Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout (7 page)
Read Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout Online
Authors: Garry Disher
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Hard-Boiled, #Wyatt (Fictitious Character)
Charming, Raymond said.
Allie turned to him, smiling her
smile. Of course, she said, weve come a long way since then in relations
between men and women.
Raymond thought: Maybe he hits her,
the bastard. He coughed, glanced into the rear-view mirror. You thought
pirates got the
Eliza Dean?
I did, Vallance said. Then I
thought, no, why would she be sailing that far west? The Cornwall Group,
islands about seventy ks south-east of Wilsons Promontory seemed like a better
bet. A score of vessels have come to grief there. Thick sea fogs, howling
gales, no lighthouse until the 1840s.
So well be diving in howling gales
and thick fogs? Raymond asked.
Nope. Where I found the coins we
can anchor in sheltered waters, safely spend weeks exploring the reefs there if
we wanted to. Want to know how come I focused on the Cornwall Group and not
Flinders Island or the east coast of Tassie?
Sure. Raymond wound the big car
past the Melbourne Cricket Ground. The big lights loomed coldly like spy
cameras.
Okay, listen to this.
Hobart
Town Courier,
1827. Its what I mean by piecing clues together.
Vallance waved a photocopy between
the seats, then settled back to read aloud. Blah, blah, blah . . . Captain
Whitby, master of the Government cutter,
Swordfish,
was dispatched to
make a search among the Bass Strait Islands for tidings or wreckage of the
missing brig,
Mary May.
Captain Whitby reported on his return that
considerable wreckage from the
Mary May
had been discovered on Clarke
and Preservation Islands, but no trace of her passengers or crew.
Nevertheless a curious but
related fact has emerged as a result of Captain Whitbys search. Whilst at
anchor under the Cornwall Group during the term of a powerful gale, Captain
Whitby had occasion to take the ships vessel to the nearest shore, where he
came upon a sealer living with two native women. The sealer, Sydney Dan by
name, was unable or unwilling to provide a satisfactory account for the
presence in his hut of certain items, namely a sea chest, a snuff box, numerous
pistols and a majors uniform. Furthermore, part of a deckhouse had been
converted for use as a pigsty roof. Having ascertained that none of these items
belonged to the
Mary May,
Captain Whitby questioned the man more
closely. His answers appeared to be most evasive, and Whitby returned to the
Swordfish
with his curiosity and suspicion considerably aroused.
Next morning Captain Whitby
returned to the island and, taking the native women aside for questioning,
discovered a cooked leg of mutton, a ham and a cushion. Pursuing his inquiries
farther afield, among sealers, fishermen and sailors from diverse parts of the
Bass Strait islands, Captain Whitby learned that numerous sealers had recently
arrived in Launceston bearing cheques, gold coins and bank notes for which they
could not give a clear accounting. One man possessed a ships studding sail
boom, with the sails still attached.
The mystery has since deepened.
The
Courier
has it on good authority that Captain Gibb, Port Officer at
Hobart Town, last month received anonymously in the post the register and other
papers from the
Eliza Dean,
a barque missing between Sydney Town and
Hobart Town this past half year. Further to this, letters which could only have
been carried by the
Eliza Dean
recently arrived at their destinations in
Hobart Town, postmarked Launceston.
Grave concern is held for the
Eliza
Dean,
if indeed she was lost upon the reefs surrounding the Cornwall Group.
There is a dereliction of duty on the part of the Government if immediate steps
are not taken to unravel the mystery that enshrouds the fate of the thirty
individuals on board. It is a matter of importance to know whether they were
drowned or murdered, and whether they landed alive or if the bodies were
plundered after being washed ashore.
Raymond frowned. Yeah, yeah, yeah,
but how do we know the treasure is still on the wreck? It sounds as if she was
looted before she broke up. The coins you found could have been a handful that
got left behind.
He saw Vallance smile complacently. Trust
me, I know. Ive already made several passes with a metal detector and
accounted for all of the ferrous metals. The rest is gold, solid gold, and
silver.
