Gunshine State Read online

  ‘We’ve got your drugs, can we just get out of here?’ said Chance.

  ‘There’s one more thing.’

  Chance sensed something was wrong, raised his pistol.

  Dormer smiled over Chance’s shoulder.

  Sophia Lekakis stood in the doorway, her face set at a determined angle. Nelson’s gun looked large and unwieldy in her hands.

  ‘You said it yourself, Jacobi.’ Dormer pocketed his own pistol and took the gun from Chance’s hand. ‘We can’t very well just let Gao walk out of here.’

  Amber whimpered. ‘This wasn’t part of the plan, Frank.’

  ‘Plan’s changed,’ Dormer said, patting the pockets of Chance’s suit coat until he located the keys to the Volvo.

  Chance wrenched off his balaclava, ran his free hand through his hair. ‘You’re going to kill Gao and Nelson?’

  ‘No, Jacobi, you are. The police will find your gun and your body here to prove it.’

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Dormer,’ said Chance. ‘I’ll walk away. You can have everything.’

  ‘I’m afraid not. You remember the first time we met, what I said about the sharks? The strong ones eliminate the weak to keep the rest of the school healthy. Gao and Nelson are the weak ones. You just happened to be in the water at the wrong time.’

  Dormer swivelled, aimed Chance’s gun at Gao. The Filipino snarled, launched himself at his assailant. He knocked Dormer to the ground and fell on top of him.

  Lekakis watched the two men wrestle on the floor, unsure what to do. Chance saw his opportunity, charged at the woman, one shoulder forward, knocked her out of the way.

  He reached the main room, heard a shot from the bedroom, followed by a woman’s scream.

  Chance looked around wildly, noticed the sliding door was open from when he’d gone out on the balcony earlier. He cleared the doorway as another shot, this one suppressed by the silencer, rang out. The floor-to-ceiling glass next to him disintegrated. More shots, something sharp bit into his left shoulder. He ran across the patio, leapt over the railing.

  His arms clawed at the darkness and cold air. The ghostly-lit shape came at him with terrifying speed and his world was transformed into a translucent blue.

  His body glanced off the bottom of the pool, hard, but not the fatal force had he hit the shallow end. He slowly surfaced, his breath ragged in his ears, his skin tingling from the impact. He made to swim for the side, but a bolt of pain halted him mid-stroke. He noticed a slow motion swirl of red in the blue around him from a wound somewhere near his left shoulder. His chest throbbed as he hauled himself out of the pool. His peripheral vision was a technicolour glaze, like the onset of a migraine. He peeled off his latex gloves, took his phone out of his trouser pocket. Pool water had ruined it. He tossed the device into a nearby clump of ferns.

  There was an entrance to the pool area that looked like it would take him through the lobby, the way they’d come in, but Dormer might be waiting for him.

  That left the beach-facing wall. He hauled his body over, felt like he was going to pass out with the pain as he landed feet-first on the sand. He stood very still for a few minutes, tried to breathe normally.

  He took a tentative step, then another, walked across the sand as fast as his battered body would allow.

  FOURTEEN

  A taxi was parked under a light at the end of the street facing onto the beach. A swarthy looking driver stood smoking next to the vehicle.

  Chance had found a towel abandoned on the beach, ripped part of it off to use as a makeshift tourniquet for his wounded arm. Dark spots showed through the fabric. The driver didn’t bat an eyelid as he approached. Wherever he was from he’d probably seen worse. He agreed to take Chance without putting on the meter for a hundred dollars. Chance climbed into the back. The effort flooded his body with pain.

  The radio was tuned to an Arabic station. A male voice chanted a prayer. The melancholy tones soothed Chance.

  He stopped the cab opposite a piece of parkland a block away from Curry’s house. The reflection of the moonlight on the canal was visible through the low-hanging trees. He leaned forward from the back seat, peeled off a couple of sodden fifty dollar notes, passed them to the driver, paused, peeled off two more to be sure he’d bought the man’s silence.

