Bay of Martyrs Page 17

  Tudor’s eyes seemed to go out of focus. Clay pressed on. ‘As for the Fullerton-Swanson stuff, I’m close to nailing something big there. I don’t know how Anderson fits into that, but I do know that the Right Honourable Member for Warrnambool isn’t quite so honourable.’ Clay detailed the morning’s conversation with Theresa in Port Fairy, leaving her name out of it. Tudor listened, but seemed to be growing increasingly agitated the longer Clay went on.

  ‘How do you know she’s telling the truth?’ said Tudor when Clay had finished recounting Theresa’s story.

  ‘I don’t, but we have a mutual friend—’

  ‘She could be an opposition party mole for all you know. You’ll end up getting us sued!’

  Tudor’s volume and tone had escalated and Clay was taken aback. ‘Hang about,’ said Clay. ‘I’m not going to get us sued, I’m just saying that I’m digging into things and it’s early days and I’m building towards a couple of big stories. I’m keeping you in the loop, Bradley.’ The use of the first name is a bit of a suck-up, thought Clay, but desperate times, especially around Tudor, call for sucking-up.

  ‘You give me migraines, Clay. From everything I’ve heard today, from either you or Detective Anderson, all I can foresee is you in jail or someone suing the paper for millions, which we don’t have. The first option doesn’t bother me so much, but the second one gives me night terrors.’

  ‘And all I can keep thinking about is the quote: “News is what somebody somewhere wants to suppress, everything else is advertising.”’

  ‘Whoever said that never had you on their news team giving them migraines and night terrors.’ Tudor ran a hand through his hair. ‘I swear, if you cause so much as one lawsuit out of all this – in or out of print – I will fire you. I want you to think very carefully about what you do next, how you do it, and who you do it to. Because I do not want Frank Anderson in here again and I do not want to have to talk to the legal eagles or the press council or anyone else about some huge mistake you’ve made. Am I making myself clear?’

  ‘Clear as can be, Bradley.’

  Chapter 32

  Bec had seen breakwaters back in Ireland, but none of those looked quite as sturdy – quite as fortress-like – as the one in Warrnambool. It stood as a towering reminder of man’s ongoing and uneasy relationship with nature; a figurative and literal line in the sand, drawn in concrete and rock, between the sanctity of Lady Bay and the ferocity of the Southern Ocean.

  Some of the sea walls she’d seen in the country of her birth were little more than a strategic row of boulders, while others featured smooth paved tops for pedestrians to wander along or fishermen to set up and cast a line. But the one laid out before her had cars parked on it, about a storey above the water on the beach side, while another storey and a half up, people walked along a barriered path like soldiers patrolling a parapet walk. But despite the height and size of the structure, Bec had seen photos in the office files where the ocean crashed over the top of the breakwater, as if nature didn’t care for man’s efforts to tame this part of the Shipwreck Coast.

  There was no such battle taking place as Bec gazed across Lady Bay. The breakwater lined the right side of her view, and in front of her the expanse of the bay rippled and ebbed at a gentle pace. Beyond the water, a crescent moon of beach arced around for miles, and beyond that the city poked its head up sporadically on its way to the horizon.

  Bec checked her watch again. She was unsure if she had the right place, because Eddie had said he would meet her here at 6 p.m. and it was now 6.10 p.m. Eddie had asked her to meet him at ‘a picnic table near the breakwater at the end of the promenade’, and she thought this was it. There were a few picnic tables scattered around and she assumed the path leading off around the bay was the promenade, but she’d found people assumed a lot when giving directions, which had led to some confusion at work.

  There were worse places to sit and wait, she decided. Warrnambool was a nice place and she had met plenty of good people. That was why she’d left South East Asia, wasn’t it? To meet nice new people in nice new places? She thought for a moment; she wasn’t sure why exactly she’d decided to settle here.

  She wasn’t regretting it. Sometimes Clay made her think she regretted moving to south-west Victoria, but the feeling soon passed. He made her nervous and excited, like she was in her twenties again, but she wanted to live the quiet life of a more mature adult at the same time.

