Whispers At Wongan Creek

by Juanita Kees

  ‘Should I call Sergeant Riggs?’

  ‘He’s not considered missing until he’s been gone twenty-four hours. Give me a chance to look first then we’ll ask Riggs to bend the rules. Could you let Doc Benson know so he’s on standby in case Harry’s hurt?’

  ‘Will do.’ Heather turned to head for the kitchen and was back with the kit as he waved Mrs Everett down the drive.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, taking it from her.

  ‘Be careful out there.’

  ‘It’ll be fine, you’ll see,’ he replied with more confidence than he felt.

  Travis leaned down to kiss her cheek. She smelled so good. Like wildflowers and coming home, like something he wanted to see every day when he rode in from the field. She curled her fists around the material of his T-shirt.

  ‘You’re not really in any condition to ride a horse after yesterday. You’ll be no good to Harry if you get hurt.’

  He trapped her against him with his free arm and kissed her as hard on the lips as his sore jaw would allow. ‘I won’t get hurt.’

  She released her grip on him and pressed at his chest. ‘Go now. We don’t know how long Harry’s been out there.’

  Travis released her and with one last look at her lovely face, jogged down the steps, cursing as the jarring sparked a thump in his head.

  In the stables, he moved quickly, throwing the blanket across Fantasia’s back and saddling her up. She danced with excitement, her senses on high alert. Fixing the bridle, he tossed the reins over her head and adjusted the straps on the saddle.

  He mounted and urged her into a walk out of the stables before increasing the pace to a trot, warming her up to a canter. Over the hills, the sun climbed higher in the sky. Another scorcher of a day. Already the sun had the sting of a snake bite. Wherever Harry was he prayed he’d find him soon.

  The horror stories of people lost in the outback with no water or food for days spurred him on. No way would he let Harry die that way. His only hope was that Harry—a man who’d grown up on this land long before the town developed close by and knew every square inch of it—would remember the key survival instincts; keep calm, know how to light a fire and find fresh water because drinking your own urine would never be a good way to survive.

  Travis rechecked the house and shed in case Harry had wandered back home then he rode out across the paddocks. Reaching the lookout point on the hill that rose above the creek, Travis scanned the water. With no rain or overflow into it for months Whispering Creek meandered gently down towards Marradong, not deep enough for a man to drown in. Not like the day Tracy died.

  ‘Harry!’ he called, the echo of his voice bouncing off the hills across the stream.

  Nothing. No answering string of swear words he’d expect from the man who’d been a substitute uncle for as long as Travis had drawn a breath. He turned east towards Ranford and called upstream, cupping his hands around his mouth, his voice tinged with desperation.

  ‘Harry!’

  Silence as dead as Wongan Creek’s graveyard pierced his heart. Where the hell was Harry? And where was Robbie? The dog seldom left Harry’s side. Surely he’d hear a bark or a whimper? But the bush around him remained deathly silent except for the call of the cockatoos and the occasional mocking laugh of a kookaburra.

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Harry. Where the hell are you?’

  Fear and dread twisted his gut, all tied up with a ribbon of guilt. If he lost Harry … It didn’t bear thinking about, not now when he needed to stay positive.

  He should have made Harry stay over at his place. If he hadn’t gone into town to sign up for the damn rodeo day events, he wouldn’t have had the punch up with Zac Bannister. Nor would he have had the most satisfying, gloriously heady sex with the woman who was fast stealing his heart. Instead, he would have been up early enough to get Harry out of bed himself and see him settled into the day’s chores. Again he’d failed the people he loved and it ate a hole in his gut.

  Travis turned Fantasia’s head back down the hill and rode her up along the creek towards Harry’s paddocks. The sun burned his eyes and he wished he’d worn his sunnies. He tugged the brim of his hat lower to shield them then whistled for Robbie. Still nothing, no answering bark of excitement his voice usually wrenched from the dog. Not a good sign.

  One excruciating hour later, he’d searched every inch of Harry’s land and his own, every nook and cranny the old man might have wandered into, without a trace. Not even a hint that he’d been anywhere this morning.

  Travis’ gut balled into a solid, stony mass of trepidation. His head pounded, his jaw ached and the cut next to his eye stung like a bitch from the salty sweat dripping down his face. His arse was numb and the muscles in his legs screamed from pushing his weight up in the stirrups to scan the bush for signs of life. He headed back to his house, empty and hurting. Had he failed Harry just as he’d failed Tracy? Please, God, no.

  On the veranda, Heather and Casey waited for him. He wanted to gather them close and hold them tight because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing them too.