  Soft rain started to fall as Chance walked down the incline of the park toward the canal. He felt his shoes sink into the mud at the water’s edge. He parted a clump of reeds, kept going until the water was up to his neck. Urban legend had it the waterways around Surfers were populated by Bull sharks that had swum in from the sea. The idea suddenly amused him. He had much bigger predators to worry about.

  In all likelihood there were now two bodies lying in the hotel suite back in Surfers. Gao and his bodyguard, both executed with a gun covered with his fingerprints. Chance knew the Chinaman would have put in place enough layers to prevent the gun being traced back to him. The wily old bastard hadn’t survived this long without learning how to insulate himself when things went wrong. Chance doubted he’d be so lucky. He had to get as far away from Surfers as possible. But first, he had to find out whether Curry was in on the double-cross, and, if so, whether the Chinaman was involved, too.

  He turned on his side, waded through the cold water with his good arm. Vegetation brushed against his feet. He heard a siren in the distance. It was joined by the call of a waterbird somewhere in the blackness.

  Chance swam until he reached the back of Curry’s residence. The windows of the house and the dwellings adjoining it were dark.

  He grunted in pain as he pulled himself onto a concrete ledge running along the back of Curry’s property. He manoeuvred around the patio furniture, tested the glass sliding door. It was unlocked. He glimpsed a hammer amid a stack of tools on the table, picked it up, stepped inside.

  The familiar contours of Curry’s kitchen and dining area came into focus. The only sign of life was a thin line of light from under the door to Curry’s study. He pressed his ear against the cool wood, heard nothing, opened the door and stepped in, the hammer held at his side.

  Curry lay on the floor, the top half of his body visible in a circle of lamp light. Chance knelt next to the body. The old man had a surprised look on his face, eyes wide, mouth partly open, like he’d been interrupted in the middle of one of his stories. There was a single entry wound on the middle of his forehead. The shag pile around the back of his head was thick with blood, a spray of gore on the nearest wall.

  Chance turned his head slightly, found himself staring into the quivering barrel of a sawed-off shotgun. Amber stood at the other end of the weapon, still in her black cocktail dress, barefoot, her large blue eyes bloodshot and lined with streaked mascara.

  ‘Put the hammer down,’ she said.

  Chance did as he was told.

  ‘Let’s get a couple of things straight. I knew about the heroin but I didn’t know Dormer was going to kill Gao and the bodyguard, pin it on you.’

  He said nothing just looked into her big blue eyes.

  ‘If you don’t believe me, just slowly back the fuck out of the room, leave the house and don’t let me see you again.’

  Chance replayed the scene in Gao’s hotel suite, Amber’s reaction when Dormer had revealed his true intentions. The look of genuine fear on her face couldn’t have been faked.

  ‘I believe you.’

  She lowered the sawed-off, glanced at Curry’s body on the floor.

  Chance jumped up, grabbed the barrel and yanked it from Amber’s hands. She stumbled backward onto a black leather couch. He sighted the gun centimetres away from her face.

  ‘How does it fucking feel to have a gun pointed at you?’ he wheezed. His body felt on fire and it took all his willpower not to pass out.

  ‘Nothing I haven’t experienced before, bastard, believe me.’ She didn’t flinch, returned his glare, her eyes hard slits, fists balled at her sides.

  ‘Who killed your boyfriend over there?’

  ‘Dennis
wasn’t my boyfriend.’ Amber stifled a sob. ‘He and Kerrigan were lovers. Had been for years.’

  ‘So where’s Kerrigan?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘After you did your high dive act, Dormer came back into the bedroom.’ Amber spoke quickly, her breath a series of sharp gasps. ‘He just walked right up to Gao and Nelson, shot them with your pistol. Sophia just watched, said nothing. I was scared, all I could do was play along.

  ‘We left the hotel with the heroin and the money, headed for the farm in Beaudesert. Call me a suspicious bitch, but after what happened in the suite, I had the impression I wasn’t exactly a key part their plans. When the car stopped at a red light, I got out and made a run for it. When I felt it was safe enough I came here. Didn’t know where else to go,’ she glanced at the body. ‘Dennis was already like this.’

  ‘Dormer tying up loose ends.’

  Amber wiped a forearm under her nose, nodded.

