‘You shouldn’t have followed me, Cam.’ No more than three metres away from him, Cam could see the gun shaking in Pizzle’s hand.
Cam took a deep breath. ‘May I stand up?’
Pizzle nodded, swallowed, Adam’s apple scurrying up and down his whiskery throat like a panicking ferret.
‘Raul Wetherby wasn’t the one who killed Rita. Harry Giles and his son did,’ Cam said, still panting from his climb. He cautiously got to his feet and stepped further away from the edge of the platform.
Not taking his eyes or the gun off Cam, Pizzle removed his hat and mopped the sweat from his face. Cam remained glued to the spot, having no idea what Pizzle might try next.
‘Nah, nah. Wetherby would have paid Giles. That’s how these things work. The big boss never gets his hands dirty. You need to watch more movies, Cam.’ He put his hat back on.
‘Christ, Pizz, Wetherby has nothing to do with the stock theft operation! Timothy Giles has confessed to everything. He and his dad are the ones behind it all.’ Cam put out his hand. ‘Just give me the gun, Pizz. I’m sure something can be worked out.’
Pizzle said nothing. The blood left his face, and he seemed to grow white before Cam’s eyes. He took a step back and licked his dry lips. Cam felt the metal platform beneath his feet tremble as Pizzle began to shake.
‘What’s the point? Nothing’s going to bring Rita back.’ Pizzle screwed up his face. A fat tear slid down his cheek as he slowly brought the gun to his mouth.
Cam’s gut broke into a spasm; sweat trickled into his eyes. Could he draw his gun in time and shoot Pizzle in the leg before he could kill himself? His hand edged towards his pistol.
‘You won’t make it,‘Pizzle said, his words distorted by the gun in his mouth.
Cam’s hand relaxed at his side. He was right. ‘Don’t be an idiot. If you kill yourself now, she died for nothing. They killed her because she wouldn’t tell them where you were. She’s looking down on you now, Pizz. She can see us here, knows what’s going on. Think she’ll be pleased to see you in heaven so soon? I don’t. She wants you to carry on, do the shearing shed up, open the tearoom like you planned. She doesn’t want to have died for nothing.’
Another fat tear joined the first one. Cam felt the trembling under his feet increase, running up his legs until he was shaking as much as Pizzle.
Pizzle’s shoulders jerked as he took a gasp of air and eased the gun from his mouth. Cam let go a pent-up breath and took a step toward him.
‘That’s a boy, Pizz.’ He held out his hand. ‘You can hand me the gun now.’
The gun fell to the floor with a clatter. Cam edged towards it, not taking his eyes off Pizzle, who remained rooted to the spot, his shaking growing worse with every second.
Oh, God, no!
Cam lunged, but too late. With a sharp cry, Pizzle vanished before his eyes, leaving him clutching at air. The manhole behind Pizzle had been left open, and as the fitting man took a step back, he’d fallen straight through the hole into the belly of the silo.
Cam dropped to his knees and peered into the blackness, hearing nothing but the windy rush of moving grain. He grabbed the torch from his belt and shone it across the rippling surface.
‘Pizzle!’ he cried in panic.
The grain began to still and his torch beam caught a shape on the surface. It was the top of Pizzle’s cabbage-leaf hat.
Cam swung his legs into the manhole and dropped into the grain. The surface of the grain was only a few metres below the lid of the silo and he had to sink to his knees to fit under the roof. His hands dived beneath the hat and came up again, grain falling through his fingers like the sand through an hourglass.
How much time did Pizzle have?
He dug deeper until he was sinking himself, the grain up to his thighs. It was like quicksand: the more he struggled the deeper he sank. In the middle of the seizure’s grip, Pizzle could be halfway to the bottom by now.
The dust pricked at Cam’s eyes, making them stream, and clogged his lungs, making him cough. But he wasn’t ready to give up on Pizzle this easily. He had to think; there had to be a rational solution.
Pizzle had been in the grain for less than a minute. He should still have another two or three minutes before brain damage set in. There was no point in Cam’s diving in to follow him: even if he found Pizzle, he wouldn’t be able to pull him up. This wasn’t water; the grain would provide him with no buoyancy.
