“Okay, Mummy!”
The sound of the girls’ bedroom door closing and then Molly’s intense muffled instruction reverberating down the hall brought a stifled laugh to the three adults gathered around the kitchen table.
“So what’s been happening, Bob, to cause you so much concern?” Butch’s sudden change of direction took Bob off guard, asking the question across the table both he and Mishy were anxious to have revealed.
Bob halted a loaded fork halfway to its destination, closed his mouth and reluctantly placed the implement back to his plate with a clatter. Picking at his teeth with his tongue and dislodging recalcitrant food particles wedged deep into ancient cavities, he painfully searched Butch’s inquisitive expression then glanced over to Mishy. Leaning back in his chair and breathing out a deep sigh, he searched the ceiling for a place to start. “Do you remember ol’ Tom Wiley from Balloolla Downs Station?”
Butch gazed around the room, searching the name in his memory. The name rang a bell but he couldn’t recall the face. “Balloolla Downs... isn’t that just the other side of the Diamantina Lake National Park?”
“Yep, that’s the one. His family raised the alarm when he didn’t come home and was found a week later with a surgically placed bullet wound in his chest. He’d been working on windmills in a remote part of his property, but I smelt a rat and spent a whole week out there with some fellas from the CIB in Brisbane.”
Mishy’s petrified expression held Bob’s in utter disbelief, while a kaleidoscope of explanations for the shooting rattled around in Butch’s shocked brain. “Surely it was a tragic accident, Bob? Most station people carry guns in their vehicles to shoot vermin.”
“Yeah... well, that one was quickly discounted when a few days later someone took a potshot at Miles Kilaney.”
“Miles Kilaney! He’s one of our neighbours a hundred and twenty kilometres directly east of here! He manages Dingo flats. What happened there?!”
“Apparently he was doing the same thing, but this time, Miles happened to drop a spanner from atop the windmill tower and jolted down to grab at it just as the sniper let rip. There’s a bullet hole in one of the windmill blades, right where his head was only seconds before. Just wanted you to be aware, Butch, there’s someone out there who doesn’t seem to like station people.”
Butch’s shocked gaze fell to the floor, staring at the linoleum and trying to make sense of Bob’s words. When he looked up, Mishy’s face was red with concern and her eyes were haunted with fear, staring back at her husband.
“How come we haven’t heard any of this on the news or on the bush telegraph?” Butch demanded.
“Trying to keep it out of the news for the moment. Only people who need to know are being told. My friends at the CIB think this might be someone roaming around looking for fame and they don’t want to give him what he wants until we can flush him out.”
“Flush him out?! What about the station families and our safety, Bob?!”
Bob Maxwell sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility for the people he loved crushing his broad, well padded shoulders. “We have a whole platoon of infantry soldiers spread across 500 square kilometres. Specially trained plainclothes police are swarming like flies over the area, too. We’ve identified the type of weapon from the bullet recovered from Tom’s body and it’s just a matter of tracing the owner before we nail this sicko. We have to wait for him to make another move and give away his position, then we’ll be all over him. You just need to be aware and not allow yourself or your family to become an unwilling target and of course, keep this off the airwaves.”
*~*~*~*
Two little feet tiptoed nervously down the dark passage, feeling the way with her hands and using the valleys and mounds of the familiar stone wall as a guide for her journey. She hurried past the lounge room door and pressed awkwardly against the rocky partition just as another frightening, gasping snore emanated from the prone figure of the visiting policeman. The brave little girl stared nervously, teetering on losing her courage and wide eyed at the silhouetted outline fast asleep on the floor, tearing the family entertainment room apart while attempting to fill his tired lungs through overtaxed and resonating human alleyways.
