Croc Country

by Kerry McGinnis

  ‘And Matt’s responsible for the pump?’ Connor used a pocket knife to tease open the knot securing the canister.

  ‘We all take turns starting it, but yes, he services it, puts it in, takes it out for the Wet.’

  ‘So it’s a fair bet that this is his work.’ He tapped the plastic drum, which gave back a heavy, dull sound as if it were full of water, then shortened the rope by a metre and began shredding the cut end with the knife.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘A precaution,’ Connor grunted, straining at the tough strands, ‘against him finding it gone. Don’t want to spook him into doing a runner. There – you reckon a croc might’ve done that, or a boat’s propeller?’

  ‘Umm.’ Tilly pounced on the inference. ‘You think, whatever it is, it’s dodgy?’

  ‘Know any other reason for it to be there?’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go back and find out.’

  At his camp he wiped mud off the drum and fetched what looked like an extremely sharp blade from his tent. ‘Fishing knife,’ he explained as Tilly eyed it from her seat under the flyrig. ‘I don’t think my pen knife’ll cut it. No pun intended.’

  ‘Just do it,’ Tilly said. ‘I can’t imagine what it could be – and that’s worse than not knowing.’

  The heavy plastic yielded grudgingly to the knife blade as Connor sawed at a spot below the shoulder of the square drum. ‘The whole top’s been removed, then replaced – see the welded seam here? Which means the contents didn’t go in through the bung. Can’t be pills or powder – he could’ve just poured those in.’ He paused to flex and rest his hand before resuming his labour.

  Tilly forced her lips to silence and waited tensely on her camp stool until the last bit of plastic was cut. The top of the drum fell away and Connor let out an astounded whistle.

  ‘What? What is it?’ She was on her feet, staring, her mouth dropping open. ‘My God! Is that all money?’

  ‘Looks like it. Here, better get it out of sight.’ Hoisting the drum up, he kicked the tent flap aside for her to enter and followed her in. A camp stretcher filled the back of the space and he dumped the drum’s contents onto the grey blanket covering it. It tumbled out in thick stacks, each individually wrapped in plastic. They fell helter-skelter across the stretcher and a few onto the canvas floor. Tilly stooped automatically to retrieve them.

  ‘God in heaven!’ she said faintly. ‘There must be hundreds, thousands of dollars here.’ She turned one of the bundles in her hands. ‘These are all fifties. Are those the same?’

  Connor squatted by the bed and examined the bricks of money. ‘Looks like it. Okay, Tilly, you’re my witness. Just wait till I grab my camera. I’ll document it, count it and get you to sign something to verify the amount. Jesus! Looks like I was right. There’s more than a bit of poaching going on around here – you’d need a bloody zoo of animals to make half of this little lot!’

  It took a while to reach a total, but once the bricks had been stacked up on the stretcher, photographed, and one of them opened to ascertain its value, the counting began, with Tilly keeping a running total on the back of a flyer advertising pizza.

  ‘I make it sixty thousand.’ Connor straightened his back. ‘Some of ’em are hundred-dollar bricks. Wouldn’t have fit otherwise. So the racket pays – in spades, I’d say! And it tells us something else about Mercer too.’

  Mercer, Tilly belatedly remembered, was Matt. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That he’s not casual help. Remember I said they’d need a man on the ground to keep track of the rangers’ movements? I was thinking of hired help, but no way – Mercer’s running the show. He’s the boss.’

  ‘Because of this?’ She indicated the now re-packed drum. ‘Isn’t it a fairly risky strategy, keeping it in the river? Supposing a croc had snapped the rope? Why not bank it? It would be safer surely?’

  Connor nodded. ‘Safer, but a bit hard to account for. Dirty money has to be laundered or held in cash. The last thing your villain wants is for the tax man to find vast undeclared sums in bank accounts. They tend to notify the cops.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I hadn’t thought . . . So what happens now?’

  He smiled at her. ‘A cuppa first. Then I’ll get you to sign something verifying the amount of cash and the circumstances under which you saw it recovered. After that,’ he said, glancing at his watch, ‘I’ll head for Darwin to hand it over to my superiors. And you can’t—’

  ‘I know,’ Tilly sighed, ‘I won’t say a word. Not even to Sophie, I suppose?’

