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  ‘He’s just a psycho, sir . . . Sergeant . . . whatever you’re called.’

  ‘Sergeant will do.’

  The stocky man’s nerves became more exaggerated, legs chattering up and down like pistons underneath the table. ‘There’s nothing more I can tell you, Sergeant.’

  Chandler nodded. He’d wrung all he was able to from this stone for now. He needed time to plan his next move. All he had at the minute was one stranger’s word against another and his opinion on who was telling the truth. If either were.

  ‘Can I leave now?’ asked Heath.

  ‘Where to?’ asked Chandler.

  ‘Anywhere.’

  ‘I think that it’s best you stay here, isn’t it? If a serial killer’s after you.’

  Heath opened his mouth as if about to argue but had nothing.

  Chandler and Tanya left the interview room and re-entered the office. They were met by Luka pacing up and down between the desks, weaving in and out, as if tying himself in knots.

  ‘Well?’ asked Luka.

  ‘We’ll have to detain him,’ said Chandler.

  Luka’s eyes lit up but it was Nick that spoke, his disembodied voice floating around the corner from the front desk. ‘So he did it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Chandler. ‘Their stories are identical.’

  ‘They can’t be identical,’ said Luka.

  Tanya interrupted. ‘They are. Pretty much word for word.’

  ‘So what do we charge him with?’ asked Nick.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ admitted Chandler. He turned to Tanya. ‘Stick him in a cell for the time being. And be careful.’

  He meant it. He’d formed a close bond with them all. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to Simon, Errol or Katie that something had happened to their mum. Likewise to Jim’s invalided mother. Just last year they’d buried Jim’s dad, the old man losing the battle with emphysema from his time down the mines. A man who had fought the war as bravely as he’d fought the disease. A man who had insisted that his funeral be a celebration of life. He’d got it. Three days’ worth, an affair some mourners had barely survived themselves.

  And though he knew less about the other two, he cared for both Luka and Nick; Luka despite his obvious faults and Nick because it was hard not to feel parental towards the boy given that he’d moved all the way across the country from Melbourne to work here. This fatherly concern added to his reluctance to put Nick in the field, though he accepted the cord would have to be cut soon.

  ‘Stick him in the farthest cell. I’m bringing Gabriel back in and I don’t want them too close to each other.’ He locked eyes with both Luka and Tanya. ‘And don’t do anything without getting backup from the other. As far as we’re concerned both men are extremely dangerous.’

  9

  The town was quiet, even more than usual, as if the serial killer had swept through picking off the inhabitants while he was busy interviewing Heath. Chandler felt the heat crank up a little more, inching ever closer to boiling point.

  The route to the hotel took him near his parents’ place and he considered swinging past to deal with the Sarah issue. Maybe Nanna had tried to take her phone away. It was known to make her a little crazy. But he didn’t stop; he had something more deadly to confront than a pre-teen girl’s sulk.

  At the hotel, Jim remained in position, as fixed as the minute hand on the town clock. It had clogged with dust a few years ago, a relic in this digital age. As Chandler parked, Jim unwound himself from the police car, dark and thin like a tree scorched by lightning.

  ‘He’s still in there,’ said Jim, predicting his boss’s question. ‘What are we taking him in for anyway?’

  ‘More questioning. Something doesn’t add up,’ said Chandler as he started across the road. Reaching the hotel, he paused. ‘In fact, Jim, it’s probably the opposite. It’s all too perfect. I need to find out why.’

  They found Ollie at the front desk bent over a newspaper, the day’s races highlighted in a mishmash of black circles and underlined names; Ollie’s uncrackable code.

  Ollie immediately furled his brow in surprise. ‘What are you two doing back? You know I don’t enjoy two visits in a day from you lot. One is sociable, two means trouble.’

  ‘We need your guest.’

  Ollie acted indignant. ‘What do you mean guest? I’ve lots of guests.’ He pushed the register towards Chandler as proof. Chandler waved it away.

  ‘Just take me to his room, Ollie,’ ordered Chandler.

