Crackenback Read online

  Eva locked the door with a violent shiver. When guests were staying, she would leave it unlocked twenty-four–seven so they had unlimited access to the mountain bikes, skis and snowboards stowed in the equipment room next to the laundry. In the evening, too, guests would often stroll down to the village for a nightcap, or to catch the in-house band at the Willy Wagtail. Most of them returned to the lodge after she and Poppy had gone to bed, and an unlocked back door meant a good night’s sleep for the two of them.

  Eva hurried back along the hallway, pausing briefly at the bottom of the stairs to listen for Poppy. All was silent. Eva could only hope she was already napping after her early rising.

  There were three doors on her left: the laundry, the equipment room and the internal access to the double garage. Opening the laundry door, Eva switched on the light, then propped the door open with the metal doorstop.

  She was pleased to find the dryer had finished its cycle, saving her a second trip downstairs, and as she dumped the warm clothes into the washing basket, she wondered if she’d been a bit mean not telling Bede which blend of coffee she used. This was Thredbo, after all, not the cutthroat world of Michelin-star restaurants. But then she smiled, imagining how horrified Bede would be if she told him the price.

  She was halfway through folding the laundry when an insistent knock on the side access door startled her. She hurried to unlock it, ready to greet Bede for the second time that morning and demand to know what he had forgotten this time.

  The man burst in so quickly that Eva had no time to react. Tall, scruffy beard, the front of his jacket caked in blood, he towered over her, his shadowy face concealed by an oversized hood. He dropped a small backpack and the swag he was carrying to the floor, before locking the door behind him.

  Eva stepped backwards in the narrow hallway, heart pounding, her throat muscles paralysed with shock. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  ‘Eva, it’s me.’ The man dragged the hood back from his face. ‘Eva?’ His voice was low and urgent. And familiar.

  She took in his bedraggled appearance, recognition finally dawning. It had been four years since she’d last seen him, and if she’d passed him in the street she wouldn’t have known him. ‘What’s happened to you?’ Eva whispered, the rough concrete wall pressing against her back and chilling her spine.

  He glanced up the stairs. ‘I saw that guy leave. How many others are here?’

  ‘There’s only me. We’re not open yet.’ Eva’s voice sounded distant, strange.

  ‘Where is she? Is she here?’

  A bolt of terror stole Eva’s breath at his mention of Poppy. She looked at the smeared blood, the matted hair, the cuts and bruises across his knuckles. ‘Let me call an ambulance, or I can drive you to the hospital. You need medical help.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head, his breathing growing more and more laboured. ‘Do you have a first-aid kit?’

  Relief engulfed her when he didn’t press her further on Poppy. She nodded. ‘Upstairs.’

  He picked up his things and gestured towards the stairs with his chin.

  Eva pivoted slowly, watching him over her shoulder. He was thinner, less bulked up than he’d been in the past. She ascended the stairs, her legs shaking at the unexpected intrusion.

  As they reached the lounge room, his swag and backpack hit the floor again. Left arm pressed against his middle, he limped from window to window, testing the locks before pulling the heavy drapes closed. The room dimmed, illuminated only by the glowing log Bede had added to the fire, and a single strip of sunlight shining through a gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Eva asked, trying to stem her panic. She reached out with shaking hands and curled her fingers around the back of an armchair to anchor herself.

  He turned, staggering a little. ‘Where’s your mobile?’

  She moved away from the chair, anxiety churning her stomach. ‘It’s in the kitchen. You can have it. Take it with you.’

  He remembered the way, moving around the fireplace to the rear of the building, which overlooked the driveway winding around the trees from Crackenback Drive below. Eva shadowed his tall frame, desperate to understand what was happening, but loath to wake up Poppy.

  He shouldered his way through the single swinging door to the kitchen, where her phone lay in clear view on the stainless-steel benchtop.

  ‘Please,’ she said, ‘if you won’t let me help you, then call someone who can.’

  He looked up from inspecting her phone. ‘I need a sewing needle.’

  Eva frowned. Was he planning to stitch himself up in her kitchen? ‘There are repair kits in the bathrooms,’ she said, turning away. ‘I’ll get one.’