  ‘Better not,’ he agreed soberly. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust her, but when you know something damning about a person, it’s hard not to show that you know. And crims have good antennae. Besides, if he finds the money gone – hopefully he won’t – but if he does, you musn’t give him any cause to think it anything but an accident.’ His gaze and tone were serious now. ‘Be very careful, Tilly. I don’t want anything happening to you.’

  ‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t,’ she replied, her mind running on ahead of her assurance. ‘He must meet with somebody – some sort of messenger for the gang – fairly often, don’t you think? How else would the money get here? He hardly ever leaves the place.’

  ‘No reason why he should. Anyone could pose as a tourist to meet him and pass it over. It’s an ideal set-up. He’s on the spot, but at one remove from the action. The goods, whatever they are – parrots, people, drugs – are passed and the payoff comes back to him in untraceable cash, which he plants. I wonder how many more caches he might have around the place?’

  ‘Good Lord!’ Tilly said faintly. ‘I never thought . . . You don’t really think there could be another drumful somewhere?’

  Connor shrugged. ‘Depends. Is this lot a season’s work, or two, or five? Till we know that, we can’t even begin to guess. I’ve got to admit it’s a sweet deal, though. If things were to go belly-up for him, he can grab the swag and run.’ He coughed awkwardly. ‘I reckon it’s a pretty big organisation to generate this sort of dough, and I think your husband’s a part of it. He pretty well has to be, given that he turned up here and then vanished overnight, as it were. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it’s looking.’

  Tilly swallowed. ‘I know. And he’s my husband in name only, now – whatever we had is over. I want nothing further to do with him.’ She stood up. ‘I’d better be getting back. Oh, I’ve just remembered. We were at the cave yesterday – Luke and Jane and I – and that box the snake was in?’ He nodded and she continued, ‘It’s gone. So somebody’s been back for it. And last night I just suddenly thought, what if the poachers are getting ready to catch another lot? It would explain taking the box. They could be coming back.’

  Connor frowned and glanced behind him at the money. ‘It’s possible. I wish I wasn’t going – but I must. Look, try not to worry, Tilly. I’ll be back as quick as I can. Just be careful around Matt, eh? Forget this morning ever happened.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. You’re the one carrying the cash. God! What if you were robbed? It doesn’t happen much out here, but if it did! The baddie’d think he’d lucked onto a travelling bank.’

  Connor laughed. ‘Not gonna happen.’ He was packing the tea-making utensils away as he spoke and zipping the tent flap closed. ‘I’ll head off then. But I’ll be back as soon as I can. Anybody asks, I’m busy chasing orchids in the wilds of Spadgers Creek.’

  ‘You’d better let Bruce Hansen know then,’ she suggested. ‘Matt’s leery of you, doesn’t totally believe in your botany. It’d be just like him to check, and he’s at the station often enough to do it, too. We get our meat from them, and our supplies are left there. It’s his job to fetch them.’

  ‘Good thinking. I’ll do that. Bye then, Tilly.’

  ‘Take care.’ When she’d reached her vehicle, she glanced back in time to see him heaving his swag into the back of his own. She hoped he treated the money less cavalierly, then, with the thought of facing Matt knowing what she now did, wished treacherously that h
e wasn’t going. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if she would be alone with him – Sophie would be there, and Luke. She would just immerse herself in the details of her mother’s visit, she decided, talk about nothing else and make endless plans for when she arrived. And if Matt was in the habit of checking his hidden stash, then finding it gone should similarly occupy his thoughts until he wouldn’t notice if she were to paint herself blue.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Once back at the homestead, the day continued without incident. Luke was a little down in the mouth after Jane’s departure, but a discussion started by Tilly about the bats diverted his thoughts from his missing sweetheart. He calculated how long the photos would take to be developed and returned, and had recourse again to the reference books to pore over and re-examine the information it contained.

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ Sophie said placidly. ‘This is the north, mate. It’s pointless wishing for speed in anything.’

  ‘I know. I just want—’ The ring of the phone cut off the rest of his words as he bounced to his feet. ‘That’ll be Jane. She said she’d ring after seven.’