  ‘Did Curry know about the heroin?’

  ‘No, he thought we were only after cash. Dennis hated drugs, never touched them after what they did to his son.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘His son, Sean, died of a heroin overdose.’

  Chance lowered the gun. He remembered the photograph of Curry standing on a beach with a young man. He hadn’t noticed a family resemblance. Then again, he hadn’t been looking for it.

  ‘But you knew.’

  ‘Yeah, Dormer told me Gao wanted to get into the heroin business. Gao brought the American, Tavener, along to broker the deal. The gear had already been smuggled into the country, Gao took possession, was going to sell it in Sydney. I’d hoped to convince Curry to go along with it, at least take his cut of the cash from it. I owed him that much.’

  Sweat dripped from Chance’s face and his entire body ached. He slumped on to the couch next to Amber, looked at the sawed-off in his hands. Probably Curry’s. Maybe even the gun the old man had used on the Ferret back in Melbourne all those years ago. It was certainly old enough, the barrel scratched, the wooden stock worn and nicked.

  He looked at the lifeless old man on the carpet. ‘What a fucking mess.’

  ‘What are we going to do now?’

  ‘What do you mean “we?” By morning I’ll be wanted on a double murder charge. You do what you want. I’m getting the hell out.’

  His words trailed off, he winced in pain.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere in your condition.’ Amber leaned over, peeled away the crude tourniquet from the wound on Chance’s arm.

  He tried to wave her off, was too weak to stop her.

  ‘Nasty.’

  ‘You a doctor now?’ He drew a sharp breath as she probed around his ribs.

  ‘Nothing’s broken, but something’s damaged, you’ve probably fractured a rib or two. You aren’t going anywhere. Not alone, anyway.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘You’re not the only one that’s been cheated. I don’t work for free, either. Besides, when the police discover the bodies in that suite, how long do you think it will take them to make a link to me? The places they’ll find my DNA, I don’t even want to think about. Whatever, I’ve got no more interest in hanging around here than you do.’

  ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

  ‘Peter, you’ve got two choices. You’re hurt pretty bad. You can come with me or be a tough guy, stay here on the couch, and let the cops find you in the morning.’

  She’d fully regained her composure, her voice calm and clear.

  ‘Okay, help me up,’ said Chance.

  ‘Any idea where we go?’ she said as she draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled him off the couch.

  ‘Ahh shit, that hurts.’ Chance groaned as he stood. ‘I know a great Chinese restaurant, about two days drive from here, in a little town near Canberra called Yass.’

  ‘That’s a long way to travel to order takeaway.’

  ‘Trust me. It’s worth the drive.’

  ‘I’m game, Peter, anywhere that’s not here.’

  ‘Peter’s a false name I used for this job. My real name is Gary. Gary Chance.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Gary,’ she said, smiling. ‘Since we’re in a sharing mood, my real name is Kate. Kate Norliss.’

  FIFTEEN

  Detective Sergeant Elyssa Blake parked on the shoulder of the dirt road, walked the remaining hundred metres to the farmhouse. She hoped the exercise would stave off the headache lurking on the fringes of her skull ever since she’d awakened that morning.

  The sky was overcast, grey cloud streaked with black. Rain again last night, more forecast today. The fields on either side of the road were a rich emerald colour from all the moisture. A rainbow was visible above the paddock to her right. She briefly wondered what was at the end. Probably another corpse, if the last couple of days were anything to go by.

  She walked over a rusty cattle grid and up the slope toward the house, cursed as mud splashed on her expensive leather shoes.

  Next to the house was a ramshackle barn, doors open to reveal the rear of a red Toyota Corolla. Two police vehicles were parked on the lawn under a large tree. A young uniformed officer stood talking to an overweight man who puffed on a cigarette, a criminal investigation branch detective named Gavin Nolte.

  The uniform nodded in her direction, Nolte turned, walked down the incline toward her.

  ‘Is it him?’ she said.

  Nolte exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke and fixed her with the world-weary look. ‘Yeah.’

  Nolte flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby puddle, hitched up the pants of his turd-coloured suit and indicted for her to follow.

