Deep in the Shallows

by J. L. O'Rourke

  In the dairy I grabbed bread, soup and milk, aware all the time that I was being surreptitiously watched by the woman behind the counter and a second woman leaning on the front of it. I faked my smile again and carried on browsing, listening as they gossiped about the possibility of Gunna rising from the dead or floating in on the high tide.

  “He hasn’t turned up at Maggie’s, by any chance?” the shopkeeper asked me directly as I placed my goods on the counter. “You’re up there sorting her stuff, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am sorting her stuff for the estate. I’m Andy North. Do you really think that man will turn up at her house?” I hoped my acting was good enough to convince them. “What? Like a zombie?”

  “That’s a good one.” The second woman thumped the counter with her fist and roared a deep, lusty laugh. “A zombie! Ha, with Gunna, you wouldn’t notice any difference. He looks like a zombie in his Sunday best.”

  The shopkeeper joined in with the laughter while I tried to look incredulous, even though a picture of Zombie Gunna floated in my imagination. They were right.

  “No,” the shopkeeper exclaimed as she tallied up my purchases, “but he lives up that way in a caravan, so if he isn’t floating in the lake, stands to reason you might see him up there.”

  “Oh, that old caravan down by the lake?” I kept up my pretence of ignorance. “I can just see that out Maggie’s windows. The police came and checked it, so I assume he isn’t there.”

  As they continued to discuss whether or not Gunna would reappear, I paid for my groceries and left, promising I would let them know if I saw anything strange and knowing I had already broken that promise. I did my best to stick to the speed limit driving back to Maggie’s house.

  Chapter 10

  Back at the house, I couldn’t settle and found myself pacing aimlessly through the rooms, picking up objects and putting them down without consciously noticing I was doing it, checking my watch every few minutes and racing to the window every time I convinced myself I heard a vehicle coming up the gravel road. I avoided looking over at the woolshed, riddled with a ridiculous paranoia that somehow, from the police station miles away, Carlton would see me looking at the shed and all our plans would fall through. When the paranoia got so intense that I began talking to myself out loud, I forced myself to go outside where I could walk around the whole house and glance over at the woolshed without it looking obvious to the omniscient eyes of my imaginary watcher.

  Walking didn’t help. I was hearing noises all around me and I jumped at every one of them. From the lake the mournful cry of a bird made me shiver, then the garage door rattled in the light breeze and froze me to the spot before common sense made me keep walking to where I could see the woolshed looking completely normal. Shaking my head at my own gullibility, I went back inside and was just about to turn on the electric jug to make coffee when I really did hear a car approaching. Bruno was smiling when he burst through the door.

  “The shit is about to hit the fan,” he grinned.

  “Where’s Gunna?”

  “Driving with the plain clothes cop to show him where to come.”

  “Isn’t he worried people will see him?”

  “Apparently, according to his logic, the locals would look at me as they know my car but, as it’s a main road, they won’t look twice at a car they don’t recognise, so Gunna reckons nobody will notice him as long as they drive through the town without stopping. Anyway, they shouldn’t be too far behind me. Gunna’s going to show him the body bits in the woolshed then all hell is going to break loose. In fact, that sounds like them now. Let’s go and join the circus.”

  We crossed the paddock to the woolshed where we met Gunna and Harris, the same detective I had met at the lake, who seemed surprised to meet me again. He shook my hand before Gunna led the way around the bottom of the shed and through the doors into the gloom of the pig pen. The stench was intense.

  “Bloody hell!” Harris swore over the high-pitched squealing of the hungry pigs. “What the hell has he been doing in here?”

  “Like we told your boss, illegal trading in wild meat and, just to top it off, killing a bloke and feeding his body to those guys,” Gunna answered, motioning towards the pigs with a flick of his thumb.

  Harris pulled a powerful torch from his pocket, turned it on and swept the light over the pile of swans.

  “Bloody hell! So you reckon there’s a man’s body in there?”

  “Yep.” Bruno leant forwards and pointed to the odd bit of colour in the pile. “Right there. That’s a bit of his jacket and his head’s just a bit to the left. See, by the black wing.”

