‘What are we really looking for?’ Beth asked.
‘Guns.’ I took out my phone and opened up the web page I’d found. I showed the phone around slowly. ‘We’re looking for the sort you see in the top row here. See the big scope? You’ll probably come across these ones here.’ I scrolled down the screen. ‘These are basic hunting rifles. Easy to get. We’re looking for the more complicated ones. The big, expensive ones. When you see guns like these, I want you to snap a picture with your phone and bring it back to me.’
‘What if it’s in some sort of case?’ a young redhead said. ‘We can’t just ask them to open it.’
‘Get a picture of the case,’ I said. ‘It might help. I also want one of you to get into the administration office and get me a list of all the personnel on the mine. The rolls. They should be in plain sight; they’re checked every day. Just the names, nothing else. I’ll send the names back to my station and get police history checks.’
‘I’ll go to the admin office,’ Jaymee said, smiling. ‘I know Terry who works on the front desk. Now that guy’s a creeper.’
‘We all stand to lose quite a bit of income if we’re going to spend the next twenty-four hours on this,’ Beth said. ‘My appointment book’s full.’
‘I’ll cover your costs,’ I said gravely.
‘We’ll both cover your costs,’ Whitt said.
The girls smiled in appreciation and set off, leaving us alone in the yard.
‘We’ve just got to hope whoever he is, he’s keeping the weapon near him,’ I told Whitt. ‘This might be a total waste of our time if it’s on one of the trucks, or he’s got it stashed in the desert somewhere. But it’s the best I can think of.’
‘It’s a solid plan. It might turn up something. What are we going to do about Linbacher’s gun?’
‘That’s my next trick,’ I said.
Chapter 72
LENNY XAVIER HAD his dream job. As a kid, he’d had one obsession: playing with skill-tester machines. His mother had taken to rerouting trips to the shopping centre, because when Lenny spied skill-testers he would rush to the glass and stare at the treasures inside. Those closest to the chute were always the easiest bet, but they were often dumb – packs of cards or pink teddies. The real prizes were in the furthest corner – water pistols and bow-and-arrow kits. The risk was that he would finally snag a prize with the slick chrome arm and halfway back to the chute the arm would wobble, the prize falling free.
The tension of watching those steel fingers plunge into the pile of treasures was often more gratifying than winning. Somehow, when the prize flopped down the chute, it was less exciting than when it lay encased in glass, calling to him.
In the cabin of the 250-tonne crane on the edge of the crevasse, Lenny felt the same quiet, electric thrill he’d felt as a child directing the arm of the skill-tester around the machine. He could see for hundreds of metres down into the great crack in the earth. The hot desert wind ruffled his hair as he sat in the operator’s seat, the window open at his side. Right now he was lifting an old piece of a digger up from a shelf eighty metres below the surface.
Lenny’s hands moved naturally over the controls, guiding the glossy joysticks with minuscule movements. The hook on the end of his line slid down into the crack easily, and Lenny rose up in his seat as he brought it within inches of the hunk of metal.
Mick, a plump figure standing outside, just in front of Lenny’s crane, lifted the radio to his mouth. The speaker at Lenny’s side crackled to life.
‘About another two feet down, Len. Then bring it back tight. Over.’
‘Copy that, Boss. Over.’
The radio blipped and died down. He lowered the line another two feet and then brought the joystick back towards himself, hearing the clunk of the hook sliding up under the digger’s arm.
The radio crackled again. Static. He adjusted the dial, shifting from one of the mine’s common frequencies to another, trying to find his boss. Between the frequencies, he came upon a voice.
‘If you can reach the camp, I’ll let you live.’
Lenny looked down at Mick, who wasn’t using the radio. His boss’s hand was rising and falling gently, signalling Lenny to bring the line up. Lenny wondered if he had come across a radio station, or a UHF signal from truckers on some distant highway. But it was a good four hours to the nearest highway. And he’d never heard a non-mine station out here.
‘Caller, can you repeat that? Over.’
‘If you can reach the camp, I’ll let you live.’
