Fatal Impact (28 page)

Oliver typed something into his laptop and then turned his screen towards Anya again. ‘Your medical student’s right.
I did a search and it seems that PT’s affiliate companies make
a habit of suing anyone found to have PT’s patented seeds growing on their property. It’s their modus operandi. They’ve been getting away with it for years.’

Alison Blainey had tested for the GM seeds, with the promise of saving Len if his crop had been contaminated. She knew precisely what would happen when she made the information public.

POWER had organised the protest and taken responsibility for cutting down the crop, but denied setting the fire.

Alison Blainey was using Len and POWER for her own reasons. Anya just had to work out why.

49

A
t ten o’clock, Oliver went outside for the second time and was back within minutes.

‘Two guys are using a chainsaw but said it’ll take hours to clear the road. Are you sure it’s the only way out?’

Anya hated being cooped up, but knew that driving in the storm would be more dangerous. If one tree was down, chances were that others had fallen as well. The wind howled outside the cabin as rain pelted the tin roof. A draught gusted beneath the front door, sending shivers up Anya’s legs. As a temporary measure, she shoved rolled-up newspaper into the gap between the door and the floor.

Oliver’s phone rang. He checked the screen before answering. ‘Great .
. .’
He located the pad and pen and scribbled down some figures and a page of notes. Afterwards, he thanked the caller and put the phone down on the table. ‘Looks like our thug for hire came into a fair bit of money recently. Over four days, Leske’s girlfriend deposited sixteen lots of three thousand dollars into their account. Not bad for a couple who are unemployed.’

‘Let me guess,’ Anya said. ‘She said she won it at the casino.’

Casinos were notorious for money laundering. Punters walked in unchecked with wads of cash. All they had to do was put money into poker machines, then cancel the transaction. The machine printed out a note to cash that didn’t differentiate between a refund and a win.

‘I’ve never won a cent at one, but guys like Mincer and his partner manage to consistently rake it in on slot machines. Uncanny, isn’t it. If we get tapes from Launceston and Hobart casinos, we may find she won it in miracle time.’

Oliver referred to his notes. ‘The money was deposited at different branches, in cash. Amounts less than $10,000 don’t normally arouse suspicion. That same month he asked the prison to change his home address to a property not far from PT headquarters.’

Anya straightened. ‘Craig Dengate was the only real estate agent at Cressy. Len’s brother may have rented it to the girlfriend.’

‘No renting. He paid a deposit with a $50,000 bank cheque from his account. Total sale price was $200,000.’

Leske hadn’t struck Anya as the farming type, let alone an environmentalist keen to protest. ‘Maybe having a child had made him want to reform. The land was his way out. He saved all the proceeds of crime.’ Anya was reaching for an explanation but could no way see how a property would sell for as little as $200,000.

Oliver paced the small living area, hands on hips. ‘You’ll never believe it. Told his parole officer he won the money. Then the day he gets out, he sells the property. For a sweet two million dollars.’

Anya frowned. Mincer’s actions didn’t make sense. His presence at the PT protest just before the fire had bothered her. It had frightened her that the man had no intention of being taken in by Hammond. Mincer chose a quick death rather than capture by trying to set her on fire with him after the shooting. ‘He had to have been into something big, like drugs, guns, murder. For him, arrest or even being recognised wasn’t an option, even if he had weeks or months to live with his cancer.’ She tapped the table. ‘What if he was paid to stir up trouble at the protest and start the fire that night?’

The detective reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file. ‘PT wants the protesters questioned about the fire. At the very least, they want them charged with trespass.’ A series of ten-by-six-inch photographs was attached with a paper clip. ‘Journalists took them. McGinley and his colleagues are trying to identify the alleged
insurgents
from police records.’

‘You’d think he would have at least hidden his face better. Here, he’s staring straight at the camera.’ It was as if he challenged the photographer to click.

‘Can you honestly see this guy working for environmentalists then bashing Alison Blainey?’

Anya couldn’t. ‘More likely he bought the Cressy place to set up a business away from prying eyes. It would be perfect for something like a meth lab.’

He chewed on another biscuit. ‘If you’re setting up a drug supply network, you’d want to keep a low profile in the area. Guys like this don’t normally dirty their own nests.’

