Alex Palmer - The Labyrinth of Drowning

He took one hand off the wheel, took out his wallet and placed it on his lap. He flicked it open and eased out a photograph, which he then held up to her.

‘That’s Coopes,’ he said.

She recognised it immediately. A stone axe from New Guinea. Her father had one not unlike it.

‘Why do you call it Coopes?’

‘Mr Coopes,’ Griffin said. ‘The headmaster at the last school I went to. He said I could achieve anything I wanted to if I just tried. Every time I use Coopes, I think, yes, this is something I’ve wanted and I’ve achieved it. He wanted to be nice to me. It was insulting. I didn’t need his pity.’

The resentment in his voice was genuine. More than twenty-five years ago and he still thought about it.

‘Did you use it on him?’

‘No, I don’t know where he went. He was due to retire. He’s probably dead by now.’

Silence.

‘I kept my bargain,’ Grace said. ‘You didn’t keep yours.’

‘That’s not true. As far as I was concerned, we had no deal. I made my deal with Tony senior. And he broke it,’ Griffin said.

‘What was the deal?’

‘A personal contract for the old man. We’ve worked together on and off for years now. He wanted to get back at your partner before he died and he asked me to do something special. I was pleased when he named you. Chris had already told me all about you and I liked the look of you. Chris may not have been able to have you, but I can. Then Kidd told me you were with Orion. And then Marie said you had something to sell. I didn’t have to chase you any more. You walked into my hands.’

‘Why choose me?’

‘Tony wanted your partner to suffer the way he did when his daughter was killed. He wanted you and your daughter. But we couldn’t get to her so I decided to get you and your partner together instead. Tony would have liked it. We’re giving him a bit extra. Now I’m doing it for me. And Sara. It’ll be a buzz.’

Grace felt relief so powerful it made every bone in her body ache. You’re safe, she said to Ellie. But was she really going to die? Was she really never going to see her daughter again? She had to protect her. Somehow she had to see Ellie and Paul-

Griffin had said they’d die together. That meant Paul was alive now.

‘Sara likes these occasions, does she?’ she said. ‘Gets a kick out of them?’

That same look of distaste appeared on his face.

‘Say anything else about Sara and I’ll break your jaw. What she does is up to her. At times like this, she can do anything she wants. It’s almost the one time she can. I let her go and then I take over. And then everything’s sweet.’

After this, they drove in silence. He was so matter-of-fact. Could this be real? They were out of Duffys Forest and back to Mona Vale Road by now, turning north again and then into the park. They passed the park’s gatehouse, closed and dark. Not far in he turned off the road onto a fire trail usually closed to public access by a low boom gate. The gate was open. He drove downhill. Occasional kangaroos leaped along the side of the trail, none into their path. She wished one of them would; it would stop the car.

He drove down the narrow track, then turned off his car lights and made a sharp turn onto another trail. They drove along it for some time, going deeper into the forest. He turned off the engine and coasted the car downhill. No one could know whose death they were driving to.

Harrigan came back to consciousness, unable to see. The noisy, then fading sound of a vehicle driving away had woken him. He didn’t move immediately but instead tried to work out whether he could think, what he could hear, if he felt any pain. Whether anyone was here with him, watching.

At first there was only silence, and then, distantly, the harsh bark of a wattlebird calling. He was trussed up and blindfolded, the elastic of the blindfold pulled tight about the back of his head. His hands were behind his back, numbed and at the same time made painful by the bite of whatever they had used to tie them. Don’t straighten your legs, his mind told him, but there was no rope around his neck. Very slowly and carefully he stretched out and found he was able to move his feet a short distance away from each other. It felt like he’d been hobbled. He realised he was barefoot.

He was lying on his side on what seemed to be a thin and rank mattress. He swung his legs to the ground and managed to lever himself to his feet. In the blackness, he got his balance and took a few deep breaths. He swayed with nausea from whatever drug they had administered, taking some minutes to let his head clear. Wherever he was, it wasn’t in a house. The floor beneath his feet was packed dirt and the place had the feel of some kind of shed. The air smelled of piss and rubbish, like a place where derelicts might sleep. It was too quiet to be in the city; the sound of the bird calls was too close. There was no sound of there being anyone else here with him.

Harrigan took a small step forward. He had been hobbled, but he was able to move with very short and awkward steps. Probably he was supposed to be able to walk, barefoot and blinded, into whatever had been lined up for him. His bonds made him lean forward, as if he was being forced to bow his head to his captors. Carefully he moved, one step at a time, occasionally finding sharp rocks on the floor. Then his foot hit a wall. He turned side on, leaned on it, and followed it around. Soon enough he came to a door. He pushed at it with his foot. It was metal, rattled on its hinges, and sounded like it was secured from the outside by a chain.

As best he could, he tried to trace out its width. It seemed to have a metal strut across the middle and a lip where it met the door frame. He encountered the hinges on the inside, standing out from the metal frame like dog’s balls. He leaned his cheek against the set closest to him. They were large and felt rough-edged around the pin. Old, bulky, possibly steel hinges, probably poor craftsmanship. He touched the door’s lip. It hard a thick, hard edge, rough enough probably to have torn the skin on his cheek.

His legs had been tied at the knee as well as the ankle. He sat down on the dirt and drew his knees up as close as he could to his chin. He leaned his head forward to find out by feel what kind of rope they had used to tie him up with, brushing his cheeks against it. It felt like plastic and had been tied to allow the circulation to flow in his legs. He was definitely meant to be able to walk. It was too uncomfortable to stay in that position any longer than was necessary and he leaned back. He tried to feel what was tying his hands. Not plastic rope, more like electrical wire. Malleable plastic coating, soft copper wire inside, pulled tight enough to bite into his wrists and break into the flesh. Fuck you , he thought.

He stood up and manoeuvred himself into an awkward position that allowed him to press the bonds tying his hands together against the door’s lip. Then he began to saw, pressing hard. You rub something softer against something harder and rougher for long enough and attrition will work; it has to, even on a bluntish edge. The question was whether or not he had enough time. Stamina wasn’t an issue. The certainty that he would die if he didn’t free himself was all the motivation he’d ever need.

His hands were both numb and aching blocks of ice hanging uselessly at the ends of his arms. They hadn’t stinted in the amount of wire they’d wound around his wrists. He stopped thinking about what he was doing and concentrated on something more pleasant: Grace; how they made love. Then he realised he was afraid for her and changed his thoughts. Where was Ellie right now? With his oldest sister, who was first on the list of emergency contacts? Kidz Corner would raise the alarm if neither he nor Grace turned up to collect her; they would ring the contact number at police headquarters he’d given them. But no one would ever find him here. He put that thought to the side and remembered days fishing at Green Cape. Watching the whales swim past in the distance. Stay there. It’ll keep you going.