Lenny stared at the radio. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but only briefly. He shook the feeling off. He grabbed the radio and flicked the switch to retract the hook and line.
‘Whoever’s on this channel, you’re coming through to the mine. You need to choose another frequency, mate.’
There was no answer. Lenny realised he was sweating. He wiped his brow on the back of his wrist.
A sudden noise, a crack from one of the steel struts seemingly right outside the open window. Lenny stopped the line retraction and got up, pushed the window open further. Another sharp crack, and Lenny saw a bright burst of sparks spray off the steel just above the windowsill. On the ground, Mick turned and stared up at him, his eyes wide.
A whizz, and then a crack, and the window beside him shattered.
‘Shit!’ He sat back in his chair. He’d been trained to know when the crane was under pressure; when the wind was too high, and when static electricity in the air was causing the machinery to spark. But this was different. He grabbed the radio.
‘Mick? Oi, Mick!’ he called. He switched back to the previous channel. ‘Mate, something’s –’
A second window exploded in the front of the crane bridge. Mick ducked, and Lenny rushed out of the bridge and onto the truck bed. He jumped from the vehicle and stood with his boss, looking up at the crane.
As the two men waited, both panting in the desert sun, the radio in Mick’s hand crackled.
‘If you reach the camp, I’ll let you live.’
Chapter 73
I STOOD AT the corner of Linebacker’s cabin, watching Whitt as he prepared to knock on the door. Like the golden-haired schoolboy he’d been channelling since I met him, lying, deceiving and breaking with protocol weren’t going to be easy for Whitt. He seemed like a very different man to the one he had described to me as we crouched, pinned, in the desert. The alcoholic, the stalker, the restless detective obsessed with hunting the predators who had eluded him. Some part of me admired the fact that, in bringing himself back from rock bottom, Whitt seemed to have fashioned a totally new being out of his self. Somehow, by zooming in and perfecting the smallest tasks – making his bed, ironing his shirts, polishing his shoes – he avoided those big black thoughts. Maybe there was something to learn from his behaviour.
The cabin door opened.
‘Mr Linbacher,’ Whitt said, smiling.
‘What? What is it?’
‘I was hoping you could accompany me to the chow hall.’ Whitt straightened his shirtfront. ‘We’re conducting interviews, and as the head of security –’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ The older man waved dismissively, slamming the door of his donga behind him. ‘Took you idiots long enough to get around to me.’
The two men wandered slowly away from the donga. I spied Beth at the second accommodation yard in the distance, moving from cabin to cabin. I slipped through the door of Linebacker’s donga and stood in the cool dark.
The small space smelled of boot polish and gun oil, and was as spotless as Whitt’s side of our own cabin. I went straight to the closet, running my finger along the shirts and trousers hanging there, the garments hanging longest to shortest, with each coathanger placed precisely two inches apart on the pole. We’d arranged our uniforms in the very same manner in the police academy. Two sets of shoes on the floor of the cupboard, toes out, gleaming. One pair of brown leather, one pair of black.
If the killer was ex-police, that would explain h
is knowledge of weapons, and perhaps his marksmanship. It would be difficult in Australia to get training in long-range rifles without being either police or military, or spending wads of cash at one of the few ranges in the country. Even then, without a permit the killer wouldn’t have been able to own the kind of weapon capable of killing in the way ours was. It was a good lead.
I rummaged through the top of the cupboard and brought down a huge black rifle, setting it on the bed. I took a quick photograph on my phone, picked it up, and popped out the magazine. It was fully loaded. My skin was on fire with excitement. But even finding the murder weapon in his room wasn’t going to be enough to convict Linebacker of the murders. I’d found the underwear of rape victims in the bedrooms of their assailants, and still not managed to get a conviction. I needed everything I could get. I grabbed the first drawer of the desk and dumped its contents on the bed.
Pens, pencils, notebooks, rubber bands, keys. I grabbed the second drawer and dumped it. Photographs of naked women. A magazine called Gore Porn. I flipped through it briefly, feeling my upper lip curl. There were two more copies in the drawer. I grabbed a blue manila folder and sifted through the papers stuffed inside.
