‘Yeah, I get you,’ said Arbor.
It would be a long haul. It would be sunset by the time nature put an end to the day.
‘The doctor’s taking the leg back to the clinic,’ said O’Reilly. ‘I’ll pop in there before I get on to the usual bods. You just keep at it. If you find anything worth looking at, let me know. Okay?’
‘Yeah, okay, Sarge.’
‘As I said, there’s room for you out the back. I’ve wheeled the bins around there for you, too. I thought I’d make it easy for you.’
‘Yeah, thanks, Sarge.’
Arbor dragged the plastic off the street and into the narrow alleyway between the butcher shop and the newsagency.
‘And don’t forget your spacesuit,’ said O’Reilly.
As if, thought Arbor. He could smell the stench from where he stood.
The scene was far from pristine to begin with. The lane that ran behind the shops and businesses, parallel with Palm Street as far back as the Chatton Hotel, had long been a haunt for the kids of the town. Their shenanigans had left behind an assortment of rubbish, empty bottles and other paraphernalia. Arbor entered the open doorway to the newsagency. Amira was leaning against the counter, lost in a magazine.
‘Hey, Amira,’ he said.
She looked up.
‘Hey, Danny … Is it true?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, I’m afraid so,’ said Arbor. ‘It’s a right grisly business. Say, you haven’t got a rake or a broom or something in here, have you? I need to clean up the lane a bit before I lay some plastic down. I’ve got to sort through the bins.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Amira. ‘Yeah, I’ve got a broom back here. Behind the door. Will that do?’
‘I guess it’ll have to,’ said Arbor.
‘Oh, Danny, I was wondering,’ said Amira.
‘What’s that?’
‘If you don’t mind, I might close the door on you while you’re working there. What’s in those bins is sure to stink the shop out.’
Arbor laughed.
‘Hey, it’s good to know who your friends are,’ he said. ‘Yeah, fair enough. I’ll drop the broom back later on.’
He let Amira close the door behind him and then began a vigorous sweep of the lane, pushing everything in his sight back towards the co-op. Before long, he had cleared an area wide enough to spread both sheets of plastic.
He had decided on a simple triage system. The smaller sheet would become home to anything worthy of a second look, anything that might be considered evidence. The larger sheet would become home to anything else. He dragged sheets and bins into position, dropped his watch, keys and phone into his cap, and donned his coveralls. He felt like a fool. His only relief was that he was out of view of the street and therefore unlikely to draw an audience.
He had hoped that lying beneath the surface he might find a weapon, a knife or a cleaver, or perhaps another body part or two. But it wasn’t to be. Several hours had passed before he discovered anything of interest. In the meantime, the second plastic sheet had become a tower of refuse: boxes, paper, plastic, but also bones, offal and parts of animals Arbor had never seen before. His coveralls, originally a shining white, had become bright red. No doubt his uniform underneath was ruined too. And he smelled, a smell he knew that no number of showers would remove.
But he had found something. It had seemed innocuous at first, bundled together with what was clearly waste from the residence: chip packets, chocolate wrappers, junk mail, discarded tissues and the like. It seemed to belong with the junk mail, but was instead tangled in a number of tissues. It was a department store catalogue, remarkable for no other reason than several of the pages being sealed, as if by glue. An ill feeling passed through him. It couldn’t be, he wondered. He placed it to one side.
Enough was enough. Arbor removed his mask and gloves, reached around the corner for his radio and slid to the floor.
‘What’ve you got for me?’
It sounded as if O’Reilly had just woken up.
‘Not a great deal, Sarge,’ said Arbor. ‘There’s no more of Butch here, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
‘Then what happened to the toes?’
‘I was wondering that myself. It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’
‘No. I suppose it doesn’t. So what have you got?’
‘Butch Paterson, Sarge … Exactly how well did you know the bloke?’
‘Well enough. I told you. We played footy together. Why’s that?’
