Bony - 18 - Death of a Lake

by Arthur W. Upfield

  “Nothing.”

  “Tracks you musta seen.”

  “No. The rabbits wiped out your tracks.”

  The possessive pronoun was not missed.

  “You seen no other tracks?”

  “As I said … the rabbits …”

  “Yair, I heard.”

  Lester pondered and Bony patiently waited. The veranda roof creaked under the torture of the sun. Beyond its shade the earth was polished by the sun, light red on the summit, dark red in the gullies of the miniature dunes kicked up by human feet all the way to the house on the far side of the open space. The shadows cast by the distant house, the out-build­ings backed by the pepper trees, were black. White patches in one such shadow were the gasping hens.

  “You know, Bony,” Lester drawled, “there’s something up between Ma Fowler and Mac and between Harry and Joan what’s different to just playing ring-a-ring-a-roses. Right now those two women will be watching us, wondering what we’re saying, wondering what we know and what we don’t know. If I talk, you keep it to yourself?”

  “Don’t talk if you’d rather not,” urged Bony. “As I’ve told you I’ll be gone with my cheque in a couple of weeks. I men­tioned those birds at Johnson’s merely as a warning because I saw how suspicious Carney and Mac were this morning.”

  “I know, and I’m not liking you less for it, Bony. It’s be­cause you’re only casual, and because you got eyes, that I reckon you could do me another good turn. If y’would.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I got to start with them two women,” Lester proceeded and at once proved he could think straight. “They came here, and mighty soon got everything changed over at the house and with the cooking and such. We could see they was on the make, but they was good sports and played around. You know how it is for a few blokes in a place like this.

  “After Ray Gillen come here, things were stirred up a bit. Mac had been chasin’ Ma Fowler and Harry had been after Joan when she was passed up by Martyr, who, I suppose, reck­oned he’d have to be careful, or take the sack from Wallace. Ray was a good bloke in all ways. Them women played up to him, but he was too cunnin’ to be properly caught. He’d take one and then the other out of an evening on his motor-bike. He’d tease ’em and make ’em wild, and kiss ’em when they wasn’t expectin’ him to, and all that. He was always crackin’ jokes and bettin’ he’d do anything better’n the next … and always winning, too.

  “One day me and Ray was sent to patch up the yards at Johnson’s Well and we went there on his bike. We took our lunches as it was a long job. And that day Ray told me he was suspicious that someone had opened his suitcase and gone through his things.

  “He swore he always kept his case locked, and that the locks weren’t just ordinary and easy to pick. Always had the key with a gold locket on a string tied round his neck. I seen it there. Everyone did. Even when he went swimming he had that key and locket round his neck.

  “We nutted out who could have got to his case when Ray was out in the paddocks. There was Carney who slept in the same room as him, and there was them two women always home when every man Jack of us would be out working. Any of us others could have tackled Ray’s case, but would take a hell of a risk of being seen, going in or coming out of his room, by one of the women.

  “I arst Ray what was in the case he was so particular about, and he said there was two hundred quid he had saved up. When I told him he ought to take it to the homestead to be locked in the book-keeper’s safe, he said he could look after his own dough.

  “Two nights after we pitched that day, he was drowned. Then Martyr got me and George Barby to be with him when he went through Ray’s case to find out about his people or such. The case wasn’t locked, that stonkered me, but I was more stonkered when there wasn’t any money in it.

  “I’ve never said anythin’ about Ray tellin’ me he had two hundred in his case, and ever since I been wonderin’ if he planted the dough some place, or if it was stolen by someone who dun him in for it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Business Proposition

  “TWO HUNDRED QUID makes a tidy packet,” Lester said, sniffling. “I thought about who might have took it, and if no one did, then where would Ray plant it? He had time to plant it, see! I got to workin’ it out. It couldn’t have been Mac, ’cos he’d have rushed off to the nearest pub. Harry, yes. Carney is shrewed, and he don’t drink. Then there’s George Barby. George is always careful of his money. He likes a drop, but not enough to blow two hundred on a bender.

