‘No,’ said Dylan, adamant.
Lorcan let his son lead them behind the shack that he had been poking his head into earlier. There lay a mound of dirt that had been excavated when levelling the ground. From the top, most of the town could be seen.
‘Over there,’ said Dylan, pointing.
Lorcan followed the finger. He looked for the ute and for Nee but neither seemed to be there. The town was empty.
‘I don’t see anything, Dyl.’
‘It was there.’
‘What was?’
‘A person.’
Lorcan studied his son’s face. He looked stressed, his eyes drawn and strained. The lack of sleep might have been somewhat at fault but there was nothing that indicated that he was lying. Or joking. There was no laughter in Dylan’s expression. Besides, for a kid, a joke was only fun if there was an immediate pay-off.
‘We can find them!’ Dylan grabbed his wrist and tugged it.
Down the back of the hill they passed through the back of another property, parts of an ancient Hudson Eight rusting in the backyard, through to the main street. Lorcan was beginning to worry. As far as he knew Dylan had never been in this part of town. Not with him anyway. Maybe with Nee, but it was unlikely. She had shown no propensity as yet to explore town, happy to confine herself indoors.
They crossed the empty street and passed along the side of a house, the slatted wood of a collapsed fence underneath his feet.
Then he saw it.
And laughed.
In the distance and leaning up against an outhouse was an old coat-rack, some trapped tumbleweed wrapped around the top resembling a head. In the distant heat haze he could see how it would have fooled a six-year-old, looking like a man passing time, leaning against his shack. The ‘hairy panic’ had been quite literal.
‘It’s just a coat-rack, Dyl.’
Dylan shook his head. ‘That’s not him.’
But Lorcan had had enough. He didn’t need a wild-goose chase. He had a well to dig out, plus a roof and generator to fix. And he was falling behind.
‘No one’s here.’
‘But there was, Daddy.’
The tables turned and Lorcan began to drag his son. The argument continued as they reached the main street again. A rumble filled the air, this time accompanied by a swell of dust. Naiyana stopped, the bags of groceries balanced on the passenger’s seat beside her.
‘What are you both doing here?’ she asked. ‘I hope you aren’t getting into any trouble.’
Lorcan shook his head wearily. ‘Dyl thought he saw someone.’
‘I did see someone,’ he protested.
‘Dylan, we’ve been over this.’
‘But I did.’
Lorcan turned to his wife. ‘Have you seen anyone around, Mummy?’
Naiyana looked at him and then her son. She looked sad to disappoint him. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘I did!’
Dylan broke free of his grasp and ran off towards their house.
‘We don’t need Bennie and Ixsell coming back,’ said Naiyana.
‘No, we don’t,’ agreed Lorcan. ‘It was just heat haze. I haven’t seen anyone.’
‘No one else is stupid enough to be out here,’ said Naiyana, the words as biting as the heat.
14 Lorcan
There was no doubting the rumble any longer. Dylan might have been imagining people in town but he wasn’t imagining the noise. It growled like an angry dog buried deep in the earth. A warning, according to Nee, but she would have taken anything as a cue to leave. Lorcan wanted more than anything to believe that the noises were psychosomatic. But if they could all hear it, that was impossible.
Dylan shuffled noisily. He was awake again. Which meant they all were awake again.
‘We need to consider moving back.’
There it was. Nee’s thoughts made public. Fuelled by lack of sleep and exasperation.
‘We talked about—’
‘Can we move back, Daddy?’ interjected Dylan. The hope in his face was unmissable. A chance to see his friends again. But friends could be made anywhere. Especially when you were young.
He glared at Nee for broadcasting her thoughts publicly, before smiling at his son. ‘Put your headphones on and listen to some music.’
Dylan looked at him, paused, then nodded, the giant black headphones engulfing a significant portion of his head.
He refocused on Naiyana. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ she replied. In much the same plaintive manner that Dylan had done earlier when insisting that he’d seen someone in town. A trait either learned or inherited from her.
‘You must have.’
‘He’s not stupid. He understands that this isn’t living.’
‘It’s survival for a little while, then we can live. We can become a family again. We were too disconnected in Perth. We were consumed by our jobs in the day, then Dylan in the evening, before trying to catch up on the work we missed looking after him.’
‘So your cure is to force us together? In a ghost town we can’t escape from? That’s unnatural. Our whole presence here is unnatural. No one should be forced to live in the desert. The people who came out here all those years ago had to. They had to find gold to buy food. We have money.’
‘We’re also running though. Remember that.’
* * *
Lorcan left in the morning without exchanging a word with Naiyana. She could tinker with whatever she needed to in the house to keep her busy. He had work to do.
As he climbed into the ute he gazed over at his son. He had occupied a mound of piled earth to the side of the house and had brought all his vehicles to the party.
‘What have you got there, Dyl?’
Dylan put the yellow dumper truck down on what looked like a road carved into the hill that led to the beginnings of a cave dug into the earth.
‘A mine,’ he said, obviously pleased with himself.
‘Looks good.’
‘I need another dump truck though. The digger has to wait until the first one goes and comes back before it can load again.’
