Tallowwood Read online

  August thought he was going to be sick. “Where?”

  “To the McNeill crime scene at the reserve.”

  “What? When?”

  “About ten minutes ago. They said they could be a few hours, but—”

  August could barely form the words. And although he was sure he already knew the answer, he still had to ask. “They? Who did he go with?”

  “Hirsch and Kenny.”

  August had to lean against the mantelpiece so he didn’t fall. He couldn’t speak. His lungs didn’t work, and his heart clawed at his ribs. Eather was soon at his side. “Shaw, are you all right?”

  August shook his head and showed him the photo he was still holding. “I need to get to Tallowwood. Right now,” he said. Then speaking to Deans on the phone, he added, “I’ll be there as fast as I can. Deans, you need to go to the Coffs Harbour station and get every available vehicle you can out there right now.”

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. She sounded scared. “He knew. Jake knew, that’s why he wanted me to call you. Which one is it? August, which one of those bastards is it?”

  August stared at the photograph of a much younger Hirsch and Kenny, the third guy was Terry Gao, the evidence stores manager who’d died a few years ago, next to a black Holden ute.

  “It’s not one of them,” he replied, barely able to speak. “It’s both.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Everything was strange. Like whispers in the wind and broken shapes of light and sound. Jacob was aware of himself and his surroundings, but there was a cognitive disconnect. Like a fuse had blown in his brain.

  His body felt heavy but strong, not quite his own. His mind felt paralysed, as though it had been rewired wrong and was separate from his body. His thought processes were there, just all in the wrong places and in the wrong order. Simplified and streamlined down to their base and everything else simply became white noise.

  He felt stoned but not really. He knew what was going on but couldn’t process anything. He was aware, but not, and he knew Kenny and Hirsch were watching him, assessing him, but Jake couldn’t speak or tell them something wasn’t right.

  Because nothing was wrong.

  He felt totally at ease, and he was happy to just stand there.

  He looked down at his hand and saw he was holding a water bottle. Which was strange because he couldn’t exactly feel the water bottle in his hand, but he could see it.

  Strange.

  He tried to tell himself to tip the water out of it. Some part of his brain knew the water was spiked, that was why he was feeling so weird, but his hand didn’t upend the bottle. He just stared at it.

  So strange.

  “Jacob, drink some more water,” Kenny said.

  Jake lifted the bottle to his mouth and drank more water. Robotic, like an out-of-body experience. He knew he was doing it but couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t want to stop himself.

  So strange.

  Hirsch ripped the bottle from his hand. “Christ. How much did you give him?”

  Jake’s hand felt empty and heavy at the same time where the bottle had been, but he didn’t care if he had the bottle or not. He didn’t feel . . . anything.

  He listened as Hirsch and Kenny argued. An impartial bystander, a fly on the wall. Hirsch and Kenny yelled and shouted, pointed fingers, and swore.

  “Stop playing fucking games!”

  “You were never strong enough for this.”

  “How many? How many have to die? You know they’ll catch you for this. This is one too many. McNeill was a mistake, but Jacob? He’s a good kid. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  “We’re helping them! We’ve helped all of them. You know we have. We free them from their sins.”

  “No, we’ve been helping you! We’ve been freeing you from yours!”

  “At least put some gloves on.”

  “It doesn’t fucking matter at this point!”

  Kenny flew into a rage, his fists clenched, his jaw bulged. He ranted and paced like a madman, and Hirsch went to him and put his hand to Kenny’s cheek, whispered calming words until Kenny relented with a nod.

  Jake watched it all, he heard every word, but all he could do was stand there. What he’d heard, what he’d witnessed should have made him furious and should have engaged his fight or flight response. He was in danger. He knew he was. But still . . . he felt nothing.

  His brain and body had disengaged completely. He was powerless. And strangely, he was okay with that.

  Jake looked up to the tree again to find the kookaburra still watching. It was close, closer than a kookaburra would normally allow, and it was watching him. Jake marvelled at its beauty, at the familiarity, and he knew then that everything would be okay. He smiled up at it.