  Still muttering under his breath, Ollie led them to the Presidential Suite on the top floor.

  Ushering him out of the way Chandler addressed Jim in a whisper. ‘Plan is, we ask him to the station to answer a few more questions. If he resists, we cuff him and haul him in.’

  Chandler knocked. He didn’t state his name or business. No need to give Gabriel the chance to flee or arm himself. Assuming he was a crazed killer was the safest course of action.

  Nothing. Chandler knocked again, louder this time in hope of rousing a possibly sleeping Gabriel to the door.

  Again nothing.

  Ollie approached, whispering at them, ‘He ran the bath earlier. Used up most a’ my hot water. I’m having to hang the dirty sheets outside and let the sun bake any critters from ’em.’

  ‘You got the master keys?’ asked Chandler, impatient.

  ‘Yeah, wait!’ said Ollie in a loud whisper.

  Chandler looked to him. ‘Hurry up.’

  Ollie fumbled the key into the lock, affording Gabriel plenty of advance notice to Chandler’s annoyance. His size ten boot would have been more effective.

  With the door unlocked Chandler eased Ollie to one side entering with his gun drawn. Jim followed.

  The room was empty.

  ‘Gabriel?’ barked Chandler, striding through the bedroom into the bathroom. The wooden-panelled tub was full of water but there was no sign of Gabriel.

  ‘Anything?’ he shouted over his shoulder.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Jim.

  Gabriel had disappeared.

  They searched. Rooms, cupboards, stairwells, the laundry and the lobby. Each drew a blank; no sign of their suspect or indeed any other guest. Their last stop, the kitchen, was empty apart from pots and pans and traces of rat droppings. Gabriel had disappeared into thin air.

  As they ended the search a horrible thought entered Chandler’s head. That in the short time between depositing Gabriel here and Heath’s arrival at the station, Gabriel had somehow fallen victim to Heath. It was a tight timescale but could Heath have been waiting outside the station, before following them to the hotel and killing Gabriel? But then how did Ken manage to capture and hold Heath hostage? Could he have hiked all the way back out there in that time? Ken’s place was a good fifteen kilometres out of town.

  Reaching the reception desk Chandler questioned Ollie.

  ‘You didn’t hear anything strange?’

  ‘Nothing apart from the bath.’

  ‘And he couldn’t have got past you?’

  ‘I’ve been here the whole time. Not a chance he could have left without me seeing. What is it you want him for anyway?’

  Ollie might have been unscrupulous but he wasn’t stupid. The cops didn’t put in this amount of effort without grounds for suspicion. Chandler downplayed it.

  ‘He’s a witness to an assault.’

  ‘Really?’ said Ollie, clearly sceptical.

  He hadn’t bought it but Chandler didn’t care. He wanted to check Gabriel’s room one more time.

  The bed was untouched, nothing had been removed from the minibar, and the miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner were unused. It gave Chandler the impression that Gabriel had left almost immediately. And if he hadn’t gone out the front past Ollie and Jim, then . . .

  At the end of the corridor was the fire escape. Close inspection revealed that the safety tag was broken. It led to a set of metal stairs, the back alley, Anzac Street and freedom.

  He sent Ji
m to stake out the town perimeter in case he happened to come across their suspect fleeing town. It was a long shot, but long shots were all he had right now.

  Back at the station, Chandler explained the situation to his assembled team.

  ‘Do you think he’s the killer?’ asked Tanya without looking up from the mass of forms on her desk.

  Chandler wanted to remain impartial but it was difficult. It didn’t look good for Gabriel but Chandler recalled that he had wanted to get out of town and away from the threat to his life. It was the kind of fear that would make the idea of escape hard to resist.

  ‘We’ll have to bring him in and see,’ said Chandler. ‘Jim’s out looking now. Me and Luka will go as well. Tanya and Nick, you’ll stay here.’

  ‘’Cause I’m a woman?’ scowled Tanya.

  ‘No, because I trust you to look after the one suspect we have.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s time we called HQ?’ she asked.

  His team stared at him.

  ‘The three of us can’t cover the whole town,’ added Luka.

