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Chapters (60)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. Acknowledgements
  59. About the author
  60. Copyright

‘I know you’re angry, Mr Barwell, but we have the right to keep you here if we believe that your personal well-being is in danger.’

‘What kinda fucked-up system is this?’

‘One that might keep you alive.’

Through the slat in the door, Chandler saw a frown ripple the suspect’s forehead.

‘Might. That’s comforting.’

Chandler spotted Heath’s defences relaxing, his attempt at procuring release having failed. He tried a sneaky question. ‘Do you think Gabriel chose you deliberately?’

Heath sighed and shrugged. ‘It could have been anyone hitching that road. It was wrong time, very wrong place.’

‘And there were no indications? None at all?’

‘Of what?’

‘That he had something else planned for you.’

‘No, as I’ve told you numerous times, it was all fine. Nothing but general conversation . . .’ Heath paused, staring at the side wall before turning towards Chandler. Once again the frown rippled his skin. ‘He did seem intrigued by my name, I suppose. More than most. My mum loved Wuthering Heights, but thought calling me Heathcliff would have been cruel . . . but the way he repeated my name was as if it was personal to him. I remember asking him if he knew someone else called Heath but he shook his head. Why? Do you think I remind him of someone?’

‘We’ll try and find out,’ said Chandler.

38

2002

The days stretched out, long and unforgiving, the search petering out. Martin’s ultimate fate remained officially undetermined but inevitable. It had been over three weeks now, and Christmas was approaching fast.

Chandler had a front seat view of the show, witnessing the mercenaries – even the Murray River teenager – pocket the cash each morning before feigning effort throughout the day. Arthur had been wooed by their fantastical ideas and by charts and diagrams drawn by a laundry list of psychics and mediums stating that they knew where Martin was – and could tell him if only Arthur would pay them, allowing their spiritual talents to be nurtured by physical cash. Only that morning, one of the mercenaries, a shamanic figure from Darwin called Blazz, put forward the latest theory about what Martin had been searching for in the forest: a hidden cave of gold, buried by some turn of the 19th century outlaw.

Chandler’s vexation was such that he was forced to seek out Mitch as the voice of calm.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘I heard it,’ said Mitch. He didn’t seem annoyed by it at all, which wound Chandler up further.

‘We can’t let that go.’

‘We’re meant to keep the peace, not verify what these weirdos claim. That’s not our job.’

‘I don’t really know what my job is anymore,’ admitted Chandler.

‘It’s keep your eyes down and ride it out,’ said Mitch.

‘That’s the kind of police work you want to do? Sit back and let the family destroy themselves?’

Mitch didn’t answer, spitting his chewing gum into the dirt.