Gold.
The word lodged in Raymonds head.
He found himself braking hard to avoid ramming the rear of a taxi on the
approach to the south-eastern freeway at Hoddle Street.
As the endless suburbs slipped past
their windows, Raymond asked questions. They were as hard and knowing as he could
make them. He wasnt an easy catch. He didnt want them to
think
he was.
Youre looking for investors, fifty
grand each. What does my fifty grand buy me?
A sixth share in the treasure. Me,
Allie, you, and three others. Equal sixths.
I dont mean that. I mean, what
kind of expedition are we mounting here?
He sensed Allie shift in her seat.
She was looking at him, her knees swivelled toward him. Raymond had read about
that in a book on body language. If they cross one leg over the other or face away
from you, they were unconsciously saying they didnt want to screw you. Allie
wasnt saying that. She was saying she wanted him, clear as day. Raymond almost
didnt hear Vallance say:
We need a ship we can live on in
comfort for a few days. Something with a winch and a fair-sized deck and hold
area. Well need different types of metal detectors, sonar gear, underwater
video, an airlift, underwater scooters, maybe even a prop wash.
Those were just words to Raymond. He
was more interested in concealment. I get the impression you dont want anyone
knowing about this expedition, so how do you propose to outfit it and spend a
few days searching without being noticed?
Youre right, Vallance said
smoothly. Why should we arouse the curiosity of others? I intend to hire a
good boat in one port, the gear in a range of other ports around Victoria and
Tasmania.
Do we need all that gear?
That coin youve got there is one
of a handful I found on a quick dive. The rest have been buried by the action
of the tides. Theyll need some getting at. Its been a hundred and seventy
years, after all.
Ive scuba dived, but thats all,
Raymond said.
Thats good enough for tomorrows
dive. Its just exploratory. I guarantee you wont be disappointed. When the
time comes to mount a salvage dive, Ill do the diving. Ive got hours of
experience.
How long?
The salvage itself?
Raymond nodded.
Several days, maybe a couple of
weeks. We have to locate the wreck first
I thought you already had.
What I found were loose coins
shaken free by the tides. The actual wreck, where the majority of the treasure
is, could be some distance away after all this time. It might have broken up
and be scattered over several hundred metres. So we locate the wreck, then make
a plot chart of the overall site, then we start excavating, marking all our
finds on the chart. Thatll give us a better picture of the spread pattern.
They were off the freeway now,
heading south on the Dandenong-Hastings road, past waterlogged farmland.
Raymond looked at his watch. Almost time for lunch.
When do we go out?
First thing in the morning, Allie
said, her soft growl almost in his ear as she shifted to get comfortable.
Raymond liked her voice. So I stay
the night at your summer place.
Be it ever so humble, Vallance
said.
Do you have your own boat?
We have a friend who runs a charter
operation. Hell take us out in the morning.
Good old Quincy, Vallance said.
Good old Quincy, Allie agreed.
Raymond frowned. How many people
are in on this?
Allies cool fingers touched his
wrist. Its all right. Quincys not involved. So far weve lined up three of
the four investors.
Raymonds draw dropped.
Three
of
the four? Already? Who are they?
Vallance seemed to close down. Youll
understand that they dont want their identities revealed. These are
professional men. Theyve paid their fifty thousand.
What if I say no?
Then no hard feelings. Well
approach one of our other contacts. Its just that
you
appeal to us.
These are old geezers were talking about. To them its just another
investment. Theyve got no soul, no romance in their veins. Someone like you,
likes to hear the stories, willing to come out and dive with us, willing to
have an open mind and not tie us up with lawyers and accountantsthats what we
want for our fourth investor.
Raymond was silent. He felt a
gut-clench of anxiety, a feeling that he might miss out entirely if he didnt
act soon.
