Glittering Gallows

Chapter 67

373 C Chapter 67 he dashboard clock pegging the time at 23:30 hrs, Katherine Makgunda drove the Lotus Avora down a ramp to the basement car park of the Swissôtel. She was tired. The fourhundred kilometre drive to Canberra via Wollongong had drained her of strength. But she had enjoyed every moment of it behind the wheel of the sports car. While she wanted to drive around the administrative city of Australia and sight-see, she also wanted time alone to refocus, the reason she avoided the two-hundred and eighty-seven kilometre Hume Freeway, which could’ve taken her to her destination within two hours. By half-past five she was already in Civic, Canberra, and watching the sun setting. Had she arrived earlier, she might’ve viewed Greg Chappelin’s cricket cap and other artefacts in the National Museum, just to satisfy curiosity. She had driven round the Parliament Building and along the Embassy Drive in the suburb of Yarralumla, and spotted the South African High Commission. Knowledge of its location would help her in case of trouble. Surprisingly, her husband hadn’t arranged security contacts for her as was his custom whenever she travelled abroad. Perhaps he had overlooked it, she thought, and went on to view Lake Burley Griffin. If she had had time, she would’ve taken a cruise or ferry and decked in a bikini. At a precinct cafeteria in Acton, she parked the car and sipped coffee under a large umbrella. The experience was refreshing. Now she was back in Sydney and itching to rest. All the parking slots seemed taken. A 1970s, black vintage Zephyr Zodiac jalopy pulled behind her. The bays were well-lit, but some sections were shadowy due to light obstruction. Except for the car behind her, every vehicle underground was stationary. No one was in sight. The jalopy trailed her for a few metres, suddenly turned and drove against one-way arrows on a lane. T 374 She shrugged. The driver was likely in a hurry and might’ve lost patience with her. After traversing the first half of the car park, she concluded that the jalopy might’ve found parking. Several turns later she reached the back of the basement and found two vacant slots next to each other. Katherine parked the car, closed the windows automatically and turned the engine off. She was climbing out of the vehicle, the sunglasses stuck in her hair, the handbag hanging from her left arm, when the cocking click of a pistol drew her attention. She turned sharply. A man in a traditional Chinese hat was emerging from the blind side of a pillar to her left. He was less than ten metres away and walking briskly, a shiny pistol in his hand pointing downwards. She recalled glancing at him in the car park of the restaurant in the Royal Botanic Garden. In the afternoon she hadn’t thought much about him. Now she reasoned that he was likely a robber attracted by the sports car. She stood still and stretched out the handbag. “There’s money and jewels in it.” “I’m not an Abyssinian cat, Katherine,” he charged, pressing the pistol against her temple and shoving her with his free hand against the car. The bag fell from her hand. She cringed and raised her hands, recognition dawning on her. It was the man she saw in the Strand Arcade, the man her husband had said was an economic consultant – the man with light dragon tattoos on his cheeks and forehead. She was petrified. “Moagi sent me to kill you,” he said between gritted teeth, “I thought you should know.” He forced her head to the floor. “Do you prefer to be killed or to give up the ghost?” he asked and laughed. She was opening her mouth to scream when a gunshot rang. Deafened, she slumped on her back, but no part of her body hurt. Was she hurt beyond perception? Was the painless state a prelude to death? It was a moment of rapturous perplexity. But instantly, she realised she wasn’t hit. The shot had come from the right. The assassin was jerking and doubling, a scarlet patch growing below his right ear. 375 Her eyes ogled. What was happening? Sitting up, she glanced in the direction the shot had emanated from. A dark man in a singlebreasted printed shirt was...