  Then Kenny was in front of him and took Jake’s notebook and pen from his breast pocket. He opened it to a blank page and offered them back to Jacob. “You’re going to write something for me.”

  Slowly, Jake took the pen and notebook, holding it, ready to transcribe. He couldn’t stop himself, even if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t want to. He was happy to do whatever Kenny said.

  So very strange.

  “Nothing gold can stay.”

  Jake wrote the words, then he tried to speak. “August knows.” He wasn’t sure if the words were only in his head or if he managed to say them out loud.

  Kenny smiled and popped Jake’s notebook back in Jake’s breast pocket. “We have someone taking care of him, don’t worry.”

  Jacob must have spoken out loud. Yes, take care of him . . . Jake smiled.

  “For Christ’s sake, get it over with,” Hirsch barked. “I can’t stand the games. You said no more. After McNeill, remember? He wasn’t even gay.”

  “McNeill asked too many questions,” Kenny snapped. His fierceness should have made Jacob react, but he simply stood there.

  “Well, I won’t let you drag this one out,” Hirsch said. “There’ll be no more after this.”

  Kenny sneered at him. “What did you say?”

  Hirsch stood his ground. “You heard. I said no more. You want to continue with your sick games, then you’re on your own.”

  Kenny turned back to Jacob, his face up close, like he knew Hirsch didn’t really mean no. Like Hirsch’s refusal never held any merit. “Shaw will be the jewel in my crown. And this little mouse—” He bopped Jake on the nose. “—is my trap.” He took a box cutter from a Ziploc bag and put it in Jake’s breast pocket with his notebook.

  Hirsch grabbed Jake by the arm. “Jacob, walk with us,” he said, and both Hirsch and Kenny began walking along the old track, up alongside the dam, past the police tape, toward the tree line. And Jake simply walked with them. He wanted to. He was happy to comply.

  Not one part of him wanted to object, not one part of him wanted to resist.

  So he walked.

  And Hirsch and Kenny continued to bicker as they began to make their way into the forest.

  “How far in?”

  “Not too far. We want them to find him.”

  “They can’t find him too soon. His blood needs twenty-four hours.”

  “What difference does that make now? They’ve found trace markers now. I told you they were running more tests.”

  “And I told you I rescinded the orders.”

  And so the bickering went on as they went further in. Not too far, the growth was dense and hard going, but Jacob could move without effort. He cleared fallen logs with ease. There was absolutely no exertion on his behalf. There was . . . nothing . . . on his part.

  Hirsch stopped walking, and Kenny pointed to a large tree further in. “Jacob, keep walking.”

  Jake kept walking. Further into the forest, further by himself. No footprints but his, no evidence but his.

  “Stop walking,” Kenny called out. “Sit down and lean against that tree.”

  Jake did exactly that. He sat on the damp, mossy earth and leaned against the base of the tree. It wasn’t comfortable. There were ants
and bugs, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all.

  “I’m not standing around to watch this,” Hirsch said, and he backtracked the way they’d come.

  Kenny stood still for a moment, watching, appreciating this moment. Jake didn’t mind. He looked up through the canopy of the trees. The sky was changing colours, which meant the sun was going down. It’d be getting cold soon, not that Jake would notice. He couldn’t feel anything. He thought the trees were pretty and this mountain was the home of his ancestors. Sitting in the earth, surrounded by the trees of his people was actually kind of nice.

  “Jacob,” Kenny called out. “Roll up your left sleeve and take the box cutter out of your pocket.”

  Jacob did that.

  It was so easy. It was so easy not having to think of anything. His body moved, like someone else had the remote control.

  Then the kookaburra was on a low branch right in front of him. It made a cry, not the kookaburra laugh, but a call Jacob hadn’t heard before.

  He smiled because he knew.

  The spirit of his grandmother watched over him, and she would be there to greet him and welcome him to the Dreaming when his spirit returned to these lands.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  By the time August got to the airport, he was just about beside himself. Jacob still wasn’t answering his phone, and now Deans wasn’t answering the station phone either. And thankfully, Eather stayed with him. August was stressed and frustrated, but Eather kept his cool. He flashed his badge and organised emergency tickets to Coffs Harbour, he organised and checked the proper transportation of their pistols, and he made phone calls to his people.

