Color Of Blood (30 page)

“G’day, Jude.”

She closed the door, and he watched her, puzzled.

She started on her well-rehearsed narrative, leaving out the role of her Yank friend and his CIA intelligence photo files and phone number hacking. She took off her right shoe at one point and showed him her scabbed toe.

“Bloody hell!” he said.

Judy defended her delay in reporting her abduction because she was worried about Simon. She believed Voorster indeed had a snitch inside the AFP, but she eventually deduced it was Phillip from something he had said to her in passing. Miller frowned at Phillip’s name, his face pinching on the left side in confusion and caution.

“Phillip? Your Phillip?”

“Yes, and he’s not
my
Phillip.”

She explained how she had caught a glimpse of a blond man with a bolt cutter in his hands during the kidnapping. She made up a story of seeing him later by accident in a restaurant and following him.

After forty-five minutes of give-and-take, Miller finally said, “Jude, surely you know that what you’ve said is probably not enough for us to put out a warrant on this Voorster fellow. You know that, right?”

“I think I know what might settle this once and for all.”

“What might that be?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“I think I have this man Voorster’s mobile number, and I have Phillip’s two mobile numbers. You could get authorization to monitor all three numbers. Surely you can pull that off. The rest will be easy.”

“How did you get Voorster’s mobile number?” Miller asked.

“I was lucky,” she said.

“How were you lucky?”

“If I tell you, I’ll have to shoot you,” she said.

“Very funny. Jude, how did you get it?”

“You don’t need me to give you the number. You can get it through official channels right now.”

“Mmm. That’s true.”

“But you have to move fast. We need to make sure we finish this last piece while Voorster is here. He could leave the country at any moment.”

“Jude, you know how these warrants work; we can’t get authorization that quickly.”

“You’re going to have to. If you don’t, I’ll take matters into my own hands. They’re not going to touch my son.”

“Now wait a minute, Jude—”

“I don’t give a damn about how much trouble it takes; we have to act now. I’m not joking.”

“Calm yourself down, Jude.”

“Not until this thing is over. I’m at the end of my tether, and no one is going to harm my son. Phillip has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

***

The walk started out without a goal; Dennis was simply bored and decided to get out of the hotel. He had a headache after studying his large wall map and sticky notes.

As he walked he grew unaccountably buoyed by the fresh air and medicinal smell of the eucalyptus trees. The sky was bluer in Perth, the air cleaner, and even the birds were colorful. Small birds sporting green backs and indigo-blue heads screeched at each other in the trees overhead. Larger pink birds with spikey, Mohawk-like tufts on their heads swung lazily from tree to tree behind him.

After nearly ninety minutes, he came upon an overlook with a view of a bridge, a huge body of water, and the Perth skyline in the distance to his left.

He rested on a stone bench and took in the scenery. The air was very warm, and he realized that he might be getting sunburned. He also realized that he did not have the energy to walk all the way back to his hotel and was about to call directory assistance for a Perth cab company when his phone rang.

“Thank you,” Judy said.

“Pardon?”

“Thank you.”

“Thank me for what?”

“Don’t be daft. You know what I mean. Thank you.”

“OK. You’re welcome.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Hey, wait. When can I see you?”

“Not now, Dennis. Later. I’ll call you. I have to go now.”

Dennis sighed and leaned back on the bench. A small tour bus pulled up, and a group of Chinese tourists got out and milled around the overlook taking pictures.

His phone rang again.

“What time is it over there?” Massey asked.

“About eleven a.m.,” Dennis said.

“Well, it’s late here,” Massey said, “and I was just notified that Garder has been apprehended. He’s in our custody now.”

“Where did they find him?” Dennis asked.

“Somewhere in France: a chateau or something. Who cares? Thing is they got him, so you can get your ass back stateside. Appreciate the effort. When you get back, write up a summary and report back to your old pal, Marty. You’ve been reassigned to the IG’s office again.”

“All right,” Dennis said. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to take a little time off here. I haven’t seen a kangaroo yet.”

“Don’t be silly. Go to a zoo.”

“I want to see a wild one.”