  ‘Wait!’

  Eva froze. A floorboard creaked behind her and the air stirred. She wheeled around, stumbling as she backpeddled away from him. He reached out, his fingers close to her face, his body reeking of blood, wet earth and body odour. ‘Give me your earring.’

  Understanding dawned. He didn’t want to use her phone. He wanted to shut it down. ‘Just do as I say, Eva, and give me the damn earring.’

  She raised her hands, fumbling with the small butterfly clip before sliding the pearl stud from her ear and dropping it in his hand.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he ran a thumb down the side of the phone then guided the sturdy post into the miniscule opening. When the tiny drawer slid open, he picked out the sim card with his nails and shoved it in his pants pocket.

  Eva ran to the far end of the bench and snatched the hands-free phone from its cradle. ‘Get out!’ she cried, terror weakening her voice when she longed for it to be strong. Not that it mattered; she could scream the lodge down and no one would hear her. ‘There’s an SUV in the garage. Go now, or I’m calling triple zero.’

  ‘I just need shelter, and your computer,’ he said, yanking the landline from the wall socket.

  Eva’s mind flashed back, and she was on the yacht. She backed away, bumping into the cupboards. She gasped and swung around, grabbing hold of the bench to steady herself. She blinked hard. There was no heaving grey ocean beneath her.

  ‘Your computer?’ he said.

  Eva’s heart bounced around in her chest, every instinct urging her to flee. But her overwhelming urge to protect her child kept her motionless. If only Bede would come back, or a delivery person would ring the doorbell. Someone. Please.

  ‘Eva!’

  ‘It’s on the d-desk,’ she stammered, her entire body beginning to shake. ‘In the lobby.’

  His eyes cut swiftly to the door and then back at her. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  Eva led the way back through the lounge room, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, eyes shifting from left to right searching for something, anything she could use as a weapon, but there were only throw rugs and scatter cushions. A few offcuts of firewood were within reach, but she wouldn’t stand a chance with him so close behind her.

  In the lobby, he hurried past her to move behind the reception desk, wincing as he leaned over to look at her laptop. ‘What’s the password?’

  Eva shook her head defiantly, her insides quaking. ‘Not until you tell me why you’re here.’ With Poppy asleep only metres away, her best chance of getting him out of the lodge was to reason with him.

  ‘Password?’ he growled.

  ‘GoldenWattle2,’ she blurted out. ‘Capital G and W. Two’s a digit.’

  He worked the touchpad, then began to type, his fingers a blur over the keys. He closed the lid, then quickly scanned the desk drawers and opened the one with a lock. ‘Where’s the key for this drawer?’

  She told him it was in the top drawer, and when he’d locked the computer away and stashed the key in the same pocket as her sim card, he came out from behind the desk. ‘Okay. I need that first-aid kit.’

  ‘Not until you tell me what you’re going to do.’ Eva forced the words though wooden lips, needing him to say it aloud, to confirm the one horrify
ing thought she couldn’t let go of.

  He’d come for Poppy.

  When he didn’t answer, she couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Please, don’t take her away from me,’ she begged, her voice breaking. ‘I’ll do anything.’

  He paused, and for the briefest second something like understanding flashed in his eyes. ‘Then tell me where the first-aid kit is.’

  ‘It’s in there.’ She pointed to the general restroom on the other side of the lobby.

  ‘You’re coming too,’ he said, placing a hand in the middle of her back and propelling her forward.

  ‘Please, don’t do this!’ she cried, stepping into the bathroom ahead of him. ‘We can work something out.’

  He closed the door then turned to face her, cutting off any chance of escape from the confines of the small room. ‘I’m not here for the kid.’

  Two

  Police Headquarters

  Parramatta, Sydney

  At 8 am Detective Sergeant Pierce Ryder knocked on Inspector Gray’s door, then listened for the invitation to come in. Gray rarely opened the door himself, only moving from behind his desk to stand at the window overlooking Marsden Street. For those summoned to his office, there was no way of knowing how long the wait would be, but you bloody well better be there when he called your name to enter.

  ‘Come in, Ryder.’ Inspector Gray’s voice drifted through the heavy wooden door with the authority of a high-school principal.