  Another policeman was about to be murdered. August was sure of it. A policeman who was investigating this very case.

  And not just any other policeman, but Jacob.

  August couldn’t lose him too. Not the same way he’d lost Christopher. Not to the same killer.

  “We need to find out Hirsch and Kenny’s history. How they met and when. What connects them.” August struggled to breathe, as though he’d run five miles and the plane hadn’t even finished taxiing out yet. His heart was hammering away at his ribs; every inhale felt like barbed wire around his lungs.

  His phone vibrated with an incoming call and he almost dropped it. Nina’s name appeared on screen and he sagged with disappointment. Then again, maybe she knew something.

  “Nina,” he answered. “Have you heard anything?”

  “Uh . . .” She clearly hadn’t expected his abrupt greeting. “About the test results?”

  About test results? Hadn’t she heard about Jake? “What?”

  “I was calling about the trace markers,” she replied.

  “Nina, Jake’s not answering his phone. I think he’s missing. I’m on my way to Coffs now. I should be there in an hour. If this plane would ever fucking take off.” August earned a hard glare from the flight attendant, but he seriously did not care. He needed to be in Tallowwood already.

  Nina was silent for a long, drawn-out moment. “I’ll pick you up.”

  “Thank you. Oh my God, that would be great, thank you. Getting a hire car would have been a pain in the arse.”

  The flight attendant hissed at him. “Phone off, sir.”

  “I have to go,” August said. “Nina, be careful.” He ended the call, switched to airplane mode, and tried to get his heart rate and anxiety back to safer levels.

  Eather gave him a moment of silence, then as the plane actually left the runway, he said, “Who’s Nina?”

  “Nina Schneider. She’s the ME.”

  “Does the medical examiner always offer to pick you up?” he asked. “You mentioned not getting a hire car . . .”

  “I’ve known her for years. We’ve worked on a lot of cases together.”

  He nodded slowly. “And now she’s in charge of the newer cases on the North Coast?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  August took the photo he’d taken from Mrs Roth out of his inside jacket pocket. He couldn’t believe it. He was holding the glue that held all the pieces of the puzzle together. A snapshot taken in the early 80s, by the look of it. A much younger looking Don Hirsch, Allan Kenny, and Terry Gao, posing for the photo with their arms around each other as though the photographer had told them to stand closer for the shot. They looked to be in their early twenties, maybe. They were all smiling, and there was an ease to their postures that August wondered if they were more than friends.

  The captain of the plane did his spiel about altitude and speed, advising that small electronic devices could be used, so August pocketed the photo again, and quickly checked his phone. No emails. He opened to the photos he’d taken of the pictures on Mrs Roth’s mantel, and zoomed in on the first.

  It was of Allan Kenny as a toddler standing with a small boy who August assumed was Allan’s brother, Peter. They looked like all Australian 60s kids, playing in the backyard. There was a red wagon and a soccer ball, and both boys were blond, chubby-cheeked. Peter was grinning and Allan was looking at him.

  Eather’s phone began to buzz with incoming emails. He opened one. “Okay, so we have some info,” he began. “Dulcie Roth was born Dulcie June Carter, married Joseph Kenny in 1958. Had two children, Peter and Allan. Divorced in 1979.”

  “The year after Peter died,” August added.

  “Dulcie filed for divorce after a domestic violence charge on Joseph. Married again in 1981 to a Simon Roth, who died of pancreatic cancer three years ago.”

  Fuck. “So much tragedy.”

  “Allan Kenny, born in 1963, joined the New South Wales police in 1981. He was eighteen. Stationed at Bondi first, then Gosford. Then Coffs Harbour.”

  All the pieces started to come together. “She said Peter’s father never took his coming out very well. So if he was later charged with domestic violence, it stands to reason he probably beat Peter for being gay. I mean, if he’s inclined to beat people he thinks deserves it . . . Then after Peter killed himself, the violence was most likely turned to Dulcie and Kenny.”