Lorcan smiled. His son had developed an entire business, excavating clay from the hole and transporting it to the bottom. An impressive enterprise, hindered by a lack of equipment.
‘Want me to see if I can get you another?’ he asked, refusing to chide himself for attempting to buy his loyalty. Dylan’s happiness was a key component of any long-term success out here.
‘Yes!’ said Dylan. ‘And a crane if there is one. And a monster truck.’
‘A monster truck?’
‘Yes. To get home after work.’ Stated as if it was the only and obvious answer.
Lorcan smiled and put on his sunglasses. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
15 Lorcan
Though there was little danger of meeting anything coming the other way he stuck to the middle of the fissured track that wound towards the main road and then on to Hurton. The tyres crackled as they met the fractured edges as if driving over a massive sheet of bubble wrap. He reminded himself to pick up a spare tyre or two. He didn’t want to have to trek to town across the scrub and there was no chance of hitching a ride. There was also no chance of the road being repaired and he wondered why the government had not just dug up the road when they were closing Kallayee down. Probably cheaper to let it rot, he suspected, as another deep scar tried to wrench the steering wheel from his hand.
Reaching the main road he turned towards Hurton. With the improvement in the surface and less chance of being pitched into the scenery, his thoughts drifted back to Naiyana and her pleas to leave. He couldn’t let her poison their son against this before they had given it a real shot. It was verbal sabotage. Just when he was trying to fix things. He would prove that he was capable of creating a home for them out here.
There were only a few people on Main Street, but given the silence of daytime Kallayee it was like a bustling city. He pulled to the side of the road out
side a place called Mallon and Son’s Hardware, the sign above the double doors freshly painted and firmly attached to the red-brick building.
He expected a mom-and-pop store rather than a franchise. What he found was the focus of attention. The old attendant at the till – most likely Mallon – halted his conversation with a younger man – likely Son – his hand drifting under the counter. To reach for a weapon. Or for an alarm of some sort.
He was a stranger and strangers around here were noticed. He gave both men an obligatory nod and orientated himself. The store exceeded his expectations. It had everything he needed: tools, materials, screws, nails. Pulling his tablet from his pocket he flicked through to the page he wanted. Building a wall. He needed about a hundred bricks to be on the safe side, cement mix, club hammer, trowel, sand. He went to follow a link to another site offering advice but found the ‘Device not connected to the Internet’ page. Something he would have to get used to out here. Lack of coverage, lack of connectivity.
‘Can I help?’
Lorcan glanced to his side. Son was standing close to him, his look one of curiosity rather than helpfulness. In the background Mallon was monitoring progress from his perch behind the counter like an owl.
‘I just need to pick up some bricks, cement and sand.’
‘What is it that you’re looking to do?’
‘Repair a gable wall.’
‘I see. Where?’
Lorcan paused. Why did that matter? He glanced at the counter. Mallon had his ear wedged to a landline phone but Lorcan couldn’t hear what he was saying. His senses piqued. Were they going to jump him on the way out? Rob the out-of-towner? Did they think he had rolls of cash in his pockets?
‘A place I have.’
‘Not in town.’
‘No, not in town,’ confirmed Lorcan.
There was a momentary pause before Son shrugged, seeming to accept the conversation was headed down a blind alley. Lorcan breathed a sigh of relief. He had expected more of an interrogation. Son pointed at the tablet. Lorcan wondered if he had ever seen one before.
‘You want the password?’
‘You have Internet?’ asked Lorcan.
A frown crossed Son’s previously unconcerned face. ‘Hurton’s remote, man, not ancient,’ he said, taking the tablet and dashing a number into the settings before passing it back. ‘For customers only, mind.’
‘Customers only,’ repeated Lorcan before refocusing on what he needed.
16 Emmaline
It could have been mistaken for a rock poking through the dust.
As they waited on Forensics to arrive – ETA was an hour – the four officers scoured the area near the patch of blood. The priority was locating a weapon. That’s when Emmaline had reached out for the sand-covered rock only to find that it was metallic and almost perfectly rectangular.
A phone.
Holding it with her thumb and forefinger only, she pressed the button on the side of the Samsung. The screen lit up asking for a swipe code. There was no signal and the battery read ten per cent. This meant that it had been on the ground long enough to have been camouflaged with a dusting of sand but not so long for the battery to have run completely out of charge. Maybe a week ago and clearly dropped in a hurry.
The other officers stood around her, staring at the phone.
‘Check it for prints?’ asked Barker.
‘Do you have a kit with you?’
‘I have an older kit for latents,’ said Anand, making for the police-marked 4x4 he had arrived in.
While they waited, Emmaline aimed the phone towards the sun, studying the screen.
‘Put an evidence bag on that,’ she said, pointing to a large, flat-topped rock. Rispoli followed orders and placed the bag on the rock. Emmaline placed the phone on top of the bag.
‘I think I know whose phone this is.’
‘How?’ asked Rispoli and Barker in conjunction.
‘The repeat pattern on the main screen. The grease and sweat from the owner’s fingers as they unlock it. Over and over again. Pressing too hard. Instinct or anger. Reinforcing the pattern. An L.’
