The Casino, page 1
Praise for
THE STRIP
Shortlisted for The Danger Award 2024 for Fiction
‘This is as hard-boiled as Australian crime fiction gets, and it’s very good.’—Sydney Morning Herald
‘tense and compelling’—Garry Disher, author of Bitter Wash Road
‘The Strip is an eye-popping, nightmarish miasma that sets a new bar for Australian crime. A total triumph in every respect.’—Chris Flynn, author of Mammoth
‘Page-turning from the start, this book ratchets up the tension tenfold as the pieces fall into place and the novel reaches its thrilling pinnacle.’—Books+Publishing
‘Fast paced, gritty, sharply observed noir that goes hard into the sleaze and corruption of the moonlight state.’—Andrew Nette, author of Orphan Road
‘The Strip is bingeworthy reading—a gritty crime thriller reeking of corruption, murder and sex. If you like your heroines flawed and kick-ass and your cops dirty as hell, you’ll love Iain Ryan’s gripping foray into the underworld of the Gold Coast. Hardly took a breath from first page to last.’—Kate Mildenhall, author of The Hummingbird Effect
‘The real-life history of vice and corruption on the Gold Coast in the 1970s and 80s has inspired this pacy, tense work of crime fiction.’—The West Australian
‘a cracking crime thriller’—The Australian
‘Steeped in the bitter lore of old-school policing and backlit by the gaudy neon of the Gold Coast streets, The Strip is hands down one of the finest Australian crime novels you’ll ever read.’—David Whish-Wilson, author of Line of Sight
Also by Iain Ryan
Four Days
The Student
The Spiral
The Strip
The Dream
CONTENTS
Cover Page
Title Page
Chapter 1
Part One
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Part Two
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part Three
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Four
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Part Five
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Part Six
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Part Seven
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Part Eight
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Part Nine
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Part Ten
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Part Eleven
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Part Twelve
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Extract from The Dream
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
IT ALL STARTS WITH a girl at the wrong party. Grace Holloway is a regular kid. Nineteen years old and acting up. Nothing out of the ordinary there, except her father writes for the newspaper: a man with a conservative audience and a flair for outrage.
The father calls Ewan Hayes personally.
He’s frantic. ‘I need you to go get her.’
He spits out a dollar amount.
It’s a lot.
The deadline’s insane. An hour from now, at best.
Ewan takes the job and then the father faxes over a picture of her.
•
The girl is in Toorak, twenty minutes down the road. It’s the luxury end of town. Big money and quiet streets. Ewan has the cab drop him right out front. As soon as the cabbie drives off, Ewan drags a trash can off the kerb and uses it as a step stool to jump the fence. He finds the house wide open, a party in full swing. Music reverberates out alongside the muffled drone of a hundred voices. Ewan comes in the front door and moves through the rooms of pissed-up teenagers. He checks the kitchen and lounge. It’s a full minute before someone clocks him.
‘Do you live here?’ a girl asks.
Ewan keeps scanning faces. ‘I’m looking for Grace Holloway.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m her weed dealer.’
The girl grabs a friend and whispers in her ear.
The friend says, ‘Try outside.’
There’s a pool house out back, but no one’s in the water. Plenty of action in the enclosure, though. A dozen bodies draped over a lounge around a glass-top coffee table, and the table has white powder residue all over it. Grace Holloway is in the thick of it, halfway under some guy in a denim jacket.
As soon as Ewan steps through the doorway, one of the boys arcs up. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
Ewan grabs the denim jacket guy by the arm and peels him off the girl. ‘Your father sent me,’ he says to her. ‘Time to go.’
The other boy is moving around. ‘Mate, I said who the fuck—’
Ewan slams his right palm up under the boy’s chin and follows through with a punch to the balls. The kid folds over and pukes on himself.
The rest of them freeze.
Ewan holds out his hand. ‘Grace, come on.’
‘I don’t know you. I—’
‘It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving. Now.’
There’s a commotion up in the house. They all hear it.
Ewan grabs the girl and pulls her outside. Kids are sprinting out of the mansion doors. One kid scrambles out a window. Ewan spots flashes of blue uniforms inside.
‘Come on,’ he says.
They run down the yard to a seven-foot concrete wall. Ewan boosts the girl up and into the neighbour’s place before searching around for something to stand on. There’s a rusty wheelbarrow full of bird feed a few feet away. He tips it out and pushes the barrow over to the wall. He’s on top of it, dragging himself up the concrete when a pair of hands grab hold of his legs and yank him down onto the grass.
It’s a cop. A young constable with a flashlight baton. The cop brings the baton down. Ewan rolls out of the way and springs up. The cop swings again, but it’s desperate and open, and Ewan catches him inside, putting him over. To keep him down, Ewan pounces on the cop and punches him twice in the face.