Anya thought about his eyes almost daring the camera to click. ‘Protest groups are definitely about publicity. Endangering lives other than their own only loses them supporters and brings a barrage of criticism.’

‘Isn’t all publicity supposed to be good?’ he asked. ‘They certainly got it. Tasmania and the troubles at PT scored a feature on CNN news after that.’

Anya couldn’t help wondering. ‘What if Len Dengate was the real target that night? Mincer could have killed Len and started the fire to cover his tracks and divert attention. Almost worked, the way McGinley carried on.’

‘Even if Mincer pulled the trigger that night, we’d need to know who he was working for.’

Anya’s head ached. They were going around in circles. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to destroy Reuben Millard. She kneaded her temples. Reuben had reacted when they’d mentioned Leske’s name.

‘You should get some rest,’ the detective suggested. ‘I’ll let you know when the road clears.’

She had no energy left to argue. Anya decided to lie down in the first bedroom. She closed the door.

She was woken from a deep sleep by knocking. ‘Anya, the road’s clear. Thought you’d want to get back.’

The temperature in the room had plummeted without the heat from the stove. Her arm muscles quivered as she lifted off the woollen blanket and padded out to the living room.

Oliver sat hunched over his computer, looking as tired as Anya felt. He had notes spread across the table and a flushed face. She stood in front of the stove, drawing all the heat possible into her body. ‘What time is it?’

‘Two in the morning.’ He arched his back and stretched his hands behind his head. ‘Mind you, I think I’ve just got more work done in these few hours than I’d get through in a week at the office. Something about the air.’

‘Or the peace and quiet,’ she offered. ‘It’s why my father loves this place so much.’ She filled the now empty kettle.
A shot of caffeine would help her drive back. ‘Any progress?’

‘Not sure. As far as I can tell, everyone’s connected.’

‘Welcome to Tasmania,’ she quipped.

‘I’m not talking blood relations. I mean Christian Moss, the Minister for Everything, seems to be friendly with just about every business interest in the state. The state government has forged a special relationship with China, it seems. Christian is quite the traveller. From what’s been in the papers, he’s managed at least eight trips to Guangzhou, aka Canton, and all in the past two years. Guess where the global headquarters of Clarkson Evergreen is located? He keeps company with some pretty prominent Chinese politicians.’

He packed up his computer and notes. ‘On the way back, we can check out the property Mincer bought.’

Anya wondered if he was in command of his senses. ‘You’re seriously suggesting we just pop in on a possible meth operation?’

‘It’s the neighbourly thing to do.’ He grinned. ‘We can check out the local real estate agent while we’re there.’

Anya scraped her hair back into a bun with her fingers. ‘You want to visit Craig Dengate as well. At this hour?’

‘I hear country folk are early risers. May even catch one off guard.’

50

T
hey drove on in the dark, Oliver using his smart phone as a GPS to guide them to the address of the property Mincer Leske had purchased. There was still a sold sign out the front. It described one hundred and twenty hectares of fertile land, the equivalent of more than five hundred blocks of land where Anya lived in Sydney.

The road was unlit and cloud cover made it darker than usual.

The headlights lit the sign. It described ‘the potential for mixed farming with a proven history of high-yielding crops’.

‘They mention poppies in the list of crops. Maybe Mincer was moving into the pharmaceutical trade,’ Oliver suggested.

Anya got out of the car. The air was too cold and damp to stand out in comfortably. With the engine off, the place was eerily quiet.

Oliver climbed out of the passenger side, and accessed the torch app on his phone. He walked to the milk can mounted on a metal pipe that served as a letterbox and lifted the back. He reached in with one hand, then ripped his hand out. Anya rushed forward and saw an oversized spider scurry away. Out here, it could have been venomous.

‘Did it bite you?’

He vigorously shook his hand before letting her see. ‘I hate creepy-crawlies.’

‘No puncture marks. You’re fine.’ Oliver may have been bright and intuitive, but he hadn’t learnt not to stick his hand in a dimly lit hole without checking for hidden dangers. ‘You always have to check your shoes before putting them on too.’

Anya hoped this was the end of his curiosity.

‘Nothing here. No letters, flyers.’