  “Then something happened what hit me to leg. It was about three weeks after Ray went off. I was repairing the fences round the horse paddock when a wire snapped back and gashed me arm. It bled a lot, and I came home for something to stop it. All hands were away, so I went over to the kitchen to get Ma Fowler to fix me arm properly. And when I walked into the annexe, them women was arguing in the kitchen, spittin’ at each other like a coupla cats.

  “Joan was saying that she didn’t have any of the money, and that if Carney had found it he was keepin’ it to himself. She goes on to say that it’s more’n likely Mac dug it up some­where, else where did he get the money to buy Ma that emerald ring. Ma threatened to smash Joan’s face in if she bilked her for her share, and Joan laughs and says: if ever she did lay her hands on that twelve thousand five hundred quid her Ma would never know.

  “They goes at it, and I’m quiet and listening in the annexe, and after a bit Joan says something about Ray’s gold locket. Ma tells her to forget about the locket, saying it’ll be many a year before anyone finds Ray Gillen. Joan says it’ll be about a year before the Lake dries out, and first on the body gets the locket, and whoever gets the locket gets that twelve thousand five hundred of the best.

  “With that Joan goes out of the kitchen and I cleared back to the pepper trees and went in again as though for the first time, and Ma Fowler doctored me arm. And sweet as sugar, she was.”

  Lester’s watery eyes encountered Bony’s steady regard, and Bony nodded.

  “It sorta come plain to me why them women and Carney and Mac always seem to be watching each other,” Lester said. “I knew them four was up to something, and when I heard the women quarrelling I knew what about. I could never make out how the locket came into it, unless it was a sort of clue telling where Ray had planted his money.

  “But the thing that stuck in me mind was the amount of dough the women mentioned. I wrote it in words on a bit of paper. Then I wrote it in figures with the pound sign in front, and I knew I had seen them figures in a paper some time. I got a good memory for horses and performances and sporting dates, and I stewed over them figures for weeks before they hit me between the eyes.

  “I could tell you where I seen them figures and when I seen ’em. I couldn’t contact any names by them figures, but I re­member suddenly the yarn told about ’em. There was two blokes up in Queensland what won £25,000 in a lottery, and they divi’d the cash between ’em in a pub bedroom. I musta read about it in a sportin’ paper, ’cos I don’t read no other kind except the sport pages.” Lester closed his eyes. “I can see them figures now, Bony. £25,000 and some words I can’t re­member, and then £12,500, as plain as I can see you.”

  “Are you telling me, Bob, that you believe Gillen had £12,500 in his case?” Bony prompted.

  “I am, Bony. I am tellin’ you just that. Look! Ray comes here from nowhere. Has a suitcase what he always keeps locked and the key around his neck. He gets worried when someone has a go at his case. He tells me he’s got two hundred in it. Two hundred quid is a nice wad, but not so big that anyone here would of done him in for it. Even take it out of his case. But £12,500 is something, Bony.”

  “I agree, but …”

  “What?”

  “A man would be a fool to get around with all that money in a suitcase.”

  “Ray Gillen was a fool,” countered Lester.

  “All right, then. But would he take a job here when he had all that money?”


  “Yair. And I know why. He told me. His bike had broke down beyond Johnson’s, and he walked here the next morning to get repairs. We was all out except the women. He was asked in for morning smoko. He seen Joan. So he asked Martyr for a job. He said so.”

  “But £12,500!” Bony persisted, and Lester sniffled.

  “Caw! Be your age. I carried a swag once with over four hundred quid and cheques for another two hundred in me hip pocket. Stormy Sam had a cigar-box in his swag when they come on his body up near Wilcannia. Full of opals and gold sovereigns and English bank-notes. And Sam died just natur­ally. I reckon Ray Gillen got suspicious and planted his money until he was fed up with Joan and ready to clear out.”

  “What about the locket? How does that enter the picture?”

  “I don’t get the locket, Bony, and that’s dinkum. But that locket is important to the women. They think it will lead ’em to the dough, which is why they’re so interested in the Lake dryin’ out, which is why Mac and Carney is so interested in the Lake, too. I reckon he planted his money and put ’em off somehow with a yarn about the locket. But they didn’t get the money ’cos they’re all still here … waitin’ for Lake Otway to die to find Ray’s body. You help me find that money, and we go fifty-fifty.”