‘It’s just that … There’s something here, Sarge. It looks like … I’ve a feeling your mate had some strange habits. Some habits you might not have known about.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’ve got some junk mail here. A brochure. It came glued together with a bunch of tissues. It looks like he’s been using it as … as a stick book.’
‘Uh-huh. And what’s wrong with that? A man’s got drives, hasn’t he? A few knickers and bras. Pretty harmless stuff, if you ask me.’
‘Yeah, I get what you mean, Sarge,’ said Arbor, ‘but this thing’s stuck together … at the kiddies’ clothing section. At both boys’ and girls’ sections, as far as I can tell.’
Arbor had to wait for a reply.
‘Has anyone else seen it? Have you shown it to anyone?’
‘No. No. Only me.’
‘Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way, eh? How far are you into the bins?’
‘Just about finished. One bin’s empty. The other one … Well, I can see the bottom.’
‘And what else have you found?’
‘Nothing. Just blood and guts mostly. And none of it’s human, as far as I can tell.’
‘Okay, then. Knock it on the head. Clean up your mess and drop what you’ve got in here. I’ll look after it.’
‘Yeah, okay, Sarge … Oh, Sarge. Do you mind if I drop off at home first? I’m rancid. And covered in crap.’
‘Yeah, all right. Just don’t waste your time.’
Arbor dropped the radio and picked up his phone.
‘Hey, Jen.’
‘Danny.’
It was good to hear her voice. When he needed it, her manner was always strong and comforting. The age difference between them, nearly twenty years, had that kind of effect.
‘I heard,’ she said. ‘That’s awful. Are you okay?’
‘Yeah. Nothing a good shower won’t fix. But I’ve had a gutful. I’ve been sorting out all sorts of crap out the back of Butch’s all afternoon. How are you going? Are you just about finished?’
‘Just one more,’ said Jenny. ‘Little Scott Bennett. Can you still pick me up?’
Ten-year-old Scott Bennett was one of several kids Jenny had taken to tutoring in her spare time. It was something to break up the boredom of country life, she had said. The small property she owned just west of town kept her fed, but it had been obvious, even to Arbor, that she needed more than that to keep her stimulated.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ he said. ‘I’ve just called the sarge to let him know what’s what. I’ll finish up here and then nip home for a shower. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Suit you?’
‘Suits me.’
Arbor hung up. He looked around at the pile of garbage before him. The mountain, it seemed, was four times larger than the bins it had come out of.
He scrubbed himself as hard as he could, rubbing soap deep into every inch of his skin, but still the smell of his afternoon’s work remained. It would remain for a while, he figured. He just hoped that Jenny, in particular, would not complain. It was her opinion that mattered most, and he had no desire to keep her at arm’s length. Dried off, and the best part of a bottle of Aramis later, he decided on civvies. If O’Reilly saw him still in uniform, there was a good chance he would put him back to work.
He had little to fear. O’Reilly, too, had decided to call it a day. Arbor was forced to use his key to unlock the station door. O’Reilly had killed most of the lights and had settled into what appeared to be the first of many at
the kitchen table.
‘Show me what you’ve got,’ he said.
Arbor passed him the evidence bag containing the brochure. O’Reilly showed little concern for procedure. He took the brochure from the bag and examined it.
‘It’s a bit strange, I agree,’ he said. ‘But it could be anything. Mayo, maybe? I’m certainly not going to condemn the bloke on the basis of this.’
‘Yeah, maybe not, Sarge,’ said Arbor. ‘But I thought … You will get it looked at, won’t you? I mean, if he was into kids, it might point to some sort of motive.’
‘Yeah, we’ll see,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Leave it with me … I tell you, I’ll see to it. Have you finished all your paperwork?’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘Then clear off. Go on. You might as well have an early night. We’ll be getting the Major Crime Ds up tomorrow. You know what they’re like.’
‘The same ones as last time?’ said Arbor.
The same ones that had made a dog’s breakfast of the Salim Rashid investigation.
‘That depends, I guess,’ said the sergeant, ‘on when they’re appearing in the Hogg case. But if it is them … do you reckon you can handle them this time?’
