Blood on the Rocks Chapter 17
Frank Diamond could hear the surf above him like distant thunder as he flailed about, trying to release himself from the hand that held him under. His head was pounding, his throat tightening as his lungs begged for air. Then they let him up. He broke surface, gasping. An arm snaked around his neck and locked. Strangling now? What was wrong with drowning? thought Frank. He made a half-hearted effort to break free, only to have the arm tighten.
‘I’ve got you, Detective,’ said a voice, wet lips pressed to his ear. ‘Kick! Come one!’
Karen White? Frank twisted his head, trying to see what his ears didn’t believe. Yes, it was Karen White, her eyes fixed firmly on the shore. Frank couldn’t work it out, but she said kick, so he kicked.
Karen guided them in, using the power of each wave to push them forward, navigating in to a space between the rocks that Frank had not seen in the dark. They crawled up the wet sand, panting.
‘Thank you–’ Frank began to say.
‘Shut it,’ Karen whispered fiercely. She motioned for him to follow her as she belly-crawled towards the nearest group of rocks, where she collapsed to catch her breath. Frank did the same, taking a moment to look about him. On a sunny day, without two murderous thugs trying to drown you, this would be a lovely spot, he thought.
‘Gaz and Gasman –’ he said.
‘I know, I followed you. Clyde has my car up there. He’ll signal when it’s safe.’
‘He has a tracker on your car,’ Frank told her.
‘Shit. Bastard.’
‘One of them said there’s no phone service out here, though,’
‘Huh, ironic – that usually pisses me off.’ Karen White raised her head above the rocks, peering towards the shore and the welcome lights of houses, where the only murder happening was on reruns of improbably cop shows. ‘There, I think that’s it.’
Frank pushed himself up alongside her and scanned the beach. ‘That flashing?’ he asked.
‘Think so – hard to tell with Clyde – gets a bit over-excited. Come on Diamond, it won’t take them long to get the tracker working.’
They stepped out of their hiding spot and ran towards the light. Clyde was waiting in the bushes at the edge of the beach.
‘You okay, Diamond?’ he asked. He held something up towards Frank. ‘I got your backpack, they left it on the beach. Got a bit wet, I think. And your pants.’
‘Shush, Clyde,’ said Karen, looking Frank up and down; he was thankful for the darkness. ‘Looking good, Diamond… Where’s the car, Clyde?’
‘This way.’
He led the way across Mullaway Drive, towards the toilet block, where the black BMW was parked. Karen took the driver’s seat, with Frank beside her, after he had struggled into his trousers. Clyde, who looked like he was enjoying every moment, slid in to the back.
‘You’re bleeding on my upholstery,’ said Karen, as she started the car. ‘And what is that smell? Is that puke?’
‘Sorry,’ replied Frank, checking out the substantial knife cut running up his forearm. He clamped a hand over the wound and looked around for something to bind it. The stink he could not help. Karen seemed to have lost her posh accent – it suited her.
‘Don’t worry,’ Karen said, with a grin. ‘It’s his car, anyway – bleed all you like! The stink…well, could be worse.’
‘Have you called 000?’ Frank asked, as they started along Mullaway, towards Coffs Harbour.
‘Yeah, but you’d have been dead by the time they got here,’ she replied.
‘Thanks. It was pretty brave what you did,’ Frank said.
Karen shrugged, wiping her hair back with one hand. She reached to the dash and retrieved long, dangling earrings, which she proceeded to put on as she drove.
‘Don’t mention it – going to make a great front page: our first big scoop,’ she replied. ‘And probably my last: that sucks.’ She shrugged again, wiping a hand across her face and primping her hair. ‘It’s been fun, anyways. By the way, Diamond,’ she continued, ‘I called Mac at the station, as well, but they said she’d already gone to meet you.’
‘Meet me? They say where?’
‘Nup. Just that she got a message from you and took off. Said she’d call in for back-up if she needed it.’
‘She went alone?’ Frank asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.
‘I dunno – I’m not her bloody mother and you must know by now that Mac does what she wants.’
Frank retrieved his mobile from his pack and called up Mac’s number; it went straight to voicemail. He sent a text: Call me – urgent.
As they passed Woolgoolga, two police cars zoomed past them going the other way, sirens and lights blaring.
‘Wonder where they’re going,’ said Karen with a dry laugh.
At the station Frank leapt out and buzzed for access. He recognised Dave Thompson, minding the after-hours desk.
‘Nah Diamond, she’s not back. Went up to find you, she reckoned. What’s up?’
Frank swore. ‘Thompson I’ve got two people here witness to attempted murder – let them in, will you and take their statements. Which cars are available?’
‘None.’
Frank swore again, which seemed to amuse Thompson. Karen and Clyde arrived.
‘Karen, can I borrow your car. Can’t guarantee I’ll look after it, but I need it.’
The journalist was looking a little more like herself – Frank noticed that she’d taken the time to apply lipstick.
‘Sure, Detective,’ she said, dangling the key in front of him and nodding to Clyde, who was carrying her camera and a pair of ludicrously high stilettoes. ‘Got time for quick one?’ She batted her eyelashes at him and he could only laugh and turn to face the camera as she took the stilettoes from Clyde. ‘One moment,’ she said, slipping them on, adjusting her top and posing. ‘Look stern, Detective, this is serious.’
Her comment only reminded him of what Mac may have walked into. Clyde took the snap, Frank took the keys and bolted. It was not until he stopped at the beginning to Dalton’s street that he reached into his backpack for his gun and discovered it to be missing.