They drove over the railway tracks
on the outskirts of Hastings, Vallance directing Raymond to a run-down flat in
a block of four, several streets back from the waterfront. Again, Raymond
couldnt work them out. It was an ugly little flat. They unpacked and drove to
a cafe at the marina. One hour passed. Two. They made small talk. Raymond
guessed that Allie and Vallance were maintaining a delicate silence around the
topic of his investing with them, and so didnt want to pressure or confuse
him. After a while they left him to think, saying they were going to make
arrangements with their charter-captain friend, Quincy.
Raymond ordered another coffee and
stretched his legs. Gulls wheeled above the cafe tables. Sail rigging pinged on
the drydocked yachts. He blinked, taking in the man who was staring moodily at
the chalked menu.
Uncle Wyatt? he said, his old name
for his fathers brother.
* * * *
Nine
A
while since Wyatt had been called that. He knew of only one person in the world
whod called him that, but Wyatt distrusted coincidence and didnt turn around,
not until hed sought out the voice in the mirror behind the cash register.
Still Wyatt didnt respond. He ran a checklist of his senses. They were a
barometer of the town, the marina, the cafe itself. The place
seemed
all
right: scratchy muzak, idle yachting types, tourists, the clank of cafe
cutlery. Finally he said, Ray? and turned to his nephew.
Raymond unfolded from a plastic
chair and grinned awkwardly. Been a long time.
Wyatt was shocked. It was as if his
brother stood there, languid, graceful, knockabout, wearing a likeable grin.
But in the case of Wyatts brother there had always been sour grievances under
the grin. A lot of people, like Rays mother, hadnt seen that until it was too
late.
Wyatt stepped forward and shook the
boys hand. Ray.
Boyhardly a boy. If this were a
normal occasion and Wyatt a normal man he might have said something like, Youve
certainly shot up, or The last time I saw you you were knee high to a
grasshopper, but Wyatt had nothing mindless to say.
Instead, he looked at his grown-up
nephew and asked, aware of the suspicion in his voice: What brings you here?
Raymond sensed it. Dont worry, Im
not tailing you if thats what you think. Im here with some friends. He
searched for the term he wanted. Fishing trip. You? On holiday?
It occurred to Wyatt that he hadnt
had a holiday in his life, just long stretches of idle, recuperative time
between heists, periods spent resting his body but not his head. There was
always the next job to plan, for when the money ran out. He clapped a hand
shyly on his nephews shoulder. Good to see you, he said.
Raymond seemed to fill with
pleasure. Sit, he said, signalling to the waitress. Beer? Something
stronger?
Wyatt shook his head. Not for me.
At once Raymond went still. Youre
not working on something? He looked around the marina, as though banks and
payroll vans had materialised there.
Wyatt allowed himself to smile. He
watched carefully as Raymond turned to signal the waitress again. The last time
Wyatt had seen the boy was fifteen years ago, when theyd put his father in the
groundWyatts brother, a man weak and vicious enough to blacken the eyes and
crack the ribs of his wife and kid whenever the world let him down. In the end
the world had disappointed him all the way to the morgue. Raymond had been ten
at the time, fine-boned and quick like his mother, laughter always close to the
surface. Hed had a black eye at the funeral, Wyatt recalled, and it was clear
how hed got it. Hed shown no emotion when the family tossed dirt into the
yawning grave, only satisfaction. The official story was that Wyatts brother
had pitched head-first from a flight of steps, onto a concrete floor. Hed been
drinking heavily. Wyatt had gone with the accident storyuntil he saw Raymond
at the graveside. Then hed known it wasnt an accident, or mostly not.
More coffee here, Raymond told the
waitress.
Wyatt had known that his brother was
no good. Hed tried to help, giving the family money, giving his own brother
hard warnings to play it straight with his wife and son. It hadnt been enough,
and later, after the funeral, they lost touch with one another. It seemed to be
the best thing to do. Raymond had been getting too interested in the stories
that surrounded Wyatt, making them add up to something more than the truth,
until hed asked, at the wake: Can I live with you, Uncle Wyatt?