Safely past the unfamiliar disturbance, she turned back momentarily and stared down into the darkness from whence she had just come, compassionately remembering the cause for her anxious mission. Gripped with concern, the tiny figure pushed on determinedly towards her intended destination and nearing the end of the passageway, she could hear the comforting sounds of her parents' sleeping breaths escaping through the open bedroom door. Standing at the door to their room, she anxiously pondered the consequences for her mission. Waking her parents for something trivial may carry unpleasantness for her if she misunderstood the situation, but her heart was overcome with empathy that overrode the fear of a possible rebuke. Then mustering all the courage she could gather, “Mumma...! Mum!” the small voice whispered.
Mishy stirred from a deep sleep, instinctively waking at the sounds of her distressed daughter. “Jess! What’s up, honey?” Mishy whispered, trying to shake off the grasp of sleep.
“Danica’s crying and she won’t tell me what’s wrong,” Jessica’s worried whisper caught in the back of her throat. Even though there were four years between Danica and Jess, they always confided in each other but tonight, Danica had firmly locked Jess out and she was worried something was badly wrong.
Mishy threw her legs over the bed in response to her daughter’s alarm and reached for her dressing gown, concerned Danica may be in pain and needing urgent medical help. The Royal Flying Doctor Service base at Mount Isa was an hour flight to Pearl Springs, a lifeline that the Slaters and all remote Queenslanders used often and relied upon for prompt lifesaving assistance. Throwing her dressing gown over her shoulders, Mishy glanced towards Butch’s sleeping figure checking to see if he had stirred from sleep, but the gentle rise and fall of his chest and heavy breaths indicated he hadn’t been disturbed. Mishy contemplated waking him, but thought better of it until she had investigated Danica’s predicament. All hands would be needed if a medical emergency was to be declared.
Grasping Jessica’s hand, Mishy hurried along the passage past Bob’s raucous performance and down to the girls’ bedroom. Gently, Mishy pushed the door open and listened to the sounds of the darkness. Restrained sobs punctuated the quiet from the direction of Danica’s bed and melted Mishy’s heart with concern.
“Danica, are you alright, baby; are you unwell?” Mishy knelt by her daughter’s bed and placed a hand on her back, then gently rubbed the tension from her shuddering shoulders.
Danica’s sobs subsided momentarily, listening to her mother’s soothing voice and enjoying her gentle and loving touch. But she was troubled and didn’t know how to communicate the perplexing quandary disturbing her heart without adding to her parents’ already burgeoning load. “I love you and Dad so much, Mum,” a watery voice quietly confessed.
Mishy smiled in the darkness at her firstborn daughter’s declaration, stroking her soft hair but aware Danica was struggling with something that wasn’t going to go away. “Dad and I love you too, more than you realise. Can you tell me about it, sweetheart, woman to woman?” Mishy settled cross-legged on the floor beside Danica’s bed, coaxing Danica to unburden.
By the time Mishy made her way back to her own bed, it was close to three in the morning and she was stiff from sitting so long in one position listening to her daughter’s heart. Danica had dropped off to sleep after explaining the dilemma, but leaving Mishy with an ache and an impasse she wasn’t sure how to overcome. With this new dilemma and a homicidal maniac stalking the area, Butch and the family finances were stretched to breaking point. But their children were suffering in silence and only now did Mishy understand how much. She would have to pick the time to broach it with Butch and see whether he could figure out a solution.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 14
Pressing her finger to th
e back of a tiny earphone, Angelina listened intently to the device left by her purported husband, trying to work out what game her abductors were playing. She turned the device over in her hand, studying its neat case and looking for any clue, but still the silent electronic machine remained defiantly dumb. Raising her tired body with a groan from the plush mattress, she glanced around the well appointed room and then began to explore her surrounds. With the silent earphone remaining firmly pressed to her ear, she expected at any moment to hear some form of instruction or explanation for her incarceration. She stole around a small division in the wall only to be confronted with a delightful oak door leading into a luxurious well-appointed bathroom, while the total absence of a guard anywhere in her captivity confused the situation even further.
Angelina’s thoughts began to tumble over each other. Was she a hostage or wasn’t she? And if she was, why had they picked one of the finest hotels in Geneva to keep her confined? Maybe they were trying to impress her and convey to her that they had class and just maybe her ‘husband’ would be worth meeting after all. Angelina laughed at her own absurdity and continued her search.