Think, think, think!
There had to be a way of quickly emptying the silo into the waiting grain trucks. But computers controlled everything here. By the time he got back to the substation of the second floor and worked it out, Pizzle would be long dead, suffocated by the grain.
But what did they do during power cuts and computer malfunctions? A manual override — there had to be!
He scrambled to his feet and hauled himself back through the manhole. Two levers protruding from a vertical shaft rose up from the lid of the silo. One would be to open the bottom funnel to release the grain into the trucks; the other would have to be for the auger, a twisted screw with sharpened threads that churned through the grain, turning the silo into a giant food processor.
But which one should he pull?
The sweat poured down his face. His eyes burned with grain dust.
He reached for the nearest lever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
One week later
At a table in the outside bar of the Glenroyd Showgrounds, Cam took a pull from his tinny, not taking his gaze off Rod’s crinkling eyes. The unlit cigarette hanging from his friend’s lip quivered with his smile. He’d just missed sticking the match up his nose as he attempted to light it.
‘What’s so funny?’ Cam asked.
‘I was just thinking about the Dog and a Ute competition. Do you think Ruby has a chance?’
An hour earlier, Cam had driven Ruby and Bella in the procession of utes towards the showgrounds where the judging was to take place. Cam’s battered ute had stood out like an ugly duckling in a line of swans; rusting body, dented tray, coathanger aerial. Not only had Bella, in the back, had to be tied on, but Ruby had also had to lie across her to prevent her from leaping out and strangling herself on the lead.
Now Cam narrowed his eyes and squinted down the line-up. Most of the utes were sleek machines with metallic paint jobs, chromed roll bars and enough spotties to light a stage show. Sleek collies, kelpies and cattle dogs sat upright in the back, their tongues dangling like pink ribbons in a breeze.
Now Cam saw the judge approach Ruby, still clinging to the dog in the back of his ute, and realised she was being handed a rosette.
‘I don’t believe it. I think she’s won something,’ he muttered to Rod.
‘How much did you bribe the judge?’
Cam was still shaking his head incredulously when Jo joined him. Dressed in their fire uniforms, she and Charlie had been manning the front gate, selling entrance tickets and fundraising for the brigade. It was dusty, thirsty work. She helped herself to a swig of Cam’s tinny before giving him a beery kiss.
He fought his way through the throng at the bar to get her a drink. Charlie was near the front, giving a group of mates a hyperbolised description of the great chopper rescue.
‘I couldn’t get the woman to move, she was frozen with fear — but I knew I couldn’t get them out by myself, see, so as she stood there all pale and shaking I gives her cheek a little tap, like this,’ he patted his mate’s bristly face, ‘just to snap her out of it and get her going.’ When Charlie saw Cam’s look, he flushed. ‘Just a little tap, Cam,’ he said, something on the side of his beer tin suddenly catching his eye.
Cam turned to the barmaid. ‘Swan Draught, thanks.’ She reached for the lever and put a glass under the nozzle.
A shiver ran up Cam’s spine, and for a moment, he was back in the feed mill.
Which lever?
He hoped he would never have to make a decision like that again. The lever he’d chosen had b
een stiff from lack of use and he’d had to use all his strength to pull it down. There was a grinding of cogs and the sliding of metal and then a drafty whoosh as the grain began to siphon from the funnel of the silo onto the bare ground of the loading bay.
Cam had wasted no time in jumping into the rapidly emptying silo. Fighting his way through the whirlpool of grain, his feet soon hit the bottom. He took a deep breath and pulled himself under, groping around until his hands found Pizzle’s body, pulling him up and out of the grain.
The bottom few metres of grain ceased to empty, clogged up by the pile on the ground. When his backup team arrived and peered down from the top of the silo, Cam was holding Pizzle’s inert body to his own, standing waist-deep in grain and clinging on to him in a life-or-death embrace.
Cam put his money on the bar, his fingertips sensitive from the minute splinters of grain he was still tweezing out of them.
Returning to their table, he found Ruby proudly showing a laughing Rod and Jo her brown rosette.