Birth certificate. Tax return forms. Pay slips. Rental ledgers. And a wad of papers stapled together, marked with a black Australian coat of arms.
I sat on the bed and scanned the document quickly. My eyes locked on bold lettering in the third page.
MEC5 Discharge.
I heard Whitt shouting outside, but before I could stand, Linebacker threw the door of the donga open. I had my gun out of my belt and trained on him as he stood in the doorway, his face darkening.
Chapter 74
LINEBACKER GAVE A short, hateful laugh.
‘This is your idea of top-secret operations, is it?’ he said. ‘Supersleuthing. You get the nancy boy to lead me away and you pick through my things like a vulture.’
Whitt walked into the donga, his shame quickly overcome by shock at the great black rifle lying on the bed.
‘Would you care to explain this?’ I gestured to the gun.
‘It looks like a gun,’ Linebacker said, smiling unpleasantly.
‘Interesting.’ I smiled back. ‘Because as I recall, the only weapon you’re permitted to have is the one in the guard’s station.’
‘Clever girl,’ Linebacker said.
‘Is the one at the guard’s station still locked up?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Then what the hell is this?’ I snapped.
He reached for the gun and I sprang to my feet, actioning my pistol. Whitt had his gun out too, both hands locked on the butt, the barrel almost pressing against Linebacker’s ear.
‘Don’t fucking move!’
‘Put your hands in the air!’
‘Alright.’ Linebacker froze, his hand inches from the rifle’s butt. ‘Why don’t you action it then.’
I paused. With a sinking feeling, I put my gun down and picked up the rifle. I grabbed the bolt and tried to slide it back, and found it hit nothing. The spring was missing. As my finger naturally slid into the trigger guard, it fumbled and found no trigger. I turned the gun on its side. The trigger slot was empty.
Linebacker was sniggering. I held the rifle in my hands, staring at the glossy black body.
‘Not so clever anymore, are you, girlie?’
‘Where are the missing pieces?’
‘They don’t exist,’ Linebacker sneered. ‘I have a mate in the Army who’s feeding the gun back to me piece by piece. Every six weeks he orders a spare part from his armoury, so as not to arouse suspicion, and posts the part to me. It’s missing the trigger, the firing pin and the bolt spring. In about – oh, maybe three months – I’ll have a complete gun, totally off the register.’
‘Why would you want a gun like this off the register?’
‘To sell, you moron! You know how much I can sell an untraceable gun of this size for?’ Linebacker squinted at me. ‘Are you stupid or something?’
I looked at the mess on the bed. Linebacker picked up the rifle and pointed it at my face.
‘Pow!’ he roared, and broke into a hacking laugh.
Chapter 75
I STOOD WITH my eyes closed in the blazing sun, looking at the redness it made on the back of my eyelids. Maybe if I stood there long enough, I thought, I could burn the embarrassment away.
‘Well, assembling stolen parts and creating unregistered weapons for sale on the black market isn’t nothing.’ Whitt clapped me on the shoulder.
‘Fat chance of conviction, given the illegal search.’ I groaned long and loud. ‘He’ll get rid of it all by the time we make the phone call for a warrant.’
‘Oh, I know,’ he sighed. ‘I was just commending you on your effort. A good effort should never be ignored.’
We walked for a long time in silence. I felt the heat of humiliation slowly draining from my neck and face, but my heart was still thundering in my chest.
‘I don’t like the guy, Whitt.’ I looked at my partner. ‘He had a medical discharge form for the Defence Force. So we know that not only has he got Army friends, he was probably Army himself. He’d have the training to use a weapon like that, whether he says he’s assembling it for sale or not. There was also a copy of Gore Porn in there.’
‘What porn?’
