Free Tropic of Death by Robert Sims Page A

in town mid afternoon. Dental appointment.’
    ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’
    ‘Minor repair work, since you ask. I lost a gold filling. The appointment’s at three thirty. I can meet you at three.’
    ‘Tell me where.’
    ‘It’ll have to be somewhere noisy and public. Surveillance here is total.’ He paused for a moment. ‘There’s a pub, the Steamboat, in the centre of town. Find a table near the brass bell. If you’re not there I’ll wait no more than ten minutes.’
    ‘How will I recognise you?’
    ‘Check my website. And you?’
    ‘Okay: I’m thirty, medium height, fair hair, blue eyes.’ That sounded too much like a police description so she added, ‘And for what it’s worth, Byron calls me his blonde Nederlander.’
    ‘Lucky Byron.’
    ‘I’ll be wearing a white top and denim skirt.’
    ‘Now it’s essential,’ said Steinberg, ‘that you tell your colleagues nothing about me. I can’t overemphasise the risk. Remember what I said.’
    ‘Yes, I get the message. Don’t trust the military or the local cops.’
    As she ended the call a voice came from behind her.
    ‘That sounds seditious.’
    She turned abruptly to find herself being observed by a senior police officer in uniform. He was standing in the open doorway, an equivocal smile on his face.
    ‘So you’re the profiler,’ he said, walking into the room and closing the door behind him with a proprietary flick. ‘I’m the man in charge of the “local cops”, Inspector Derek Bryce. Who were you speaking to?’
    Rita had to think quickly, wondering just how much Bryce had overheard.
    ‘Someone my partner wanted me to look up, a local academic,’
    she responded with a half-truth, deciding to respect Steinberg’s request for secrecy. ‘You can ignore my comments - I’m just humouring them both.’
    ‘Your partner’s name is Byron?’
    ‘Yes. He’s a computer scientist. And I won’t let any social calls distract me from the investigation, which from a profiling point of view is intriguing. Though I must admit this room has distracted me a bit.’
    Her swift change of subject seemed to have worked.
    ‘I hope it’s suitable for you,’ said Bryce.
    ‘It’s excellent,’ she said. ‘And I’ve got much more space here than in my office in Melbourne.’
    ‘Good,’ said Bryce, moving forward and shaking her hand at last. ‘I’m glad we’ve got you on deck, Van Hassel. Any light you can shed will be welcome.’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’
    She wasn’t sure if Steinberg’s warning had alerted her to an undertone in Bryce’s manner, or if she was simply imagining it.
    But there was something that made her wary. Bryce was broad-faced and smooth-skinned with wavy hair and an expression that was hard to read. While a smile played around his lips, there was something less friendly in his eyes.
    ‘Has Jarrett told you anything about the history of the old watch-house?’ he asked.
    ‘Not really, other than that people think it’s haunted.’
    ‘I don’t mean to spook you,’ Bryce went on, strolling across to peer at the crime photos she’d arranged, ‘but it’s supposed to be this very room, in fact.’
    ‘So who’s the ghost?’
    ‘A predecessor of ours,’ he said with a low chuckle. ‘A law officer with an unenviable reputation - Sergeant Kenneth Logan. He was in charge of half a dozen mounted and foot troopers here about a hundred and forty years ago. This room was his office.’
    Rita glanced around with renewed interest.
    ‘Why unenviable?’ she asked.
    ‘It’s all here. Have a browse when you’ve got time to kill,’
    answered Bryce. ‘Reports, documents, even Sergeant Logan’s journal. Fascinating stuff. Of course it’s easy to condemn him now, but I’ve often wondered how I would have acted in his circumstances.’
    ‘What circumstances?’
    ‘The “war on savages”.’ Bryce moved across to the seminar table, scanning the case material she’d placed in neat rows. ‘You may not know much about the