Wyatt - 04 - Cross Kill (10 page)

Oh, its quality all right. The
voice was hard and certain now.

Napper said, Your old man put you
up to this? Hes heard something?

This is nothing to do with him. You
keep him out of it.

Nappers face creased, knowing hed
found a lever. Just you and me and the gatepost, right, Eileen? When can you
come in?

Im not bloody coming in there.

Napper knew she wasnt. He wanted to
hear the strain in her voice, thats all. Could meet you somewhere, I suppose.
This afternoon?

Lounge bar of the Barleycorn, two oclock,
Eileen Rossiter said, and there was a click in his ear.

The Barleycorn was out on two
counts: one, simply because the woman hadnt bothered to check first if the
place and the time suited him; two, because he met one of his regular snouts in
the Barleycorn. Maybe He could groom Eileen Rossiter as a snout; if so, he
wouldnt want to meet her on the same patch of ground.

He left the station and got to the
Barleycorn forty minutes before Eileen Rossiter was due. He walked through the
place quickly, saw that she wasnt waiting for him, and went back to the car.
She arrived shortly before two. No one followed her in. Napper crossed the road
to a public phone and called the Barleycorn, asking for the lounge bar. I was
supposed to meet a friend there, Eileen Rossiter? Woman about fifty, short dark
hair?

Just come in. Want me to put her
on?

Could you do us a favour? Tell her
Ill meet her in the coffee shop across the road, but Ill be half an hour
late.

He went back to the car to wait,
checking the street automatically. Eileen came out a moment later and walked
across the road to the coffee shop. Napper, taking in her strong face, her
comfortable flesh, was betting that an afternoon coffee and Danish pastry were
more appealing to her than a drink in the Barleycorn. When she was inside the
shop he crossed the road to join her.

He found her peering at cakes and
pastries displayed in a glass cabinet. Sensing him, she straightened, looked
appraisingly at him. You were watching me.

Napper said nothing, hoping
stillness and silence would rattle her. Instead, she snorted. Well, youre a
bundle of laughs. Coffee? Something to eat? Without waiting, she said to the
woman behind the counter, Two cappuccinos, one apricot Danish, one cheese,
and led him to a corner table.

They were the only customers. Napper
could smell fresh coffee. He realised that he hadnt had lunch. Eileen Rossiter
smiled at him, patted a chair. It discomposed Napper. It meant Eileen felt sure
of her ground. For some reason then, he wondered what it would be like to touch
her. Sure, she was getting on a bit, but there was something about her body, a
kind of pneumatic appeal. To wipe the smile off her face, he said, Im not
promising anything.

Of course not.

Napper said nothing. The ball was in
her court. All he could do was see how she played it.

A deal, she said. Niall gets
bail, maybe a suspended sentence

No way.

Ill settle for bail. In return,
you get some interesting information.

What kind of information?

Deal, first.

I cant offer anything for your boy
until I know what this is all about. I want quality information, not the name
of some bloke whos been stealing hubcaps.

All right, Ill give you a name.
The Mesics.

Napper was irritated. He had no
illusions about himself. He was a plodding beat cop whod just scraped through
his exams to make sergeant, he was uniform, not one of the flash boys in CIB,
and hed barely heard of the Mesics. What have they got to do with me?

Someones going to do them over.

So?

So Eileen told him who was going to
do over the Mesics, and this time it was a name he did know well, the kind of
name that earned a commendation for the copper that put it behind bars.

* * * *

Seventeen

Stella
Mesic drove fast and well. Bax didnt touch her until she had wound her way
through the complacent streets to the freeway entrance. Traffic was slight. The
wind whispered over her car. Bax said softly, I want you to take off your
pants.

She laughed, a short, uncomfortable
bark, but what Bax had said was calculated to stir her blood and he saw her go
tense, then settle back and breathe deeply. After a moment she lifted her rump
and there was the unmistakeable scrape of cotton on her skin and the soft snap
of elastic. Neither of them said anything until a few kilometres had passed and
Bax had the taste of her flooding in his mouth. She trembled more than once. He
felt her fingers on his neck, tangled in his hair. The car was scarcely moving.
How did you know Id go for that? she said, pulling him upright.