  Eather sighed. “Plausible, yeah. God knows what Dulcie put up with in the twenty-one years she was married to him.”

  August shuddered just as the flight attendant offered them a drink. August took his coffee. “How did you get this information so fast?”

  Eather stared at him. “Well, I just ask for it.”

  He’d emailed to request information a fucking hour ago! August sighed. “I’ve been waiting a week and have nothing.”

  Eather smiled. “Fed. Er. Al. Po. Lice. It’s how you spell efficient.” Then he went back to his phone. “Donovan Hirsch, born 1963, joined the police at eighteen. Stationed at Bondi . . .” He looked at August. “Explains how Hirsch and Allan know each other. They’ve known each other for forty years.”

  August couldn’t even bring himself to smile. “I can’t believe I didn’t see the connection before,” August mumbled. “With Hirsch and Kenny. When Jake found the second body, Hirsch and Kenny had a lot of closed-door meetings, a few arguments. We just thought it was a pissing contest. Kenny was the Commander, the higher rank. And Hirsch was pissy anyway. Pissier than normal. Jake said Hirsch hated having other cops in his town. It made him feel like he was being watched or something.”

  “Jake?”

  “Oh, Jacob. Jacob Porter. Senior Constable.” August had to swallow hard. “The guy who’s with Hirsch and Kenny.” Suddenly the coffee he’d drunk didn’t sit too well in his stomach. He tried to breathe through it. “Fuck. We’re probably going to be too late.”

  “He sounds pretty switched on. And Constable Deans said Porter knew before he left with them,” Eather said. “He’ll be fine.”

  “All the victims thought they were fine,” August replied quietly. “You should know, Christopher Maskey, the seventh victim, he was my live-in boyfriend. He thought he was fine. It’s how these arseholes got inside the house. Because it’s what people do. A cop shows up at your door, shows ID, and asks if they can come in, what do y
ou do? You let them in.” August let out an unsteady breath. Christ. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And you should know I have . . . a personal connection with Senior Constable Porter.”

  “A personal relationship?”

  August shrugged. “I guess. Christ.”

  “Shaw,” Eather said calmly. “You’re saying two of the men targeted by Hirsch and Kenny are known to you, personally?”

  August nodded, and his stomach rolled, and his lungs squeezed. August was very aware of how Eather didn’t use the word victim to describe Jacob. Yet. “Fuck.”

  “Show me the photo you took from Mrs Roth’s house,” he said, his gaze serious.

  August pulled the photo out of his jacket pocket and handed it over. “Who did you say this was?” Eather was pointing to the guy on the end.

  “Terry Gao. He ran the evidence stores facility. He died of cancer a few years back. But at least we now know how they got the P7849.”

  “What connection do you have with these three men?”

  August blinked. “Uh, none.”

  “Is it possible they’re targeting you? Two men you have been involved with—”

  “I don’t know them. Hirsch and Kenny, that is. I never met them before Jake called me about the first body they found.”

  “Who gave Jake permission to have you involved?”

  August stared at him, his mind running in circles. “Uh, he said he asked Hirsch if I could be consulted and Hirsch said yes . . . Actually, Hirsch said he thought it was a good idea.”

  Eather’s mouth drew down in a frown. “A good idea . . . ?”

  “Maybe he wanted this to end. I don’t know . . . Actually, no,” August said quietly. Cold realisation dawned on him. “It was Nina. When they found the body with the cross and the note, she told Jake about me and my cold cases in Sydney. She told him he should call me . . . Oh God.”

  “You think she’s involved?”

  “Well, I . . . I didn’t. But Jake questioned her involvement, and I brushed it off. She’s been one of the MEs for all these cases. In Sydney and in Tallowwood. I think she was even in Gosford at some point. She could be writing her findings to suit. But then there’s Bartlett. He’s in charge of Nina . . .” August met Eather’s gaze. “Bartlett was on the same plane as Jacob coming back yesterday. He’s in Coffs Harbour.”