  “You thought Gillen might have buried his money among the dead birds in the tank?”

  “Yair,” replied Lester. “Good place, too.”

  “And you haven’t an idea who waited for you to get out of that tank?”

  “Too dark to see. Can’t understand why he waited for me. I never seen him till after he punched me on the jaw. He picked me up like I was a bag and caught me on the side of me neck. He musta been there when I was forking out them birds, and he musta known I didn’t chuck anything out before I got out meself. Pity the bloody fork didn’t drop on him.”

  “Perhaps he thought you had found the money and had it inside your shirt.”

  “Could have.”

  “Did he look when he had you down?”

  “Don’t know. I passed out. Musta been lyin’ there a coupla hours before I come to. It was just breakin’ day when I got back here and nutted out how I could explain me condition. I’d like to know which of ’em bashed me. I’d get him if I waited ten years.”

  “Concentrate on the money,” urged Bony.

  “Ain’t I concentratin’ on it?”

  “How often did Gillen go riding on his bike?”

  “How. … Oh, pretty often of an evening. Usta take one or other of the women on the back.”

  “Which direction, which track did he take?”

  “Mostly to Johnson’s Well.”

  “What other track?”

  “Don’t recall he ever went another way. Sometimes he’d ride right round the Lake, keeping on the edge of the flats.” Lester sniffled, and Bony wished he wouldn’t. “I reckon I know what you’re headed for, Bony. I thought he might have planted his dough at Johnson’s Well ’cos he came here from Ivanhoe and he would prob’bly go back that way, pick up his money when passing the Well. There ain’t a holler log, or a holler tree, I haven’t delved into. I been down the Well, thinking he might have dropped a tin with the money in it and a wire hitched to the tin, or he might have planted it behind a board holding the shaft. I been up every tree round the Lake looking for a likely hole.”

  “Then what about the Lake? The deepest part is at the Channel, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “If I wanted to plant money … notes … I’d stuff them into treacle tins which have press-on lids,” Bony said. “The treacle tins I’d put into a twelve-pound cyanide tin which also has a press-on lid. The notes would be safe enough under water for twelve months.”

  “Cripes, Bony, you got a head on you. Gillen knew about the Channel, of course. Diving for the tin of dough wouldn’t stonker him. Funny if after he got drowned he was sorta steered about the Lake to drop into the Channel and be lying on top of his dough, guardin’ it sort of.”

  “Think it likely?”

  “Could be. When Gillen was drowned, there was more’n twelve feet of water. Like a sea it was when the wind blew hard. You could hear the surf a mile away. The tide would go out along that side off where the wind blew and rise high on the opposite side. That set up currents. You could see the birds ridin’ ’em. And Gillen never come ashore.”

  “What d’you think prevented the body coming ashore?”

  “Well, if he drowned, and he needn’t, Ray was probably well out near the middle. But where he went down don’t really matter, as I’ll prove. Anyhow, he drowns in twelve feet of water. After three days up he comes. We’re all waitin’ for him to come ashore. He’s like a small raft … the middle of him ’cos his legs and his head is just under. If he was murdered and his body heaved into the Lake, it would float back up­ward: if he drowned, then he would float stummick up. His stummick would be the raft, get me?”

  “Yes,” replied Bony.

  “Then what happens? I’ll tell you. The raft gives landing ground to the crows, and the crows goes for the belly. They always go for the belly of anything dead. The crows tear at the belly and lets out all the gas what made the body rise. With the gas out, the body sinks again.

  “The body don’t rest hard on the bottom, Bony. In the water he ain’t got much weight, if any, so it just touches the mud. Then the currents moves it slowly round and about until it tangles with the old fence crossing the Lake or among the branches of one of the two red gums what fell long before the flood. Or it could have moved all over the place till it fell over the edge and down to the bottom of the Channel. You any good at swimming?”

  “Not good enough to dive among a dead man’s bones,” answered Bony with conviction.

