Vanished

by James Delargy

  Lorcan knew what it was immediately. An attack. The miners had waited until they were asleep and defenceless. But he was prepared. Jumping out of bed, he reached up into the eaves and grabbed the rifle. Fully loaded.

  ‘Dylan’s room,’ he ordered Naiyana who was staring at the rifle.

  She didn’t move so he grabbed her arm. Meeting a wailing Dylan at the doorway, he pushed them both inside and slid the camp bed across the door.

  ‘What is—?’ started Naiyana.

  ‘They are trying to—’ He stopped there. No need to say any more. Not with Dylan in the room. There was a crack from inside the house. A gunshot. He knocked the safety off the rifle. It was time to hope it worked, and that he’d know how to use it. This was it. The end of the world.

  Resting the rifle on top of the overturned bed, he waited for one of the bastards to come into view. And aim for what? The head? A limb? Having the rifle was both bane and saviour. It meant he could defend his family but it also meant he might be forced to use it.

  His finger grew slick on the trigger. No one came into view. After a minute he wondered if they’d doubled back and were tracking around the house to the window. He and his family would be fish in a barrel.

  ‘The truck,’ he whispered, waving them across the room, dragging Nee who dragged Dylan, like a human chain. Sliding the bed away, he advanced down the hallway, the rifle barrel jolting up and down. Get to the truck and get away. Keep going until they ran out of gas or road.

  They passed the entrance to the kitchen. They were close to the front door now. The keys were in his pocket. Safe.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Naiyana, stopping suddenly, acting like an anchor.

  ‘We have to go,’ said Lorcan, trying to pull her and Dylan with him.

  ‘The kitchen,’ she said, pointing.

  He glanced towards the kitchen. Shards of brick and a new piece of tin were scattered across the floor. What had happened became apparent. The new part of the gable wall had collapsed taking the sheet from the roof. They were not under attack from the miners but their own house.

  He didn’t know where it came from but he started to laugh, releasing a swathe of pent-up nervous energy. Still the laughter came, a roar that filled the now broken house.

  67 Naiyana

  Her husband’s laughter had disappeared by mid-morning. Christmas Day in a shattered house was not the plan. Daylight exposed the full extent of the damage. The repaired gable was missing and the hole in the roof had reappeared. All his work ruined. All her work in the kitchen ruined. Back to square one.

  First off they tried to placate an upset Dylan with Christmas presents. More miniature industrial machinery for his mining operation. But what he now hankered for was a gun just like his father’s. It was back in the eaves, ready for the next home invasion.

  As they both studied the kitchen, she asked, ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘From a guy in town. I thought we might need it. To shoot animals.’

  ‘Or ourselves,’ she said, nauseous at her own morbid humour.

  ‘It’s even more important now. What we have is a symbiotic relationship with those men. They said it themselves. But we are the lowest rung. They have the money. They have the numbers. And we have Dylan to think of.’

  ‘No. Get rid of it.’ She didn’t need any ‘accidents’. And didn’t need Dylan getting his hands on it.

  ‘You’re not listening,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not listening.’

  ‘I am. If you insist we stay here and make a go of it then I’m keeping the gun. Marriage is all about compromise.’

  It was about love and respect as well, but she said nothing. She would let him have this minor victory.

  ‘I’m going into town,’ she said.

  ‘Again?’

  ‘I want a Christmas dinner and I can’t cook in there. I’ll see if anywhere is open. So get to work fixing that mess or get writing that book. Make some money.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, show me.’

  ‘Dad said he can help out,’ he said glancing away, obviously embarrassed. ‘Until my other plans come through.’

  Naiyana narrowed her eyes. She wondered what these plans involved. But at present, she didn’t have the willpower to listen.

  ‘They want to visit,’ he added.

  ‘Your parents? Here?’

  ‘Yeah. Tomorrow. Boxing Day.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think they’re worried about us.’

  ‘You mean, they want to stick their nose in.’

  ‘That’s not—’ whined Lorcan.

