Two-Way Cut Page 3

  Yeah, well Ill just have toast.

  Toast smells. Theres no bread, anyway.

  Okay, how about fruit.

  No fruit, either.

  Tess yanked open the cupboard. God.

  She brought out an open packet of sultanas and tipped some into the palm of her hand. I don’t know if I can put up with much of this.

  Go, then. Its me they’re after.

  No its not.

  Okay, what have you done?

  Its not me, its Mitch, but I was with him, right? I’m a witness.

  Go to the police.

  I cant.

  You mean that you and Mitch were in it together, whatever it was. What was it? Did you rip off somebody?

  Tess glanced away. Not really.

  So, what did you do?

  Stole a car. What about you?

  Leah thought about it as she placed her empty tin in a plastic bag, which she would dispose of later, in a public bin. I’m stuck with a person I hardly know, she told herself. What does it matter if I tell her? It might even forge a bit of a bond between us, and God knows we need to help each other out now. She took a deep breath. It would be a relief to talk to someone. Suddenly Leah was overwhelmed by her own loneliness.

  Three years ago shed been a police officer, a rookie, just graduated and top of her class. An only child, her elderly parents had retired to the Gold Coast and so this was all she had, a new career, one she could be proud of. After a year in a divisional van shed been fast-tracked into some specialist short courses and plainclothes detective work, posing once as a sex worker and once as a junkie. And then, at the end of an extensive undercover sting operation involving fifteen uniformed police and CIB detectives, shed been sexually assaulted.

  Theyd all gone to a guesthouse in the hills to celebrate, reserving the dining-room and all of the bedrooms and cabins, the whole place, for an overnight stay. That evening Leah had got drunk—they’d all got drunk. Well, that was the point, to celebrate, have fun, let off steam, wash some of the grime away.

  Except that at two o’clock in the morning she and two other women had been unwinding in the communal spa bath when someone stole every stitch of fabric from the room: towels, bathrobes, floor mats, their clothing. Leah had crept to the door, poked her steamy head out and seen ten of her male colleagues lined along the corridor.

  Hey, girlie, said the one closest to the door.

  She hated being called girlie.

  What? she demanded.

  Hows tricks?

  Come on, give us back our clothes, or at least our towels.

  He glanced comically at his mates, then back at her, and said with mock regret, No can do, sorry.

  Its late, we want to go to bed.

  So do we, sweetheart, so do we.

  And they all looked hot, oily and porcine to her, open-mouthed, their faces distorted with an ugly kind of hunger.

  Come on, guys, give us a break, Leah said, hoping to remind them that they worked together, were colleagues, even friends.

  A little fun first, one man said. All you have to do is run the gauntlet.

  And?

  And nothing.

  Nothing.

  Thats right. Cross my heart and hope to die.

  You wont touch us?

  Thats right.

  Then one of the two women huddled in the doorway with Leah said, Come on, Leah, be a sport. They’re just having a laugh.

  Yeah, come on, said the second woman. They’re all too drunk to do anything.

  Leah said, No, its not right, this is harassment. They could lose their jobs for this.

  The atmosphere turned then. Leah felt the force of their suspicion and anger, as if shed betrayed the team.

  Don’t be a tight-arse, the first woman said, shoving past Leah and into the corridor and beginning to run. The men clapped and cheered and one or two smacked her on the rump. She reached the end of the corridor and pranced about with both fists raised in victory. Then the other woman ran, also playing to her audience.

  That left Leah.

  Come on, love, show us what you’ve got, the first man said.

  Be a sport.

  So she ran. The moment she stepped into the corridor she knew that shed made a bad mistake. The first man gave her a shove. She stumbled against the man opposite him, who also shoved her, placing both hands on her breasts. In this way she was passed jerkily from man to man until she reached the end of the corridor. Her body bore the marks of their hands for hours afterwards.