  “Me, neether,” Lester said. “Still, twelve thousand of the best is worth a bit of horrer.”

  “The water has receded from the two ancient trees,” Bony said.

  “Yair, I know. The tops of the posts of the old fence showed up more’n a month ago. With me feet I prodded that fence from shore to shore feeling for Ray. He ain’t tangled with the fence. Nor the trees. So he’s in the Channel. Even if he wasn’t drowned but bumped off and thrown in dead, he’d be in the Channel … ten or eleven feet down.”

  Bony stood, saying:

  “I’d better get back to my horses and turn them out. Too hot for work. I haven’t been round the Lake for a week. When did you circle it last time?”

  “More’n a week ago.”

  “And the others? D’you know?”

  “They give up going round her when the water went down and left the trees high and dry. I beat Carney to the fence-proddin’ by a coupla nights.” Lester sniffled. “I been watchin’ all of ’em. They ain’t missed much, especially Joan. Do we go fifty-fifty?”

  Bony half sat on the veranda rail and rolled another cigar­ette. His back was towards the house, and he ‘felt’ green eyes and dark eyes boring into him. His answer to Lester’s question was given with a nod.

  “Good on you,” approved Lester. “We work together. You get around the Lake as much as you can on your youngsters, just to make sure Ray ain’t lying out in the sun. I’ll keep my eyes on the others. They’re thinkin’ of the locket, and how they expect that to lead ’em to the dough beats me. Still, we got to keep ahead of ’em even with the locket. Then one night when the water’s gone from both sides of the Channel, we’ll do a bit of draggin’.”

  Again Bony nodded.

  “Then when we find the money we divi up, and I’m telling you we got to go careful when we do. No lashin’ it out in the pubs. No buying flash cars and clothes or women. We spends it quiet like, slow, and steady, so nobody will wonder where we got a hell of a lot of cash and ask questions. Some I know would write to the income-tax bastards, and they would ask why, see?”

  “Yes, I see,” admitted Bony. He moved from the rail and took a few steps from Lester. Then he turned about and asked:

  “Where did you learn about bodies in wat
er, and how they come up and what happens to them, Bob?”

  Once again the sniffle mixed up with the chuckle.

  “Sort of come to me through the family,” replied Lester. “Me grandfather got the licence of a shanty on the river up near Bourke. Long time back, ’fore I was born. Then me old man took over the pub when the grandfather fell into the river one night and got drowned. Times were wild. Lots of cheque-men sort of fell into the river and was drowned. Me grandfather, an’ me old man, often come on a dead body. Quite a cemetery growed around the pub, and they could tell what bodies was drowned and what wasn’t.”

  “Did you inherit the pub?” smilingly asked Bony.

  “Not a chance. The old man drank hisself outer the pub in less’n eight years and went bullock-drivin’. Had a fight one day with another bullocky. With their whips, old style. The other bloke accidentally got his whip round the old man’s throat and before he could get it clear the old man was a body, too. Terrible hard doer, the old man.”

  That was the only occasion when Bony forgave Lester his sniffle.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Passing of Lake Otway

  WHEN THE GROUND at foot was still hotter than the rays of the setting sun, they went down to the Lake … every­one, including the women. When the overseer and the two women had emerged from the house, the men had auto­matically joined them, as though magnetized by inevitability. No one spoke as they crossed the iron-hard flats to the softer marge which had been covered with water only that morning.

  The pale-yellow solidified light that had been Lake Otway this last day of its existence was now a tarnished wafer of old gold, heavy, metallic, flat. Far outward from the ‘shore’ blem­ishes constantly appeared, dabs of nigger-brown which moved to draw silver lines quickly erased. The divers couldn’t dive any more, and they sat upon the metallic wafer like little china ducks, and here and there in grand but terrible isolation the ibis and the heron and the crane stood motionless as though dead.

  Far out beyond them the ducks were congregated as the pelicans had gathered, and they waited for the leaders to take off along the sky-ways to far-away waters. Two cormorants perched atop the marker post, their wings drooping to dry as though in mockery of the Lake. The only note of joy in life was struck by the gulls who rode upon the golden wafer, high and clean and beautiful.