Then back to the wheelbarrow.
Back up the wall.
‘Stop. Stop what you’re doing!’
Ewan looks back.
It’s another cop, gun drawn.
‘Get down on the ground. Now! Joey, are you okay?’
The other cop groans.
Ewan drops. He puts his hands up. ‘Look, this is—’
‘Shut up.’
‘If we can just—’
Something large and long sails down from the sky above, collecting the cop in the head with a loud metallic clang before landing at Ewan’s feet.
It’s an aluminium ladder.
Ewan is stunned but forces himself to move. He collects the ladder and climbs the wall, landing in the neighbour’s yard where Grace is waiting.
‘I found a ladder,’ she says.
‘Yeah, I … I know.’
They dart towards the street, along a paved pathway down the far side of the neighbour’s house and out onto the driveway. At the gate, they come across a man in a dressing-gown and slippers. He’s watching the flashing lights of the police cars on the street. Ewan and Grace come up behind him.
The man makes a noise. ‘Umm …’
‘Keep quiet or I’ll come back,’ Ewan says.
The neighbour stays quiet.
Ewan and Grace slip past, out into the shadows of the tree-lined streets.
•
Ewan checks into a motel for the night. The Victorian Police will be looking for him and someone in there will know his home address.
In the morning, he calls his answering service and it’s bad news.
Alfie Chapman needs you to call him back.
Ewan calls.
‘You’ve been busy,’ Alfie says. ‘Heard you had a bit of a run-in with some young fellas last night?’
‘Just some cops.’
‘That’s not what I hear. What I hear is you also punched Leo Norton’s nephew in the balls, then absconded with his son’s date. It’s all over town. Did you not recognise the kid?’
Fuck.
Leo Norton is a former bikie turned kingpin. A bloke with a hand in everything. A blood-soaked hand.
‘It happened fast. I didn’t recognise anyone.’
‘Well, needless to say Leo’s not happy,’ Alfie says. ‘His people are making the rounds. I’d make yourself scarce if I were you.’
‘Can you fix it, Alfie?’
‘I can try, but it’s not going to happen overnight.’
•
Grace Holloway and her father live in a place overlooking the ocean down in Brighton. Her father answers the intercom himself, then meets Ewan at the door. The man looks like death warmed up.
‘Come through. There’s coffee on.’
The house is opulent but lived in. Lots of wall space and white surfaces. There’s a collection of dishes piled up in the kitchen sink, and opened mail spread across the fancy marble bench.
‘Thanks for last night,’ the father says. He hands over an envelope of money. ‘As agreed.’
Ewan doesn’t bother counting it. They don’t stiff you when their kids are involved. ‘Do you know who your daughter is fooling around with?’
‘She doesn’t tell me anything.’
‘Leo Norton’s kid, Sam. You know who that is?’
He takes a moment. ‘That fucking prick. I should’ve known. I’ve been reporting on Leo for years. He’s my white whale.’ The father takes a mouthful of coffee. ‘This isn’t good.’
‘You don’t need to tell me. I’m leaving town for a while.’
‘Because of Norton?’
‘Because of all of it.’
‘Hold on a sec.’ The father walks over to the stairs and yells, ‘Grace!’ then he comes back around the bench to his coffee.
Grace pads down the stairs. ‘What?’
‘Go and pack your bags. You’re going away for a bit.’
‘No, I’m not.’
Her father rolls his neck. ‘The police called an hour ago. You can either go in and talk to them and stay the night in the lock-up, or you can go on holidays for a few weeks. Which one is it?’
‘What is this?’ Grace asks, more frustrated than confused.
‘Go and pack your bags.’
‘Who’s taking me?’
The father looks at Ewan.
‘Me? No,’ Ewan says. ‘That’s not my line of work.’
‘Name your price.’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
Ewan sighs. ‘Twenty-five—no, fifty.’
‘Fuck me. Really?’
‘I don’t want to do it.’
‘Thirty, inclusive of what I just paid you.’
‘No, fifty. On top.’
Grace groans. ‘I’m not going away with this guy, Dad. What are you doing?’
‘Okay, fifty on top.’ The father offers his hand.
‘I’m going to need a car and expenses.’
‘She has a credit card. Will that work?’
‘Dad!’ Grace screams.
Ewan shakes on it.
‘Go and pack.’
The girl storms off.
Ewan says, ‘You sure about this?’
‘I can’t keep track of her. This is all … it’s more complex than it looks. Grace is pretty self-sufficient. She won’t need much tending to.’
‘I’m not sure I’d trust some guy I just met with my kid.’
‘I don’t. You’ve been vetted.’
‘By who?’