  “Don’t touch it!” Harris leant forwards to grab Bruno’s arm. “Let’s get back out into the fresh air and I’ll call in the forensic guys.” From behind their wire fence the pigs squealed. “And we’ll need a vet to deal with those two.”

  “I’m a vet,” Bruno reminded him. “There’s an old guy up the road who’s an expert on pigs. In fact, Gunna thinks these two have been stolen from his place. I’m sure he will take them, even if they’re not his. I’ll just have to go up there and borrow his trailer.”

  Harris was already heading back outside, sucking the fresh air into his lungs.

  “Oh, hell that’s just nasty in there. Right, you go get whatever you need to remove those pigs and I’ll phone my team. They’ll need to take photos of the pigs in situ but then we’ll need them gone asap so we can set up some decent lighting in there and start working through that pile. Bloody hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that before.”

  There wasn’t much Gunna or I could do, so we stood to one side while Harris spoke to someone on his phone and Bruno sprinted back across the paddock then drove away in the direction of van Rooy’s farm.

  “They’re taking bets down at the pub on what day you will float up in the lake,” I told Gunna. “And I’ve been warned that you might turn up at Maggie’s house – oh that’s right, you did.”

  Gunna chuckled. “Like a bad penny, I’m bound to turn up somewhere. Maybe tonight. I might just turn up at the pub for a beer. That would cause a bit of a ruction.”

  “Right,” Harris turned to us, “The team is on its way and I’ve told them to keep radio silence so Carlton doesn’t get wind of what’s going on. I’ve also spoken to his immediate superior who’s going to keep Carlton occupied so he won’t have a chance to get up here before the team has done its work. So now we wait for them to get here. I don‘t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of coffee while we wait?”

  “Not a problem,” I replied. “I’ll go get us some. How do you like it?”

  “Milk and two, thanks.”

  “Me, too,” Gunna added.

  I left the men talking, grateful for something to do as my paranoia was returning. I still felt as if I was being watched, even though I knew Carlton was nowhere near. It didn’t take long to make three mugs of coffee, but climbing back through the fence without spilling them was too hard, so I took the long way, up Maggie’s drive and along the road. From that angle the woolshed looked less dilapidated than it actually was. Carlton had obviously gone to some lengths to maintain the front so nothing that happened inside was visible to anyone driving past. I rejoined the two men who muttered their thanks as they took the warm mugs.

  “The biggest problem,” Harris said between sips, “is going to be pinning Carlton to this and making it stick. Unless we find good evidence, he can admit to owning the building but claim he never went near it so had no idea what it was being used for. This is going to get very tricky.”

  “Nah, I’ve got evidence,” Gunna replied. “Photos, videos too, of him and Nettles. And I’ve got a log book – times, dates, everything you need.”

  “Good. That’s really good. Now all we need is my team to arrive. Come on guys!”

  As it was, Bruno arrived first, towing an enclosed tandem trailer and accompanied by a bent, grizzled old man who seemed much too small for the bushy, grey beard that covered all
of his face except his rheumy blue eyes and fell almost to his waist. Bruno helped him down from the Land Rover’s cab, introducing him as Hank van Rooy before leading him through the door into the smelly depths of the woolshed. After a few minutes they returned and van Rooy nodded.

  “Yep, that’s Helga and Hortense. I thought they’d wandered off up the back somewhere. Didn’t realise some bugger’d stolen them. Soon as you like, I’ll load ‘em up and get ‘em out of your hair.”

  “I guess you saw the pile of carcasses in there?” Harris asked. “Would those pigs really eat all of that? Could you really get rid of a body that way?”

  “Yep. Yep, indeed you could. Pigs’ll pretty much eat anything, although I’m not so sure about the feathers. They ain’t fussy, ‘specially if you keep ‘em hungry and that’s all they’re gettin’ fed. Not good for ‘em though. I’ll have to keep an eye on ‘em for a while and get some decent feed into ‘em. Poor old girls.”