I just knew.

Yeah, sure, she said. Its
probably a common fantasy.

No way. Its you and me, Stella.
Everything starts with us.

They no longer met at his place, he
couldnt chance the compound again, and she said motels were tacky, so shed
taken out a short lease on a flat in South Yarra. They could scarcely stand up
when they got out of the car, and in the flat they were at each other before
they reached the bed.

When they were resting Stella said, Lets
see what this has done for your face. She turned his chin right and left. She
frowned. Slightly more relaxed, maybe. She touched her fingers under each
eye. A bit less strained? Maybe.

Bax felt bands loosening inside him.
It only happened when he was with her. He began to feel slowed down, looser,
valued, inclined to lovers talk. He murmured some things against her neck. She
flexed sleepily. The slow, stretching quality of her movements reminded Bax of
a cat. She had rounded arms, swollen lips and legs the colour of honey, and it
all paced like a restless creature in his groin.

So whats Victor up to?

Not now.

Now, Stella.

She groaned and sat up. Hes still
arguing with us. Nothing gets resolved. He wants to go one way, we want to go
another. Same old story.

Bax turned his lean trunk around. He
stroked her stomach absently, then something about the conjunction of his
well-shaped hand and her gleaming flank caught his attention. They both watched
the hand, saw it flex, the fingerbones articulating with style and intent. Can
he carry it out, though, thats the question.

Stella arrested his hand with hers. You
know the old man was grooming him? I mean, not just sending him to the States
but paving the way so he could step into his shoes?

How does Leo feel about that?

Thats the whole point. Leo gets
some cash and a couple of flats from the estate, but Victor gets all the rest,
giving him all the power. As for me, Im just a woman, Leos wife, old Karl
didnt give two hoots about me. Called me a hooker once.

Bax rolled away and hoisted his rump
up the bed until he was looking down at her. You think Leo might fold, give in
to Victor?

Im sure of it. Hes always half
looked up to him, half resented him.

Well, youll just have to keep
working on him.

Ive been working on him ever since
we got married.
Before
we got married. He wouldve caved in to his
father if I hadnt kept pushing him. Often it works, but he also tends to go
with the flow. I cant be with him twenty-four hours a day. Victor thinks big,
and Leos listening to some of it

Bax turned the pillow onto its
narrow edge, rested it against the wall, sank his back into it. How big is
this big talk?

Stella curled two fingers together. He
claims hes like
that
with the casino people in Las Vegas. Says theyve
paid off bent officials here in Australia, meaning if our family invests with
them, well make a killing from legalised gambling.

Bax turned her chin toward him. He
didnt blink, didnt give anything away, just stared at one cats eye and then
the other. How do you feel about that?

The slightest flinch, the slightest
hesitation, and he would have jacked the whole thing in. But her hand clasped
his wrist, then slipped around his neck. Its all hot air. She kissed him. If
it isnt, then hes subjecting our assets to an unacceptable degree of risk.
She kissed him again and pushed his head down. He found the hollow inside her
thigh joint, the area hed told her he liked most. It was fairly stubbly today.
He burrowed, lapping at her.

Later, when they were rocking
together, she stopped him sharply, clamping the hair above his ears in her
fists.
Think,
Nick.
Think.

* * * *

Eighteen

On
Thursday morning Lloyd Phelps flew into Sydney with a pocketful of the diamonds
that netted the Outfit a hundred thousand dollars four times a year. The
diamonds were rough-cut pink Argyle diamonds from a mine in the Kimberley area
of Western Australia. The mines owners paid Phelps good money to secure
customers in Sydney four times a year. They didnt know that the Outfit paid
Phelps good money to steal a pocketful of pink diamonds from them four times a
year.

