Blood on the Rocks Chapter 14
Things moved quickly after the discovery of Freak’s drug stash. Colin Sherry in Sydney knew some of the names in Freak’s ledger, most associated with known drug-dealers.
‘Thanks Diamond,’ he said gruffly. ‘Good bloody work. If I can get anything on these bastards, it’s a good day.’
Within the hour Sherry called Mike Henderson back, with news of an arrest, and a discovery. Henderson broke the news to Frank and Mac.
‘They found Brent Turnbull’s vehicle parked on the street outside the house of this drug king-pin in Maroubra and Freak was in it,’ he said.
‘Is he–’ asked Mac.
‘He’s dead.’
Despite this, the Sydney king-pin was claiming ignorance of the murder; Frank was inclined to believe him.
‘Ask yourself who benefits from both Turnbull twins being murdered,’ Frank said to Mac as they went out for a very late lunch. ‘If the Turnbull’s were distributing for the Sydney mob, why kill them? And why leave Freak’s body like they did? It’s a statement, or a warning. But from whom?’
The level of excitement at the station was tangible when they returned with coffee and sandwiches: phones ringing, officers comparing notes. One nodded at Frank as he entered the muster room, calling him by name.
‘Biggest bust for a while, Diamond – good on you,’ the cop said. Frank thought his name was Smithy.
‘But don’t let it go to your head,’ said Mike Henderson, coming in from his office. ‘We’ve had another call from Clyde Cook – been more trouble with the neighbours. He’s insistent that we go check it out.’
‘Can’t someone else go, sir?’ asked Mac. She had the images of Brent’s ute taken by the speed camera in her hand.
‘Asked for Diamond particularly,’ replied Henderson, scowling. ‘Got a fan there, it would seem.’
‘But the case, sir?’ asked Mac. ‘We’re–’
‘Detective Khan is on his way – be here in 30. Get going Diamond.’
As Frank drove out to Dalton’s estate for the second time that day he could not help but wonder at Mike Henderson’s antagonism.
Clyde Cook was waiting at the driver door as Frank killed the engine, and talking before Frank could even get out. He wore yet another Hawaiian shirt, teamed with work boots and shorts, and a big straw hat.
‘Trucks. Started last night. And that ute, speeding up and down. I was out mowing the front and–’
‘What time was this, Mr Cook?’
‘Clyde. Around six this morning.’
‘That’s early for mowing.’
‘Well, beats the heat and anyway, as I said I couldn’t sleep thanks to the bloody trucks.’
‘How many trucks did you hear?’ asked Frank, picturing a convoy. What did a property developer need to transport in number, in trucks, in the dead of night? Something was up. He pulled out his notebook and pen.
‘Two, at least, possibly three,’ Clyde replied, bursting Frank’s bubble: possibly three trucks…
‘Three trucks is hardly concerning,’ he said to Clyde, scribbling it down anyway. ‘Cattle trucks?’
‘No, that’s the thing – they were flatbeds with shipping containers. And don’t forget the ute with that thug driving it…’
‘Did he come onto your property or intimidate you in any way?’ Frank asked, slapping at a mosquito buzzing around his face. The shadows were starting to lengthen. It had been an eventful day and Frank was eager to get back to the station and the Turnbull case.
‘No… But something’s going on. This is a quiet neighbourhood.’
‘I’ll look into it. Do you know if they’re home now?’
‘No, I don’t,’ replied Clyde. ‘Why would I? I mind my own business.’
Frank did not comment.
‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’ Frank asked.
‘We-ell,’ said Clyde, looking out to the road as if expecting someone. ‘There’s this shed, y’know, right at the back of the property, in the bush. That’s where the trucks come and go from. Must be for chemical storage or something, ‘cause it gets pretty wiffy.’
He slapped at a mosquito, turning his hand over to flick off the dead body. Something about Clyde’s tone told Frank that the older man knew more than what he was saying.
