He hoisted himself up onto a railing and shaded his eyes with one hand, while the other held on to a vertical steel post so he could survey the scene like a sailor from a crow’s nest.
‘I think I can see his car,’ he called down to her. ‘Follow the race past the abattoir and rendering plant and you’ll come across it. It’s a white Toyota Hilux with an orange light on its roof. If you get to the cattle pens you’ve gone too far.’
Leanne thanked him and followed his directions until the sweet earthy reek of the sheep merged with the sharp ammonia tang of cattle. The rendering plant wasn’t operating, she noticed with relief. The ripeness of the penned animals was like perfume compared with the sickening odours of the rendering plant when it was engaged in turning waste from the abattoir into blood and meat meal.
She saw the white Hilux parked at the abattoir end of the race but there was no sign of David Fielding.
Another race, running at right angles to the one in front of the abattoir, separated the sheep from the larger cattle pens. Steps to a system of high walkways above the bigger cattle pens allowed buyers to view the dangerous stock from above. Footsteps clanged across the narrow metal walkways as men and women in wide-brimmed hats peered at the jostling cattle below.
Leanne leaned against the car and stared through the activity, her mind flitting from topic to topic in much the same way as a collie was moving a small mob of sheep down one of the smaller races, nipping at their heels and worrying them into the right direction.
Anxious thoughts about her dad were soon replaced with anxious thoughts about Ruby Fraser. The poor kid, she’d had a rough time recently, and now here she was, struck down by some kind of mystery illness just as she’d begun to settle into life in Glenroyd. Then she thought of Jo, a vegetarian — God, how she’d hate these saleyards. Leanne wondered, not for the first time, if her friend was the right kind of woman for Sergeant Fraser.
Her thoughts returned to the present when she noticed a tall figure striding towards the Hilux. It was David Fielding with a scowl on his face and a bolt-action .22 in his hand.
He came to an abrupt halt when he saw Leanne, keeping the rifle pointed at the ground. He seemed to make a conscious effort to wipe the scowl from his face.
‘Oh, it’s you, I was wondering when I’d be seeing you again,’ he said with a forced smile.
‘You disappeared before we got the chance to have a talk the other night. You shouldn’t have done that,’ Leanne said, keeping her own expression neutral.
He gave her a careless shrug. ‘Yeah, well, I knew you’d be able to find me.’
He opened up the rear door of his vehicle, then, using another key, unlocked the gun safe bolted down to the floor in the back. The back of his car was chock-a-block with cages and crates, and a first-aid box that took up almost half the space.
After locking the rifle away he turned to face her. He was as tall as Sergeant Fraser and his eyes were almost as blue, a feature she hadn’t been able to appreciate in the dark. But although they were an attractive colour, they were closely set, a feature her mother had always said was as a sign of a dishonesty. The gold chain at his throat matched the one on his wrist. A dishonest peacock, Leanne decided.
He gestured with his large chin toward the saleyard canteen. ‘I need to get away from this place. Some bloody mongrel brought a heavily pregnant ewe in this morning. I wish I could’ve shot him and not the lamb. Come on. I’ll buy you a cuppa, brekky too if you’re a good girl.’
Condescending bloody wanker, Leanne thought, having no choice but to try to keep up with him, taking two strides to his every one. The hysterical shrieks and squeals of penned pigs sliced through the air as they headed for the canteen.
***
‘No offence, Constable Henry,’ Fielding said a few minutes later as he pulled out an original fifties chrome chair from the canteen table and sat with his breakfast in front of him. ‘But I was expecting to be interviewed by someone with a bit more seniority. I mean, how old are you? Twenty-one, twenty-two?’
Leanne thumped her enamel mug onto the canteen table and glared at him. Some of the dishwater-grey liquid pooled onto the Formica and just missed her jam doughnut.
Fielding held up his palms. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out quite the way it sounded. Let’s put it down to my bad morning and start again.’
Leanne took a bite of doughnut and chewed carefully, hoping it would release some of the tension in her jaw. ‘So, what were you were doing at the Pilkington place the other night?’ she asked when she’d swallowed her mouthful.
