Wyatt - 06 - The Fallout Read Online Free PDF Page A

not
much, but a little was often all he needed.

    Wyatt reasoned it through as he ran.
If Heneker had warned the cops, then theyd have arranged a trap at the parking
station. Instead, they arrived late, indicating that theyd followed Heneker
without foreknowledge of the actual meeting place.

    There was only one explanation: Liz
Redding had shaken off the effects of the Mogadon and alerted the police in
Melbourne to tail Heneker. And that meant shed come to suspect that Wyatt had
the jewels after all and wasnt simply making a run for it. She was a cop, and
Wyatt was Wyatt, so it was only natural that shed suspect further treachery
beyond the obvious and assume that hed attempt to strike a deal with the
insurance company.

    Wyatt ran to the top level, to a
door marked EXIT. He pushed through and found himself in a department store
cafeteria.

    Better cover than hed hoped for.
The chunky white crockery smacked onto plastic trays, the stainless steel
cutlery rattled in serving bins, hot quiche steamed behind glass, the chrome
rails gleamed and he was swept into a clamorous queue at the servery. Morning
tea. He lifted an abandoned Herald Sun from a corner table, loaded two
pastries and black tea onto his tray, and went looking for someone who could
turn him into a law-abiding citizen.

    All of the tables were occupied, and
most of the chairs. Wyatts eyes passed over the tables where hed stand out or
invite irritation. He didnt want elderly couples, friends enjoying coffee
together, solitary eaters or office workers snatching a break from work.

    There, at the centre of the crammed
area of tablesa woman with a pram and two fractious children. Wyatt edged
through to the unoccupied chair, said, May I? and unloaded his tray and
opened his newspaper. The woman glanced at him tiredly and went back to
juggling the competing needs of the baby and the two older children. The
children ignored her. They were squabbling over a date scone.

    Here, Wyatt said. He nudged his
pastries across the little table. I havent touched these. I dont really want
them.

    The woman flashed him a cautious
smile. Deciding that he wasnt a threat, she said, Say thank you to the nice
man.

    The children stared at him, looked
down, muttered aggrievedly.

    Youre welcome, Wyatt said.

    He scanned the newspaper. Hed been
living in Tasmania before events had taken him to Vanuatu, and was out of
touch. A hold-up man called the bush bandit had been hitting banks in country
towns. The reporter used words like cool and unhurried and well-planned
to describe the man and his actions. Wyatt wondered who it was. There was a
time when he would have known something like that. Whoever the man was, he was
part of a dying breed. Junkies had got into the game now. They were vicious and
desperate and prone to taking stupid risks.

    Wyatt became aware of a shift in the
atmosphere. Police, at least four of them, two in uniform, taking care not to
alarm anyone but still scanning the cafeteria. Their heat and eagerness and
frustration were palpable. He said to the children, What do you recommend?
Should I go and see the new James Bond film?

    They kneeled on their chairs,
craning to see his finger on the cinema ads. And their mother looked, welcoming
the diversion. If you didnt know it, Wyatt and the woman and her children were
a family in town for the dayshopping, morning tea, a film for the kids before
they went home.

    A ripple passed across the room and
then it was gone, replaced by crockery smack again, laughter, complaints, the
sounds of the city feeding itself. Wyatt got the woman to talk. He did that by
asking her questions about her children. After a while she began to notice him,
faintly longing, faintly wary. She coloured a little, inclined her body toward
him, switched from talking about her children to talking about herself. She had
no hope or expectation of anything, just grateful that someone should take an
interest.

    In a little while, the cops came
back, as Wyatt had