  Tanya nodded. ‘He’s right.’

  Chandler knew they were right. He also knew what calling HQ would entail, and more specifically, who it would entail. Mitch.

  They had once been best friends, growing up a rung above being dirt poor, joining the police force in the same class and under the same tragic circumstances. In 2001, near Newman, a plane crash had killed a number of police officers and opened up positions for new recruits. A tragic way to get an opportunity.

  Chandler hadn’t even considered applying at the start. Becoming a cop wasn’t in his plan. He’d been drifting along in CJ’s Grocery Store, stacking shelves and skiving out the back any chance he got. The only reason he applied at all was Mitch. And Mitch was only applying because of pressure from his family. His uncle had been amongst those who died. Chandler completed the application, partly in brotherhood with Mitch, and partly from curiosity over whether they would take him.

  They were sworn in together in August 2001. He had stood shoulder to shoulder with Mitch, proud and astonished in equal measure, the shiny badges pinned to their uniformed chests.

  After graduation they were placed in Wilbrook, together, firmly at the bottom of the ladder. Both of them would work their way up. Just not here. And not together.

  Chandler sat in his office and stared at the phone, waiting for Nick to patch HQ through. He was dreading this; having to talk to Mitch again. He wondered whether his old friend had filled out from the pallid string bean with the unnaturally blue lips he’d known before. It was fully ten years since they had last seen each other, but through Mitch’s cousin who lived in town Chandler knew that Mitch had moved up the ranks since leaving for Perth. Not that Chandler had cared. Not until the dispatch arrived announcing that a new inspector had taken over in Port Hedland, one Inspector Mitchell Andrews. That changed things. Mitch was now in effect his boss. So far, circumstance and the arid desert had kept them apart, but now their worlds would collide.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Inspector Mitchell Andrews, Port Hedland HQ, speaking.’

  The voice was unruffled, comfortable in command. Behind it Chandler could almost hear the cogs in Mitch’s brain whirring. The man he had known had an unerring ability to compartmentalize his thoughts, to foster rational judgement. Sometimes this led him to be too rational and remove any feeling. But maybe the edge had dulled in the ten years since. Maybe Chandler should wipe the slate clean, revert to simple boss and subordinate. His stomach twisted into a knot that couldn’t be undone.

  ‘Sergeant Jenkins, are you there?’

  Chandler realized he hadn’t spoken.

  ‘Yes, Mitch, I’m here.’

  There was a pause from the other end. The voice returned – backed with indignation and a touch of menace.

  ‘It’s Inspector Andrews, Sergeant. You will address me as such.’

  That answered that. Rather than dulling Mitch’s conceit, time had clearly exacerbated it.

  ‘Is your whole team there?’ asked Mitch.

  ‘No, it’s just us two . . .’ He couldn’t bring himself to state Mitch’s full title, his mind rejecting it, rebelling against such an egotistical request.

  ‘Assemble them and put me on speakerphone. I want to address you all.’

  Chandler waved his team inside, all except Nick who he kept on the front desk, unwilling to leave it unmanned. As a compromise he left the door open so that Nick could listen in. He tapped the button. ‘You’re on speakerphone.’

  The commanding voice blasted over the speaker. ‘This is Inspector Mitchell Andrews, Port Hedland HQ. I thought I would introduce myself as I know some of you have not met me before. As I’m sure your . . . sergeant has informed you, we currently have one suspect in a possible multiple murder investigation being held in your cells and another on the run. So far the situation has not been handled as well as I would like but again that is no fault of yours.’

  The implication went unstated but was all too obvious; Mitch was asserting that the situation going to shit was Chandler’s fault.

  Mitch continued, ‘The situation calls for officers experienced in this type of matter, ones who are properly trained—’

  ‘We need someone out here to help us organize the search, help to lead a sub-team,’ interrupted Chandler, eager to put some emphasis on lack of support.

  ‘That is all being taken care of, Sergeant Jenkins,’ said Mitch calmly.