  He returned shortly, beaming. ‘She got the film in to the chemist. It’ll be on its way on tomorrow’s plane.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Tilly said. She calculated flights. ‘So you should have the pics back by the mail after next. My mum’ll be here next week. Maybe we could take her to see the bats, Luke? Just in case they’re a major find that’ll make you famous.

  Then she could tell all her friends that she knew you when you were just a humble ranger.’

  ‘You’ll keep.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘There’s lots of old fence wire still to roll.’

  ‘I see your botanist has finally cleared out,’ Matt interjected curtly. ‘Run outta weeds, has he?’

  ‘Gone?’ Sophie looked up. ‘Did you collect his camping fees? We are charging him, you know.’

  ‘You better send a bill then,’ Matt sneered. ‘He never stopped, just roared through.’

  ‘He hasn’t gone,’ Tilly defended the absent Connor. ‘At least only for a few days. He said he was heading down to Spadgers Creek, on an orchid hunt I think. I noticed his camp’s still there.’ Better to keep it vague, she thought; it might prevent further questions. The idea seemed to work, for Matt simply grunted and, to her relief, let the subject drop.

  The following night was a Thursday. Tilly again found herself running the slide show for the campers. The bird names she now mostly knew by heart, needing to call upon Luke only to differentiate between such species as the greater and lesser egrets. When she had run through them, he slipped another loaded holder into the projector and clicked the first slide into place to display an emu-apple tree.

  ‘Okay,’ Luke addressed the audience in his easy way. ‘Anyone recognise this?’

  A man in the audience gruffly sang out the name. ‘Very good,’ Luke said. ‘Now, some facts about it – anybody? And this includes you, Ranger Tilly. What do you know about its uses, timber strength, seeds?’

  ‘Um,’ Tilly hesitated, hoping she’d got the scrap of lore right. ‘Its name comes from the fact that its fruit has to pass through an emu’s digestive system before the seed will germinate?’

  ‘Correct. A gold star for our Apprentice Ranger. Its habitat is the sandstone country, and you can use the bark to catch fish. How about that?’

  ‘Really?’ Tilly wasn’t the only one to voice scepticism for the claim.

  ‘Perfectly true,’ Luke said. ‘There’s a toxin in the bark that de-oxygenates water. The fish can’t breathe, so they drift to the surface and lie there waiting to be picked up. It’s just temporary, with no lasting ill effects. Something to remember if you’re stuck without a feed or a fishing line. Now this next one – I’ll bet everyone recognises this . . .’ It was a wattle. He told them how the seed pods could be used as bush soap, then ran on through a medley of different species, all of which grew on Binboona, each with their peculiar characteristics and uses. His audience clapped loudly at the end and Tilly, helping to pack up the gear, commended his performance.

  ‘That was really interesting, Luke. You know such a lot.’

  He grinned. ‘You will too, by the time you’re a fully fledged ranger. Seriously though, people interested enough to visit here should take the trouble to learn all they can. It’s their heritage after all. Wildlife Reserves are meant to be an experience, not a fun park.’

  ‘You really love your job, don’t you? I wouldn’t be surprised if half the kids who hear you leave here wanting to be rangers.’

  ‘They could do worse.’ He shouldered the screen. ‘You got the torch? I mean, fresh air, mozzies, heat, mud – be like joining the army, only nobody shoots at you.’

  Poker-faced, she interjected, ‘You forgot about pulling down old fences.’

  He snorted with laughter. ‘Not really – I’m saving that up for tomorrow.’

  Connor returned on the weekend. Tilly, whose turn it was to cook, heard the vehicle coming and stepped out onto the verandah ready to register the newcomers. She recognised the vehicle and watched, disappointed, as it slowed but failed to stop. Connor simply waved as he drove past. Well, she could see him tomorrow at the camp, not that she had any need to. He’d obviously delivered the money, and she had nothing to report. Matt had been his usual silent self, so plainly he had yet to discover his loss.