“Jesus, you’re a pain. Check with Marty. That’s his call, but I’m sure he won’t be too happy about a delay.”

“I’ll check it out with him,” Dennis said.

***

At 4:32 p.m. the following day, Judy walked out of the elevator on the eleventh floor of the new office tower on St. George’s Terrace and hurried down the hallway. She opened the door and saw the look of surprise on Louise’s face. Judy had always liked Louise, Phillip’s matronly secretary of many years, but after Phillip filed for divorce, Judy was aware that Louise knew all along about his infidelities and had smiled her way through her relationship with Judy.

“Hello, Louise,” Judy said. “Is Phillip in?”

“Oh, hello, Judy; this is a surprise. Um, I think Phillip has appointments booked into the evening. Can I tell him you were here?”

Without missing a beat, Judy walked over to Phillip’s door and opened it.

“Judy!” Louise said sharply. “Please.”

Phillip was sitting at his desk with his back to the door. His left leg rested on the corner of his massive mahogany desk; the office phone was wedged between his left ear and his shoulder.

He turned when he heard the ruckus behind him.

“Judy!” he said.

Speaking into the phone, he said, “I’ll have to call you back. Just give me ten minutes or so. Promise. Ta.”

“She just walked in, Phillip,” Louise said. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries.” Phillip smiled broadly. “You can shut the door, Louise. Thank you.”

Phillip walked over and brushed cheeks with Judy.

“You look great,” he said, “really great. How are you? Please sit down.”

They sat on a light-brown leather couch, and Judy tried to look relaxed. Seeing Phillip this close again was unsettling. He was an extraordinarily handsome man with thick, black, wavy hair and a square jaw set off by two pale-green eyes. He wore a perpetual tan: the product of a chemical spray and not the harsh sun of the Southern Hemisphere. He smiled at her in that radiant way of his, flashing the row of perfect white teeth that glimmered like a lighthouse beacon.

“What brings you here?” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“Phillip, please listen to me carefully. I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen closely.”

He gave her a bewildered, patronizing smile. “Are you all right, Judy?”

“I know about your relationship with this man Voorster. I know it was you who suggested that he use me to spy on the AFP here in WA.”

“Who the hell is Voorster?” Phillip said. “What are you—”

“You’re not listening, Phillip. Not that you ever did, but you should right now. I know you were there the night they picked me up. I saw you,” she lied. “I heard you yell ‘No’ when he snipped off the end of my bloody toe! I know you were part of this, Phillip. I don’t know why, but it’s not my business. I just need you to tell them to stop, or I’ll go to Miller and this whole sick, pathetic game will be over in a flash. And I don’t care if Simon’s father goes to prison, as long as Simon’s safe. So get him to call it off—now. Save us the humiliation this will cause our family.” She stood up. “I’ll wait to hear from you. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow morning, it’s all over.”

“Judy!” Phillip said, reaching and grabbing her wrist. “Sit down. I think the divorce was just too much for you. I feel terrible. I had no idea this would happen to you.”

She pried his fingers from her wrist, turned, and walked out of the office.

By the time she reached the AFP office, she could hear laughter in the AFP’s large meeting room. Miller and five assorted senior officials from WA Pol and the ACC were cheering.

“He called Voorster right after you left!” Miller said. “We couldn’t have scripted it any better. Phillip was beside himself, and Voorster kept telling him to calm down! ‘How did she find out?’ Voorster kept repeating. ‘I don’t know,’ Phillip wailed. It was perfect, Jude.”

“Where are they now?”

“We have Phillip in custody,” another AFP official said, “but Voorster is in hiding. We haven’t got him yet.”

“What?” she snapped. “You had a head start on this. I don’t want this man running around WA. He’s a vengeful bastard. That was the plan we mapped out. You knew where he was staying, for God’s sake!”

“We’ll get Voorster,” Miller said. “My guess he’s hiding inside a closet in that swank home somewhere. We’ll find him. Don’t worry, Jude.”

“But I do worry.”

***

Phillip’s arrest and the search for Voorster dominated West Australian media for several days, and Dennis marveled at how American the coverage appeared: there were breathless live TV reports from outside Fremantle Jail, where Phillip was being held. Reporters swarmed the WA AFP office and interviewed Miller and several senior ACC officials in Canberra.

