Then it steadied.
‘I won’t let you talk me out of this. I’ve come too far.’
She struck his face with the barrel of the rifle. Hard. His nose broke and blood flooded his mouth, but he remained standing. With the last of his strength he turned and embraced Madison, smothering her body with his. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered in her ear. His blood ran onto her schooldress.
‘I don’t want you holding her when she dies, Con,’ called Eliza. ‘I want her to die alone.’
His vision turned black at the edges. ‘Don’t do this, Eliza.’
‘Fine. Then you’ll both die.’
The sound of the shot cracked through the trees, stirring a nest of flame robins into the air.
‘No!’ shouted Con. Madison whimpered below him.
But no pain came. He could feel Madison’s heart pounding in her chest.
He turned, bleary eyed. Eliza had fallen to her knees. A ray of sunlight fell through the canopy, lighting up her face. Blood ran out of her chest, a red flower blooming on the front of her dress. The rifle lay on the ground beside her in the pine needles.
Eliza slumped to the side, resting her head against the trunk of a pencil pine. The bell-like song of a green rosella filled the quiet grove.
Her amber eyes remained on Con’s even as life left them.
‘Con?’ came Gabriella’s voice from far, far away. ‘Con!’
‘Madison?’ he said.
‘I’m okay. She didn’t hurt me. Your head is bleeding, Mr Badenhorst.’
He closed his eyes, a distant thrum mixing with the rushing sound in his own head. The darkness came fast.
When he woke up, he was lying in the back of a squad car. Constable Darren Cahil was driving, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Murphy was in the front seat. Con’s head was in Gabriella’s lap, a cold pack wrapped around his head.
‘Rest, Con,’ she whispered. ‘It’s over.’
CHAPTER 56
CON
Con, Murphy and Gabriella sat in the interview room of the Limestone Creek Police Station: the nice one with couches and magazines and a window that looked out over the Tiers. Gabriella was wrapped in a silver shock blanket. Murphy had his head in his hands. Con sat against the wall, a bucket between his legs for the vomit that came with his concussion.
Commander Normandy returned to the room. She sat down, her voice soft and slow. ‘You’ve all done very well. Very well. You’ve saved Madison’s life. You’ve stopped a killer. This community is grateful, your country is proud of you, and your daughter will be proud of you, Murphy, once we find her.’
Murphy didn’t reply. Con sensed that, to him, this was no victory at all. Jasmine was still missing, Cierra was still missing. Bree was dead, Georgia was dead, and their killer had been brought to ill justice, before all their questions could be answered.
Con allowed himself to not feel the same despair. He put Jasmine and Cierra into another box. He didn’t have any energy left to think about them, and that was okay.
He had done a lot today. They had stopped a killer. They had saved a girl’s life.
This time, he hadn’t been too late.
It was time for a little rest.
‘I need to go finish discussions with the commissioner,’ said Agatha. ‘There are a few things she needs to sort out, based off everything you’ve told us. Someone still has to address the media. Until then, it might be best if you all stay in here. Con, I really think you should let the paramedics take a look at you —’
‘I’m fine,’ he muttered.
‘Don’t be an idiot.’ She stood up. ‘But, again – good job.’
Gabriella stood up the moment the commander left the room. ‘If the commissioner is here, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind about Doble. And if the media happens to overhear, so be it.’
‘You’ll lose your job,’ said Con.
‘I saved two lives today! After they kicked me off the case. I think I’m good, and Agatha will support me.’ She held up her blanket. ‘Besides, I’m in shock. I don’t even know what I’m saying.’ She swept out of the room, the silver blanket trailing behind her like a cape.
‘How are you doing, mate?’ said Con softly.
‘I can’t spend another night in this town,’ said Murphy, eyes on the floor in front of him. ‘On this island. I’m leaving – on a plane, on the boat, I don’t care. Tonight.’
‘To Queensland?’ said Con. ‘Port Douglas?’
‘Jasmine knew that’s what I always wanted; buy a shack in Port Douglas and spend all day gardening and fishing. I joked about it often enough.’ He looked up. ‘I’ve got enough money saved up.’
‘Drug money,’ said Con.
‘Yeah, well, it’s getting me out of it. And away from Butch.’ He gave the barest grim smile. ‘I’m doing exactly what Jasmine wanted.’
‘How do you feel about that?’ said Con.
‘Extremely pissed off. And I’ll be telling her so when she comes back.’
‘We’ll find her,’ said Con. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’ His vision rolled and for a brief moment he thought it was going dark again. He stood shakily. ‘You know, I think I am gonna go find that paramedic . . .’ He took a step and stumbled against the wall.
Murphy was there instantly, slinging Con’s arm over his shoulder. ‘Here, mate, let me help you,’ he said. ‘Lean on me.’
CHAPTER 57
MURPHY
One year later
Murphy sat in a café on the foreshore of Port Douglas.
It was ten-thirty in the morning. The weather was balmy, the air like a drunk mate. The ocean – in perfect view, just over the edge of the open-air deck – was mottled blue, perfect little waves rolling in. Salt in the air. His hair still damp from his morning swim. The rustle of lush palm leaves, a frangipani scent from nearby, the laughter from the pair of women at a nearby table eating yoghurt and sipping kombucha.
Murphy wore a singlet, shorts and thongs. His beard was cropped close to his face, which was creased and sunburnt. He had lost a lot of weight since Tasmania: he wasn’t skinny, but he was leaner, fitter.
A cappuccino stood on the table. No food; he was too nervous for food. He’d have preferred a beer, but . . . he just wanted to be careful. On today, of all days. He had smoked a cheeky joint that morning. Perhaps some things never changed.
Con sat beside him: he’d flown in yesterday. He wore a singlet too. He was sipping his latte, holding the glass too tightly.
Both were silent. Nervous.
The pair had stayed in touch all year, and Con had come to visit Murphy twice before; they considered themselves close mates now, bonded by trauma. Murphy himself had been back to Tasmania a few times, to visit Butch and others, including the Masons, to share their grief, exchange clues and theories. Each time he had stayed at Con’s Launceston house.
Not that he had a problem with Butch, not anymore. He just didn’t want it to get back to Jasmine.
A year into Con’s investigation and still nothing from Jasmine or Cierra. No sign at all, up in the mountains or elsewhere.