‘For Lorcan,’ said Rispoli.
Emmaline nodded as she lightly swiped an ‘L’ pattern on the access screen. The screen altered to a photo of Naiyana and Dylan Maguire, the mother swinging the child by the arms, both of them happy. A photo taken from the Kaarta Gar-up lookout, high on Kings Park, Perth CBD visible in the background.
Amongst the text messages there were a few Lorcan had sent to his family before Christmas, confirming that they were okay and trying to settle in. Nothing about the state of the house, just updates about the family. There were a few calls from anonymous numbers that would have to be checked but zero in the last seven days. Amongst the videos there were a number detailing the family’s previous existence in Perth, at their old home, a fancy detached house that diametrically contrasted the hovel they had lived in before their disappearance. Videos of the family on the beach and on holiday. More recent ones had Lorcan Maguire exhibiting the house explaining what he was going to do with it, from putting in windows to painting, plus a couple focusing on repairing the gable wall and roof. Clearly an attempt to catalogue building a life from scratch. Another YouTube generation family, happy and smiling on the outside but striving for a dream that was built on unsafe foundations. Especially given the territory. The videos were part of the con, dreams narrated to obscure the reality.
The documents folder contained a bevy of saved Internet pages and downloaded How To manuals but it was amongst the voice recordings that she found the most important clue. The last thing recorded on the device. A garbled incoherent message, the voice male – probably Lorcan’s. There was real terror in his tone, his sentences clipped, his breathing short and sharp.
‘We have to leave, Dylan. Before they come back.’
In the background there was a fainter voice, that of a child crying and resisting. Dylan.
‘We’ll go to town. Quick!’
‘Where’s mummy?’ asked the fainter voice.
‘She’s gone.’
After that was silence. Until the recording cut out.
The deathly hush of the town was unnerving. As if in mourning for Lorcan and Dylan’s lives.
Emmaline looked at the others gathered around her. Their expressions suggested they were almost too scared to break the continued silence but, like her, analysing what they had heard. Like, who was the ‘they’ Lorcan had mentioned, and what did he mean when he had said that Naiyana was ‘gone’? Did he mean taken? Or killed? When was it recorded and why had it cut out? And finally, who were they running from?
What wasn’t in doubt, with this recording and the quantities of blood, was that this almost certainly was a major crime.
Anand returned with the fingerprint kit only to be greeted with silence.
‘I wasn’t gone that long,’ he protested.
‘Copy that recording and everything from the phone for me,’ she said to Barker. ‘Ask Forensics to retrieve any relevant fingerprints from it. Then get the data to our Tech team. See if we can build a timeline.’
17 Emmaline
The sun was going down fast, racing for the horizon as if fleeing in shame. Or maybe it had an engagement later. Emmaline would have liked one too. Something quick and meaningless. No pressure, no commitment. Open-ended. There was something liberating about open-endedness. Especially in a profession where the pressure was always on to tie up everything.
Forensics had been and gone in two hours. Efficient. Dr Rebecca Patel’s forte. Conversation was strictly for discussing facts. And without the test results she didn’t have any yet.
Anand and Barker were driving the couple of hours back to their families in Leonora. Rispoli was heading in the same direction.
‘Need a lift?’ he asked.
Emmaline looked at the Maguire house in front of her. She had nowhere booked in Leonora and no real reason to go there. Apart from Rispoli. Handsome, tall and distinguished
. With a hint of charm. An honesty too in his eyes. But although a hook-up sounded good, it was not smart. She had few rules but one was – almost – sacred: never on the first day.
‘I’ll stay here.’
‘In Hurton? They’ve what they call a B&B, but it’s more a storage shed out the back of Miller’s place, the painter and decorator.’
‘No, here. I’ll kip in the car.’
‘You can’t.’
‘I’ve had worse.’
Emmaline wanted to stay. They had the phone and the panicked message but no bodies, no evidence of foul play other than the blood. She felt drawn to stay.
Rispoli glanced at his feet, then met her eyes again. ‘Give me an hour. I’ll see what I can do.’
With that he hopped in his car and drove off, the dust rising to meet the rapidly darkening sky. Emmaline was alone. She was used to being alone. Others weren’t, trying to scare her that some imaginary clock was ticking down on her chance to have a child. She wasn’t even in her thirties and yet all her aunts and uncles were waiting for ‘the good news’ at the beginning of every phone call. As if her becoming a detective in the MCS wasn’t good news. But for her relatives, the MCS was merely a precursor to her real job. Not to say there hadn’t been times when she had found herself alone at night looking into sperm donors and IVF and wondering if she could go it alone with a child. Given her previous relationships she might be better off going it alone. She needed a man to accept her. Who knew when to be close and also when to be distant. It was a tricky balance. Just like any baby she might one day conceive, she needed any long-term partner customized a little, not too much, just the edges rounded so that they didn’t grate on each other too much like a pair of tectonic plates. Not that there were too many of those around Australia. The earth didn’t move much around here. Which only got her thinking about sex again. And abandoning her rule of not sleeping with someone on the first day. If Rispoli ever returned. If he didn’t she would have to consider setting up house out here like the Maguire’s had.
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