  I was still struggling to think of the giant, shrieking monsters as poor old girls when two cars and a van pulled in through the gate. The forensic team had arrived. Bruno herded Hank to where Gunna and I were standing out of the way and we all watched, fascinated as the team swung into action and amused each time one of them rushed back out of the woolshed to vomit into the grass. Floodlights and a power generator were carried in, followed by a photographer, but we were kept firmly on the outside for over an hour before Harris gave Bruno the all-clear to remove the pigs. I hung back, preparing to hide as I expected the pigs to charge out and attack us, but instead, to everyone’s amazement, Bruno cut the padlock to open the pen and Hank stepped forwards, called the pigs’ names softly, and patted them on their wiry snouts. The two hulking beasts grunted, snuffled at his hand and peacefully followed him through the door and up the ramp onto the trailer.

  “Well, I’ll be buggered,” Harris exclaimed. “Here was I, thinking we’d have to shoot them with a tranquiliser gun. This day just gets weirder by the minute. Mr van Rooy, Bruno,” he ran to the trailer, “can you please keep those two in quarantine for a few days? We’re going to need to collect their droppings to run forensic tests on.”

  “You want their poo as evidence?” Hank laughed.

  “Yes, we do. We need proof of what they’ve been eating.”

  “Then you’re welcome to all you can pick up. It’s all yours.”

  “Thanks,” Harris rounded on two constables standing near the door. “That will be a lovely job for whichever one of you pisses me off most this week.” The constables avoided eye contact.

  As Bruno helped Hank into the Land Rover, I asked Harris if Gunna and I could wait back at the house. Gunna declined the offer, preferring to stay and watch, but I had no desire to see the carcasses as they were brought out of the shed so I was relieved when Harris agreed I could leave.

  Back at the house, I rinsed out the coffee mugs and poured myself another cup, then forced my reluctant brain into work mode. A check of my inventory list showed I had nearly finished itemising all the contents of the house, and the shed full of taxidermied birds and strange tools, so that left only the garage to deal with. With a bit of luck, the birds and tools would all belong to Gunna and I wouldn’t have to touch any of them. Gunna would have to move them, but where he would move them to? The caravan wasn’t big enough. Would he have to move the caravan too? It was on Maggie’s land and if the house was sold, the new owners might not want a weird old hippy camping on their lakefront. I wished they had got around to getting married. Gunna’s future looked bleak.

  Fortified by coffee, biscuits and determination, I shut off thoughts of what was happening in the woolshed and concentrated on Maggie’s extensive wardrobe, leaving the vintage collectible clothes on their colour-co-ordinated hangers and shelves, but throwing the everyday pieces, such as her flannelette nightgowns and underwear, into black rubbish bags to be dumped. I was engrossed in a shelf of felt hats when Bruno found me to tell me he had delivered Hank and the pigs and was heading back to his veterinary practice in Mosgiel.

  “Amy has left me six messages, each one grumpier than the last,” he said, “so I’d better show my face.”

  Amy, I had forgotten about Amy. I’d be grumpy too if my boyfriend hadn’t been home all night.

  “Give Jackson a pat for me,” was all the response I could force myself to give.

  “Will do. I’ll be back later. I’ll bring food.”

  Then he was gone. I felt flat, empty. Damn Amy. As he drove away I couldn’t concentrate and found myself walking to the lounge without any real purpose. I stepped out onto the deck to get a better look at the police team still busy at the woolshed but, much as I was curious to know what was happening, I knew I wouldn’t be told anything, so going over there was pointless. Gunna would fill me in when he returned. Back to work.

  Gunna found me an hour later, hugging and stroking a fur coat.

  “It’s so soft,” I offered as an excuse for my odd behaviour. “Is it mink?”

  “No, just good old bunny rabbit,” Gunna replied. “Maggie shot them.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope, told you she was a good shot. I know fur’s not fashionable anymore but Maggie looked on it as recycling. They’re a pest around here and have to be culled, so she found a good use for them. Made a great rabbit stew too.”

  “And this one?” I pulled a jacket from the wardrobe.

