‘Yeah, but I did that out of revenge,’ said Murphy. ‘Doble has a nice greenhouse on the outskirts of town. Big hydroponics setup. That’s why he hates me, but even with all his buddies behind him, he can’t stop us.’
‘I thought we were talking about hypotheticals,’ said Con, as they approached the station. He’d been driving on autopilot – and he still hadn’t told Pakinga not to take Jack to the station.
From a block away, he saw the mob outside. They were in a marked police car and not their unmarked BMW, which was still parked at the station.
He pulled over – he needed to call Pakinga.
Murphy shifted uneasily. ‘The crowd is still here,’ he said. ‘Do you think they’ve built a gallows yet?’ Con glanced at him. Murphy didn’t know these people were now protesting for him, not against him.
Some members of the mob had spotted the squad car and were creeping closer, filming with their phones.
‘I think that’s Jordan Murphy in the front seat,’ shouted the closest. ‘Madison was right!’
Con did a U-turn in a screech of wheels. They sped off.
‘Didn’t realised you were so concerned about my safety,’ said Murphy, gripping the handle.
‘Of course,’ said Con. He unlocked his phone and handed it to Murphy. ‘Call Gabriella – uh, she’s in there as Gabby. Tell her not to go to the station. You pick somewhere for us to meet, somewhere discreet.’
‘You want me to choose?’
‘You know your stupid town better than I do,’ spat Con.
Murphy tapped at the phone
‘Hello? Yeah, no, it’s Murphy . . . Cornelius?’ He turned to Con. ‘Your name is Cornelius?’ Back into the phone, he said, ‘No, he’s fine, just busy driving . . . Why are you . . . What’s happened?’ Murphy sat up straight. ‘I knew it.’ He turned to Con. ‘Jack has done a runner. Gave her the slip and took off on his dirtbike. She followed him in his own car, but he headed down one of the trails. Wait, detective: the one just around the corner from his place? . . . I know where that leads.’
‘What?’ said Con. ‘Where is he going, Murphy? What did Gabriella say? Where does that trail lead?’
‘It leads to Lake Mackenzie.’
CHAPTER 23
ELIZA
‘I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ said Tom. He steered his white flatbed Landcruiser over the potholes and fallen gum branches on the Lake Mackenzie four-wheel-drive track.
‘Why didn’t you tell me Jack knew about this place?’ said Eliza.
‘Why didn’t you tell me Jasmine was dating Jack?’ said Tom.
‘If Jack knew about this place, maybe he told Jasmine. She might be hiding there, and Cierra and Bree, too.’
‘Then we should tell the cops,’ said Tom.
‘And what if what happened to Georgia was an accident? They might be scared. They’d think they’re in trouble. They might not want to be found. We bring the cops, they might bolt.’
‘Or whoever took them could be hiding here.’
‘I know,’ said Eliza. ‘And that’s why I brought you. And your gun.’ Tom’s .22 hunting rifle lay across the back seat.
The headlights bounced over the muddy track. Lake Mackenzie was invisible beside them in the thick, rainy darkness.
‘You better turn the headlights off. We don’t want them to know we’re coming,’ said Eliza.
‘Well, we can walk from here. We’re about 300 metres away.’
They pulled over and climbed out of the Landcruiser. The darkness – the moon hidden by the clouds – was all but complete. Eliza flicked on her torch, shining it at her feet. Puddles and wet stones sparkled in the light.
Together, they walked down the road, Tom’s rifle slung across his back. The air was thick with the smell of wet, rotting leaf matter. ‘They would have had to walk a long way to get here,’ said Tom.
‘If they had a compass, they could’ve just bashed through the bush more or less in a straight line. It’s not that far, really, from where Georgia was found.’
‘They would have crossed the road. Someone would have seen them,’ said Tom.
‘But if they didn’t want to be found . . .’
‘It’s a stretch, Eliza,’ said Tom. ‘I think you want them to be safe so bad, you’ve made it all up in your head that they’re just waiting in the Fisherman’s Hut, safe and sound.’
‘Fine,’ said Eliza, speeding up her pace, footsteps squishing in the wet. ‘Go back to the car then. I’ll go by myself.’
‘Don’t be like that.’ Tom jogged to catch up. ‘I just don’t want you getting your hopes up.’
‘I know these girls, Tom. They’re capable of it.’
‘You think I don’t? I know Cierra better than anyone else.’
That wasn’t comforting in the slightest, as her mind replaced Cierra’s face with Denni’s. ‘Why the hell did you leave your bag of weed and condoms in her room, Tom. Are you insane? Wren needs you around, and needs you to have a job. You could’ve thrown it all away because you were . . . careless!’
‘I was greened out! You were there – you know I wasn’t in a good way. You should’ve remembered to bring it with you.’ Tom grunted angrily for a moment, footsteps squelching as he continued on, before he finally said, in a small voice, ‘Sorry.’ Then, like a little boy, ‘What if she doesn’t want to see me?’
‘Cierra loves you, Tom.’ She hated it, but it was true. It started to rain again. Eliza pulled her hood up over her head, but Tom left his down. ‘The hell knows why . . .’
They had reached the copse of white gums that signalled the wallaby trail down to the hidden Fisherman’s Hut, at the side of the lake. The torchlight glinted on the wet, dancing leaves and made motes of falling light where it hit the rain.
Eliza had first heard about the hut from Tom. Last year he had brought her, Wren and Monica here on a family date, bringing a picnic of sandwiches and wine and a mattress. They’d all watched the sun set over the lake. The hut was well hidden, overgrown, and the structure itself was partly dug into the ground. It was a perfect, secret gem.
Now she understood that it was Jack who’d shown it to Tom in the first place.
‘This is it,’ whispered Tom. ‘Let’s go see if they’re here.’
‘Wait,’ said Eliza, pulling the hood away from her ear. ‘Do you hear that? Sounds like a car.’
Even over the rain they heard the distinct sound of a car door slamming shut. Eliza and Tom froze, switching off their torches in unison. The sound had come from further down the track, the direction they were facing.
‘Stay here,’ said Tom, pushing the rifle into Eliza’s hands and running off into the darkness.
‘No, Tom!’ called Eliza quietly, but he was gone. ‘I hate shooting guns,’ she whispered.
It was scary how quickly she felt alone. The bush rustled with the rain and wind. It seemed to close in over the top of her.
Don’t freak out. Do not freak out.
There was the sound of someone stepping in a puddle.