’ The guard hawked loudly and spat on the ground.
‘They burned their own hut?’
‘They do a lot more than that, believe me. If they’re not given their visas the second they bloody turn up on our doorstep, they go nuts. We’ve three on hunger strike at the moment, had two burn-outs and a suicide attempt. And what about that lot in South Australia? Sewed their bloody lips together in a hunger strike. Jesus. What the fuck did we do to deserve them?’
Georgia glanced past the guard at the burned-out building, and said nothing. She followed him through a small gate at the far end of the complex and into a small muddy area wired off from the remainder of the camp and its rows of huts with their filthy windows. All she could hear was the rattle of rain on tin roofs.
‘Where are the inmates?’ she asked.
‘Locked up.’
‘Is that usual? I mean it’s midday, why—’
‘Precaution.’
‘Because I’m here?’
The guard didn’t reply, simply unlocked the door to the nearest hut and said, ‘This here’s the visiting room.’
The visiting room had bare boards, a white plastic table and six chairs, four occupied by a Chinese man and woman, who were holding hands, a child of about six, and an ancient crone. Georgia hadn’t expected to meet a whole family and stared at them. They stared back, motionless.
‘I’ll sit here till you’re done,’ said the guard, grabbing a chair and taking it to the far end of the room, plonking it beneath a window dribbling with rain. There was a pile of old magazines and newspapers piled next to the door and he picked out a copy of Deals on Wheels and snapped it open.
Georgia ran a hand down her face. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’
‘You think I look like a waiter?’
Biting back a sharp retort, she walked towards the family. As she approached, the man leaned across and kissed the little girl’s hair, which made her giggle and him smile. Murmuring something to the woman, he rose and met her halfway, smiling warmly. His clothes were a size too big and stained with what could have been oil. He was older than her, she reckoned in his mid-thirties, and had a badly broken nose. His lips and face were covered with pale scars lying ridged and puckered on his skin like bacon rind. It looked as though someone had slammed a scalding-hot frying pan into his face.
‘Paul Zhong,’ he said, hand outstretched. ‘Nice to meet you, Georgia.’
Like his face, his hand was also badly scarred, and she gripped him cautiously, wary of hurting him, but he shook hands firmly, saying, ‘Doesn’t bother me any more, but thanks.’
Georgia felt a huge relief he spoke English and said so. He grinned, showing a full set of bright-white false teeth. ‘I lived in LA for a while.’ He cocked an eye at her bandaged finger and she told him she’d slammed it in a car door. Sucking in his breath, he said, ‘Must’ve hurt like hell.’
‘It certainly did.’
‘Come and meet my family.’ He ushered her across. ‘This is my wife, Julie.’
Julie half-rose from her chair to take Georgia’s hand. Her features were angular but delicate, and her luminous paper-white skin brought out the dark rings around her eyes. When she moved, her plait danced in the small of her back, like a narrow, glossy snake. ‘Hi,’ she said with a shy smile.
‘Hi,’ said Georgia.
Paul introduced his daughter, Vicki, who was six years old and obsessed with the colour pink. Julie’s mother, Fang Dongmei, a bent twisted old woman with a sour expression was, on the other hand, clearly obsessed with the colour black. She was also, for some reason, fascinated by Georgia. She spat a torrent of Cantonese at Julie while gesturing furiously at Georgia as though Georgia had done something terribly wrong.
‘What’s she saying?’ Georgia asked.
Julie flushed. ‘Nothing.’
‘No, please. I’d like to know.’
Julie shook her head, deeply embarrassed, and Paul spoke up. ‘She’s worried about your wedding ring. With your bandage, it’s hidden. She wants to know where you’ve put it, that’s all.’
‘Oh. Well, tell her I’m not married. I have no ring.’
Paul turned to Fang Dongmei and said something fast, shook his head. The old crone looked briefly alarmed then mumbled to herself, which made Paul laugh.
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that we have a different idea of marital status in China. If you’re not married by twenty-one, you’re an old maid, practically a social outcast.’
‘Tell her I like being single.’
Paul reported back and Fang Dongmei did some wild eye-rolling and smacking of her long, giraffe-like lips. Chuckling to himself, Paul pulled a chair out for Georgia and gestured she sit.
‘How long have you been here?’ she asked.
He looked puzzled at her question, but said, ‘Two years.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘Oh, the usual way. Paid sixty thousand bucks for a ride with another thirty desperate souls in a cramped, tiny boat we all thought might sink at any moment.’ He raised his eyebrows, tightening the scars on his forehead so they glowed white. ‘I take it you’re from the immigration department?’
‘No. Sorry.’
He frowned. ‘You’re not here about my appeal?’
‘No.’
‘Jesus.’ He slumped back in his chair. His family were watching him closely and despite his holding up a reassuring hand to them it didn’t lessen the worry on their faces. ‘I was hoping . . .’ His face spasmed and to her horror, she thought he was going to weep.
‘I’m sorry,’ Paul said, making an obvious effort to regain control. ‘I’m just a little . . . disappointed.’
Vicki suddenly started chattering in Cantonese and Fang Dongmei heaved the girl on to her lap and murmured into her ear. Vicki nodded, and the crone let down her bun of thick grey hair and let the girl begin to plait it.