She wondered what he had expected to find. She borrowed the phone and read the for sale sign more closely. It was a three-bedroom home with a bathroom. Soils ranged from red/brown loams to heavy black alluvial soils. Stock water was pumped to troughs from dam storage. The realtor had made a point of mentioning every potential feature. It must have had something horribly wrong with it to be sold for $200,000, even with the threat of fracking taking place within its boundaries.

‘Good news,’ Anya quoted. ‘The property is not burdened with imbalanced capital improvements.’

‘Sounds like my place. Only our agent referred to it as a renovator’s dream.’

Anya wondered why anyone with a young child would buy this place. For the money, Mincer could have bought something a lot smaller and still made a living off the land if that’s what he had intended.

‘Come on.’ Oliver was first back in the car.

‘To Craig’s place?’ She clipped on her seatbelt.

‘We should let him have a bit more sleep. Let’s have a quick look around here. Like I said, if there’s anyone there, we’ll hightail it out.’

Anya didn’t like where this could be headed.

‘Mincer’s dead. We know that. Partner’s not here. Remember, his death still hasn’t been made public. Police have already searched the place for her and you assume they would have found a meth lab if there was one here. Once word gets out about Mincer’s death, this place will be buzzing with reporters.’

She started the engine. ‘Then what do you expect to find?’

‘Something. Anything that gives us a clue as to what he was up to.’

Anya drove slowly along the road to the house, manoeuvring over potholes and divots.

Oliver was right. The place looked abandoned. Even the shed was missing a side.

A rusted shell of a tractor, minus wheels, was dumped to
the side of the house. It couldn’t have looked less inviting
to potential buyers.

‘Looks like it’s been abandoned for years,’ she thought aloud.

‘Anyone who bought it needed capital to get it up to liveable standard.’ Oliver had the phone torch on again and was out, up the steps to the porch before she could stop him. ‘Look out, there’s an old rake. Don’t tread on it,’ he warned, directing the light at it.

‘Five minutes. That’s it,’ she said, avoiding the rake. ‘And first sight of anyone .
. .’

Oliver peeked in the windows. ‘Empty apart from mess.’

He pushed against the front door and it gave way. ‘See, it was open, we won’t have broken in.’

‘Just illegally entering, trespassing,’ Anya said, blowing into her icy hands. She was still outside. ‘This is crazy.’

‘Promise, we’ll be quick.’ The detective took a step and his foot disappeared through the board. He managed to keep his balance, and lift his leg out. Luckily, the suit trousers and his calf were undamaged.

Stepping back outside, Oliver shone the light on the splintered and crumbling wood.

‘Mincer had to have wanted the land as an investment. This place is riddled with vermin. The house has got to be uninhabitable.’ A loud bang made Anya jump. The door had slammed shut.

A gust of wind caught her hair and the porch rattled.

As they turned away from the house, they were met with a growl. Anya was no dog expert, but something like a pit bull terrier stood between them and the car, poised to attack. She dared not move or speak. Her heart instantly sped up. This was a vicious animal and judging by its bony frame, it hadn’t been fed recently.

‘Down,’ Oliver tried in a non-threatening but firm voice.

From what she could see, the bone-crunching animal didn’t have a collar on. It bared its fangs that caught the moonlight, and barked at them. And again.

Anya looked sideways for something to defend them with. A small broken piece of wood on the ground was out of reach and probably wouldn’t keep the dog at bay anyway. Their only hope was to get inside, with it on the outside, but it was too close for them to make it in time. Anya stayed frozen.

Oliver gently slipped his arm out of his jacket as the dog barked again before growling. ‘If it attacks, it should come for me.’ He slid the other arm out with minimal movement and wrapped the jacket loosely around his left arm. The act seemed to inflame the dog further.

‘I don’t like this,’ Oliver quietly shared her sentiments.

That was enough to provoke the dog. It shot forward and locked on to Oliver’s forearm. Anya leapt over the railing onto the ground and grabbed the old rake – just as a shot rang out. Deafened, she spun around, rake in her hands.

The detective stood over the dog on the porch, suit jacket still in its mouth.

Oliver’s gun was ready to shoot again.

She carefully approached. The dog was dead. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a gun?’ she demanded.

‘Didn’t want to scare you,’ he managed.