  None of her misgivings really related to Clay. It was these stories, these cases – the death of Kerry Collins, the secret business dealings of Wayne Swanson, the shooting of Jacinta Porter. She disliked thinking of them as cases; as she’d told Clay, he wasn’t a cop or private investigator. But more and more these things felt like cases for them to solve, to work out, to prove to people they’d been overlooked. And that also made her nervous and excited. She yearned for an uncomplicated existence, but something in her craved the same kind of justice Clay talked about.

  Her life had been a constant balancing act between seeking peace and hunting adventure. Before her quiet little farmhouse in Koroit, she’d bounced between the bustle of big cities and quiet coastal villages of South East Asia, alternating from one to the other as her temperament required. Prior to that it was a similar story in India. A month in New Delhi or Kolkata or Mombai, then off to a retreat somewhere. She didn’t know what she was searching for, or even if she was searching, it was just something she had to do. She’d know when she didn’t need to search any longer.

  Bec’s train of thought was starting to roll further back through her memory, but was derailed by the arrival of Eddie. He sat down heavily opposite her and she could tell already that weighty thoughts rested on his mind. This didn’t bode well.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked. No kiss in greeting, not even a smile.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Are you OK?’

  Before Eddie could respond, Clay arrived. He crashed onto the wooden seat beside her and immediately lit up one of his cigarettes. ‘Lovely day for it,’ he said, the smoke wedged between his lips as he used one hand to shield the wind from his lighter’s flame. ‘But couldn’t we have met in a pub like normal people?’

  ‘Some of us like to get outside once in a while,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Fine, fine,’ said Clay, succeeding in lighting his cigarette and waving Eddie’s dig away with a dismissive hand gesture. ‘So why have you called this meeting of the Holy Trinity?’

  Bec could see Clay’s buoyant mood immediately grating on Eddie. ‘More like The Three Stooges,’ said Eddie. He looked flatter than a tack.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Clay, glancing between Eddie and Bec.

  Eddie appeared to repress a sigh as he gazed out across the water. ‘I’m being transferred,’ he said swiftly.

  ‘What?’ asked Bec. She had not seen that coming. ‘You were only just transferred from Port Campbell.’

  ‘I know.’ He turned to Clay. ‘I’d like to blame you for this, but I know it’s not really your fault.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Clay.

  ‘Well, first of all, I think you might be right.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About everything. I believe that Anderson came to your place and wrecked it up and assaulted you. I believe that Anderson is definitely covering up two murders. I believe you are on to something. I don’t know who or what, but you’re definitely on to something.’

  Clay dragged on his smoke and Bec waited for him to crack a joke, if only to say I told you so. But he didn’t.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  Eddie exhaled deeply and for a moment Bec thought he was going to weep. He looked tired, beaten. Like a man at the end of his rope. ‘I went to Cooper and Crowe, asked them about whether they were at your place on Sunday morning, like you said. Cooper denied it and I could tell he was lying. Crowe spilled his guts. Backed your story, one hundred per cent. In the meantime, Cooper went running to Anderson and the next thing I know, I’m getting h
auled into Anderson’s office. He starts blasting me, accusing me of leaking stuff to “that bastard, Moloney”.’

  ‘I told you he was a nice guy,’ said Clay with a wry grin.

  Eddie didn’t respond to the comment. ‘I tell Anderson I haven’t leaked anything and he doesn’t believe me. Says he’s had officers tailing you. Seen us three meeting up. That’s how he knew you’d been to see the drug dealer and the escort, too. I asked what authority or reason he had to put surveillance on a member of the press. He didn’t like that. Started roaring at me. So I went for broke: I laid it all out on the table.’

  Clay was wide-eyed now, like he sensed a threat. ‘What the hell did you do?’

  ‘I told him you’re close to bringing him down. That you know he’s been covering up the Collins and Porter murders. That you know who did both of them. And that in a couple of days you’re going to blow the lid off the whole thing with a front page exclusive.’

