Munro Family: The Deception Part 28

He ended the call and stared at the phone in his hand. With another curse, he tossed it onto the couch.

Why wasn't she answering her phone?

He spun on his heel and paced the length of his living room, oblivious to the new day that would shortly break over the horizon. Anxiety nipped at the edges of his consciousness, but he refused to pay it heed. Any second, she'd be knocking on his door with a smile and a load of excuses. He was sure of it.

His phone rang and his heart leaped with relief. What had he told himself? She'd been held up, that was all. He grabbed for the phone and checked the screen.

It was Pete.

Tapping down on his disappointment, he answered the call.

"Will, sorry to call you so early. I hope I didn't wake you, but I've been following one lead after another all night. You won't believe what I've discovered."

Will's pulse skipped a beat. Excitement coursed through him. "Tell me."

"You were right about O'Connor. I pulled his school records. He finished alongside Maranoa in 1970 at Marrickville High."

"s.h.i.+t, Pete, that's fantastic. It was only a hunch I had after you mentioned his parents used to live there. I can't believe the two of them have known each other for so long. Another piece of the puzzle has fallen into place."

"There's more. The surveillance team caught sight of a truck bearing the Daily Mirror insignia in the back lane behind the brothel last night. It appeared like they were loading newspapers, but apparently they took an awful long time at it and after what you told me about the papers you found in the dumpster, I have my own theory about what was happening."

"We're onto them, Pete. The noose is slowly tightening."

"Yeah, let's hope so. I also ran a search on the Daily Mirror's security guards. Turns out a guard by the name of Carlo Tilocca has Romano Enterprises listed as one of his employers on his last tax return."

"Who's Romano Enterprises?"

Pete's reply was dry. "Guess."

"Vincent Maranoa."

"One and the same. He's sole director of the company."

"This is it, Pete. The only thing left to do is to find out where they're keeping the gear. They're using the paper's trucks to get it in and out, but where are they storing it?"

"I think I might be able to shed some light on that. While I was searching the Land and Property Information database under Max O'Connor, I ran a search under Reid Marchant."

Will frowned and searched his memory. "Reid Marchant? Isn't he the owner of the Daily Mirror?"

"That he is."

"I can imagine he has a substantial property portfolio."

"You're right. His listings ran for three pages, but I found mention of a warehouse in Surry Hills. I'm not familiar with the building, but I wonder if it's being used by the paper? There are a lot of industrial factories in that area. I think The Sun also has a warehouse somewhere in Surry Hills."

Adrenaline flooded through Will's veins. He recalled the conversation with Declan Munro at the ball when he'd mentioned something about finding a dealer's stash of drugs hidden inside rolls of warehoused carpet.

"It's definitely worth a look," he said. "I say we call in the other members of the TRG and pay a surprise visit to whoever's occupying the warehouse."

"Exactly what I had in mind." Pete paused. "It would be nice to know who this Billy the Kid is."

"I take it he wasn't in the database?"

"No, not under that name, anyway. I got a couple of hits on that nickname, but the ages didn't pan out. One of them was forty-five and the other one was in his sixties. From what you said, they couldn't be our guy."

"Don't worry about it, Pete. He'll surface. They always do and when he does, we'll be waiting."

Silence fell between them. A moment later, Pete spoke again. "By the way, how did things go with Savannah? Did you kiss and make up?"

Will's disquiet returned. "Not yet. In fact, she was supposed to be on her way over here more than ninety minutes ago, but she hasn't shown up."

"That's a bit odd."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Now she's not answering her phone."

"I a.s.sume she made it home all right?"

"Yes, she texted me earlier and told me she was there."

"I wonder where she is?"

Will pressed his lips together to stem the dread that was growing steadily in his gut. "You and me both."

"Let me know when she turns up. In the meantime, I'm calling the duty judge to apply for a search warrant and then I'll call the boys in for a pre-raid briefing. Provided we get the warrant, we'll aim on hitting the warehouse sometime today. It's a Sunday and that will work in our favor. If anyone is on site today, they're probably not there legitimately."

"I'll make sure I'm ready. Where are we meeting?"

"Give me a couple of hours. Even after I speak with the judge, I'll still have to attend his chambers. We'll meet at headquarters and make sure everyone knows what they're doing."

