Read Online Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout by Garry Disher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Garry Disher
Ads: Link
exhalation
of hopelessness.
Nettie opened the sticking main door
to Liz but not the screen door. She wore the cares of the world in her thin
frame, her limp pale hair, her narrow mouth. But a spark of something animated
her sorrowing face when she saw Liz. You again.
Hello, Nettie.
Thats the shot, first names. What
do I get to call you, your majesty?
I dont mind if you call me Liz.
Nettie Jardine sniffed. Thought Id
finished with you lot.
Just a couple of questions. Do you
think I could
Right here will do, Nettie said,
folding her arms firmly behind the screen door.
Right. About your brother
Hes dead.
I know. Im sorry.
Sorrys not going to bring him
back.
Nettie, were more interested in a
man your brother was involved with. Wyatt.
That bastard.
Liz said mildly, I understand he
was your brothers friend. Didnt he help out with rent, bills, living costs?
Guilt money.
Your brother blueprinted burglaries
for him, Nettie. He wasnt forced into it.
Nettie was stubborn. Wyatt had
influence over Frank.
Liz doubted that. She said, What I
need to know is, how did Frank get in touch with Wyatt? When Frank put a
burglary or a robbery together, how did he pass on the photographs, the floor
plans, the briefing notes?
Mail drop.
You mean a holding address?
Call it what you want. Hes
paranoid. Doesnt like you to know where he lives.
Liz nodded. She had an impression of
the unreality of her life. Wyatts life, a secretive, complicated parallel
life, seemed suddenly clearer and more appealing to her than her own. So youve
never seen his place.
Nettie shrugged. Why would I?
Know anyone who has? His family,
maybe?
Far as I know, theres only a
nephew.
Liz sharpened at that. Nephew?
Raymond Wyatt. Flash bugger.
Where would I find him?
Nettie laughed. Try the bloody
phone book.
Fair enough, Liz thought. This mail
drop. Where was it?
Hobart, Nettie muttered.
Hobart. The mail drop was probably
inoperative now, given Wyatts caution, but a man cant live in total
isolation. He has wants and needs that bring him into contact with the wider
world. He has dealings with dentists, doctors, real-estate agents, local
shopkeepers. Hobart was a small place. She could go down there, flash his photo
around. It wasnt much of a likeness. It was a blurred, long-distance
surveillance shot. Wyatt, eternally watchful, had never let himself be
photographed clearly. Liz made a few impressionistic notes in her mindtall,
slender, graceful on his feet, big hands, rarely smiles, thin face, sharp lines
with a dark cast to the skin.
Where in Hobart?
There was no humour in Netties
smile. Couldnt say, really. All I know is, youre too far away and too late.
Nettie, Liz said warningly, whats
going on?
You wait and see. All Im saying
is, no-one hurts the Jardines and gets away with it.
* * * *
Eleven
On
the outskirts of Hastings the cab driver caught Wyatts eye in the rear-view
mirror. You got a yacht down here?
He wants to discuss sailing with me,
Wyatt thought. To forestall that, he said, Just been visiting for a few days.
Like it?
Sure.
People think this is a bit of a
backwater, but we have our share of drama.
Yes, Wyatt said.
That kiddie abducted on the other
side of the Peninsula, that killer up in Frankston. Youll even see in the
marina a boat the police impounded. Something to do with smuggling from
Vanuatu, one of them places.
Wyatt glanced out of the window. The
taxi was passing swampy flatland. Beyond it was the refinery. A big tanker was
in dock.
He let the driver talk on. Once
inside the terminal at Tyabb aerodrome, he stood at the glass, gazing across
the airstrip. Suddenly a shadow washed over the field, cutting off the sun
briefly, and a harsh motor swamped the ordinary human sounds behind him. Wyatt
looked up. A plane was barrelling in, hard and fast. It was squat-looking with
a high cockpit, and it wore US Navy markings. It dated from the Second World
War and Wyatt hadnt seen it
of hopelessness.