  Chandler looked to Tanya, the only member of the team who had worked with Mitch before. Expecting an eye roll or a smirk, what he got was worse – a look of sympathy.

  ‘I’ve identified someone with the suitable experience and who knows the area,’ said Mitch.

  ‘Who?’ asked Chandler.

  ‘Me.’

  And that was that. Decision made. Chandler tried to take a deep breath but it stuck in his throat, lodged alongside the rotten memories of the last time he and Mitch had worked together.

  10

  2002

  Martin’s family joined the hunt. Chandler had been tasked with sticking close to Martin’s father, Arthur, a man who looked constantly on the verge of a heart attack. He was in his late fifties and stocky, pressed to the ground as if sitting behind a desk all his working life had stunted his growth. His heavyset frame hung with the weight of expectation, drooping further every second spent out here, hope lost to the parched earth.

  The campsite had seemed promising despite the blackened campfire stones being half-buried in dirt, any cinders long since blown away on the wind. Arthur insisted on searching it, despite Chandler’s plea that they should move on and cover another kilometre before darkness fell. The old man fumbled around the site looking for clues to indicate his son had been here, trailing a stick through the dust, sweeping the ground in an attempt to uncover even the tiniest scrap of evidence. It was disheartening to watch him shuffling back and forth across the clearing, sweeping long-dead leaves and disturbed insects out of his path.

  Chandler took solace in the shade as Mitch sidled up beside him. His friend’s initial enthusiasm had waned and now, in a further notch to his increasingly grating personality, he had taken to ordering the volunteers around like personal slaves. No ‘Thank you’, just a warning to keep their eyes open. More scolding than encouraging.

  Over the last few weeks Mitch’s own appearance had altered, his cheeks were hollow with hunger, the pockmarks of his teenage acne had deepened.

  Mitch whispered to him, ‘I joined to do police work, not be a sniffer dog.’

  ‘This is police work,’ replied Chandler. ‘We’re trying to determine what might have happened to him. Do you not feel a sense of duty?’

  Chandler had been as surprised by this sense of duty as most. It had been non-existent throughout his teenage years and he was still trying to come to terms with it. The Force and upcoming fatherhood had aged him. He was morphing into his dad, solid and dependable. Not a bad thing, but he was only tw
enty-two.

  Mitch raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t bought Chandler’s attempt to motivate him. ‘What I get Chandler is the sense that we’re looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found. If he wandered out this far he knew where he was going. And knew that he wasn’t coming back.’

  ‘What do you want, Mitch? Murders? Drugs? Prostitution? Try the big city.’

  Mitch pulled a rotten branch from a tree, dry timber exploding from the trunk. ‘I’m thinking about it,’ he said, crumbling the desiccated wood in his hand and letting the scraps fall to the ground.

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked Chandler, his attention removed from the old man scrabbling around in the dust.

  Mitch nodded. ‘I am.’

  ‘You’ve only been in the force a year.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So who’s going to take you?’

  Mitch licked his oddly blue lips. ‘I’ve talked to a senior down in Perth. She’s open to it.’

  ‘Perth . . . ? Bloody Perth?’

  ‘Yeah, bloody Perth. I’m not going to get anywhere doing this hide and seek shit.’

  ‘Big plans,’ said Chandler, not a little snarkily, ‘big plans.’

  ‘Just because you’ve got yourself stuck.’

  ‘Nothing stuck about it.’

  Mitch’s grin was full of contempt and made Chandler want to punch him. ‘You stuck it in Teri, now you’re stuck here.’

  Visions of his eight-months-pregnant girlfriend stirred Chandler’s guts. He wanted more than anything to be with her rather than tramping through these woods. But he told Mitch what he had told her.

  ‘Life goes on. It has to. There’s no other choice.’

  With that he left Mitch by the tree and returned to Arthur’s side. The old man had uncovered some plastic wrapping and was trying to piece together what it had originally been.

  What it was, was another false lead, the plastic too old and degraded to have been recently discarded. They left the clearing, trekking on into the bush, guided by some indistinct rock cairns to a broad saddle between two rises, like a pass into the unknown.