Antic.i.p.ation surged through Will. "Let's do it."

Savannah trudged up the steep hill and did her best to keep up the brisk pace set by her brother. He'd fastened her hands in front of her with a length of cord he'd torn from the curtain in her bedroom. A jacket cleverly draped over her shoulders concealed the arrangement from the casual observer.

She'd ridden the train to Central Station with the gun pressed against her side. There was a brief moment when Dylan tugged out his phone and had started texting that she'd thought she might be able to get away from him, but as if he'd read her mind, he'd jammed the gun in harder and had warned her not to try anything.

The minute they'd arrived at the station, he'd dragged her up several flights of stairs until they'd reached the outside. The faint glow of dawn colored the horizon. Savannah thought of Will and wondered if he a.s.sumed she'd changed her mind.

Dylan turned toward Surry Hills and hauled her along beside him. His fingers dug into her arm. He seemed oblivious to her cries of discomfort.

The steep climb continued. Her heart thumped with the effort. A cramp sent a stab of pain radiating through her side. With her hands out of action, she had no way of a.s.suaging the agony.

"Please, Dylan, slow down. I-I need to stop."

"Shut up. We'll be there soon. Enjoy every breath you take. Who knows how many you have left?"

Tears blurred Savannah's eyes. She was still at a complete loss to explain her brother's total lack of conscience. How he could blithely hand her over to a man who wanted her dead was beyond her comprehension.

Had she been too hard on him? Foisted too many expectations on him? Shown him enough attention? Enough love? Too much? The questions swirled around her head until she was dizzy and she still came up empty-handed. She had no answers and the harsh reality of it was, she probably never would.

At last, they reached the top of the hill and he dragged her across the road. Another hill loomed in front of them and Savannah couldn't stifle a groan. Her chest hurt. Her feet ached. Every loose stone penetrated the flimsy shoes that covered them.

When Dylan had ordered her to dress, she'd been dazed with shock. With no idea what he had in store for her, she'd grabbed for the nearest thing at hand. Now, she longed for her comfortable, supportive Nikes.

"Hurry up," Dylan growled and tightened his hold on her arm. "Vince is waiting."

Fear renewed its grip on her heart. Blood pounded in her ears. She couldn't believe her life might soon be over. She refused to believe it. Determination surged through her. She wouldn't go down without a fight.

Will spied Pete and a handful of TRG officers outfitted in battle fatigues and Kevlar vests standing around the corner from the warehouse owned by Reid Marchant. The street was quiet, with only the occasional car pa.s.sing by. Daylight had broken, bathing the sky in an array of orange and gold and pink. On another day, Will might have appreciated the colorful display. Today wasn't that day.

He'd phoned Savannah again before he'd left and yet again, the call had gone through to her voicemail. He'd left another message begging her to contact him and let him know she was all right, but he still hadn't heard from her. Now, with his recent knowledge of Max's definite connection to Maranoa, his gut ached with uncertainty. He couldn't shake the dreadful feeling that something terrible had happened to her.

In antic.i.p.ation of the upcoming search, he'd turned his cell phone to silent. He now slipped it out of his pocket and checked again for messages.

Nothing.

With a grimace, he returned it to his jacket and tried to force his mind away from wondering about what the h.e.l.l could have happened to her.

He clung to the possibility that she'd had second thoughts about reconciling and resolutely pushed other, more ominous, thoughts away. Now wasn't the time to lose focus on the job at hand. He halted a few feet away from the group of officers. Pete stepped toward him.

"You all good?"

Will nodded. "Yeah. How'd you go with the warrant?"

"Good. It's extensive, so we shouldn't have a problem with the admissibility of any evidence we find."

"That's what we like to hear."

"A couple of the others have done a reconnoiter of the building. There doesn't appear to be too much going on. There's a pickup truck parked ten yards or so up the road. We're running a check on the plate right now to see if it belongs to one of our players."

"Do we have any idea of the layout of the place?"

Pete nodded. "I found some old building plans online. The owner lodged a development application in the mid-nineties with the local council for extensions. There's a small door next to a couple of big roller doors. You walk in on the main floor. It's a large open s.p.a.ce where I presume they used to house the printing press. There are a couple of smaller rooms at the back."