  The next day she resigned from the force. She brought charges against all of them, including the women, who reluctantly gave evidence supporting her case. Of the ten men, four were sacked, five transferred or demoted, one committed suicide. So, justice had been served, but shed let the side down, and now she was a target.

  Its the fact that one of the guys committed suicide, she told Tess in conclusion. They want to get even.

  Tess was watching her, eyes wide. What, like, kill you?

  I doubt it, but then again, I wouldn’t put it past some of them.

  Wow. Bummer, Tess said. She shook her head in disgust. Cops.

  Leah’s attitude was more complicated. She missed her job, her vocation. She had loved police work, was good at it, and praised for it by her superiors. And even though the police had ultimately let her down, her belief in them was undiminished. In her view, the police were mostly dedicated, but underpaid, unappreciated and apparently despised by a high percentage of the public, so it was no wonder that they tended to be inward-looking, clannish, a culture apart from the mainstream. They sought each other out when off-duty, and were sustained by a sense of moral superiority despite existing on the fringes of polite society.

  And they hated anyone who broke ranks, anyone who revealed the rotten apples in the barrel. They felt that whistleblowers tainted the force, did more harm than good, and should be stopped.

  But Leah said none of this to Tess. So I hit the road.

  What about your friends, your parents? Tess said.

  I wasn’t going to drag them into my mess, said Leah harshly. Anyway, my parents are in Queensland, I lost friends when I joined the force, and lost police friends when I left it. Now, whats your story?

  They had returned to the sitting-room. Tess flopped back in her corner of the sofa and began checking her hair for split ends. A moment later she pulled one bare foot into her lap and picked at the hoary skin on the edge of her big toe. She looked bored, sulky and apathetic, a dangerous combination to Leah’s mind. To shock her out of it she said, Tess, someone close to you was murdered a couple of hours ago. You could be next.

  Tess shifted about restlessly. Leah wondered if she was coming down from something, amphetamines maybe. Tess? Lets start at the beginning. Whats your full name?

  Tessa Quant.

  How did you meet Mitch?

  He did maintenance at my school.

  God, how old was she? Your school?

  Penleigh Hall. I’m a boarder there.

  How old are you?

  Tess’s eyes shifted. Eighteen.

  Leah knew she was lying. Sixteen? Seventeen? She certainly could pass for eighteen. She could pass for twenty-five. So, Mitch was a handyman at your school.

  Tess leaned forward and smirked. Very handy.

  Leah stared at her neutrally, unimpressed by the sexual bravado. And you got involved with him.

  Tess shrugged her bare shoulders and sat back in a sulk. Yeah.

  And the pair of you stole a car.

  Yeah.

  This was like getting blood from a stone. And ran away together.

  Not immediately.

  I’m trying to understand. Were you running away from something, or running to something?

  Stop interrogating me. Stop sounding like a cop. Or a teacher.

  I want to know.

  I was failing, all right? Satisfied?

  At that moment, Tess sounded exactly like a sixteen-year-old schoolkid. Did you and Mitch hit the road imm
ediately?

  Tess laughed. We shacked up together, only my father sent my brothers to get me back. Hes such a control freak.

  Leah cocked her head in frank disbelief, hoping to unsettle Tess. When Tess wouldn’t meet her gaze she said in a low, hard voice, Tess, those men had a shotgun, they killed Mitch, they could have killed you. Are you saying they were your brothers?

  No. I mean, I don’t think they meant anyone to get killed. Maybe its really you they’re after.

  Leah shook her head. This was like interrogating a child who lies automatically, the lies a complicated, unconvincing artifice when a simple lieor the truth would be best. When did you and Mitch hit the road together?

  About five days ago.

  Leah let the silence build in the stuffy little room, knowing that someone as impatient and impulsive as Tess could not stand much silence. Finally she said, So you don’t want to go to the police because it would mean getting your father and brothers into trouble?

  Exactly.

  But Mitch is dead now, Leah said, thinking: Not that you’re exactly grief-stricken.

  So?

  So you can go home, or back to school. If you’re a boarder, the school must be worried about you. They’ll be looking for you.

