Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout (24 page)

Then he felt her sit beside him, her
thigh warm against his. In the light and warmth of the fire, Wyatt shifted
position on the sofa and saw that Liz was watching him. Surprised by desire,
the intensity and suddenness of it, he hooked his hand behind her neck. She
shuddered. When they fell to the carpet, they made a clawing kind of love,
Wyatt giving and getting back, finding a deep relief.

But when it was over, so was the
pleasure. Wyatt didnt know Liz Redding, nor she him. They had desire and
regard for each other, and were both in flight from the law, but that wasnt
yet enough. He realised from her face that she shared his detachment, his
drawing away. Her sadness matched his own. When the feeling passed they moved
to the bed together for sleep. Wyatt wondered if he would wake in the morning
and find her gone.

That was sad, too.

But if she
was
thereif he
hadnt driven her away or allowed her to feel that she must gothen he would
have to find a way of saying that he wanted her to stay. He wondered how people
did that. Did they state it baldly? Thats how he normally communicated his
feelings, but surely that wasnt enough?

She was still there when he awoke at
four in the morning. Moonlight streamed into the house, so he didnt bother
with lights. He padded naked to the kitchen, downed a glass of tap water and
mused at the window. That probably saved his life, for he was gazing
unfocusedly across the moon-drenched open ground and otherwise might not have
detected a flicker at the far end of the belt of trees that screened the house
from the road. It was slight, and it was not repeated, but although stealthy it
was not the movement of an animal of the night.

Wyatt drew back from the window and
moved swiftly back to the bedroom. He clamped his hand over Lizs mouth,
watched as she woke, struggled and subsided, before he whispered, We have
visitors.

She heaved against his hand. He
released her. Who? she demanded.

Keep your voice down. I dont know
if theyre after you or after me. Theyre not showing themselves.

Somewhere nearby the house creaked.
Wyatt hissed, Get into the wardrobe.

Liz pushed the bedclothes away and
slipped across the room. She didnt question or argue further, and Wyatt saw
that she had dressed again while hed been asleep.

He thought of his nakedness then and
pulled on jeans, hiking boots and a cotton sweater. He kept a .38 revolver strapped
to the underside of the bedframe, and hurriedly dropped to the floor now and
reached in and retrieved it. After a moments thought, he shoved spare pillows
under the bedclothes to suggest sleeping forms and placed a dark handkerchief
on one of the pillows at the head of the bed.

Wyatt wished that hed had more time
to imagine his house defensively. He knew how to
escape
from ithe had a
mental map of the rooms, doors and windows, their positions and dimensionsbut
what he needed to know was how to
use
the house. He concentrated for a
moment, identifying the areas where light, natural or artificial, didnt fully
penetrate. There were several: between the door to the kitchen and the
refrigerator, the space behind the couch . . .

He ran out of time. He heard a
footfall in the hall outside the bedroom and he rolled across the carpet until
he lay flush where the wall met the floor. From this position he put his weight
on his stomach and elbows and trained the .38 at the open door.

That might have worked if the
shooter had been careless. Wyatt willed him into the doorway, even into the
room, but all he got was a glimpse of a barrel. He was up against an assault
rifle and a man who was too careful to frame himself as a target. Wyatt saw the
barrel appear, squeezed off a shot from his .38, then all hell broke loose and
he found himself deafened by the stutter of automatic fire. But hed seen a
face in the muzzle flash. It was Steer come to get him, not Raymond.

* * * *

Thirty-seven

When
Steer had stepped onto the steel deck of Quincys boat and shouted Freeze! he
had the satisfaction of watching Raymond spasm in fright, almost piss himself
with it.

Then, a few hours later, he watched
Raymond all doubled over with seasickness, and that was pretty satisfying, too.
Not the ultimate satisfactionthat was still to comebut still pretty good.

