Crystal Coffin (25 page)

Two seconds later, Helen's screen blipped again.

PEEKABOO I C U.

Time to get busy, she thought, scrolling her mouse down the list to find out who had come online this time. Then her screen filled with blips, going wild.

PEEKABOO I C U PEEKABOO I C U PEEKABOO I C U PEEKABOO I C U PEEKABOO I C U PEEKABOO I C U PEEKABOO I C U PEEKABOO I C U

She pressed the escape key, but her screen kept blipping. She held down the control, alt and delete keys to reboot her system and still got no response. She tapped out REBOOT SERVER and LOCK-UP MACHINE, both without response. Then she typed KILL PROCESS and her screen went blank.

The command was supposed to abruptly terminate whatever process was running and prompt her for the ID of the target server that she wished to kill the link to. Instead, Windows kicked her out into DOS and the cursor flashed at the top left-hand corner of the black page, waiting for input.

She took a long breath, feeling the baby kick after the rush of adrenaline and typed in the abbreviation WIN to return to windows mode.

There was a pause, longer than usual, and the cursor started moving by itself.

NO YOU DON'T, it typed. I WIN.

Helen stared at the words, her fingers frozen.

The screen went black again as Windows reloaded and then large hot pink letters scrolled across the middle. A computer voice came through her internal speaker, reading the words aloud.

HELLO, MS HM MACLEOD, it said, as if amused. I'M WATCHING YOU TOO.

Images from her electronic photo album started loading at random onto the screen around the words I'M WATCHING YOU. Jayson and Scott were there at a Christmas party, Gran and Father Connolly standing outside with the ostriches, and a picture of her with her fiancé Mark and Jayson before they left for East Timor. Every second shot seemed to be a photograph of her at various stages of pregnancy. The name it called her was the name she'd entered on her electronic program licences. Whoever it was, was using her own information against her. She pulled the disk from the hard drive, shoving it in her pocket as she panicked. Forgetting the power-off key on the side of her laptop, which was sticky at the best of times anyway, she reached straight for the power outlet on the wall behind her.

She couldn't reach.

Her hard drive whirred and clicked as files started downloading at someone else's request. Each filename blipped onto her screen, with the message HAR HAR DELETED. And each one deleted from her files as it transmitted across the net. She shoved her chair back against the wall and a computer voice laughed as if it could see her. She grappled for the power outlet, tugging hard on the cord to release it from an old socket, but she overbalanced as it dislodged.

Her stomach caught the corner of the chair on her way to the floor, and her screen and the room went black together.

‘What do you need me to do?' Nikki asked as she walked with the detectives back to their car.

‘We believe he sent you here for a reason, Nikola,' Parry said. ‘My guess is, he's got contacts close by that are keeping an eye on you.' His head turned just enough in Locklin's direction to suggest exactly how close. ‘Obviously your stepfather wants you out of the way, perhaps until you're healed enough that he can leak your whereabouts either to the press or maybe straight to us, so we can arrest you on that murder charge without rebounding suspicions back on himself. In the meantime, your stepfather must have some pretty serious business going down to want you so far out of his way.'

‘We're going to have to stir things up a bit,' Burkett suggested. ‘Force his hand so he's more likely to make a mistake.'

‘We need you to keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary,' Parry cut in. ‘Stick close to that friend of yours on the horse.'

‘If he's the one watching you,' Burkett added, ‘you probably won't be able to shake him anyway. He's probably got orders to keep you safe until they're ready to hand you over.'

Perspiration oozed from her temple as she tried to process what they were telling her. Caution told her the two cops might be the ones she had to beware of, but logic couldn't guess what game they were playing if they were. And Jayson Locklin
had
gone out of his way to help her. He'd looked at her from the beginning as if he knew all about her, been callous and yet observant of her health at the same time. And he'd helped her to heal faster.

‘If he tries anything,' she said, ‘how do I shout for help?'

‘With this,' Parry said, handing her a business card that was blank except for a mobile phone number. ‘Detective Burkett here is going to loan you his mobile phone.'