As she concluded the investigation exploring her room, it was apparent she could leave at any time and wasn’t being held by force against her will. Suddenly catching a glimpse of the glass door opening onto the balcony, she wondered whether a minder was stationed on the landing, keeping well out of sight but clearly able to watch her movements without hindrance. She cautiously wandered over to the glass doors leading to the outside and guardedly glanced out, but the only occupants of the second-floor loggia were two steel lacework chairs and a matching table. Pulling the earphones from her ears in frustration, she gave up on the device but left the machine running in her hand. She was too tired to play the captors’ strange game, her attention drawn instead to the impressive view of the Jet d’Eau in the middle of La Rade, one of Lake Geneva’s beautiful harbours.
The 140 metre tall waterspout pumped an impressive half a cubic metre of lake water a second, projecting the spray high above Geneva’s unique skyline. As Angelina cracked open the door to her balcony and cautiously gazed around, a slight breeze carried the spray from the towering fountain across the harbour and gently teased her face with its cooling mist. She glanced down from her view at the neat manicured lawns of the foreshore, the alluring white sand of the Baby Beach and the ordered roadway of the Quai du Mont-Blanc ambling in front of the hotel. People, Angelina assumed were tourists, slowly sauntered along the lazy roadway, snapping pictures of the luxuriant hotel facade and the fairytale-like ambience of the elegant Swiss city.
A sudden unnerving thought flashed across her mind and distracted her attention from the relaxing vista. If her minder wasn’t inside her room or on her balcony, then obviously the thug would be guarding her room from the corridor outside her door. With a new flurry of determination and adrenaline coursing through her tired veins, Angelina strode across the room, throwing the iPod onto the bedspread and ready to give any hood preventing her from going about her rightful business a surprise they wouldn’t forget. Focusing on the untouched pitcher of cold water the maid had just delivered, she quickly dismissed it as being too light in construction and grabbed for an expensive looking vase from an entry table instead. Approaching the room door on tiptoe, Angelina restrained her breathing, hovering close to the access and listened for sounds of movement.
Hearing a slight disturbance outside her room, she grabbed for the handle and reefed open the door, giving a bloodcurdling shriek as she lunged at her jailer. A stunned bellhop, blinking excessively, squinted in disbelief at the attacking crazy woman and fortunately for him, she avoided making contact. Gawking around the terrified man in all directions, Angelina stared at the empty corridor in utter contempt then with a sheepish expression lowered her weapon.
“Excusez-moi, s’il vous plaît!”
Highly embarrassed and as fast as she could, Angelina retreated back into her room and slammed the door shut. This was indeed a weird game she had been forced to play and it was draining the remaining reserves of energy she had left and fast turning frustration and fear into anger. Flopping exhausted to the bed and making the soft and well sprung mattress bounce under her slender weight, she blew out an irritated breath and gazed around the room’s finery, forming an escape plan.
“Well, if I’m not a captive, then there’s nothing stopping me from just walking out of here... is there?!” Angelina’s bold thoughts were quickly assuming the consistency of a war cry, and woe betide anyone foolish enough to step into her path attempting to block this boiling Italian donna.
Just as she was about to enact her plan and simply walk out, a screeching clamour bellowed out from underneath her horizontal frame. With a searching hand, she felt beneath her back and found the rectangular box shape of the iPod and its tentacle-like strings connecting it to the unimpressive earphones. Struggling strenuously with the device trapped below her body and without concern for its well-being, the contraption finally appeared in her grasp, still playing, but this time a familiar screaming sound bellowed out from the iPod’s earpiece laying dishevelled across her lap. Swiping at the annoying box, she found the volume control and decreased the singer’s intensity, wishing she could turn Niccolo down in real life with the same ease. Implanting the earpiece into her ear, she recognised the voice of the lead singer in an instant, but she couldn’t identify the song; and she knew every one of his money-making screeches by heart. Striking at the iPod controls, Angelina searched the memory of the contrivance looking for another clue, but there was only Niccolo’s screech recorded in the middle of the substantial memory card with no other explanation and it wasn’t making sense.