  Ryder let himself in. Sure enough, Gray was standing at the window, gazing outside, as though he were imprisoned in his own office.

  Gray turned around as Ryder came further into the room, his bushy eyebrows raised in enquiry. ‘Any progress on the Hutton case?’

  Ryder didn’t sit. Gray rarely extended the invitation; if he did, it usually meant unwelcome news was on the way. ‘We’ve been trawling through the case notes of his first two victims and re-interviewing people when necessary. I’ll have a formal progress report ready in the next day or so.’

  ‘You and Detective Flowers arrested the Charlotte Pass killer in record time, but the Hutton case seems to be moving as fast as Sydney’s peak-hour traffic.’

  ‘New information has been hard to come by. We haven’t had a credible sighting of him since last year. I’m hopeful of a breakthrough any day, especially now the reward money has been increased.’ Ryder’s voice rang with a confidence belying his frustration.

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right. And the new recruit? Has she arrived?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Detective Flowers has been showing Detective Sterling around the office. I’m giving a general overview of the Hutton case for her benefit in ten minutes. The whole task force will be there.’ Outside, a cement truck roared past, probably on its way to one of the many construction sites around Parramatta.

  ‘So, you have a woman on the team now, Pierce. Don’t ask for any more.’

  Ryder frowned. ‘Any more women?’

  ‘Any more detectives.’ Gray moved to put his mobile phone on his desk, and for the first time Ryder noticed a limp in the Inspector’s stride. ‘We have too many crimes to solve and not enough police officers. The government’s bolstering our numbers, but most of them are still at the academy, and the ones who are out are too green. Our resources are stretched to breaking point.’

  Ryder nodded. ‘Our team might be small, but we’re hard working and highly skilled.’

  ‘You’ll need to be. Right now, we have no other option.’

  There was a pause as Gray picked up a memo from his desk and scanned it. He glanced up at Ryder. ‘How do you think she’ll go?’

  ‘Detective Sterling?’

  ‘Hmm. The sergeant at Taree said she had some problems fitting in up there.’

  It was the first Ryder had heard of it. Maybe the old boys’ club up the coast had closed ranks. He watched as Inspector Gray put the memo back on the desk. ‘I don’t think she’ll have any problems on my squad,’ Ryder replied.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. We don’t need any more personnel on stress leave.’ Gray raised a hand, a signal he was satisfied with what he’d heard. ‘Let me know how you go.’

  Ryder left the office and headed for the elevator, then changed his mind and retraced his steps. The Inspector’s admin assistant, whom he’d known for ten years, worked at a desk recessed into a small alcove off the corridor. It would only take a minute for Ryder to have a word. He stopped in front of Vivien’s desk, trying not to look too impatient while he waited for her to stop typing. When she took off her headset, he gestured towards the Inspector’s door. ‘Is he okay?’

  Vivien peered at him, her red-framed glasses the same shade as her lipstick. ‘You noticed?’

  ‘Bit hard not to. He’s limping, like he has gout or something.’ Ryder wasn’t one to pry into his colleagues’ personal business—he did that for a living—but he liked the Inspector and his intuition told him something was up.

  Vivien glanced down the corridor as though her boss might come rushing out of his office and overhear them, unlikely as that was. ‘He needs a double hip replacement,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh. When’s he being operated on?’ And who would take on the role of acting inspector while Gray was on leave?

  ‘That’s the problem,’ said Vivien. ‘He can’t take time off while the Chief Inspector’s on leave, so he’s putting up with it. He rarely sits down because it’s so painful to get up out of the chair again. Have you noticed how he stands, braced against the window?’

  ‘Yeah, I was wondering what he found so interesting out there.’

  Vivien picked up her headset. ‘Well, now you know. There’s nothing interesting out there at all.’

  Ryder bade farewell to Vivien then took the stairs to the floor below where Mitchell Flowers and Nerida Sterling were deep in conversation at Flowers’ desk. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ Ryder said. ‘Has Daisy shown you around?’

  Sterling frowned and looked at Flowers for a few seconds before understanding dawned on her face. ‘Oh, Detective Flowers?’