The Outfit required Phelps to leave
the stolen diamonds in an airport locker, complete his legitimate company
business in the city and fly back to the Kimberley. Phelps didnt know what
happened to the diamonds after hed left them at the airport but he guessed
that a buyer flew in from Hong Kong or Amsterdam, collected them and flew out
again, leaving payment behind. Phelps often thought about that paymentcash,
maybe? US dollars? Yen? Bearer bonds? Phelps himself collected a cash payment
left for him at the airportten thousand smackers, four times a year. By the
time hed sweetened a security officer and a computer records clerk at the
mine, however, only six of the ten thousand was left. He sometimes thought
about hanging on to the diamonds, intercepting the buyer, then disappearing
with diamonds
and
payment. He didnt think about it for long, though. He
didnt have that kind of nerve. The Outfit would find him. Somewhere, some day,
theyd find him, and the result would be painful and permanent.

In the three years that hed been
making the diamond run, Phelps had evolved a body language to suit the role. He
wore dark glasses. He looked somehow unapproachable. In the Kimberley, where
grown men wore shorts and long socks to the office, Phelps wore long trousers
and a tie. On the flight to Darwin and then on to Sydney, people would glance
at the unsmiling man with the briefcase manacled to his wrist and wonder about
him. He never acknowledged them. In public places he tended to hang back,
checking faces, watching for danger without appearing to do so. He held himself
like a spring ready to uncoil, a man fine-tuned to danger. He imagined movie
cameras tracking his movements, isolating him, cinema audiences grabbing at
their armrests.

Thats him, Jardine said.

Wyatt saw a short, edgy,
self-conscious individual, dressed in trousers and a shirt ten years out of
date, collect a suitcase from the Ansett carousel. Bundle of nerves, he said.

Jardine nodded. If he had to go
through customs theyd be onto him like a shot.

Jardine and Wyatt were waiting with
an empty trolley at the next carousel. They waited while Phelps crossed to the
exit doors, then abandoned the trolley and followed fifty metres behind him.
Outside the building, the air smelt of aviation fuel and idling taxis. Someone
yelled, Share a cab to the city? Air erupted from the brakes of a waiting
bus, stale and metallic.

Phelps turned around and went back
into the terminal. The two men followed. Phelps looked about nervously,
sometimes stopping dead, turning around accusingly, going on again. Jesus
Christ, Wyatt said.

Phelps finally stopped at a bank of
lockers. They saw him take a small parcel from the briefcase, place it in one
of the lockers, and lock the door. Then he walked away in great agitation.

His next stop was a mens on the
first floor. A short time later, Wyatt went in, just as Phelps was coming out
of a cubicle. Wyatt stood at the urinal. He waited until Phelps had gone out
again then went into the cubicle Phelps had used. The air was foul with Phelpss
fear. Wyatt found the locker key taped under the cistern lid. He pocketed it
and went out. Phelps was going through the exit door at the far end of the
terminal, Jardine a few metres behind him.

Wyatt had about thirty minutes for
the next stage. He hurried back to the lockers. He didnt open Phelpss locker
immediately but watched it for five minutes. Satisfied that no one was around
who shouldnt be, he put the key in the lock, took out the packet and taped a
page torn from a notebook to the back wall of the locker. On the note were the
words Have a nice day and a grinning face.

Wyatt shut the locker again,
inserted money, turned the key and returned to the mens. He went into the same
cubicle again, lifted the cistern lid and taped the key to it. His part of the
job was running smoothly. Jardine meanwhile was watching Phelps. Phelps was
expecting to collect the fee left for him by the Outfit in a locker at the
other end of the terminal building. They had followed an Outfit courier to the
airport a couple of hours earlier, had seen him deposit Phelpss fee and leave
the key in a slot under a gold phone outside a pharmacy, and had helped
themselves to it. Phelpss ten thousand dollars was now in Jardines pocket.
The grinning face in the first locker was Wyatts idea. He thought it might
make the bad news harder to swallow.