  Bec couldn’t stop the gasp escaping her mouth. Clay swore, stood up with his hands on the sides of his head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Eddie. ‘It was the last roll of the dice. I was screwed one way or another. I’d been asking too many questions. He was either going to bust me back to constable or kick me off the force. So I thought I’d throw all that in his face and see how he reacted.’

  Clay’s cigarette was going unsmoked in his right hand. ‘Jesus… And?’

  ‘He went real quiet and turned a lighter shade of his usual red. “I don’t believe you,” he said. I said, “I don’t care if you believe me or not – you’re screwed, you fat bastard.”’

  ‘Tell me you didn’t say that.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Jesus, no way.’

  ‘Fair dinkum. I’ve had enough of his crap. He’s giving the police force a bad name and I’m sick of it. Officers die in the line of duty fighting against people like him. He thinks he can do whatever he wants? Well, screw him, I wanted him to know he can’t, and that you’re going to bring him down.’

  Clay flicked the long collection of ash from his smoke and finally took a drag. He shook his head slowly. ‘I admire your courage. And I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I don’t have enough information to bring him down. I’m not even close.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Eddie. ‘I just wanted to watch him squirm at the idea that you might be able to.’

  Bec had been watching the back and forth without comment, but could hold her tongue no longer. ‘Eddie, you’re a bloody idiot,’ she said. ‘You’ve just put Clay in grave danger.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. I’ve just put the wind up Anderson.’

  ‘He’s already been round to Clay’s place once to beat him up,’ she said, her voice laden with exasperation. ‘How do you know he won’t go a step further? I wouldn’t put anything past Anderson. And I’ve never even met the guy.’

  There was a solemn silence at the table as Clay sat back down again. People wandered or jogged past, heading along the promenade or across to the breakwater. The ocean lapped quietly onto the sand nearby, shifting the seaweed inch by inch. A seagull cried. Aside from a cool sea breeze putting a chill in the air, it was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon.

  ‘So, what do we do next?’ said Bec finally.

  ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I have to relocate to Stanhope,’ said Eddie. ‘Thankfully I hadn’t finished unpacking all my things from when I moved here.’ For the first time since he’d sat down he gave Bec a smile, a forced and weary one.

  ‘Anderson’s relocating you to shut you up?’ asked Clay.

  ‘I think he’s trying to divide and conquer. He’s giving me too much credit, he thinks by removing me it stops the flow of information to you.’

  ‘You have done a lot. I appreciate it. I really do, mate.’

  ‘Don’t… seriously, it’s the least I could do. In hindsight I should have done more. But it’s too late now. I don’t think I can help you from Stanhope.’

  ‘I don’t even know where that is.’

  ‘It’s near Shepparton and Echuca, I think. Middle of nowhere, by the sounds of it. A one-cop station – the ultimate punishment.’

  Bec looked at Clay. ‘And what are you going to do?’

  Clay finished his smoke and stubbed it out. ‘I don’t know; but whatever it is, I get the feeling we’ve only got a couple of days to do it. Anderson’s going to be rattled after what Eddie’s told him we have on him. We just need to sit back and see what he does to either shut us up and stop the story, or cover his tracks and frustrate our efforts. He won’t think doing nothing is an option now, that’s for sure.’

  Eddie stood. ‘Look, I have to get going. A few of the guys at work got wind of my imminent relocation and have arranged for a get-together at the Warrny.’

  ‘See?’ said Clay, humour in his voice. ‘We could have met at the pub!’

  Eddie smirked and stood, extending a hand, which Clay shook. Bec watched the silent exchange and then realised Eddie was looking at her. She rose and Eddie stepped around the table to give her a hug, followed by an awkward, brief kiss. Bec couldn’t tell if it was weird because of the way Clay was staring at them, or because it was a strange end to a short and strange, yet sweet, relationship.

  Bec lowered herself onto the bench again and watched Eddie walk off towards the nearby car park. His movements seemed slower than she remembered, his shoulders perhaps a little rounder.