  “Possum. Trapped by me.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure if the coats still held the appeal they did before Gunna told me where they came from. I changed the subject. “How’s it going over at the woolshed?”

  “They’re packing up for the day but I think they’ll be back tomorrow. They’ve bagged up all the dead swans and found several bits of whoever that poor bastard is, but from what Harris is muttering, identifying him is going to be a hard job. There’s not a lot left but, hopefully, my photos will help. I’d love to be a fly on the wall at the police station though.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Harris has taken a couple of constables with him and he’s off to arrest Carlton.”

  “Arrest him? Did they find enough evidence to do that?”

  “Not sure, maybe arrest is the wrong word. Hold him for questioning, that’s what Harris said.”

  “I wonder if he will plead ignorance or drop Nettles right in it?”

  “Both, I reckon,” Gunna said. “He’ll weasel out of it any way he can. Still, I’ve given Harris my camera with some pretty incriminating photos on it and I’m here to sort some more of my files so I can give them to him tomorrow.”

  Gunna left me re-hanging, counting and noting the fur coats so when Bruno finally arrived back carrying a parcel of fish and chips, I had a smug feeling of accomplishment, which didn’t last long.

  “Harris rang me,” Bruno threw his Swanndri onto a chair and faced me. “Carlton has done a bunk.”

  “What?”

  “Harris expected him to be at the police station but he never turned up. His police car is there but his own car has gone.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah, Harris is pretty pissed off. I wouldn’t want to be the person who slipped Carlton the warning, if anybody did. Harris is wondering if he had some sort of alarm system attached to the gate. I offered to go and have a look for one but he’s warning us to stay well away. If Carlton’s spooked, he might be dangerous.”

  “Great. Are we safe here tonight?”

  “We should be but let’s draw the curtains and lock all the doors, just in case.”

  “That fills me with confidence – not.”

  “Let’s not worry about it. There’s a constable standing guard up at the woolshed, so if Carlton turns up there, he’s going to get caught, but I’m still going to listen out for any cars going up the road. In the mean time, where’s Gunna? These fish and chips’ll be cold if we don’t eat them soon.”

  Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a stoked-up, roaring fire, eating fish and chips out
of their newspaper wrapping, seemed a world away from the horrors of the woolshed. As I didn’t want to be reminded of the pile of carcasses while I was eating, I banned any talk of it. Instead, our dinner held the same surreal quality of domesticity I had felt before. It wasn’t somebody else’s house that I was staying in, it was my house, my friends (or did they feel more like family?) and my warm, comforting fire. All I needed was my dog, which made me feel sad as I knew in my heart I needed to give Jackson to Gunna, who obviously loved him dearly and who had lost enough when Maggie died.

  I was laughing at Gunna’s stories of Bruno as a schoolboy when I heard a car stop outside and a car door slam shut. We all froze as footsteps pounded up the steps. As a fist knocked on the door, Gunna slipped away through the bookcase into the secret room. I called out “Who is it?” as Bruno positioned himself out of sight behind the door.

  “Ian Carlton,” the response came. “I’ve brought you the printed version of your statement for your insurance.”

  “Okay, just a minute.” I stalled for time, shrugging and mouthing a “what do I do?” message to Bruno. He looked unsure so I decided to be brave, stepped forwards and opened the door. To the side I could see Bruno texting furiously, presumably to Harris.

  “Hi,” I greeted Carlton as cheerfully as I could fake. “That’s very kind of you. You didn’t need to come all this way, but I do appreciate it.” I took the piece of paper he offered, hoping he would leave, but he stood firm.

  “Have you noticed anyone up at my shed today?” he asked.

  “No, no,” I lied. “I haven’t looked out the windows much, to be honest. I’ve been trying to get my job finished here so I can go home, so I’ve spent all day stuck in Maggie’s giant walk-in wardrobe, listing her vintage clothes. Her wardrobe’s massive,” I prattled on, “there’s one whole rack just of fur coats. It was getting dark by the time I’d finished, so, no, I haven’t had time to notice anything else. Why? Has something happened? Have they found Gunna?”