‘I have, for years. Now is the time to act. I want you as a witness and to consider writing something. It will be a story you won’t forget or regret.’

Cavalier was uneasy.

‘You mean you want me there as protection,’ he said.

Haut chuckled but did not answer.

They drove for three hours to the northeast of the state, not far from Beaumaris Beach and the town of St Helens. En route, Haut explained his motives.

‘There have been murders of young female backpackers near where we are going,’ Haut said. ‘I believe—no, I know that some of the drug-making bikies and at least one of their mules are behind them. One of the women was kept prisoner, raped, and after a year burnt in a satanic sacrifice ritual.’ Haut paused and added, ‘That’s why I want to do something.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to let the police handle it?’

‘They’re providing protection for the drug-makers.’

‘What? The entire Tasmanian force?’

‘No, just a handful. But the business is widespread. The bikies have mules run the drugs to the mainland and even overseas. They’re protected by the cops here and in Victoria. You remember that some cops were fired and charged in Victoria a decade ago?’

‘I read about it.’

‘That’s what I’m talking about. The drugs are still being made and transported out of the state, with police protection.’

Cavalier grunted in surprise.

‘You okay with this now? It’ll be a great story,’ Haut said. Cavalier didn’t respond. He was on edge. ‘I can drop you at a pub for an hour, if you feel uncomfortable …’

Cavalier still said nothing.

‘What do you think?’

‘I think it’s dumb to attack a bunch of bikies who live by violence.’ They drove on in silence for a moment.

‘You want to be dropped somewhere?’ Haut asked again, glancing at Cavalier.

Cavalier pulled his handgun from a shoulder holster and checked it.

‘You came prepared,’ Haut observed.

Cavalier didn’t reply.

*

The moonlight was weak and this afforded some cover as they reached a hill at St Helens not far from Beaumaris Beach, where the female backpackers had been killed. Haut drove the car to a gate in the wire fence that surrounded a ten-acre property.

‘Best if you wait here,’ Haut said, putting on his own black hood. ‘If there are any surprises, such as bikies arriving, blast the horn.’