  ‘I think you better tell Ian and that lot. Warn them to stay out of sight,’ said Naiyana, heading out the door towards the ute.

  68 Emmaline

  Checks confirmed that Chester Grant did have a meeting on the thirtieth with Kilbourne Associates. A quick call confirmed his attendance, proving he was back in Perth by late afternoon. Greg Kilbourne had plenty of questions about why the police were requesting these details. Emmaline didn’t answer, but the questions would have left the clear outline of a smoking gun. What she did learn was that Chester had no chance to get out to Kallayee itself, do anything untoward and get back in time to attend the meeting. Although killing Naiyana made sense. She held a lot of damaging information on him. Information that might ruin a career he held dear. With Lorcan and possibly Dylan Maguire caught up in it as witnesses.

  Next up was investigating the local gold market. With Mike Andrews’s and Stevie Amaranga’s accounts static since early December it meant cash had been attained by other means.

  By the time she joined them, Rispoli, Anand and Barker had been to three dealers around Leonora checking on sudden influxes in amounts or quality of gold. They convened in a coffee shop in the afternoon, huddled around a table.

  ‘We showed them photos of Mike Andrews and Stevie Amaranga. No positive IDs,’ said Rispoli.

  ‘Which leaves us with?’ asked Emmaline, recovering from the flight with a double espresso that was powering through her system.

  ‘We still have a few more to try. Official dealers that is,’ said Rispoli.

  ‘How many unofficial?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘But no leads so far?’

  Anand was flicking through his notepad. The scribble on the pages looked very neat and assured. ‘One of them – Gord Sawyers – informed me that there are finds all the time. Here, there and everywhere. He was pretty unhelpful.’

  ‘We focused on the last few months. Who came in and sold what,’ said Barker, ‘but apparently there is no follow-up to check that the place stated as the discovery site is the actual discovery site.’

  ‘So this might happen a lot?’ said Emmaline.

  Barker nodded and shrugged.

  Rispoli spoke up. ‘What we know is that they have to present ID when making a sale. Their name is noted. So given that we know when they left Queensland and that they had to buy the equipment, set up and start mining, the selling could only have begun in the last six weeks to a month.’

  Emmaline continued. ‘So we need to identify anyone who has started and finished their gold trading career abruptly in the last month.’

  69 Lorcan

  ‘Happy Christmas!’

  Lorcan shouted down the tunnel. Not that they would hear him over the noise of the machines, hard at work, making money. Money that he could do with getting some of.

  In a show of good faith he had brought some chocolate cake. It was two days past its sell-by date but still edible. He was about to enter when the bald one, Mike, appeared at the entrance, his face set in a scowl that seemed to be an almost permanent fixture.

  Backing him up was Stevie, thin as a whippet, wearing a look of suspicion.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Mike, snapping the gum in his mouth and glancing behind Lorcan as if to check he hadn’t brought a cavalry.

  Lorcan thrust the cake towards them. ‘It’s Christmas.’ />
  ‘Happy Christmas,’ said Mike, without cheer.

  Stevie stepped forward and took a piece, wolfing it down, before swigging from a bottle of water tucked in his belt. ‘Thanks,’ he said, offering a thin smile.

  Mike glared at him as if he had done something taboo, before reaching for a piece and scoffing it.

  ‘Where’s Ian?’ asked Lorcan, peering over their shoulders into the darkness.

  Mike looked to Stevie, his mouth full.

  ‘Town,’ said Stevie.

  ‘Oh. How’s work?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Getting much?’

  By now Mike had finished the cake. ‘You don’t need to concern yourself with that.’ Christmas was over.

  ‘What are you digging for?’

  ‘I’ll ask you the same question.’

  ‘I’m just curious,’ said Lorcan, flashing them both a faux-friendly smile. ‘About what you’re doing.’

  ‘Best that you don’t know,’ said Mike, throwing a new piece of gum into his mouth.

  ‘You probably wouldn’t understand,’ added Stevie.