The trawler had ploughed on into
choppy seas. Steer could have taken Raymond out in Melbourne, a clear shot to
the brainbox while the little shit was trying to get into Chaffeys house, but
a neighbour had been pottering around in the garden next door and Steer had
decided to tail Raymond instead, hoping hed lead him to the uncle.

Instead, it was to a one-horse town
on the coast and Quincy and Quincys boat.

Raymond had got his nerve back
pretty quickly after the Freeze. Hed swallowed, screwed a look of relief and
apology onto his face and said, Steer? Tony? Jesus Christ, man, I thought youd
be out of the country by now. I mean, when you didnt come back, me and Denise

Steer had broken in calmly: You and
Denise what?

Well, we figured that was it, youd
decided to go it alone.

Did you just?

Raymond had swallowed again. Quincy
stood off to one side, bleary, a fag in the comer of his mouth, holding a rope.
Hed swung his head, trying to follow the conversation.

Yep, Raymond said. Denise was
that upset. She thought, thats it, Ill never see him again, hes walked out
on me.

I got delayed, Steer said.

Raymond managed a laugh. Good to
know youre okay.

Steer had watched Raymond without
expression for a few long seconds, wondering how the little shit would play it.

She was upset?

Raymond nodded vigorously. Ill
say. Inconsolable. In the end she just cleared out.

Is that a fact?

Yeah. She knew shed be arrested if
she went home. Said something about dropping out of sight up north somewhere.

You dont say?

Raymond had found encouragement in
Steers indifference. He took charge. Mate, you cant stick around here. Plus
youre too late for that boat Chaffey had lined up for you. I dont know what
to suggest.

This
is a boat, Steer said.

Forgetting my manners, Raymond
said. He indicated the other man. This heres Quincy. Its his boat.

Quincy.

Like the TV show, the bleary
captain said.

Raymond frowned, clearly puzzled by
the reference, but Steer knew it. Re-runs of Quincy, M.E. had always been
popular in the places Steer had beenLong Bay gaol, Bathurst, Yatala. All those
men hoping the medical examiner would find the killer yet also hoping theyd
learn how to make a murder look like a suicide or an accident.

How about it, Quince? This tub make
it to New Zealand for my mate here?

Quincy contrived to look cunning. Itll
cost him.

No problem, Steer said. In the
meantime, where are you two off to?

Raymond had zipped open a red Thomas
Cook bag. Take a gander at this.

Old coins and ingots, worn by the
tides, encrusted with the sediments of the sea.

This stuff comes from a wreck out
on the Cornwall Islands. Quincys taking me there. Lets hope were not too
late. You want to get in on the deal?

As transparent as glass. Steer saw
it from Raymonds perspective: distract Steer from the question of Denise
and
get him out on the high seas where it was two against one. Sure, he said.

And now he was in the bow, getting
on for three hours out of Westernport, his head tipped back slightly, sniffing
the wind, while Quincy stood in the wheelhouse and Raymond chucked his guts out
over the side.

From the alignment of the bow with
the coastline and the still clouds on the horizon, Steer judged that Quincy had
turned a few degrees to starboard. Quincy seemed incurious enough about
everything; probably did a spot of illegal abalone diving or was paid to go out
and pick up bales of cannabis from the odd ocean-going yacht, but no doubt some
internal head-scratching was going on.

Steer looked back. The Victorian
coastline was receding in the afternoon light. Ahead of them lay choppier
water. It wasnt bad; Steer had seen worse in his time. According to Quincy,
there were no gale warnings, no storms expected. It was just surface chop, but
it had got young Raymond in the guts. Steer smiled again.

Quincy caught his eye and winked
comically. Steer nodded. Quincy wasnt a man who shaved or wore fresh clothes.
Steer had spent a lot of time in gaol, a lot of time in cramped conditions, and
a man soon learnt to value cleanliness. There was little toleration for the
inmate who didnt wash, didnt make an effort. Just as well Quincy was
downwind, in his wheelhouse. Steer took in the mans greasy overalls and
towelling cap, his fuckwits eyes in a nest of wrinkles, and turned back to his
contemplation of the sea and fate.