‘Worst Ute, Most Disobedient Dog,’ she proclaimed proudly to Cam as he sat down next to her. ‘Paul Watson from the ag college got the prize for Most Feral Ute, Andy Basich, the creepy guy who works at the service station, won Best Country Ute.’
She waylaid the glass of beer he was passing to Jo and took several large gulps.
‘Enough,’ Cam said, snatching back the glass and sliding it across the table to Jo.
Ruby recognised someone standing among a group of people cheering with the crowd at the Jack Russell races. She jumped to her feet, waving the rosette at her friend.
‘Gotta go, need to show this to Anthea!’ She rushed away before he could tell her they’d be leaving in half an hour.
Rod took a final drag of his cigarette before dropping the butt into one of the empty tins on the table. ‘I saw Pilkington’s doctor yesterday. They want to keep him in for another couple of days to get his epilepsy drugs sorted.’
‘How is he?’ Jo asked.
‘Cooperative. I think he’s told us everything he knows. I can’t see him getting off the manslaughter charges, though, not to mention the attempted murder of Raul Wetherby.’
‘What about diminished responsibility?’ Cam asked.
Rod opened up his hands. ‘With a good lawyer, who knows?’
‘I meant how is he?’ Jo stressed. ‘Still depressed?’
Rod winked at Cam, who ran a finger around the lip of his tin and said nothing.
‘Come on, tell me — what is it?’ Jo asked.
Rod smiled. ‘He seems quite happy, all things considered. Apparently he’s being visited by a social worker in the hospital, quite a cutie — his words, not mine.’
Jo opened her mouth, looking like she didn’t know if she should be laughing or crying. ‘Oh,’ she said at last, taking a deep swig of beer.
‘Matt Henry’s in protective custody pending the Gileses’ trial, after which he’ll probably be a free man,’ Rod added, as if eager to turn the subject from Pizzle. ‘He was a witness to the murder of the meat inspector, John Buckingham. Harry Giles ordered Ivanovich to kill him after he’d been making a fuss about breaches of health standards at the abattoir. He was obviously one of the few inspectors not open to bribery. They put his body in one of the silos and ground it up with the pig food. Matt Henry saw it all.’
Jo put her hand to her lips, ‘Shhhhh’, and gestured with a tilt of her head to Leanne, who was standing near the bar with Pete. The two constables, dressed in civilian clothes, were engrossed in their own conversation and hadn’t seen the others at the table.
‘Have you spoken to her about this?’ Cam asked Jo, keeping his voice low.
‘Not much, she’s been unusually quiet. I don’t think she’s forgiven her father yet.’
‘Depending on how everything goes, he might be given a new identity and relocated through the witness protection scheme. It just depends how successful the Feds are at smashing the operation.’
Above the noise, Cam thought he heard Pete offer to buy Leanne a beer.
‘Have you any proof that the Gileses were responsible for Rita’s murder?’ Jo asked Rod.
Cam was still focused on what was going on at the bar. Leanne seemed to be declining the offer of a drink, asking for a rain check. Cam saw Pete’s shoulders slump. Staying where he was, the young man turned his head and followed her movements until she’d left the bar area. Cam caught his exasperated sigh.
‘Things are looking up,’ Rod was saying to Jo. ‘A couple of blokes have come forward saying they gave the Gileses a lift on the highway on the afternoon of Rita’s murder. Harry and Timothy were apparently both covered in blood, said they’d been roo shooting in the forest when their truck broke down. SOCO’s recovered some bloodied clothing from the Gileses’ house and we’re pretty confident it’s what they wore when they murdered Rita. They’ll get life for this.’
‘I should bloody well hope so,’ Jo said. ‘I mean, not just for the sake of the people they murdered and their families, but the future of the yards themselves are at stake now. What about all the jobs that will be lost if the yards have to be closed?’
‘It might not come down to that,’ Cam said. ‘The yards are closed now while the health inspectors run their tests on the stock food, but as long as no dangerous contaminants are found they might reopen within the next couple of weeks.’
‘But what about Wetherby and his tax evasion?’
‘The auditors are moving in, but that won’t stop the yards from operating. If Wetherby is convicted they might go up for public tender, but I doubt they’ll be closed down.’
Rod stood up and used his forearm to wipe the beer from his mouth. ‘Guess I’d better get going, leave you to it.’ He kissed Jo on the cheek.