‘We have something in common, I’m afraid.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Your ex. Andrea. She gave me your number. She was the one who told me to call.’
Ewan doesn’t know what to say. He knew Andrea lived down this way, but he hasn’t seen her in years.
‘I’ll wire you the money when you’re settled,’ the father says, keen to move on.
‘That’ll work. How is she?’
‘Andrea? She’s fine.’
‘She’s not caught up in any of this, is she?’
‘No.’
An awkward silence settles in the room.
Then the father says, ‘I want you to take Grace to Queensland. I know a place.’
‘What place?’
‘The Gold Coast.’
PART ONE
PARADISE POISONED: COCAINE EPIDEMIC GRIPS THE COAST
BY ANGELA OWENS
THE GOLD COAST BULLETIN, 17 JANUARY 1986
POLICE DETECTIVE BRANCH Head Inspector Ronald Bingham yesterday described drug problems on the Coast as his top priority. He was speaking on his return from a trip to Brisbane where various drug enforcement police met at the Hilton Hotel to discuss the issue.
‘The Coast is currently flooded with cheap cocaine, and I’m advising anyone foolish enough to take this stuff to please exercise extreme caution. We’ve had a spike in overdoses. There’s a dozen kids in the ICU as we speak,’ said Inspector Bingham. ‘Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with organised crime on the Coast. To the best of our knowledge, this is a localised problem with an outlaw crew, and we’re looking forward to prosecuting the people responsible in the coming days.’
Inspector Bingham said extra police resources have been deployed, with the Gold Coast Investigations Branch actively pursuing leads.
CHAPTER 2
DETECTIVE LANA COHEN WATCHES the wind lash the pines through the car windscreen. She gets a cigarette going, steps out onto Nobby Beach in the pre-dawn twilight. Lana doesn’t live far from here, but close as she is, she hasn’t beaten Bruno Karras to the crime scene. He’s standing on the lawn by the foreshore, where the green grass meets the cold sand. The two of them go way back. They used to be partners. This morning, the man looks for all the world like he has been here all night, just waiting for something like this to unfold.
Lana walks over. ‘Morning.’
Bruno nods, lips pressed tight. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘It’s fine. Where’s Pete?’
‘I don’t know. Holing up a bar somewhere, probably.’ Bruno is now partnered with a man called Pete Reynolds. Pete is a wreck of a cop, but he’s a mate of Bruno’s these days. Lana’s never understood it. The talk all over the station is that Pete is under review from Internal Investigations. ‘You ready to take a look at this?’ Bruno says, staring out at the beach.
‘Is it really just a …’
‘That’s what they’re saying. Deceased female. The science crew are en route. Those two down on the beach.’ He points at two uniforms standing about thirty metres apart. ‘They’re doing their best to keep the surfers and joggers out of the way.’ Bruno opens his notebook, making to head off.
‘Hold your horses,’ Lana says, taking a final drag of her smoke. ‘Bit early for this shit,’ she says, dropping the butt.
As they trundle through the sand, Bruno asks after Charlie. ‘How’s his head?’
‘He’s fine.’
Charlie is Lana’s new boyfriend. He’s a blackjack dealer at the casino. Last week, someone threw a glass ashtray at him, collecting him in the back of the skull. Charlie wasn’t fazed. The punters act up.
‘Has he still got you out jogging along the beach?’
‘He does, unfortunately. Have you ever run on sand? Fuck me.’
‘Well, the beach is closed today.’
‘Thank god for small mercies.’
•
The scene cordon is barely surviving the wind. The uniforms have marked out the main site in a wide square, but two of the poles have collapsed and now the yellow crime scene tape is billowing out of the sand.
Lana moves inside the cordon, towards a small, folded towel. ‘Footprints are fucked,’ she says.
‘I don’t think it matters.’ Bruno squats down beside the towel and lifts it up.
There it is: a severed human hand, palm up. The skin is antiseptic white, except for the wound at the wrist. It’s slender, with thin fingers.
‘Jesus. Never seen that before,’ says Lana.
‘Me neither.’
Lana gets down and takes a closer look. ‘I guess we just work with what we’ve got, right?’
Bruno snaps on a flashlight. ‘White woman. No ring. Not old, not young. Red nail polish.’
‘The missing nails indicate she put up a fight. I think we can rule out an accidental dismemberment.’
The two detectives stand up, their eyes fixed on the hand.
‘I hate it,’ says Lana. ‘This is going to suck.’
‘Yeah,’ Bruno replies. ‘It’s not going to be easy.’
•
They split up and talk to the uniformed coppers who were first on the scene, both of whom are on perimeter duty on the beach. Lana’s bloke is a veteran officer called Big Karl. Everyone on the Coast knows him.