  You must be joking, Tess said. They were going to expel me anyway.

  Leah felt immensely weary. I don’t understand: if you’re a boarder, does that mean your parents live interstate or on a remote property somewhere?

  Melbourne.

  So why are you a boarder?

  Don’t get on with my parents.

  They must have pots of money, sending you to boarding-school when they don’t have to, Leah said, feeling resentful.

  Tess shrugged.

  I’m not exactly in a position to look after you.

  You don’t have to. I can look after myself.

  Yeah, right, Leah thought. The police will be involved now, she said, because of the car crash. They’ll identify Mitch, and someone will tell them that you were traveling with him. People will wonder where you are. The school, your mother.

  Want to know about my mother? When I was fourteen I got asthma so bad I had to go to hospital, so the school called her, and you know what, they didn’t find her for two weeks. She was off overseas with her boyfriend, who’s now my stepfather. When they finally did get hold of her, you know what she told them? You deal with it, like she didn’t care if I died or not. So excuse me if I don’t care what my mother thinks. Tess seemed on the verge of tears again.

  Leah cocked her head. It was your father, not your stepfather, who sent your brothers after you?

  Tess looked hunted. Yeah.

  Tess, look at me. Were those guys in the Range Rover your brothers?

  Tess avoided her gaze. I couldn’t tell. Maybe they got their friends involved, or hired somebody.

  Leah wanted to give Tess a good shake. She believed that Tess and Mitch had stolen a car, but that was all she believed, and a stolen car wasn’t enough to galvanise two killers in a Range Rover. No, she thought, I’m the target, not Tess.

  We need to stay here for at least a couple of days, she said. When they don’t find us tonight and tomorrow, they’ll assume we’ve moved on.

  Stay in this dump for two days? No way.

  All right then, go home. Go back to school. Simple.

  Tess moved about agitatedly on the sofa. She was a poor little rich girl with no conscience and hooked on cheap thrills. Life was a movie, and Leah was making her see what was real. She took a mobile phone from her pocket and switched it on.

  What are you doing?

  I have got some friends, you know, Tess flounced. Not that its any of your business.

  It is my business. Mobile phones can be tracked. Calls can be monitored.

  Giving Leah a hunted look, Tess put the mobile away. Leah wanted to say more, but fear was clearly apparent in the younger woman, breaking through the shallow cuteness and bravado. I don’t blame her, Leah thought. But I have to put on a brave front.

  Tomorrow we alter our appearance, she said. If we have to go out to the shops, then we don’t leave a trail. We use cash, not credit cards, okay? And no calls from public phones.

  Boring.

  I’ll sleep on the sofa, Leah said.

  Can I watch TV?

  Only the news, if you keep the volume down.

  God! What about e-mail?

  There was a computer on a card table in one corner of the sitting-room. No, Leah said, glancing at it. We don’t do anything that signals where we are.

  God.

  chapter 5

  The target left work every afternoon at six, so Evert van Wyk got to the carpark at five-thirty. Only one car was there, the targets Audi, together with some scraggly shrubs and a rubbish skip full of broken concrete paving. Van Wyk waited. In the old days you had to break into a car in order to set the trap, but now all he had to do was wait for the target to push a button on his key ring.

  Sure enough, at six on the dot the target crossed the carpark and a moment later van Wyk heard an electronic beep and the soft oiled click of locks disengaging. He waited until the target was halfway in the drivers door before making his move. By the time the target had his door closed but before he could lock it, van Wyk had slid into the back seat and was shoving his .22 pistol against the hinge of the mans jaw.

  Don’t do anything stupid.

  What do you want?

  Drive out of here slowly, left at the lights, were going to the golf course.

  The man slumped. He knew. Look, I can pay you next week. All I need is

  Thats nothing to do with me, van Wyk said. I don’t know why they want you topped, I just know they do, okay? Drive. Don’t talk.