  ‘I read up about gold mining and extraction earlier. Diamond mining too. I have a degree in Business Management.’

  This caused Mike to laugh loudly. A cruel laugh. ‘Very good,’ he said not hiding the sarcasm. ‘Not very relevant to mineral extraction though, is it? Not much call for typing a hundred words a minute down here.’

  Lorcan bit his tongue. He wanted to keep this on friendly terms. ‘Is Ian off selling your find?’

  ‘How about you go back and fix that broken wall?’ said Mike with a grin that Stevie struggled not to match.

  Lorcan felt his own face work into a frown. Friendly terms being stretched.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Stevie. ‘Get out of town?’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ asked Lorcan, harsher than intended.

  There was no immediate answer, but Mike’s lazily raised eyebrows suggested that was their preference.

  ‘We just need you to leave us alone,’ said Mike.

  ‘I could, and I could get back to fixing the wall and the roof if I had money,’ said Lorcan, feeling his stomach knot.

  He could sense the temperature of the room suddenly plummet. The iciness in Mike’s glare returned and only the tap on the shoulder from Stevie got him to turn and head back down the tunnel. Lorcan didn’t follow them.

  70 Naiyana

  Mrs Blanchard had only been in the shop because she needed to pick up butter for her own mashed potatoes. Naiyana persuaded her that she was only going to be a couple of minutes, rounding up a makeshift Christmas dinner of packaged turkey, ham and tinned potatoes. It wasn’t Michelin star but it would have to do.

  The only thing that made it remotely appetizing was her hunger. The shock of the collapsed wall, and the sudden appearance of the rifle had gone from her system and now her nervous energy needed to be replenished.

  As she fought the broken road on the drive back to Kallayee a funnel of dirt approached from ahead. She slowed as the truck passed. It was Ian, his arm flopped out the window of the decrepit ute. She wondered where he was heading to. She had as many questions about his motives as her husband but she wanted to forget about him – about them – for now. It would be hard but there was Christmas to celebrate. To make the best of. A horrible situation to be in, having to make the best of something at what was normally considered a joyous time of the year. Only Dylan had been remotely happy, ploughing on with his dirt mining. She wondered what present she could possibly get that would make this Christmas a happy one.

  She knew what wouldn’t make it happy.

  She flagged Ian down.

  71 Lorcan

  After his cold shoulder at the mine, Christmas Day had been spent making plans. His dad had transferred enough money to fix the wall and the roof only. He didn’t dare ask for more. You don’t beg Santa for more at Christmas. What he did realize was that he missed his parents. He had itched to break free of them when younger but it was true what they said about missing something when it was gone. Despite being surrounded by his wife and child he felt alone.

  He wasn’t alone for long. At around eight there was a knock on their door.

  He glanced at Naiyana who shook her head.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Your neighbours,’ came the reply. Ian’s voice. Warm, but insistent.

  Lorcan stiffened and moved for the bedroom and the rifle. Naiyana intercepted him.

  ‘You can’t answer the door with a rifle,’ she whispered.

  ‘Why are they here?’

  ‘Why don’t we just ask?’

  Lorcan watched her approach the door and open it, as he stayed just out of sight.

  He heard Ian wish her a happy Christmas and Naiyana respond before inviting him in. Two more sets of footsteps followed. All three strangers were in their house. Shit. He let her lead them into the living room before he joined them, standing in the doorway, within sprinting distance of the rifle. He was glad Dylan was tucked up in bed.

  The tension in the room was thick, each side staring at the other. Lorcan wondered if they were armed.

  ‘I hear there are visitors planned for tomorrow,’ said Ian, his face again betraying a calculated cunning.

  ‘Who told you…?’ said Lorcan, looking at Nee. She didn’t hide her guilt.

  ‘We don’t need any others in this relationship,’ replied Ian.

  ‘It wasn’t planned. They just want to see the new place.’

  ‘We need you to put off anyone from coming out here. It’s best for all of us.’