‘I am?' Burkett said, unclipping it from his belt.

‘You can sign out another one when you get back to Sydney.'

‘I thought you'd want to be the one to go back to Sydney and I'd stay to keep an eye on her?'

‘You don't mind?' Parry asked, subtly challenging him.

‘Makes no difference to me,' Burkett said, handing Nikki his cellular phone. He entered the unlock password and explained the buttons.

‘I can read,' she said, clipping it onto the waist of her skirt and pulling her blouse out just enough to cover it. ‘How do I recharge it?'

‘So long as you don't ring all your friends you won't have to,' Burkett said as they neared the car. ‘The battery's got a hundred hours in it. Just don't —'

‘What's going on here?' Thorna demanded, clomping down the steps.

Uh oh, the trio thought.

‘You'd be Thorna Maitland,' Burkett said, intercepting her. ‘Nik's told us how welcome you've made her feel.' He took her hand gently but determinedly. ‘We appreciate that,' he added. ‘This is her first job away from home. It's good to know she's in good hands.'

‘And you are?' Thorna asked, her tone softening.

‘Friends of her mother,' Parry said, only stretching the truth a little. ‘We're passing through on business and popped in to make sure she's settled in okay.'

‘My husband doesn't like strangers just popping in,' Thorna said. ‘You'll have to ring first if you want to come again.'

‘We'll remember that, ma'am,' Parry said in his disarming tone.

‘Sorry to have bothered you,' Burkett added, opening his door as Parry slipped behind the wheel. ‘See ya later, kid.'

Yeah, Nikki thought, following Thorna upstairs. She hoped they would.

Allen smiled as he left Private Harvey's wardroom, looking forward to sending the boy back to Darwin for proper treatment now that he was stabilised.

He checked his watch, realising that his shift had finished hours ago and that back home his wife would be collecting canteen orders for the day at Toowoomba East Primary. His four young daughters were probably already on parade in their little blue-and-white chequered pinafores, with thoughts of Daddy as the last thing on their minds. At home, their daschund Harry would be sitting at their gate, waiting to chase the postman, while back at Dili hospital, it was Nurse Carroll who waited at the nurses station to chase him.

‘Are you still here?' she asked with her perpetually bubbly tone and disarming smile. ‘I thought we sent you home twice already?'

‘That was yesterday, Doris.'

‘Yes, and the day before. You'll never keep up with us nurses. You might as well give up trying.'

Allen smiled, as appreciative of her good humour at odd hours as the patients were, but unwilling to admit it. ‘I'm going now,' he said and she picked the pen from his hand before he forgot to return it. He'd borrowed it for filling in the patients' charts and was notorious for not returning pens.

‘Oh, can you chase up another couple of tents to set up outside?' Allen said, remembering what had been bugging him all shift. ‘It's going to take a while to get the roof back on the museum annex and I want to start a clinic for civilians as soon as possible.'

‘Gary Fritz was doing that before he knocked off,' Nurse Carroll said. ‘I think he said they'll be here tomorrow.'

‘Corporal Fritz?' he wondered aloud. ‘I thought Matron Thorpe sent him to Brisbane to make sure they send the right supplies this time.'

‘He got sick,' Nurse Carroll said, still smiling. ‘Last minute. He swapped with someone else.'

‘Do you know who?'

‘Yes, Lockhead, Lockwood … something like that.'

‘Locklin?' Allen suggested as his gut twisted over.

‘Yeah, that's it. Must be one of his day-shift mates. I've never heard of him.'

Allen rubbed his forehead, sure that he was sweating.

‘Hey, that's not the way out!' Nurse Carroll teased as he headed for his office. ‘Don't think catching up on sleep in there counts!'

He had no intention of sleeping. ‘Switchboard, get me Lieutenant Colonel Chang please,' he said, sitting at his phone. ‘Wherever he is — this is urgent.'

Twelve minutes later he was talking to Chang over the pilot's intercom of a C130 Hercules that was taking off from Darwin air base bound for Amberley.

‘The medical supply flight is expected to leave Amberley for Dili tonight,' Allen said, filling him in with the details.