Fielding sighed and took an extra-long time smearing his toast with Vegemite. He took a bite and chewed it slowly. Was he stalling for time or merely taking pleasure in frustrating her? Leanne repeated her question.
He washed the toast down with a noisy gulp of tea. ‘Animal cruelty. We have the right to enter properties and impound animals we feel are being badly treated.’ He took another bite of toast.
‘And . . .?’
‘And someone made an allegation against Darren Pilkington, said he abused his dog.’
Leanne wrinkled her face in disbelief. ‘So you decided to go and pick it up, at two in the morning, just as we happened to be investigating a murder there? I’m sorry, mate, you’ll have to do better than that.’
‘I wasn’t going to pick it up, I was checking the layout of the place, looking for the dog. I wanted to see what kind of condition it was being kept in. You know — whether it was tied up in a yard, whether it had water etcetera. I don’t like to confront the owners until I have my facts straight. As it turns out, I think my source was misinformed. When Mrs Pilkington came out of the house to help your trapped sergeant, I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. My job was done, so I left.’
A weak explanation if ever she’d heard one, but unfortunately it was almost impossible to get an RSPCA officer for trespassing.
‘It was a crime scene. You had no right to be there,’ she said in her most officious voice — though it was hard to be officious when you had sugar frosting all over your mouth.
He clenched his jaw. ‘How the hell did I know that? I’d only just turned up when I saw you floundering around, waving your torch, arse in the air, yelling and carrying on.’ He had a quick temper, she could see that, and an arrogant inability to accept a dressing-down. He took a breath as if needing to calm himself. ‘So have the bodies been identified yet?’ he asked, controlled again.
She hesitated, ‘Yeah, no — kind of.’
‘Yeah, no? I love your sense of conviction. I expect it’ll be in tomorrow’s paper, then?’
‘I expect so.’ At least she would show him that despite her obvious deficiencies, she was no blabbermouth. She reached for the doughnut again then changed her mind, pushing the plate aside. The jam in the middle suddenly made her think of a bullet hole.
‘How is your sergeant, by the way?’ he asked.
The detour was a relief. She took her cap off and ran her fingers over hair. ‘Broken leg, still in hospital.’
‘What about his replacement?’
‘Neither of my sergeants has been too lucky recently,’ she said. ‘One’s got a broken leg and the other a sick daughter. He’s taking a couple of days off.’
‘That must be Sergeant Fraser.’
Leanne puckered her brow. ‘How do you know?’
‘I read about him in the paper. You too, must’ve been about eight weeks ago.’ His eyes dropped to the pocket of her shirt as if searching for the medal ribbon that hadn’t arrived yet. His stare seared through the fabric. ‘A couple of heroes, the both of you.’ He took another sip of tea, still eyeing her over the rim of his mug. ‘What’s he like, then?’
Leanne narrowed her eyes, and raised her mug of tea with both hands to block his view of her chest. ‘For a bloke who’s being interviewed by the police, you ask a lot of questions.’
‘Sorry, don’t mind me, just my reaction to a bad morning, like I said. Is there anything else you
want to know, anything I can do to help?’
Leanne racked her brain for the questions she was sure she should be asking.
‘I wouldn’t mind having a look at that dog again in daylight,’ he went on. ‘Would it be okay if I visited Mrs Pilkington? I’m sure the scene-of-crime stuff must be over now.’
Her radar was tweaked by the sudden humility of his tone. She didn’t reply for a moment and ran her finger over the rim of her mug as she mulled it over. ‘I’m going over to the Pilkington property next,’ she said. ‘I have a warrant for the dog. You can tag along too if you want.’
That way, she thought, she could keep an eye on him and he could help her with the dog if necessary.
He accepted with alacrity. ‘Okay, fair enough. Are there any other animals on the property?’
‘Sheep, chooks, a goat I think, just the usual.’
‘And they’re in good nick?’
‘I think so.’
‘Why do you need the dog?’ he asked.
It was a reasonable enough question for an RSPCA officer, she supposed, and one that warranted an answer. ‘We think it was responsible for a vicious attack. I noticed you have all sorts of gear in the back of your truck so I thought maybe you could give me a hand; it may need tranquillising.’