Arbor had been well and truly handled last time.
‘Yeah, I’ll be all right,’ he said.
‘Go on, then. Hit the road,’ said O’Reilly. ‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than entertain an old fart like me … Leave this with me. I’ll see it finds a home.’
Arbor didn’t need telling again, and he was beyond caring about the brochure. If O’Reilly decided that the best place for it was in his own bin, well, that was his problem. As far as Arbor was concerned, its meaning was apparent and the line of inquiry it offered was undeniable. He headed for the door and the paddy wagon.
Jenny had already finished and was standing by the Bennett family’s 4WD, chatting with the woman of the house. Arbor waited for them to finish their conversation. It didn’t take long.
As Jenny climbed into the wagon, Gloria Bennett offered a wave.
‘Hi, Danny. A real shame about Butch, wasn’t it?’ she said. ‘I feel awful saying it, but he made the best snaggers in the district. Any suspects yet?’
‘No. No one, yet,’ said Arbor.
He knew for sure that the murder would be on everyone’s lips. In a town where nothing much ever happened, it would be a topic of conversation for months.
‘I heard they tried to eat him,’ said Gloria.
‘And where did you hear that, Gloria?’ said Arbor.
‘At the co-op.’
‘I wouldn’t go believing everything you hear.’
‘So it’s not true, then?’ said Gloria.
Arbor didn’t answer. Instead, as Jenny slammed shut her door, he gunned the engine and feigned a momentary deafness. They left her disappointed and bemused.
‘That was cruel,’ said Jenny with a smile. ‘She was only being friendly.’
‘Friendly schmendly,’ said Arbor. ‘I say the wrong thing to anyone and O’Reilly will drill me a new one.’
‘Okay … But you’ll tell me, won’t you?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘No, I suppose I don’t.’
‘I didn’t think so.’
They laughed.
He squeezed her hand and then rested his own on her thigh.
‘Eyes on the road, Buster,’ she said.
He obeyed.
‘Hey, Jen,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘I know you’re probably like me, and just fancy heading home, but would you mind if we took a short detour?’
‘Where to?’ said Jenny.
‘I was talking to Matt and Karen Todd, earlier. They want me to look at the Blue Tongues. I’ve a feeling they want me to coach them.’
‘Uh-huh … And you’re interested in that, are you?’
‘Yeah, I reckon I wouldn’t mind,’ said Arbor. ‘I’m not sure, really. It depends on how serious they are. I mean, if they’re just piss-farting around, forget it. I’ve got better things to do. But if they’re serious …’
‘Yeah, well. Okay, then,’ said Jenny. ‘So long as we’re not too long. I am a bit knackered. And I know that lot. They’ll try and drag us into a drinking session.’
‘That’s hardly surprising,’ said Arbor. ‘I had some thoughts about that already.’
The game was over, it probably had been for some time, but half a dozen Blue Tongues and their partners remained. They had gathered under the one and only floodlight. Eskys were open and several empty stubbies had formed a campfire in the centre of the group. Matt Todd, team captain, rose to meet them. In his day, Arbor thought, Todd might have had an engine that ran all day. Now it had been worn down by advancing years. He was maybe forty, and had a penchant for booze.
‘Danny. Jenny,’ he said. ‘Sorry you missed the game.’
‘Work,’ said Arbor.
‘Yeah, so I heard,’ said Todd.
‘How did you go?’ asked Arbor.
‘We got done. As usual. Eighty points.’
‘Ouch.’
‘We ran out of legs in the last quarter.’
‘Bullshit,’ came a voice. ‘We were gone well before half-time.’
It was Benjie Wood’s voice. In slightly better shape than Todd, Benjie’s features were his short blond hair and specs. He reminded Arbor of a character in Breaking Bad. Todd, Wood and several of the others had grown up together and were the best of mates. Danny had got to know a few of them over the preseason. Jenny, a local, had known them since childhood.
‘Hey, Jenny,’ Benjie continued. ‘If you’re still cradle-snatching, you can snatch me next.’