‘Very well,' Chang said. ‘At least we know where to pick him up if we can't find him sooner.'

‘You have to find him sooner,' Allen said. ‘If you're right about his mental state, it has to be before he hurts himself.'

Actually, Chang thought as he handed the pilot back his mike. It's him hurting someone else that's got me worried.

Bobby screamed at the top of the stairs, wondering where his mother had gone. Thorna picked him up and cuddled him, while Nikki went ahead to Alex's room to unpack more of his clothes.

From the address labels on the packaging, she could see they'd only been stacked there by the removalists the day before and she wasted no time ripping into them. By the time Thorna came in, she had unpacked another box into the dresser drawers. Each box took only a few minutes, but all the rooms still had plenty to be unpacked.

‘Some of these drawers are full already,' Nikki said, seeing drawers overflowing with men's socks and underwear.

‘They're not ours,' Thorna snapped. ‘The last owner died. Just pull everything out and pack it in the boxes as we're finished with them. Make two piles. General stuff, I'll donate to the church. Personal effects I'll send off to his daughter if I can track her down.'

‘Sure,' Nikki said, wondering how the previous owner had died.

‘My furniture is still next door,' she went on. ‘You can help me swap some of the good bits next week once we've got this lot sorted out.'

Nikki nodded, saying nothing as Thorna sat her toddler on the rug. He cried again and Nikki fossicked through a box of cars to find one that had no sharp corners or small wheels. She found a fast-looking red one and gave it to him. He tried it once on the mat and promptly rolled over to the smoother floorboards.

‘You're no dummy, matie, are you?' Nikki said, patting his shoulder.

He made vroom noises as the car whooshed across the polished timber and his mother had to hop to avoid it as she straightened the sheets on Alex's bed. Behind her, Bobby toddled after the car, chatting words that only he could understand, just like Nikki's baby brother used to do.

Thorna smiled, watching her son at the same time as Nikki did. They glanced at each other and an awkward silence followed.

Nikki closed her eyes and turned away. Part of her wanted to crawl into a closet and hide in the dark, like she used to after the car accident. Another part of her wanted to run away again, find another job in another town, but she knew she needed money for that first, which meant she had to survive here until she got some. She had to hold her tongue until then.

She forced her feelings behind another closet door and watched Thorna take a broken clipper ship out of the biggest packing box. Two of the three masts had snapped and the sails had become tangled beyond repair in transit. She frowned and tossed it into a bag for rubbish while Nikki opened a smaller box of toys to unpack.

The first thing Nikki took out of her box was a rag clown. It had brittle yellow wool for hair and faded striped overalls with pant legs that had begun to fray. Stuffing peeped from a hole in one elbow and its faded red nose was only hanging by a thread. She could stitch up the nose and elbow, but the hair and overalls were falling apart. There was a much newer clown in the box under it and she threw the rag clown into the rubbish bag beside the clipper ship.

‘Hey!' Thorna wailed, diving after it. ‘Not that!' Her first husband had bought it for their babies when the twins were born. It had been a year since Rick had taken his own life at the boathouse, but sometimes it seemed like less than a day. ‘Marry again, baby,' he had told her, knowing that he'd been dying anyway. ‘It takes two to run Scrubhaven and you'll lose it if you don't,' That much had been true and when Eric Maitland had made the offer she had accepted — and regretted it. The home she loved was next door now, dilapidated but repairable, just like the clown. She had lost one and couldn't lose another.

‘I need to fix this,' she said, sitting the clown against a pillow. She sighed. The clown didn't match the walls in this house like it did at home. Its saggy nose and torn pants somehow made the whole-room look drabber, and it kept falling over.

Nikki saw the look on her face and took the larger, newer clown from the box, sitting it beside the rag clown with one arm around it to prop it up.

‘He just needed a friend,' she said, turning back to the box to unpack more. She took out the next largest toys, a tyrannosaurus, an army jeep and a rocketship and turned to find Thorna slumped on the mat beside her son. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet.

‘Why did you tell those men I'd been nice to you?' she said, wiping her nose.

