The Heat by Garry Disher Read Free Book Online Page A

read on. Leah Quarrell had written, Ormerod has listed several minor works of art on his house and contents insurance. The Teniers painting is not listed. According to my contact at QBE, insurance was declined owing to doubts about the painting’s whereabouts before 1901 and between 1933 and 1945.
    If Ormerod was in possession of a stolen painting, thought Wyatt, he’d hardly raise a public stink if it was stolen from him. But some wealthy thieves surrounded themselves with hard men. He returned to the notes. According to Minto’s niece, Ormerod was a football fanatic, a committee member and former president of the Brisbane Lions Football Club, and this year the Lions were within a game of making it to the grand final. But even if they didn’t, Ormerod would fly down to Melbourne for the big game. He hadn’t missed one in twenty years. His house would be unoccupied from Friday 27
to Monday 30 September. Eight days from now.
    Wyatt’s only interest in sport was that he’d once lifted the gate takings at the MCG. He stared flatly at Minto. ‘You’re sure of his movements?’
    ‘Mate,’ said Minto, giving Wyatt a look.
    Wyatt nodded. He understood: Minto had contacts in the police, in unions and on local councils, so why not in travel agencies and airlines?
    He leaned forward to re-examine one of the grainy blow-ups. It showed a set of broad glass sliding doors, curtains open, enough sunlight penetrating to illuminate a slice of a sitting room. Minto, reaching across to tap with a clean, polished fingernail, said, ‘You can just glimpse the painting.’
    Disliking Minto’s proximity, Wyatt concentrated on the photograph. Blurry, but clear enough: a smallish painting, peasants in a field, hanging above a fireplace. He gestured at the paintings on the adjacent wall. A small gumtree, a smaller drover and sheep. ‘And these?’
    ‘Art show crap.’
    If they weren’t, Wyatt would take them for himself.
    Minto leaned back in his chair. ‘So we know the painting’s definitely there.’
    Wyatt stared at Minto, eyes flat and grey as stones. ‘You mean it was there when that photograph was taken. Have you or your niece ever met Thomas Ormerod?’
    ‘No,’ Minto said, shifting in his chair. ‘Look, tell me now, are you good for this?’
    Wyatt was irritated by the question. ‘I won’t know until I check it out. I’d need to know more about Ormerod, and the house.’
    ‘Head up there, that’s all I ask,’ Minto said. ‘Make contact with Leah. She should have floor plans and more photographs for you, and she’ll be your backup.’
    Wyatt would believe it when he saw it. He tapped the paperwork into a neat pile and slid it into the folder, his mind starting the tasks of sifting, ordering, planning.
    ‘Keep me informed of your progress anyway,’ Minto said.
    Wyatt stared flatly at the man. ‘No.’
    Minto shrugged. ‘Anything else?’
    ‘I need an untraceable smartphone. Sturdy; good-sized screen.’
    ‘Leah will have one for you. Is that all?’
    ‘I need a gun.’
    Minto winced. ‘No can do. The guy I use went to the States on a buying trip and got himself arrested. But you won’t need a gun. Empty house, in and out in five minutes.’
    Wyatt said nothing, just stared.
    Minto faltered, then rallied. ‘Well, Leah’s up in Noosa, awaiting your call.’

7
    Leah Quarrell was up in Noosa, plotting to kill a man.
    Swivelling in her office chair, she held a pawnshop Nokia with a ten-dollar prepaid SIM to her ear, waiting for Gavin Wurlitzer to answer. His voice when it came was wary, hesitant, not recognising the number.
    ‘Gavin, it’s me,’ she said.
    ‘Yeah?’ Wurlitzer said.
    ‘I’ve got a good one for you.’
    Wurlitzer was a burglar, always needy, and his voice quickened. ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Big house in Sunshine Beach overlooking the ocean. Belongs to a single woman, works as an underwear model. Semi-secluded, you don’t have to worry about the neighbours. High-end electrical gear, silverware,