As he was shaking Cam’s hand he said, ‘Oh, one more thing. Have you had chance to go over that paperwork yet?’
Cam met Jo’s eye and returned her grin. ‘Yup, looks like everything’s in order. I passed the exam in Sydney, just didn’t serve as one. Don’t see why I can’t pass it here.’
Rod clapped him on the shoulder. ‘The exam’s in Perth in about three weeks’ time. Better start studying, Inspector.’ He turned on his heel and departed.
Sitting down again, Jo blew out a breath. ‘Well.’ She smiled at Cam. ‘I never thought I’d see the day you finally agree to be chained to a desk job in Toorrup.
‘It’s a light-weight desk, apparently, I think I could still drag it around with me.’
‘Have you told Ruby yet?’
‘We discussed it the night before the sting. She told me I had to learn to compromise.’
He eyed Jo for a moment. She was waiting for him to say something more. Instead of speaking, he licked his finger and rubbed some red dust from her nose before brushing some more from her sleeve. ‘And you really need to learn how to smarten up, you’re a disgrace to that uniform, y’ know.’
Despite the exasperated shake of her head, she was still smiling.
‘And she’s keen on boarding at the school?’ she asked.
‘Not exactly keen, but I told her it was the only way we could work it out. Toorrup is just too far from Glenroyd to commute to school every day. She seemed glad that she’d still be able to see you.’
Jo shrugged. ‘It’s a start.’
‘I’ll rent a small flat in Toorrup during the week, come home for the weekends and Ruby and I can work together on the Rawlins place. The bank’s approved the loan pending my promotion.’
Jo made a move towards him, but was stopped by the reappearance of Ruby, and behind her a curly-haired girl dressed in jodhpurs and a pony club T-shirt.
‘Dad, this is Anthea, the girl from school with the pony. She won the show jumping this morning.’
Cam and Jo congratulated her.
Ruby put her finger in her mouth and twisted on her feet for a second or two. ‘We were wondering if we could ride over to the Rawlins place. I could double-dink with Anthea over to Sweet-Face’s paddock and r
ide with her on Sweet-Face from there. It’s not too far.’
‘But it’s too far to ride back. You’d never be home by dark.’
Ruby looked at her watch. ‘Well, you could meet us at the Rawlins place with the horse float in about three hours’ time and give us a lift back.’ Ruby held up the palm of her hand, waited expectantly. ‘Deal?’
Cam hesitated only for a moment before high-fiving her back. ‘Deal.’
As Ruby and Anthea ran off to collect Anthea’s pony, he called out, ‘Don’t forget your helmet, love, it’s in the back of the ute.’
She didn’t stop but raised her hand in acknowledgement as she ran
Jo smiled, watched Cam as he drained his tinny.
‘Well?’ she said, making a point of looking at her watch.
‘Well, what?’
‘Three hours is a long time. What an earth are we going to do with ourselves?’ She raised a suggestive eyebrow.
He shrugged, purposely not meeting her eyes. ‘I suppose I could start studying for that inspector’s exam.’
She thumped him on the shoulder.
‘Why, what else do you have in mind?’
The End
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This novel would haven’t been possible without the help of Angie Whife who introduced me to the mechanisms of the Midland Sale Yards and Ross Laurie who had me clambering around the biggest grain silos I have ever seen - scaring me half to death in the process.
I am also in the debt of Christine Nagel, Patricia O’Neill and Carole Sutton for their invaluable writing tips, to my wonderful editor Emma Dowden, and the staff at HarperCollins for rescuing this book from under my bed and believing in it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FELICITY YOUNG was born in Germany and educated in the United Kingdom, while her parents were posted around the world with the British Army before settling in Perth. Felicity trained as a nurse, married young and, having always been a passionate lover of history and English literature, completed an arts degree at the University of Western Australia while her three children were growing up. In 1990 the family moved from the city and established a Suffolk sheep farm in Gidgegannup, Western Australia. Here she studied music, reared orphan kangaroos, joined the volunteer bushfire brigade and started writing.
Flare-up: a tense, taut mystery (A Cam Fraser mystery) Page 24