Dennis noted that Judy was never interviewed, nor quoted in any media. Was it her choice to avoid the media? Or was she being trumped by attention-grabbing senior officials?

Judy did not return several voicemails he left her, and for all intents and purposes, she had disappeared from his life.

He was surprised and disappointed.

And lonely.

Dennis was not used to being lonely: bored perhaps, and even depressed, but not lonely. Lonely meant you missed being with someone you cared for. It meant you wished you could share something with another valued person. Even on the numerous lengthy trips he had taken for the Agency, he had not been lonely, just bored.

But his wife Martha had been lonely.

And now Dennis was lonely.

What a strange, unpleasant feeling,
he thought.

***

“You’re taking time off?” Marty had yelled. “Time fucking off? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, just a few days,” Dennis said.

“That’s not acceptable, and you know that. I’m short-staffed, and we’re fighting two wars, in case you stopped paying attention to the world around you. Five marines were killed by improvised explosive devices last week in Baghdad, and a chopper full of Rangers was shot down in Afghanistan. The IG is getting peppered with requests from Congress to investigate this project and that goddamn project. You’ve been assigned back to the IG’s office, so get your ass here now. Is that clear?”

“OK, but it will take me a few days.”

“You could be back here in twenty-four hours. What’s this ‘few days’ crap? And what the hell are you doing over there, anyway? Christ, I thought Massey told you we’ve got Garder.”

“I’m just trying to recharge my batteries.”

“You were cleared to return to work, and I’m stating—I’m ordering you—to get back to the office within two days.”

“Five days,” Dennis said.

“Two days,” Marty yelled.

“Five days,” Dennis said. “Please?”

“Christ! Three days,” Marty said. “I’m putting it in your file right now. Thirty-six hours from right now you should be sitting in your office down the hall. Is that clear?”

“Sure.”

“I’d like you to say ‘yes.’”

“Sure. Yes.”

***

The car was a Toyota LandCruiser equipped with a large metal grille attached to the front. The rental agent called it a “roo bar,” and insisted Dennis rent it if he was going to drive deep into the interior of WA.

“You hit a big red doing one hundred twenty kilometers per hour at night without protection, and you’ll kill the roo, the car, and yourself.”

Dennis gave the rental agent a credit card with the name Dennis Smith embossed on it.

The supplies involved several large water containers, a five-gallon tank of petrol, a survival kit that he prayed he would never open, and some snack food. Dennis had thought of camping out to keep his credit card out of circulation but read too many stories of missing tourists, their bodies found months later, desiccated and picked over by dingoes. Besides, he hadn’t camped out since he was a Boy Scout.

His big problem for this trip was not when, or how, but where?

And of course, why?

He could hear Dr. Forrester’s voice and her insistent tone: “Think, Dennis. Why are you doing that? What are you trying to prove? That you’re not a good person? That you deserve to be punished? You don’t deserve this, so stop putting yourself in circumstances where you are certain to receive punishment.”

Dennis had thought a lot about it and had come to the conclusion that it had nothing to do with punishment or self-loathing.

***

He was not easily startled, but he flinched when he heard a voice from several feet behind him as he closed the trunk of the vehicle. He half-expected Massey to have ordered an intervention team to force him back to the States.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Oh, hi, Judy.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting ready for a trip.”

“A trip where?”

“Up north.”

“Up north where?”

He squinted at her in the sunlight.

“Just up north.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls,” she said. “It’s been chaotic. And with Simon back in school, I had to talk with him and the headmaster. Exhausting. He needs a lot of support at school right now.”

“How’s Simon doing?”

“All right, I suppose. Kind of a shock to see your father on the telly being arrested.”

They grew silent.

“Can we talk?” she said. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Sure,” he said.

They made small talk as they entered the hotel and found the coffee shop. He carried the two flat whites to the table and sat down. Judy kept shifting in her seat. Dennis tried to concentrate on his coffee and avoid looking at her face. He had kissed her mouth many times during their nights together, and the memory both excited and hurt him, now that she was calling it off.