Nettie opened the sticking main door
to Liz but not the screen door. She wore the cares of the world in her thin
frame, her limp pale hair, her narrow mouth. But a spark of something animated
her sorrowing face when she saw Liz. You again.
Hello, Nettie.
Thats the shot, first names. What
do I get to call you, your majesty?
I dont mind if you call me Liz.
Nettie Jardine sniffed. Thought Id
finished with you lot.
Just a couple of questions. Do you
think I could
Right here will do, Nettie said,
folding her arms firmly behind the screen door.
Right. About your brother
Hes dead.
I know. Im sorry.
Sorrys not going to bring him
back.
Nettie, were more interested in a
man your brother was involved with. Wyatt.
That bastard.
Liz said mildly, I understand he
was your brothers friend. Didnt he help out with rent, bills, living costs?
Guilt money.
Your brother blueprinted burglaries
for him, Nettie. He wasnt forced into it.
Nettie was stubborn. Wyatt had
influence over Frank.
Liz doubted that. She said, What I
need to know is, how did Frank get in touch with Wyatt? When Frank put a
burglary or a robbery together, how did he pass on the photographs, the floor
plans, the briefing notes?
Mail drop.
You mean a holding address?
Call it what you want. Hes
paranoid. Doesnt like you to know where he lives.
Liz nodded. She had an impression of
the unreality of her life. Wyatts life, a secretive, complicated parallel
life, seemed suddenly clearer and more appealing to her than her own. So youve
never seen his place.
Nettie shrugged. Why would I?
Know anyone who has? His family,
maybe?
Far as I know, theres only a
nephew.
Liz sharpened at that. Nephew?
Raymond Wyatt. Flash bugger.
Where would I find him?
Nettie laughed. Try the bloody
phone book.
Fair enough, Liz thought. This mail
drop. Where was it?
Hobart, Nettie muttered.
Hobart. The mail drop was probably
inoperative now, given Wyatts caution, but a man cant live in total
isolation. He has wants and needs that bring him into contact with the wider
world. He has dealings with dentists, doctors, real-estate agents, local
shopkeepers. Hobart was a small place. She could go down there, flash his photo
around. It wasnt much of a likeness. It was a blurred, long-distance
surveillance shot. Wyatt, eternally watchful, had never let himself be
photographed clearly. Liz made a few impressionistic notes in her mindtall,
slender, graceful on his feet, big hands, rarely smiles, thin face, sharp lines
with a dark cast to the skin.
Where in Hobart?
There was no humour in Netties
smile. Couldnt say, really. All I know is, youre too far away and too late.
Nettie, Liz said warningly, whats
going on?
You wait and see. All Im saying
is, no-one hurts the Jardines and gets away with it.
* * * *
Eleven
On
the outskirts of Hastings the cab driver caught Wyatts eye in the rear-view
mirror. You got a yacht down here?
He wants to discuss sailing with me,
Wyatt thought. To forestall that, he said, Just been visiting for a few days.
Like it?
Sure.
People think this is a bit of a
backwater, but we have our share of drama.
Yes, Wyatt said.
That kiddie abducted on the other
side of the Peninsula, that killer up in Frankston. Youll even see in the
marina a boat the police impounded. Something to do with smuggling from
Vanuatu, one of them places.
Wyatt glanced out of the window. The
taxi was passing swampy flatland. Beyond it was the refinery. A big tanker was
in dock.
He let the driver talk on. Once
inside the terminal at Tyabb aerodrome, he stood at the glass, gazing across
the airstrip. Suddenly a shadow washed over the field, cutting off the sun
briefly, and a harsh motor swamped the ordinary human sounds behind him. Wyatt
looked up. A plane was barrelling in, hard and fast. It was squat-looking with
a high cockpit, and it wore US Navy markings. It dated from the Second World
War and Wyatt hadnt seen it
Similar Books
