The Bat(111)

Harry was unable to restrain himself.

‘What feeling is that, sir? The same one that told you it was a good idea to break into the flat? The same one that said she should keep the radio transmitter in her bag?’

‘Holy, I—’

‘I’m just asking, sir. If we have to use your feeling as a guide for anything, that will mean, in light of what’s happened so far, he’ll be brandishing a gun. Not that—’

Harry realised he’d raised his voice, and shut up. Not now, he told himself. Not yet. In a lower voice he finished the sentence.

‘Not that I mind. It just means I can pepper him with lead.’

Watkins chose not to answer; instead he glared sulkily out of the window as they drove on in silence. In the mirror Harry saw Lebie’s cautious, inscrutable smile.





ONE THIRTY.


‘Lady Bay Beach,’ Lebie said, pointing. ‘Fitting name, as well. You see, this is Sydney’s number-one gay beach.’

They decided to park outside the fence to the marina, and walked down a grassy mound to the little harbour where the masts huddled together each side of narrow pontoons. At the gate was a sleepy guard wearing a sun-bleached, blue uniform shirt. He perked up when Watkins flashed his police badge and described to them where Gert Van Hoos’s boat was moored.

‘Anyone on board?’ Harry asked.

‘Not as far as I know,’ said the guard. ‘It’s a bit difficult to keep track of everything in the summer, but I don’t think there’s been anyone in the boat for a couple of days.’

‘Has anyone been there at all recently?’

‘Yes, if my memory serves me right. Mr Van Hoos was here late Tuesday. He usually parks close by the water. He left again later that night.’

‘And no one’s been on the boat since?’ Watkins asked.

‘Not on my watch. But, luckily, there are several of us.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘Far as I remember, yes.’

‘Was he carrying anything to the boat?’

‘Probably. I don’t remember. Most do.’

‘Could you give us a description of Mr Van Hoos?’ Harry said.

The guard scratched his head. ‘Well, no, in fact I can’t.’

‘Why not?’ Watkins asked, surprised.

The guard looked sheepish. ‘To be quite honest, I think all Aborigines look the same.’

The sun glittered on the water inside the marina, but further out the breakers rolled in off the sea, big and heavy. Harry could feel the wind was fresher here as they made a cautious approach along the pontoon. He recognised the name of the boat, Adelaide, and its registration number painted on the side. Adelaide wasn’t one of the biggest boats at the marina, but it looked well kept. Yong had explained to them that only boats with engines over a certain size had to be registered, so actually they’d had more than their share of luck. So much more that Harry had an unpleasant feeling their luck had been used up. The notion that Birgitta might be on board the boat made his heart throb.

Watkins motioned for Lebie to enter first. Harry took the safety catch off his gun and pointed it at the lounge hatch as Lebie circumspectly placed his feet on the aft deck. Watkins tripped over the anchor rope as he went on board and landed on the deck with a thump. They stopped and listened, but all they could hear was the wind and the waves lapping and gurgling against the hull. Both the hatch to the lounge and the aft cabin were secured with padlocks. Lebie took out his picklock and got to work. After a few minutes both had been removed.

Lebie opened the lounge hatch and Harry clambered in first. It was dark down below and Harry crouched with his gun in front of him until Watkins descended and drew the curtains aside. It was a plain but tastefully furnished boat. The lounge was made of mahogany but otherwise the interior bore no signs of excess. A sea chart lay rolled up on the table. Above it hung a picture of a young boxer.

‘Birgitta!’ Harry shouted. ‘Birgitta!’

Watkins patted his shoulder.

‘She’s not here,’ Lebie confirmed after they had been through the boat from prow to stern.

Watkins stood with his head buried in one of the boxes on the aft deck.

‘She might have been here,’ Harry said, scanning the sea. The wind was up and the tips of the waves beyond frothed white.

‘We’d better get Forensics over here and see what they can find,’ Watkins said, straightening. ‘This can only mean he has somewhere we don’t know about.’

‘Or—’ Harry said.

‘Rubbish! He’s got her hidden somewhere. It’s just a question of finding her.’

Harry sat down. The wind ruffled and teased his hair. Lebie tried to light a cigarillo, but gave up after a couple of attempts.