  Irritated with herself, Tilly clicked her tongue as she returned to her task of filling the smoko tins. It was pointless – shades of Sophie! – pretending to herself. She cared for the man, she might as well admit it. Her heart beat faster in his company and she was pretty sure the feeling was returned. When she was with him she’d felt a steady regard emanating from him – she couldn’t be wrong about that. And he had helped her in lots of ways when he could just have walked by: with the pump, for instance, and restraining that odious police sergeant. They’d had a nice day out at the coast that first time, and surely he didn’t go around giving his carvings to every woman he met? No, there was definitely a connection.

  Besides, she reminded herself, she had no reason to feel guilt. It wasn’t as if she was still mourning her husband. Far from it! Gerry’s coldblooded deception had killed her love, making a mockery of the long months of grieving she had done for him. He had abandoned her in her grief, a grief he should have shared for their lost daughter, and that was a betrayal she could never forgive.

  Sophie, coming into the kitchen at that moment, found her young cousin standing staring raptly through the window. ‘You taking up meditation, Till?’

  ‘Huh? Oh, no I was just . . . woolgathering. Actually,’ she contradicted herself, ‘I was thinking about Connor. He just returned. I feel – well, I like him, Soph. Quite a bit, and I’m trying to convince myself it’s okay to do so. In my circumstances, I mean. How do you stop loving someone? Can you? Because I have. I feel nothing for Gerry now, just a sort of tired sadness over how it’s all turned out.’ She pondered a moment. ‘It’s not hatred, that’s too strong a word, but I despise him, and love can’t live with that. I know you can love someone even if you don’t always like them – that’s human nature – but when they’ve acted despicably . . . Well, it’s hard to come back from that.’

  ‘I don’t see why you should even try,’ Sophie said bluntly. ‘I wouldn’t. There was something – I don’t know – facile about Gerry. You want the truth? I never liked him. He was always too smooth, too accommodating, like nothing really mattered enough to him for it to be worth his knuckling down and scrapping for it. That’s not how life works. Not as I know it, anyway. You’ve got to do the hard yards – in a job, a relationship, anything. You don’t get to skim over stuff and just select the easy bits.’ She touched Tilly’s hand, saying slowly, ‘I don’t want to hurt you, love, but when I learnt he was alive, I wasn’t all that surprised. Little Francie died, but sooner than face up to that, and you – and I suppose his creditors – he just made himself scarce. Typical of the behaviour I�
�d seen in him.’

  Tilly looked surprised. ‘You never said.’

  ‘No, well, he was your pick, and I didn’t see that much of either of you, remember.’

  ‘So you think it’s okay that I fancy Connor?’

  ‘God, yes! Not that it’s anything to do with me, or anyone else. You fancy the pants off whoever you want. He seems a decent bloke, if a bit on the sneaky side, but the sort to stick, if this job he’s on is any yardstick. Do you think he fancies you back?’

  Tilly blushed. ‘I do, a bit. And I really like him, Sophie. He’s clever and kind, and thoughtful – and not bad looking either.’

  Her cousin rolled her eyes. ‘Dear Lord! First Luke and now you.’ She dropped the banter. ‘Seriously? I’m pleased for you, Till. You’re overdue a bit of happiness, and you don’t owe that husband of yours a second thought.’

  Tilly nodded and sighed out a little breath, adding inconsequentially, ‘Mum’ll be here in a few days.’

  ‘Will you introduce them to each other?’

  ‘I was thinking about that. I . . . Oh my God! The biscuits!’ She dashed to the stove, where a curl of smoke was issuing from the oven and the question remained unanswered.

  The following Wednesday, Tilly was at the airstrip to meet her mother. As the pilot gave her a hand down from the plane, Elaine Williams thanked him, then gave herself a little shake as if to confirm her feet were back on solid ground and opened her arms to her daughter. ‘Tilly! You look well, love. It’s such a treat to finally be here. My, it’s warm isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, the days are lovely here now,’ Tilly agreed. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. It’s a long way. How was your trip?’

  ‘That was my first small plane.’ Elaine shuddered. ‘I think I like them bigger.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Back in Darwin, there was a girl flying one of them.’

  ‘Women drive trains these days, and fly jets, Mum. I imagine a Cessna would be a piece of cake. How’s Dad?’ Tilly asked dutifully.