  ‘Who’s the uniform?’

  ‘Bloke called Reagan. Don’t worry, he’s sorted.’

  ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘Only the owner. He’s got a couple of priors for holding unlicensed rave parties on the property, just wants the whole thing to go away.’

  A tall, skinny detective with a shock of sandy hair named Dundee met them at the front door of the house. He held a plastic evidence bag containing a pistol.

  Dundee led them down the dark hallway to a kitchen. A wood stove, an ancient-looking fridge in the corner. The body of a man lay on the floorboards in the centre of the room, next to an overturned chair. Even with half his head missing, Blake recognised him from his mug shot.

  ‘Meet contestant number four,’ said Dundee.

  Blake flinched, caught herself before either of her male colleagues noticed. Despite nearly a decade in the job, she still found the hardest thing about being a cop was the casual disregard some officers showed to the dead.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Nolte ran a hand through his almost non-existent hair, lit a cigarette.

  Blake went as close to the body as she could without getting blood on her shoes. ‘Another execution-style killing?’

  Dundee nodded.

  She looked at the bag in Dundee’s hand. ‘The murder weapon?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Where’d you find it?’

  ‘Bushes around the side of the house.’

  ‘Been fired?’

  ‘Five shots.

  Gao, his bodyguard Nelson, Curry, and now Malcolm Kerrigan, all killed, execution-style, with a hollow-point round to the head, fired from a .38 snubnose pistol, the same make as the pistol in the bag.

  Blake made it a point never to underestimate the stupidity of the average criminal. But whoever had murdered Gao and the others was not an average criminal. They were professionals and professionals didn’t accidently leave a weapon in the bushes near a murder scene. Police had also found a vehicle abandoned on the outskirts of Brisbane that was licensed to a long-time Surfers Paradise resident named Dennis Curry. The same Dennis Curry who organised a well-known poker game Gao frequented whenever he was in Surfers. Police had gone to Curry’s house to question him, found the old man murdered, same as Gao and the bodyguard. It
was as if someone wanted to leave a trail of signposts leading to whomever had committed the crimes.

  ‘I’ve already phoned in the serial number for the gun,’ said Dundee. ‘Viljoen is working on it and lifting the prints from the Volvo as we speak.’

  ‘Why Kerrigan?’ she said aloud to herself.

  ‘Maybe he pissed someone off,’ said Nolte hesitantly.

  Blake looked at her colleague, thought of a piece of graffiti she’d once seen on a toilet wall. ‘I know a cop that’s so dumb the other police have started to notice.’

  ‘Four bodies, Stretch,’ she said, using Dundee’s nickname, ‘a Gold Coast record. What else have you got?’

  ‘Signs at least another two people were staying here, one of them a woman.’ Dundee held up another evidence bag. It contained several dozen-cigarette butts, the ends encircled in lipstick.

  Blake placed a thumb and forefinger on her head, slowly massaged her temple.

  This morning’s media reports had described Curry as a colourful local identity, a throwback to the Coast’s more freewheeling past. What they hadn’t mentioned was prior to coming to Queensland, he had sported the moniker ‘Dennis the Menace.’ A former enforcer for a faction of the once notorious Victorian Painters and Dockers Union, he’d fled north after allegedly killing a member of a rival faction in a bar at the tender age of just twenty-two. He’d landed a job on the Brisbane docks and for many years was a key player in the city’s flourishing crime scene.

  Curry had retired to Surfers a decade ago, made a name for himself as an entrepreneur, philanthropist and regular fixture on the city’s social circuit, quick with a risqué joke, full of old-school criminal charm.

  Curry had lived with two people.

  A woman, first name was Amber, last seen in Gao’s company the night the Filipino was murdered.

  The second was the man lying on the floor in front of them, Curry’s longtime lover, Malcolm Kerrigan, or ‘Mad Mal’ as he used to be known. Kerrigan’s criminal lineage dated back to the Clockwork Orange Gang, a group active in the seventies who wore bowler hats, carried canes, and roared around Brisbane on Harley Davidsons. Say what you want, thought Blake, but at least the crims back then were original.