  Chapter 33

  After Eddie’s departure, Clay and Bec sat in awkward silence for some time. As he looked out across the bay, Clay struggled to shake the feeling of being watched. It was a sensation that had been with him for a couple of weeks, but he’d been putting it down to the weed and a lack of sleep.

  Eddie had confirmed it. Anderson had hinted at it in Clay’s apartment, but Eddie had made it solid truth – someone had been following him, watching him. It was not idle paranoia. It was fact. And as Clay and Bec sat there at the table, he felt the sensation again.

  ‘I’ve got that feeling too,’ said Bec, and Clay feared he’d spoken his thoughts out loud for a moment. But he knew he hadn’t. He turned to Bec and noticed an edgy look in her eye.

  ‘I’m kind of glad it’s not just me, then,’ said Clay. ‘Was I being that obvious?’

  ‘I don’t think so. We’re both just being paranoid, I think.’

  ‘And for good reason. Just because I’m paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not after me.’

  ‘I think that’s a Nirvana lyric.’

  ‘Almost, although I’m pretty sure Kurt Cobain stole that off a toilet wall.’

  Bec chuckled, and the sound of her laugh dialled the tension down a touch. Clay could feel himself relaxing. He stood. ‘Let’s walk,’ he said, and headed towards the breakwater without looking to see if Bec followed. His eyes roamed the car park and promenade, studied the fishermen, families, and fitness fanatics. He was looking for undercover cops or goons and he couldn’t stop himself.

  ‘So how’s your big move going?’ asked Bec, right there beside him.

  ‘Big move?’ Clay was puzzled for a moment. ‘Oh, the eviction. I’ve got until the end of the week. I’ve moved most of my stuff into a storage shed in the industrial estate already, so all I’ve got to do now is decide which motel is the cheapest but not the crappiest. I’m basically balancing crapness with cost at the moment.’

  ‘A motel?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s February, so the uni students are rolling back into town. Rents are up and decent places are in short supply. But there are a couple of motels that do weekly rates comparable to renting a one-bedroom apartment. They fill up with uni students too, eventually. Motels of last resort. Actually, one of them is the one where we met Candy… ah, June.’

  ‘You can’t stay in that motel,’ said Bec. Clay tried to read her expression. It was a bizarre mix of outrage, concern, surprise, and fear. ‘You shouldn’t be staying in any motel.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s not safe.’

&nbs
p; They had reached the flat cement wall of the breakwater. Clay led the way up a set of stairs and they began walking side by side along the rampart. ‘If you’re worried about Frank Anderson, I don’t think anywhere is any safer than anywhere else at the moment,’ he said eventually. ‘If Anderson really wants to come and get me, there’s not much that can stop him. And besides, I don’t really have anywhere else to go.’

  ‘You can stay with me.’

  Clay hadn’t expected that and, from the look that flashed across Bec’s face for a split second, neither had she. He turned his gaze back to the ocean and waited.

  ‘I mean, I owe you at least one couch sleepover,’ she said. Clay turned to look at her again and she flashed a broad smile that gave Clay a funny feeling, forcing him to look away.

  ‘You don’t owe me anything,’ he said.

  ‘I know, but to be honest, I think it would be a lot safer if you were around the house.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re going to come after you.’

  ‘I meant for your sake.’ Bec’s smile was an out-and-out smirk now, and Clay could have sworn his heartbeat tripped out.

  ‘Very funny,’ he said in a flat tone, giving nothing away. ‘And thank you. It’s a very gracious offer.’

  ‘And you accept?’

  ‘I accept, thank you.’

  ‘You can stay for a week.’

  ‘You’re too kind but—’

  ‘A week.’

  ‘OK, a week.’

  ‘Starting tonight.’

  ‘Starting in a couple of days. I’ve got a few more things I need to do in the apartment.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘OK. That’s one problem sorted.’ He lowered his voice and was once again conscious of people nearby, though no one seemed to be paying him or Bec any attention. ‘But what do we do about Anderson? If we don’t print something in the next couple of days, we’re going to let him off the hook. He’ll know we’ve got nothing.’