‘I have some darts but they’re usually a last resort, a muzzle will probably do. Do you want me to take it back to the pound with me?’
‘No, it’s okay, we have a yard behind the station. We’ll keep it there until we can assess how dangerous it is and get the vet to have a look at it.’
‘So I take it this dog has something to do with the murder investigation?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss it.’
‘But you obviously need to bring the dog in for . . . questioning?’
Leanne finished her tea and pushed her chair back. ‘Very funny,’ she said without smiling.
He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender, gold bracelet jingling, and laughed. ‘Sure, I’d be happy to help if it’ll get me away from this God-awful place for an hour or two.’
As they headed off towards his truck he added, ‘Now, tell me all about this Sergeant Fraser of yours . . .’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thursday
The last twenty-four hours had passed in a blur of needles, X-rays, IV infusions and medical tests before Ruby at last began to feel better. She sat up in her hospital bed and tested the strawberry jelly the nurse put in front of her. Rolling a gob of it around her mouth, she compressed it with her tongue before sieving it through the gaps in her teeth. She hadn’t had jelly since she was a kid and was surprised at how good it tasted, cool and soothing to her raw throat.
Jeez, but being in hospital sucked. The place gave her the creeps. The bed felt like a pile of bricks, the food, apart from the jelly, was foul and she could tell that all the nurses hated her. She was in a two-bed room, sharing with an old lady called Mrs Barnes who had skin like crepe paper and some kind of digestive problem that had kept them both awake for most of the night. Even now, from behind her curtained bed, a disturbing number of stomach-curdling noises rent the antiseptic air.
She glanced over to the visitor’s chair, where her dad sat sprawled with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. She lifted the jelly spoon and dropped it onto the plate but he lolled on without a flinch. She moaned softly, upping the tempo when she continued to receive no response
‘Are you all right, lovey?’ a tremolo voice called from behind the curtains.
‘Oh, yes, thank you, Mrs Barnes,’ Ruby called back loudly, ‘just dandy.’
Still her dad slept on. How would he feel if she died while he was asleep? She imagined him waking to find her cold, stiffening body, her silent cry for help frozen upon her lips.
This satisfying thought kept her going for a few minutes until it was interrupted by the pneumatic hush of the opening door. A smiling Jo appeared, dressed in her daggy school clothes, a pair of dress pants and a white shirt with a narrow collar covered in tiny red numbers. She was an English teacher; she should have words on her shirt, not numbers.
Jo brought with her the smells of the outside world and a bundle of National Geographic magazines, which she plonked on the tray table next to the empty bowl of jelly. Ruby faked a smile and said thanks as she glanced at the educational magazines. She would have killed for the latest Cosmo.
Typical that her dad would choose this moment to jolt awake, look around for a moment then jump to his feet.
‘She’s feeling much better,’ he said to Jo, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
How the hell would he know I’m feeling better? Ruby thought. He’s been asleep for the past two hours.
‘The doctor said she’d pop in . . .’ He looked at his watch. ‘Is that the time already? She should be here soon, then.’
Jo smiled at Ruby’s dad and settled herself on the end of the bed. ‘And what have you been up to today? Managed to eat something, I see.’ She nodded towards the jelly bowl.
Cam settled himself back in the visitor’s chair. ‘She’s been studying for her urinary test,’ he said with a stupid grin on his face.
Ruby rolled her eyes and groaned. ‘Dad joke.’
He said to Jo, ‘The doctor seems to think she’ll be okay to come home this afternoon.’
‘But then I’ll be at home by myself!’ Ruby shot him a look of calculated misery, which Jo saw through straight away.
‘I only have a few contact hours at school tomorrow, then it’s a long weekend and I have Monday off. You can stay with me and we’ll take next week as it comes,’ she said.
Ruby scowled, then brightened with a sudden idea. ‘Then maybe in a few days I could ride over to the old Rawlins place. That would give me something to do . . .’