"That's where we hit first."

"That's the plan."

"When do we go in?" Will asked.

Pete glanced at his watch. "We'll start the countdown in five."

The blister on Savannah's heel had become unbearable. Blood squelched beneath her foot and made walking even more difficult. She limped and wheezed and panted against the pain. Dylan remained unmoved.

He dragged her the final few feet to an unpainted door that provided entry to a large brick building. The brick had faded over the years to a brownish-red and the sidewalk that surrounded it was thick with pigeon droppings. She tilted her head and spied hundreds of the birds roosting along the eaves.

"W-where are we?"

"You don't know?" Dylan asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

Savannah frowned in confusion. "Should I?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "It's a warehouse owned by the Daily Mirror. I'm surprised you weren't given a tour."

Savannah shook her head in disbelief. Why would Vince Maranoa meet Dylan in a warehouse owned by her newspaper? Nothing about that scenario made sense.

"I can see you don't believe me," Dylan said and then shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You'll find out soon enough."

He dug into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a key. Fitting it into the lock on the front door, he turned it. The door opened with a click. He shoved her through the opening.

Meager amounts of early morning sunlight barely penetrated the darkness of the warehouse. Savannah blinked her eyes in an effort to adjust to the dimness. The place smelled old and damp. The stale odors mixed with the familiar smell of ink.

Dylan produced a flashlight and with a less-than-gentle push to her back, guided her toward the rear of the building. A few moments later, he halted outside the door of what appeared to be a small office. The murmur of voices sounded from within. Savannah was suddenly paralyzed with fear.

Ignoring her sharp intake of breath and the small cry of alarm she was unable to contain, Dylan pushed open the door and dragged her in behind him.

"It looks like the place is empty." Pete squinted in the dimness and then pulled down his night-vision goggles. The rest of the team followed suit. They'd come through the side door after one of the TRG officers had cut the lock.

Will made out darker shadows of what he a.s.sumed to be part of the heavy equipment used in the printing process. They now sat still and silent, like figures in an elephant graveyard. The smell of ink was sharp and caustic. The warehouse was quiet, apart from the sound of his breathing and the occasional sc.r.a.pe of a boot on the concrete floor made by one of the taskforce officers who waited for instructions behind him.

Pete lowered his voice to a murmur. "I want you to take a few of the others and check out the back storage rooms. It's the most logical place to start. Once we've cleared the building, I'll look around for some lights so that we can give the place a thorough sweep."

Will nodded his a.s.sent and gave Pete a thumbs-up before turning on his heel. He pointed to three of the officers and communicated with hand signals that they were to follow him. Once he was satisfied they understood his instructions, he turned toward the rear of the building and picked his way through the derelict machinery.

The further back they went, the stronger the smell of ink and machinery oil. Will guessed it was because even less fresh air filtered its way all the way to the back. How anyone managed to work in the dark, dank s.p.a.ce, he didn't know. It wasn't a place he'd want to turn up to every day. Then again, the warehouse didn't exactly look like it had been occupied of late.

Dust lay thick on every surface. To his left, he spied a wall of newspapers. They were tied in bundles and were stacked to a height well above his head. He continued forward and came upon a part.i.tion wall that housed the small rooms Pete had mentioned.

The murmur of voices sounded from the other side of the wall. He put up his hand to halt the men behind him and strained hard to listen. There were at least two men and maybe a third. The sound of a woman's cry of anguish broke the silence and stopped him cold.

Savannah stumbled into the room and gasped. An exposed light bulb hung from the ceiling and illuminated Vince Maranoa and Max O'Connor where they stood in one corner, holding bricks of white powder. The room was piled high with bundles of newspapers. They spun around as one and stared at her. Maranoa was the first to recover.

"Well, well, well. Who have we here?" His smile was as friendly as a barracuda's. His eyes gleamed with feral antic.i.p.ation.

Savannah backed up a step and collided with the solid wall of Dylan's chest. He elbowed her in the back, propelling her toward Vince. Shock and confusion at her discovery that Max was in cahoots with the drug lord left her frozen.

"This is my sister. Savannah O'Neill."

Vince closed the distance between them. His gaze traveled over her and his smile widened. "You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" He reached out and tilted her chin upwards with his fingers. Savannah flinched.