‘Wiffy? Like fertiliser?’ Frank asked.
‘Yeah, maybe, but worse – really chemical, like rotten eggs mixed with nail polish remover.’ Again Clyde looked about him as if scared of being overheard. “I don’t want any trouble…’
‘Can you show me where?’ Frank asked. Clyde’s description sounded familiar, but he would need to see the shed. ‘Now?’
‘Yeah. We better get a torch.’
Frank retrieved his own torch from his backpack and followed Clyde up the veranda to the front door. Clyde ducked in and came out with a torch and a tube of insect repellent.
‘You might want some of this – it’s pretty wet down there – mozzies are ferocious.’
Clyde led the way around the side of his house and through a small back yard clearing with clothesline and barbeque. A track wove away from the yard, heading down a slope through rainforest that had been lightly cleared. Clyde was right: within minutes of walking they were swarmed by mosquitoes.
Frank could hear water ahead. A few metres along Clyde clicked on his torch to guide them downwards to a creek. It had grown dark inside the rainforest quite suddenly. Clyde turned to Frank and signalled that he be quiet as he ducked low and motioned that Frank do the same, pointing two fingers to his eyes, then straight ahead into a thick patch of rainforest. Frank got the idea that Clyde was enjoying the drama. Frank was just uncomfortable, trying to ignore the mosquitoes and worried that Clyde might blunder and expose both himself and Frank to danger, because he was convinced that there was something quite wrong about Steve Dalton’s business practices.
They pushed through to foliage for about twenty metres, until they came up against a barbed wire fence. Clyde lowered himself carefully to his haunches and pointed. A large corrugated iron shed dominated the clearing in the adjoining property. A brand new shed, the green Colourbond lit with the few slender rays of the setting sun that could pierce the thick bush.
‘Smell that?’ Clyde whispered, with a loud slap to his arm that made a mockery outr of whispering. ‘Takes you back to high school, right? Rotten egg bomb.’
There was a slight odour in the air, quite like the rotten egg and nail polish combo Clyde identified. But Frank was not transported to high school science class; his olfactory journey took him back only a few years, to a meth amphetamine lab on the outskirts of Newcastle and one of the most dangerous jobs he had ever faced.
‘Clyde mate,’ he said. ‘You need to get back to the house. Immediately. Get inside and lock the doors.’
The older man looked at him, bemused, and slapped at another mozzie.
‘That’s pretty dramatic,’ Clyde said. ‘It’s a cow shed. Come on – no one’s there – I’ll show you.’ He moved as if to clamber through the fence. Frank grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back hard.
‘Mate, you need to do as I say. That is no cow shed. You get back home, now!’
Frank spoke in a hoarse whisper, but Clyde got the message.
‘No fuss, sure thing. Want me to ah, call for back up or anything?’
Frank shook his head, stabbing his finger towards the darkness of the track they’d just taken. ‘Now!’
Clyde disappeared into the gloom. Frank waited until the silence had settled back over the landscape, then he slowly rose and eased his way through the fence. He dropped to the ground again on the other side. Clyde was right about one thing: the place was deserted. Reassured, Frank rose and walked slowly across the twenty metres between the fence and the shed, sticking to the patches of shadow as much as possible. As he walked he pulled out his mobile and dialled in Mac’s number. He reached the closest wall of the shed as the call went to voicemail.
‘Mac, it’s me. Get yourself to Dalton’s property, down behind the house about 100 metres,’ Frank said. He started to peer around the corner, to the façade where he assumed the door would be. He was right, but was surprised to see the big roller door wide open – that didn’t seem right. ‘I think Dalton’s got a meth lab here, down the back. It’s deserted, but bring back-up – I don’t like the smell of this place.’
Frank ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Time to get a closer look. He stepped forward, not hearing the footfall of the man who came up behind him and clubbed him over the back of the head. Frank’s world turned to black as he fell to the ground.