  The sentence was again accompanied by a cat-like narrowing of his eyes. Lorcan read a very real threat in them. But where fear should have led him to cower, his own anger began to rise. How dare they come into his house and threaten him and his family by their mere presence.

  ‘Do you think that I wanted them to see this mess? I had to beg them for money.’

  The miners stayed quiet. He wondered if Mike and Stevie had shared his earlier request with Ian. He decided not to leave it to chance.

  ‘It might be time that some of the wealth was shared around.’

  ‘Meaning what?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Lorcan, don’t—’ started Naiyana.

  He cut her off. ‘This needs to be said. I feel I’m being backed further and further into a corner.’

  ‘You chose the corner,’ said Mike.

  Ian glared at Mike to shut him up. He turned his attention to Naiyana. ‘Are you all okay? The boy? Got enough food?’

  ‘They’re okay. We’re fine. Happy Christmas!’ spat Lorcan.

  ‘Bully you, mate. We’re stuck down a hole,’ said Mike.

  ‘You chose the hole,’ said Lorcan. ‘Plus, you’re making money.’

  ‘Through hard work,’ noted Stevie.

  ‘We can all work hard. If given—’

  ‘Look,’ said Ian, his hands up, conciliatory. ‘Things are tense, I get that. This is still a getting-to-know-you period. But whether we like it or not we are in a sort of… shared relationship.’

  ‘Symbiotic,’ offered Stevie.

  Ian clicked his fingers and pointed at him. ‘Symbiotic relationship.’

  ‘More parasitic,’ muttered Mike, punctuated by the ritualistic snap of gum.

  ‘Mike…’ said Ian.

  ‘What are they giving us apart from a headache?’

  ‘My parents asked to come. It wasn’t planned,’ said Lorcan.

  ‘We prefer plans,’ said Mike.

  72 Emmaline

  After finishing her double espresso and agreeing a plan, Emmaline joined Rispoli on the visit to the next dealer.

  He drove, Emmaline happy to take the passenger seat and enjoy the town as it passed by. She quickly decided Leonora was quite pretty, wide double-lane roads, nourished single-storey houses and scrubbed commercial properties, spread out lazily, luscious trees poking over the top like curious residents. There seemed nothing h
urried about it.

  Rispoli pointed out the dominating blood-red veranda of Tower Street, the grand White House Hotel and the Information Centre and Library with its symmetrical porches and columns, red and yellow as if wishing to blend into the scenery.

  As they reached the top of the street an enormous rumble rattled the glass in the windows, a massive road train passing through, the ground shaking as if an earthquake was rolling through town at its own gentle pace, disturbing the peace rather than damaging it.

  The final place of note on his inadvertent tour was the Leonora Alternative Place of Detention, an old mine workers’ hostel which had, up until 2014, been used as an immigration detention centre for asylum seekers.

  ‘Fucking shameful. Sometimes you could hear them at night. Crying. Wailing. Like there was a banshee on the loose.’

  Emmaline could only nod. ‘If the government had their way they’d be stuffed down the mines rather than in hostels. Out of sight, out of mind.’

  There was a moment’s pause.

  ‘Do you always end your tours this way? Does a downer get you more tips?’

  Rispoli laughed. ‘I do it for the love of it. Not the money.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  They both laughed, the warm air settling in her lungs.

  ‘How’s the caravan?’ he asked, glancing over at her.

  ‘It reminds me of my student house,’ said Emmaline, thinking of Matty, their bodies sprawled on the U-shaped couch/bed.

  ‘That must have been bad.’

  ‘When you’re a student you don’t much care.’

  ‘But you’re not a student now.’

  ‘You don’t think that I could pass for one?’

  ‘I think I’m not answering that question.’ Another shared smile. Relaxed.

  ‘Does it not get lonely out there?’

  She wondered what he was fishing for. An invitation? Maybe he had heard about her and Matty. Not that she would be embarrassed, just that it might affect any future hook-up between her and Rispoli. If there were any.