  It was an easy hit and he was home by seven-thirty. The thing about your .22 pistol is, its small and quiet. A .22 wont necessarily stop an enraged or vigorous target, but it wasn’t designed to. It was intended for competition shooting…and for putting a bullet inside the skull of a human being.

  Van Wyk always used a .22 for close work. The trick was to shoot when the targets defences were down. Like tonight. The guy in the Audi expected to be shot in the woods off the main fairway, but van Wyk shot him inside the car, the moment he’d turned off the ignition.

  Last month van Wyk had shot a guy in a toilet cubicle, the guy at his most vulnerable, trousers around his ankles.

  Earlier in the year he’d tracked a target to a busy pub. The guy was a heavy in an organised outfit, always surrounded by minders, and van Wyk had no idea how he’d get close to him. Maybe this would have to be long range, with a sniping rifle, the kind of job that didn’t bring the same sort of satisfaction to van Wyk. So he tailed the guy for a few days, noting his routine and looking for vantage points, and learnt that the guy was a regular at the pub.

  In fact, as if mindful that a mobile phone is less secure than a land-line, he did business there, on a public phone in a dark corridor that ran behind the main bar. There were two phones, one on either side of a door marked cleaner. Van Wyk noticed that the target always used the phone closest to the entrance to the corridor, and both made and took calls. If it rang, the barman would answer and return to the bar, calling the targets name. So on the fourth day van Wyk picked up the second phone, rang the first phone and asked for the target by name, then broke the connection without hanging up. He was faking a drunken, pleading conversation with an imaginary wife when the target picked up the other phone and said, Yo. Van Wyk turned and shot him at the hairline, saying, Yo, yourself.

  Ten seconds later he was walking calmly through the main bar and out onto the street.

  A sweet hit, like tonights. After dumping the gun, he’d picked up Thai takeaway and gone home to eat it. In his old life he’d had black servants, but that wasn’t possible in Australia. In his old life he’d been a sanctioned killer for the government. Hed put a lot of woolly heads into body bags. Now the woolly heads were running South Africa, and he’d emigrated and was a killer for h
ire and did all of his own housework. It wasn’t so bad. He was used to it. But he’d met plenty of his countrymen who couldn’t adjust. They were lost without their servants. Once, when collecting his residency documents at the Australian High Commission in Pretoria, he’d overheard a telling exchange between fat, indignant whites and the immigration officials…

  But shes only a servant!

  That doesn’t matter, sir, she still needs a passport, a visa and a work permit.

  But who is going to do our cooking and cleaning when we get to Australia?

  You, sir? Your wife?

  It was a sign of the times. Van Wyk always moved with the times, stayed ahead of the times.

  At 8.30 the phone rang. It was another job, down in Victoria this time. Van Wyk went to his study, dismantled his spare .22 and silencer, and distributed the pieces inside a shaving-cream can, an electric razor and a video camcorder, ready for the X-ray machines at the airport tomorrow morning.

  chapter 6

  The first morning Leah stripped and washed at the sink, not in the shower, knowing how thin the walls were in these places, how noisy the plumbing. Then she patted herself dry with paper towels from the kitchen and went to work on her appearance. In the cabinet above the sink she found hair gel, scissors, a comb, rubber gloves and a box of black permanent hair colour. The woman depicted on the package was frozen in a toss of her beautiful head, her hair arcing in a long, glossy black fan: well, apart from the colour, Leah was going in the opposite direction. She chopped her hair short all over, then applied the dye to her hair, leaving it on for almost an hour before rinsing off the excess. Finally she dried her hair with paper towels and used her fingers to coax it into a carefully dishevelled style.

  Who am I now? she thought. She seemed to have a darker cast to her face, her features thin and drawn. She finished by mopping up with more paper towels and stuffing the paper and wrapping into a plastic shopping-bag along with last nights rubbish.

  She was drinking coffee when Tess wandered into the kitchen, yawning, puffy with sleep, wearing knickers and a T-shirt. She saw the girls jaw drop. Radical.