Until...
“That little rat! How dare he cut me out of any deal and record a new song without my permission!” Fire erupted in the Italian woman’s eyes while the boy Niccolo was about to learn how a scorned femmina could seriously affect his fledgling career and damage his puny body.
More determined than ever, Angelina calculated the time as best she could. It’d only been half an hour or so since the maid had delivered her message; that made it around 4:30 pm. Searching the room antagonistically for her cell phone in an attempt to organise a limousine to take her to Montreux in time for the evening’s performance, she abruptly changed her mind in mid wrath and decided to use the hotel courtesy limousine instead. Deliberately adding the cost to her husband’s bill and while she waited for the limousine, she would make use of the invigorating and revitalising hot shower in her plush prison cell to regain her strength before tearing Niccolo to pieces... on stage, if necessary.
A cloudy curtain lifted from Angelina’s mind. Niccolo and her husband were in cohorts in her abduction, trying to keep her off the scene while Niccolo and his friend launched the Sticky Lizards into a successful career, cutting her out of a rightful share in the profits.
That’s why she had never heard this latest song!
Feeling the passion rising in her intense Italian blood, she flounced to the bathroom, intent on adding as much as possible to her husband’s account with the hotel and indulge in the wildly expensive perfumes on offer.
Angelina’s fuming subsided a degree as the soothing hot water knocked the prickly edges off her fractured feelings and numbed the sleepiness haunting her mind. As the enticingly expensive silky soaps and perfumes on tap from the room’s vanity flowed over her body liberally and pleased her lavish tastes, she washed off the spiteful cares with the opulent luxury, making her feel feminine and desirable again.
As she reached for the faucet and reluctantly shut down the luxurious hot water, the room phone jangled insistently, beckoning her from the shower. Reaching for a sumptuous white fluffy shower robe and still dripping from the relaxing treat, Angelina hastily found her way to the phone, forcefully swooped up the incessant receiver and finally silenced its demanding fray.
“Bonjour!” After rehearsing Niccolo’s unfortunate demise all throughou
t her shower, Angelina’s voice was a little icier than she intended.
“Bonjour, Madame. The hotel limousine is waiting to take you to Montreux. Your driver will meet you in the foyer, but I must apologise; the outfits your husband ordered for you from L’Apollinaire in Geneva have only just arrived and if I may be so bold, Madame, your husband has exceptionally good taste in fashion... Madame?”
“Arr... um… merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle. You will of course accept a generous tip, compliments of my husband,” Angelina’s eyes sparkled with perplexed treachery, still trying to grasp at reality and make sense of the whole bewildering affair.
“It will be as you say, Madame, but he has already authorised a more than generous tip to accommodate all the staff here at the Hôtel d’Angleterre with the obvious proviso of taking care of your every whim. We are extremely grateful for you and your husband’s generous patronage and we hope you both will stay with us again.”
Angelina placed the phone back onto its receptacle, dumbfounded and somewhat confused by the receptionist’s matter-of-fact reply and her husband’s apparent generosity. The whole debacle was making her head ache and it was as if the staff were pre-warned and waiting for her to make use of the hotel’s facilities and in particular, the limousine.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 15
Anxiously pulling the door to her room closed behind her with a gentle plunk, Angelina searched the extensive and luxurious passageway with suspicious eyes. Finding nothing to escalate her scepticism, she took a couple of unsteady steps towards a sign brightly illuminating the word SORTIE and below that, EXIT. The plush green carpet tangled with her tall stilettos, almost tripping her and for a brief moment she contemplated kicking them off and carrying them in her hand. Deciding it was necessary for her escape, she took hold of a highly polished brass handrail and lifted her foot to slip the treacherous fashion statements from her feet, when a maid suddenly appeared from a room, eyeing Angelina with distrust.