Tropic of Death Read Online Free

crucial weapon for the global coalition against terrorism.’ Molloy spoke with such conviction it sent a chill through the room. ‘We are representatives of an alliance at war. Extreme measures are justified.’

5
The club bouncer came outside to give his eardrums a rest and found himself confronted by a wall of rain and a skyful of pyrotechnics. The storm was at its height, but the noise of the thunder was a relief after the teeth-jarring feedback from the amplifiers. He stood in the doorway of the club and watched a cascade of water churn past the bottom step.
    When he’d finished his cigarette he flicked it into the puddle spreading under the entrance canopy. The butt bobbed and drifted with the slow eddy of the current. As he watched it he noticed a trickle of red swirling through the water. It aroused his curiosity.
    The longer he gazed at the red stain in the puddle, the thicker it got. Looks like blood, he thought.
    He peered up the slope through the rain. At first he couldn’t see anything. Then a lightning flash revealed a dark hump in the gutter. Might not be anything. Just a rubbish bag kicked down the alley by larrikins. They were doing it all the time. But the stain kept coming and he got a bad feeling about it.
    He went back inside the club, then emerged again and, hoisting a striped umbrella over his head, stepped out into the pouring rain. Nearly halfway up the alley he stopped beside the crumpled shape in the gutter. The darkness and the splash of water all around made it difficult to be sure of what he’d found. But when he prodded it with his shoe he caught his breath. He was bending over for a closer look when another flash came - and left him standing bolt upright. The twisted shape of the dead body seemed to leap out at him from the gutter.
    The bouncer hurried back to the club. Just one minute later he was back out again, this time with the manager. The two men stood under the umbrella with the rain soaking their shoes and trousers, while the manager shone a torch on the slumped figure and swore under his breath. Parts of the body were missing. There was no head. Where the neck should be there was a raw gaping wound still leaking blood. Part of the spine was protruding. The hands had also been cut off.
    When Detective Sergeant Steve Jarrett arrived police had already taped off the alley and a photographer was taking close-ups of the body in the glare of arc lights. A uniformed constable was helping to keep the rain off by holding one of the supports of the overhead plastic sheeting. The duty doctor sat in a police incident van nearby. He was writing in his notebook that he’d pronounced life extinct in the homicide victim. Scene-of-crime officers were examining the narrow surroundings.
    Jarrett got out of his car, turned up the collar of his jacket and walked around the parked patrol vehicles. Then he stepped over the tape and jogged down the alley. The downpour had eased to a steady shower. The lightning and thunder had receded down the coast. A faint glimmer of first light appeared beneath the rim of the clouds in the east.
    Inside the club officers were questioning the customers. The music and drinking had stopped, all the lights were on, no one was allowed to leave and the mood was getting ugly. Jarrett was greeted with catcalls, jeers and feral eyes. A detective constable came over to him.
    ‘E-freaks,’ he said. ‘They want to go on raving till dawn.’
    Jarrett shook his head sombrely. ‘I called the pathologist before I left. He should be here in about ten minutes.’ He looked around.
    ‘What have we got so far?’
    ‘A headless woman,’ said the constable. ‘No purse, no ID on her. No weapon at the scene. No hands either.’
    Jarrett gave him a heavy look. ‘Just what we need - another anonymous victim with missing body parts.’

6
The turnout for the protest was better than expected despite the fierce midday sun and tropical humidity. More than a thousand demonstrators were