Fifty Fifty (Detective Harriet Blue #2)(59)

As is typical with my luck, I chanced a look at the road just as Digger was glancing over into the shadows beneath the house. The dog stopped short, lifted her head, sniffed the air. I fancied I saw her smile as she began to bound towards us.

‘Shit!’ Kash seethed. He sprang to his hands and knees, unsure of what to do. ‘Fucking thing!’

The dog was running at us, barking with joy. I heard the men in the house above us shifting, moving to the front of the house, following the commotion.





Chapter 88


‘GO,’ I TOLD Kash. ‘Get to cover. I’ll distract it.’

Kash scampered to the back of the house, around the brick foundations, and disappeared between the long grass. Digger slammed into me, a flurry of licking and happy barks.

‘What is that thing doing?’ I heard Jace sneer from above me. ‘Fucking dog.’

I clamped my hands around the dog’s muzzle. She gave a happy growl, tried to play-bite the cast on my arm.

‘What’s it got?’ someone asked from the couch. ‘A roo?’

‘Dunno. I’ll go have a look.’

I crawled around the foundations, looking for somewhere to hide. If Jace Robit found me down here, he’d know I’d heard their plans to ‘change everything’, to abandon their kids and wives. A group of men fleeing after a dramatic act, whatever it might be. If he found me now … I gripped the bricks, tried to contain the rising panic.

I looked up. There was a narrow gap between the brick-work and one of the wooden beams that crossed the bottom of the house. Just wide enough to snuggle in to, just deep enough to hide in. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to crawl up into it, to hold myself wedged in the space. But I had to try. I gathered a handful of the dry, powdery dirt from beneath me.

‘Sorry, dog,’ I whispered. I flung the dirt in the dog’s eyes. The animal yelped, twisted sideways. I put my feet into the gap beside the bricks and pulled myself upwards.

Digger was blinded and ran out from beneath the house, trying to scrape at its eyes with its paws. Already my broken arm, braced against the wooden beam, was screaming with pain. I closed my eyes and held my stomach in, thought about stone, concrete, solid things. I was a part of the house. I was invisible. I heard Jace Robit walking down the porch stairs mere metres from me.

Something was crawling along my side. Something big. I hoped it was a locust. At least a huntsman spider, those big, hairy but harmless creatures. I prayed silently that it wasn’t a red-back. Its needle-like legs were creeping slowly up my armpit, over the top of my shoulder.

‘What’s wrong with ya? Ya stupid mongrel.’ Robit’s feet appeared beside the dog. He crouched and I tucked my head up against the floorboards. My legs were starting to shake. I shifted my weight from one to the other, pushing hard against the walls of my little hidey-hole with my arms. I could hear the man breathing, feel his gaze wandering over the dirt beneath me. Sweat was rolling down my ribs, collecting in the front of my shirt. The crawling thing walked across my ear and over my temple. I squeezed my eyes shut as it wandered over the bridge of my nose. The urge to scream was all-consuming. Exhale. Scream. Relax. Fall. Give up, Harry. You can’t do this.

I heard Jace’s leather boots creak as he stood.

‘Get moving, idiot.’ He kicked the dog until it began to trot away. Jace sniffed and spat as he climbed the stairs back up to the house.

I collapsed onto the ground with a thud and peeled the spider from my hair, flicking it away. An enormous red-back. It rolled in the dust, oil-black legs wiggling, righted itself and crept away.





Chapter 89


WHITT STOOD BY the table at the very back of the police briefing room as the officers assembled in the chairs around him. Tox stood beside him, slowly devouring a Mint Slice biscuit, examining the treat closely between bites. It took all of Whitt’s resolve not to knock it out of his hand. His nerves were frazzled, and crumbs were falling all over the floor. Whitt needed control, perfection, now more than ever.

He’d learned little more about Tox’s deadly reputation, the murders he was supposed to have committed as a child. The man’s records were sealed, and rumours of the event varied wildly. It seemed far more fashionable to simply join the masses and hate Tate ‘Toxic’ Barnes than it was to be certain of the facts. Whitt was certain he didn’t hate Tox. But he was far too nervous to like him, either.

‘Alright, listen up,’ Chief Morris said. The squat old man commanded the attention of the room. Young officers who had been laughing and chatting turned around in their seats. ‘We’ll make this short so you can get back out on the road. We’re getting a lot of calls from members of the public who have seen men fitting the EFIT description of McBeal’s abductor. You’re doing a good job attending to them. We’re hoping to hone the search now with some new information we’ve just received.’

Tox seemed to get part of his biscuit stuck in his throat. He thumped his chest with his fist. Whitt winced.

‘Forensics have done a sweep of the Pinkerton Hotel. Even though we’ve restricted the analysis to the underground basement where Caitlyn was kept, there are still hundreds and hundreds of prints, and we can’t tell which ones are relevant. It’s taking time to narrow them down. We’ve been fast-tracking the prints through the national database and some interesting characters have started turning up. We’ve shown their pictures to Caitlyn, but she hasn’t identified anyone. It’s likely some of these guys might have changed their appearance since they were last in contact with police. Some of the photographs are very old.’