He supposed that the treasure would
be a bonusif there was any. It would top up his two hundred grand, which had
still been sitting in Chaffeys safe, wonder of wonders. Steer had felt certain
that it wouldnt have been there, given the rip-off that Chaffey and Raymond
were working on Denise and himself.

At his elbow, Quincy said, Wouldnt
have a smoke on you by any chance?

Steer gazed past him involuntarily
to the wheelhouse.

Oh dont worry about this old
darling, Quincy said. Ive set a course and shell more or less keep to it
for the time being. I mean, what are we going to hit out here? An iceberg?
Fucking nuclear warship?

A gurgling cough started deep inside
Quincy and Steer realised that the man was laughing. He recoiled, stepped back
a couple of paces, but Quincy followed. Quincy was a crowder. That was another
thing you soon learnt not to do in the places Steer had been. To stall the
sailor, Steer got out his Stuyvesants.

Ta muchly, Quincy said.

Where Steer came from, a complex
pattern of human intercourse revolved around cigarettes. It wasnt like being
on the outside, where you simply walked into a shop and bought smokes and
smoked them. In gaol they were an item of currency. You bartered with them,
accumulated and bought favours with them. They soothed you when you burned
inside. You didnt, on any account, offer them without expecting something
back. Quincy, puffing contentedly now, wasnt to know that, but that didnt
lessen Steers contempt for the man.

Your little mates puking his guts
up.

They gazed at Raymond, who lay on
his side near the starboard safety rail, both arms around his head. He must be
wrung dry by now, Steer thought.

Is there calm water around the
islands?

Quincy said that there was.

Hell be okay when we get there.

Quincy looked at the sky, the deck,
a point past Steers shoulder. I dont want no funny business.

Steer looked at him. Did the man
mean sex? Does he think Raymond and I have a thing for each other?

I dont want no shipwreck inspector
arseholes breathing down my neck.

Right, Steer said.

Not worth the aggravation, know
what I mean? They could seize this boat, fine us, slap us in gaol. Not worth
it.

I understand, Steer said.

They watched as Raymond rolled onto
his other side.

Theres a thin blue line between
fossicking and scavenging.

I guess there is.

Anything you find belongs to the
government, by rights.

Now Steer had a fix on him. Seabirds
sideslipped above their heads and the air hummed with a heady, briny ozone
freshness. It was good to be alive. Well cut you in, Steer said.

Quincys whiskery face contorted
into an expression of cunning. Nice to know were on the same wavelength.
Those other bastards your mate was partners with were paying me by the hour,
only they skipped, owing me six hundred bucks.

What other bastards?

Your mates partners, Quincy said.

Where are they?

Scarpered, most probably. They didnt
smell right to me.

They gazed at Raymond. So we work
something out, okay? Quincy said. Ill see you dont get disturbed. If anyone
shows, Ill have a good story ready, fishing rods over the side, stuff like
that. We split whatever you find, no questions asked.

Fair enough, Steer said.

Moron.

Quincy went back to the wheelhouse.
They butted on through the swell and eventually Steer lost interest in the sea
and Raymond and Quincy. He went below, found a paperback and stretched out with
it on his bunk. Later he took a chart up to Quincy, breathed shallowly while
Quincy indicated the location of the
Eliza Dean.

They anchored late in the day in a
sheltered cove on the eastern side of the main island in the Cornwall Group.
Steer stared at the little land mass and thought it a fitting place for a
wreck, for tragedy, for the end of the line. He saw eroded red stone peaks,
ferns, a tidal river between prongs of granite, wind-stunted sheoaks, Cape
Barren geese, a few muttonbirds, oystercatchers and sandpipers, bare shoreline
rocks, even a fur seal. There was a chill in the air.