‘No riding yet,’ Cam butted in. ‘Not till we know you’re completely better. And I don’t want you riding out there on your own, anyway, I’ve told you that before. Anything could happen. You’ll have to find someone to ride with.’
Ruby narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth, ‘God, Dad, anyone would think I was a ten-year-old. The way you treat me is so — ’
‘Ruby, listen to your father,’ Jo scolded.
Ruby’s chest ached. ‘You stay out of it, Jo, you’ve got no right, you’re not my mother!’
Jo stiffened in her chair, a burst of colour in her face. Good, Ruby thought, at least she was starting to get the message.
Jo took a deep breath and swallowed down her anger, glancing at Ruby’s dad as if he would know what she was thinking about. He avoided her eyes and shifted in his seat. An uncomfortable silence followed until Jo broke it by asking him, ‘So has the doctor said what’s wrong with her?’
‘She’s been waiting for the final test results,’ he said.
As if on cue, in walked Ruby’s doctor, dressed in T-shirt and track pants, looking like she’d just jogged in from the netball court. After saying hello to the adults, she asked Ruby how she was feeling.
‘Yes, much better, can I go home now?’ Ruby asked.
‘I’m insulted! Haven’t you enjoyed your stay with us?’ The doctor smiled and pulled out her stethoscope. Ruby swallowed back a sarcastic comment and leaned forward in the bed so the doctor could push the cold instrument under the back of her gown. The hospital gown was covered in yellow Disney characters and it was so big Ruby had to hold it near the shoulder to stop it from slithering down. While the doctor was listening through the stethoscope, a nurse entered the room and pushed a squeaking trolley behind next door’s curtains. Ruby heard the clatter of stainless-steel equipment.
‘Her breathing’s settled down nicely,’ the doctor said, draping the stethoscope back around her neck while Ruby readjusted her gown. ‘You can take her home as soon as it’s convenient, Sergeant Fraser, just call in at the front desk on your way out and pick up her medications.’
‘But what exactly is it that she’s had?’ he asked.
‘Well, the blood tests have confirmed
pretty well what I expected.’
‘And that is?’ he asked, moving to the edge of his seat.
The curtains of the neighbouring bed began to quiver. The sound of trickling water was accompanied by a soft moan.
The doctor gave a melodramatic pause. ‘Q fever.’
Dad’s jaw almost dropped to the ground. Gramma would’ve said he was catching flies, Ruby thought. ‘Good God!’ he said.
Ruby turned to Jo to see if she knew what the doctor was talking about, but she seemed as confused as Ruby herself.
‘It’s a bacterial infection caused by a nasty little critter called Coxiella burnetii,’ the doctor qualified. ‘Coupled with Leptospirosis, it’s the most common zoonotic disease in Australia.’ She laughed. ‘But I can see by your reaction, Sergeant Fraser, that you’ve heard of it.’
‘Yes, I have, but I don’t know what you mean by zoonotic.’
‘I know,’ Ruby piped up. ‘It means it’s transferred to humans by animals.’
‘Well done, I’m impressed,’ the doctor said, smiling down at her patient.
Ruby felt herself flush and lowered her eyes to the sheet, which she was twisting in her hands. ‘I want to be a vet.’
Cam leaned over and gave her hand a squeeze.
‘Good for you,’ the doctor said.
‘But how could she have contracted it?’ he asked her.
‘Q fever is transmitted by the inhalation of minute particles contaminated with the infective organism,’ she said. ‘Infective material can be present in dust, afterbirth, birth fluids and excreta. Cattle, goats and sheep most commonly transmit this disease, but the infected animals show few or no symptoms, meaning it’s hard to trace. Farmers, meat workers and vets are most at risk, and many of them are inoculated against it these days. Ruby’s a very lucky girl. It can be fatal. It’s just as well you brought her in when you did. The earlier the antibiotic treatment, the better the prognosis.’
‘Have you treated anyone else for it recently?’ Cam asked, sounding more like a cop with every word, Ruby thought with disappointment.
The doctor shook her head. ‘I’ve checked the database. There’ve been no reports of the disease in this area for a couple of years.’
Flare-up: a tense, taut mystery (A Cam Fraser mystery) Page 12