There was laughter, even from Arbor and Jenny. They were so beyond it now.
‘Fuck off, Benjie,’ said Jenny. ‘You’re older than me.’
‘Do you fancy a beer?’ said Todd.
Here it comes, thought Arbor. He was thankful that his usual choice of beverage remained, for Chatton at least, quite exotic.
‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘I only drink cider.’
‘Wuss,’ said Todd. ‘What about you, Jen?’
‘Yeah, I might as well,’ said Jenny.
‘But I thought …’ said Arbor.
‘Well, you thought wrong, didn’t you?’ said Jenny. She took the beer and opened it with a flourish, then joined Karen Todd on the bonnet of their Honda.
‘So, that was bad news about old Butch,’ said Matt.
‘You’re not wrong,’ said Arbor.
‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ said Benjie. ‘What a way to go.’
‘Did you guys know him much?’ said Arbor.
‘Off and on,’ said Benjie.
‘And, so, Danny,’ said Matt. ‘Do you reckon you can offer us some pearls of wisdom? Can you turn us into Premiership material?’
Arbor laughed.
‘I don’t know about that,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to have a real look. So what’s the story? How many of you are there? All up?’
‘Twenty-two? Twenty-three, maybe?’ said Todd. ‘Twenty-five on a good day. There’s us lot. All the old codgers. And while we are all old codgers, don’t get us wrong. We’ll all fight to the death. You’d be surprised. You know the saying. When the going gets tough. I mean, look at Shorty here. He can run all day. Isn’t that right, Shorty?’
Tony Short opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He nodded his head. Short was, indeed, a short man. Another of Todd’s closest companions, he was a man who didn’t say much. The word was, he let his footy do the talking.
‘And the rest?’ said Arbor.
‘That’s our problem,’ said Todd. ‘We’ve got maybe fifteen or twenty youngsters. Don’t get me wrong. They’re all as keen as mustard. Giant killers, to look at them. But they’re all raw, if you know what I mean. They drop their bundle as soon as we’re a goal or two down. Hell, with that lot, when the going gets tough, they might as well go shopping.’
>
‘Nathan … Nathan Webb,’ said Arbor. ‘I thought he played for you.’
‘So he does,’ said Benjie. ‘He’s one of the best we’ve got. When he feels like it.’
‘But he wasn’t here today?’
Todd shook his head.
‘As I said, when he feels like it,’ he said. ‘But if he turns up, he gets a game. He’s that good.’
‘I’ll have a word with him,’ said Arbor. ‘I live next door. I’m sure I can talk some sense into him.’
‘So you’re interested?’
‘I didn’t say that. I’ll come and have a look at your next few training sessions. Then, if I think I can help, I’ll say so. But I don’t want to come just to watch you drinking piss, do you understand? If I come, you train. Got me?’
‘Yeah. We get you. Don’t we, boys?’
The boys cheered. Arbor didn’t hold his breath.
‘I’m zonked,’ said Jenny, resting her head on Arbor’s shoulder. He couldn’t look at her. The unlit stretch of road ahead needed all his attention.
‘Is that right?’ he said.
‘Yeah, cactus.’
They laughed.
‘You shouldn’t have had those beers, then,’ he said.
‘Yeah, maybe not,’ said Jenny. ‘Ah, but what’s a girl to do? So, you’re going to help them?’
‘Probably,’ said Arbor. ‘I might as well. But I told them. They’re going to have to lay off the grog if they want to improve.’
Jenny laughed again.
‘That’s a big ask,’ she said. ‘Some of those older guys, they’ve been drinking for years. I mean … Matt Todd, Benjie Wood, Alan Wells. Tony Short likes to look after himself, but the rest of them. They’re all my age. You can’t expect them to change overnight.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Arbor.
‘And Nathan,’ Jenny continued. ‘He likes a drink too, doesn’t he? You can’t just single him out for special attention.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Did they mention Butch?’ said Jenny. ‘I thought they might have asked you about him.’
Cold Cuts Page 3