‘Gore Porn magazine,’ I said. ‘Don’t look so disgusted. It’s a pretty popular rag. Contrary to men like yourself who only read Grammar Weekly and Quiches of the World, guys in groups read pretty sick shit. Broot magazine’s most popular sections are still the horrific workplace injuries and, of course, the porn. Put the two together and you have Gore Porn. Sadism. Plastic surgery gone wrong, birth defects. Execution videos and snuff.’
‘I don’t see the appeal.’
‘Thing about Gore Porn is, it’s good for a laugh,’ I said. ‘Whenever I’ve seen the magazine before, that’s been the reaction from the owner – hey, it’s good for a laugh. It’s gross and kinky. You find them in policemen’s locker rooms and Navy messes and sports club back rooms. Female no-go zones.’
‘I’ll take your word for it, Harriet.’
‘In my experience, though –’ I tapped Whitt’s shoulder – ‘there’s only ever one copy. You can’t say someone bought it for a laugh when you’ve got a collection of them. In your bedroom.’
‘So how many did Linebacker have?’
‘At least three. And they were consecutive issues. You know, I’m not trying to make a big deal of something just because I think the guy is an award-winning jerk – which he clearly is – but you put the gun and the military service together, add in the unpopularity of this guy, all the time he spends alone walking around this place, and witness accounts that he’s tortured animals. On top of that, you add private reading material which suggests a strange, violent sort of arousal and what you get is someone who – whoa!’
A miner hurtled past me so fast and so close I was nearly knocked sideways. Two more followed, heading towards the rec room. I heard shouting. Whitt and I locked eyes. I saw terror flash briefly in my partner’s face, and then I heard a gunshot rip through the air.
Chapter 76
A CROWD HAD gathered at the side of the yard along the fence line, hands gripping the wire. Some men were shouting out, but the majority were silent.
‘What the hell is going on?’ I grabbed the nearest miner. He had no words, just pointed.
Out in the desert a tall, muscular man in a hard hat stood still, his hands slightly out from his sides. He must have been three hundred metres away. In the distance I spotted a crane.
‘What’s happening?’ Whitt gripped the wire beside me.
The man seemed to take a deep breath, then rushed forward, arms swinging madly as he put all his effort into the sprint. He started to dart sideways as puffs of sand exploded at his feet. Eventually the terror took him and he skidded to a halt.
‘Oh, Christ.’ I drew my gun. ‘He’s got the sniper on him.’ br />
I scrambled to the front of the crowd at the gate. The opening wasn’t big enough for a car. I pushed through and shut it behind me, locking Whitt on the other side with the crowd so he couldn’t stop me if I needed to run out there. I did not want these miners outside the fence line.
There was absolutely no cover out there on the plains. The man standing in the desert had no choice but to try to make a run for it. Wherever the gunshots were coming from, they came whenever he started running. He didn’t know whether to stand still or run. He was completely at the mercy of the shooter.
‘Fuck, man!’ someone near me cried. ‘Where are the shots coming from?’
‘I can’t see! There’s no sound. Has he got a silencer?’
‘We need to get out there.’
‘No one’s going out there.’ I watched them push against the locked gate. ‘Everybody stay calm.’
‘Lenny! Lenny, run!’ a young girl screamed.
‘Where’s Mick? Mick was out there with him!’
‘Everybody shut up!’ I could feel the tremors starting at my calves, creeping up my legs. I needed to think. ‘I want all of you back from the fence. You’re all exposed here.’
‘We can’t just stand back and watch them kill him!’ someone cried. ‘We need to get out there!’
I turned to the man in the desert, Lenny, who was gearing up for another sprint at the fence.
He ran, and after ten metres or so the puffs of sand began again. He swerved sideways, stumbled and fell, gripping at his calf. The chatter at the fence stopped just long enough for us to hear his agonised wail.
‘Do something!’ the girl screamed at me.
Sweat dripped off my upper lip. I needed to know what direction the shots were coming from. The sand seemed to be puffing out to Lenny’s right side. But there was nowhere out to the east where the shooter could take cover – unless there was a tunnel entrance I couldn’t see, a hole he was slightly popped up from. I squinted into the blinding light, my breath coming in hard gasps.