‘So,’ said Paul, rubbing the white plastic table top with his thumb, ‘why are you here?’
‘I want to know how you know Suzie Wilson. And Lee Denham.’
‘What are you, some kind of cop?’
‘No. Just someone in trouble, needing answers.’
Silence.
‘I need your help, please.’
He sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you can give us anything in return? Like get us out of here?’
Georgia wasn’t sure what to say and Paul seemed to realise it because he added drily, ‘Or perhaps some fresh-ground coffee? Haven’t had a decent coffee for as long as I can remember. Columbian roast would be nice.’
Georgia looked at Julie, the way Vicki was clumsily plaiting Fang Dongmei’s hair, and said, ‘I could try to sponsor you.’
He smiled. ‘That’s kind of you, but it’ll be too late.’
‘What do you mean, too late?’
Glancing at Vicki, he said calmly, ‘Not now. Later. When I see you out.’
‘Okay.’
Small silence. All she could hear was the rain pattering on the roof, and smell the dead mustiness of an unused room.
‘If I answer your questions,’ he said, ‘will you swear to help my family any way you can?’
‘I don’t understand – I thought you said it was too late.’
Another glance at Vicki, but she was absorbed in trying to untangle several strands of Fang Dongmei’s hair, the tip of her tongue protruding between her lips.
‘Too late for me.’ His voice was low. ‘Not for them.’
With a vision of her mother sitting cross-legged on their cabin verandah, her Indian bangles tinkling as she shuffled a pack of Tarot cards, Georgia pressed the palm of her right hand against her chest. ‘I swear.’
Paul copied her gesture, then nodded. ‘Fire away then.’
‘How do you know Suzie?’
‘Through her brother, Mingjun. Jon Ming over here. Jon and I studied medicine together at uni. In Wuhan, China. He went on to become a research scientist. One of the best.’
‘Where can I find Jon?’
‘In Brisbane.’
‘Talla-something, isn’t it?’
‘Tallagandra. Nice place, from the sound of it. He writes most weeks.’
‘What’s his address?’
‘I’ve only a post office box. That any good?’
It was better than nothing and, reaching into her handbag, she found a pen and scribbled it on the back of her receipt from Price’s.
‘No phone number?’
He shook his head.
‘Why hasn’t Jon sponsored you?’
‘You’ll have to ask him that. Sorry.’
‘What does Jon do in Brisbane?’
‘He runs a laboratory with Suzie. Quantum Research. They’re on to something exciting, but I don’t know exactly what. All I know is that they’ve presented their latest findings to the Australian Medical Authority and are waiting to hear the results.’
A leap of excitement. He was talking about the antibiotic. Just as Dutch had said. And Paul didn’t know Suzie was dead. Georgia wasn’t sure if she wanted to break the news. It was bad enough coming here unable to help them, without chucking that in their faces. She decided to press on.
‘How do you know Lee?’
‘Oh, he’s only the man who got us out of China and into this hellhole.’ He sighed. ‘Not that it was Lee’s fault we got caught. His arrangements were impeccable. He reckoned it was a set-up. That a cop on the payroll of the people-smugglers let our one little boat be captured while the big one, with over three hundred illegals, slipped past.’
He was talking about Spider, the dirty cop.
‘You’re in touch with Lee?’
‘He writes from time to time.’
‘He writes to you?’
‘When he has time. He’s a busy man, our friend Lee.’
Astounded, she managed to say, ‘Do you have his address?’
Paul grinned. ‘He doesn’t have an address. He’ll only be found if he wants to be.’
*
An hour later, Georgia had to make her voice loud over the sound of rain now pounding on the aluminium roof. ‘What forced you to leave your country?’
Paul said, ‘There was a warrant out for our arrest. We were to be publicly executed.’
‘Executed?’
‘It’s known as “killing the chicken to scare the monkey”. Public executions are common and keep everybody terrified of stepping out of line. The judges like it, they say it stops crime. Which it does, I suppose, in that the executed cannot commit another offence.’
She felt her jaw drop. ‘But why were you to be executed?’
‘For freedom,’ he said on a sigh. ‘Freedom of speech, freedom to practise what religion we choose, freedom from propaganda.’
Julie suddenly spoke up. ‘Freedom?’ she said tartly. ‘You call where we are now freedom?’
Paul winked at Georgia before groaning theatrically at his wife. ‘Just because we currently live in a garden shed with our daughter and your mother is no reason to start complaining.’
‘We used to have this great big apartment,’ said Julie. ‘With sofas and rugs and computers and every kitchen appliance you could imagine.’ She looked wistful. ‘We had a DVD player, two cars, and a swimming pool.’
Georgia asked Paul the question with raised eyebrows.
‘Julie and I were wanted by the PSB. The Public Security Bureau.’ He paused, adding, ‘Because we’re Falun Gong.’
At her frown, he said, ‘Falun Gong is a kind of Buddhism, Taoism, and qigong-style deep-breathing exercises. It promotes good living in a spiritual way. I used to advise my patients to take it up. When it got banned, I continued to prescribe it. Which got me into a whole lot of trouble.’
‘Why is it banned?’
Paul glanced over her shoulder and she turned to see the guard pulling a packet of Winston from his breast pocket, and lighting up.