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ Ryder said. ‘A friend of mine gave him that nickname, and it’s kind of stuck.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge, he’s given me the grand tour.’ Sterling lisped every so often when pronouncing her s’s. It had taken Ryder a while to realise she wore clear braces. She stood and straightened her suit jacket. Keen blue eyes shone from an open, friendly face; her blonde hair styled into a no-nonsense short bob. ‘And I’ve met most of the task force already.’

  ‘In that case, let’s get started on this recap. It’s almost eight-thirty.’

  Ryder picked up the files from his desk and headed for the larger meeting room. He hit the switch and the fluorescents flickered on, casting an artificial glow around the windowless room with a whiteboard its sole decoration. Standing behind the chair at the head of the table, Ryder watched as one by one the detectives filed in, clutching coffee mugs, water bottles and mobile phones and took their places around the table.

  Ryder sat down and ran his eye over the squad. Next to him was Detective David Benson, who’d recently transferred from Queanbeyan while his wife and kids remained at home. Along from Benson was Detective Geoff O’Day. Both men had worked on the Charlotte Pass case, and while Ryder hadn’t agreed with some of the gung-ho decisions Benson had made back then, he hadn’t lost faith in his ability, and he’d always respected O’Day’s attention to detail. Flowers was sitting next to Sterling down the other end of the table, chatting away and showing her his friendly side. On Ryder’s right, Detective Ray Brown peered at him over the top of his black-framed glasses.

  When everyone was settled, Ryder attached three images to the whiteboard. ‘This is a police sketch of Gavin Hutton,’ he began, tapping the first. Hooded eyes stared straight ahead, limp dishevelled hair partly obscuring a lean face with an unshaven jaw. ‘This sketch was compiled over time from descriptions given by credible witnesses. Hutton could look like this when he’s hiding out. In contrast, the second and third images are
CCTV shots from the Sydney and Goulburn crime scenes. You should be familiar with them as they’ve appeared in every newspaper and on every television screen in the country.’ Ryder pointed to the images. ‘In these photographs, Hutton’s hair is shorter, and he’s dressed in nondescript clothing to blend in. Plain pants, T-shirt and jumper.’

  Ryder turned away from the board and looked at Sterling. ‘Hutton was a corporal in the Australian Army. He was discharged in 2012 and upon his return to Australia from Afghanistan, he moved in with a woman he met online, Kimberley Dickson. According to Dickson, Hutton was cagey about his family, saying only that his parents had died and sharing nothing of his family life. She found him to be a loner, not interested in getting to know her friends or keeping in contact with his old school friends or army buddies. Like many former soldiers, he struggled adjusting to civilian life.’

  Ryder sat and opened his file and located Kimberley Dickson’s statement. ‘Dickson said he was restless and bored and appeared to miss the action that came with doing dangerous work overseas. After a difficult eighteen months, the relationship was going nowhere. Dickson admitted to being relieved when Hutton received a job offer in Zimbabwe, working as part of a security team guarding a mine specialising in rare earth minerals.’

  Sterling put up her hand. ‘What are rare earth minerals?’

  ‘Lithium, cadmium, terbium to name a few. They’re used in mobile phones.’ Ryder went on: ‘Hutton’s skills as a former soldier were always going to be highly valued by western companies operating in unstable and dangerous foreign countries. We don’t know where he went after he left Zimbabwe. We assume he worked in other hotspots around the world, maybe in the Middle East. We do know from a Qantas flight manifest, and the withdrawal of his entire savings from his bank account, that he was back in Australia by September 2017.’

  Ryder looked up. ‘Any questions so far?’

  When no one spoke, he continued: ‘Hutton resurfaced as the prime suspect in the murder of Dominic Burrows in mid-2018.’ He stood and attached a photograph of Burrows to the whiteboard: a pale-skinned, emaciated young man, his body ravaged from long-term drug abuse. ‘Burrows, originally from the Gold Coast, was living on the street and in squats around Central Station in Sydney. He was found beaten to death in a park adjacent to the station. He was a regular at a nearby injecting room and several food kitchens.’ Ryder sat and flicked through the file. ‘The woman who runs Nana’s Soup Kitchen … ?’