Nikki shrugged her shoulders, knowing there was no way she could answer that without making things worse. She arranged the toys on the shelf, saying nothing.

‘I've been horrible,' Thorna added, and Nikki didn't argue. ‘You've been great for the kids,' she went on. ‘You even swept the bugs off the verandah. I
hate
doing that. You've been patient with me and with the kids and I've just been horrible.'

‘I'd choose you over my stepfather any day,' Nikki said without exaggerating.

‘Is that why you left home?' Thorna asked, strangely relieved to know that Nikki was hurting too. ‘Your stepfather?'

‘You could say that,' she said. But she didn't have to worry about that now. She'd locked him behind a door in her mind with ail her other problems.

‘And your mum's friends came to get you?'

‘Sort of,' she said, avoiding another lie.

‘Are you going?'

Nikki stared at her employer, sitting on the floor. Bobby had pulled himself up to stand at her shoulder and was running his car through her bobbed-blonde hair. There was sadness in her eyes, a sadness that she recognised within herself — of being alone, even though she preferred it that way. The alternative — of getting close to someone only to lose them — had always seemed worse.

‘How could you tell them I was nice?' Thorna persisted.

‘Well,' Nikki said. ‘I didn't really tell them you were nice.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yeah,' Nikki said, sitting on the rug beside her. ‘I told them you were horrible.'

Thorna laughed — and then she cried.

‘Hi,' Nikki said, offering to shake hands. ‘I'm Nikola, but you can call me Nikki.'

‘Hi,' Thorna said, accepting her hand. ‘I'm Thorna. Pleased to meet you.'

Behind them, Bobby clapped his chubby hands.

‘We may have a problem,' Sergeant Underwood said quietly over the restaurant table.

Fletcher clenched his fists on either side of his dinner. He was learning to hate those words. ‘Explain,' he said with more patience than he felt. Paying off a cop with computer skills was supposed to make security one less worry.

Underwood took a sip from his black coffee and put his cup down. ‘You said you needed security protocols enhanced, so I looked through the case, files on hackers and copied the latest Hunter/Destroyer program from what we had in the evidence files. Big program, but easy to install and …'

‘Spare me the details. Get to the problem. Were you detected borrowing it?'

‘No, but it bounced a visitor who was already in when I uploaded. Date signatures indicate they emailed a Trojan Horse onto your Italian server some time yesterday, but it didn't activate until someone at your aircraft subsidiary in Rome opened the email it was attached to.'

‘Do you know who the visitor was?'

Sergeant Underwood nodded. ‘Helen MacLeod. Sound familiar?'

Fletcher chewed his steak slowly and swallowed. ‘Related to our friend?'

Underwood nodded again. ‘His eldest daughter.'

‘You told me she was a pregnant typist — no risk. Now she's a hacker on the verge of breaking us wide open?'

‘She's a typist, but she's a typist who relieved for four years on a technology helpdesk for Main Roads Department,' Underwood said, defending himself. ‘And she didn't hack us. She used a program intended for remote maintanence of administration files, like when someone in a head office wants to make sure their computers in other towns are working properly.'

Fletcher didn't have to say anything. His glare told Underwood that he had lost patience with the technicalities.

‘She emailed it attached to an animated greeting card,' he said more simply. ‘So it wouldn't be noticed when it loaded onto your server. You know, like a Trojan Horse rolling into town with a belly full of enemy soldiers.'

Fletcher sliced the next piece of steak from against the bone, not appreciating the colourful explanation either. ‘How much does she know?'

‘Not much. As far as I can tell, she only made it through the top level, the fake store-front and a few dummy links. There were underlying secure links on that site with encrypted details of the laundering process for your delivery aircraft, but I'm pretty sure she was booted before she accessed the passwords.'

‘How sure is pretty sure?'

‘As sure as I can be. I posted an emergency Autoclean to all the other sites in your link to see if they've received the Trojan, but I won't be sure if they've been accessed or invaded for another few hours. It's just lucky she was doing things when I loaded,' he added. ‘Or it could have been days before I knew what to look for.'