  Heather rushed down the stairs, Casey following her, expectation in their eyes. Travis shook his head, feeling the pain of failure strangle the words he couldn’t force out. He felt the reassuring touch of Heather’s hand on his thigh, the stroke of her fingers against the denim.

  Casey stared up at him, all hope and hero worship, and it killed him that he couldn’t have better news to share.

  Travis dismounted when Heather’s hand fell away, the warmth of it still seeping into his cold blood. He swallowed the burn and forced out the words he hated having to speak. ‘We’ll have to alert the SES. There’s no sign of him anywhere.’

  Tears glistened in Casey’s eyes. Even an almost six-year-old knew the death sentence those words might carry out here where the bush reigned with its own set of rules. Not only did she know it, she’d lived it. And that simply added to the pain that gripped Travis’ chest.

  Her arms wrapped around his thigh and clung tightly, her nose buried in the denim. He let his hand fall on her head and stroke her precious curls for a moment before he bent to hoist her into his arms. She pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder and her arms almost strangled him she clung so tightly to his neck.

  Travis patted her back with more reassurance than he felt. ‘It’s okay, sweet pea, we’ll find him. I promise.’

  ***

  Heather watched Travis’ good eye close over the pain she saw there as he hugged Casey closer, his chin resting on the little girl’s shoulder. She wanted desperately to reach out and wrap her arms around them both, to let them know she was there for them, but that would only complicate their situation with DOHW, because it wasn’t comfort she wanted to offer, it was love.

  What a moment to admit to herself she had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with this man, his niece and the people of the small town she’d been assigned to.

  Her own heart aching for Harry, she turned from them and walked back up the veranda stairs. ‘I’ll give Sergeant Riggs a call and let him know.’

  At the top of the stairs, she stood a moment to watch as Travis walked Fantasia back to the stable, reigns in one hand, the other firmly supporting Casey clinging to his side. She rubbed a hand at the tightness of her throat and dashed the sting of tears from her eyes. Between a rock and a hard place was a shit place to be.

  She dialled the number for the police station, her heart a leaden ball as she waited for Riggs to answer.

  ‘Wongan Creek Police.’

  ‘Hey, Sarge, it’s Heather Penney. I’m calling you from the Bailey place. I know I should have gone through the emergency line, but I figured you’d get things moving faster.’

  ‘Heather? Please don’t tell me Bannister is making trouble again?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. It’s Harry. He’s missing.’ Even as she said the words, they became a stark reality. The consequences, the possibilities of what might have happened whirled around in her mind.


  ‘Are you sure? You know what Harry’s like. He might have gone down to the creek to look for those bloody sheep again.’

  ‘Travis has done a thorough search already. There’s no sign of him.’

  She heard the tone of Riggs’ voice change. ‘Then we need to get onto it right away. No one knows that property better than Travis. I’ll get a search party together. Sit tight.’

  The scrape of a chair, the shuffle of papers and the sound of a drawer opening and closing—he was on the move already. Heather closed her eyes and prayed to the God she wasn’t sure existed, the one who’d taken her own family from her. Please let them be in time to find Harry alive.

  She heard a thunk as Riggs dropped the phone, a rustle as he picked it up again, his voice stern and all business in her ear. ‘Heather, you still there?’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Have you called Doc Benson?’

  ‘Yes, I called him about an hour ago when Travis went looking for Harry. Doc’s taking a quick look around town in case Harry’s wandered all the way in there.’

  ‘Good girl. I’ll call him up and let him know we’re organising a search. How’s Travis doing?’

  She looked out the kitchen window to where Travis sat on his haunches talking to Casey, a hand on her shoulder, his face drawn in tight lines. Her heart ached for them both.

  ‘Not so good right now.’

  ‘Understandable. He’s told you about his sister?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Riggs sighed. ‘Bullshit business that was, but my hands were tied. That doesn’t mean I’m not watching Zac Bannister like a hawk. I want you both to know that.’

  ‘That’s good to know.’ Should she say something about Travis’ suspicions? He’d given her the perfect opening. No, right now Harry was more important. ‘I have something to talk to you about, but it will keep until we find Harry. Please hurry, Riggs.’

  ‘I’m already on my way.’

  Heather put down the phone as Travis and Casey came into the kitchen. She filled the kettle and set it to boil. The next few hours, maybe even days, would be the longest in a lifetime for all of them.

  ‘You okay?’ she said, knowing full well he wasn’t, but she needed to break the awful, heavy silence that hung between them.

  He nodded and sat down heavily in a chair at the scarred wooden table that had likely seen a few generations of Baileys eat there, Casey climbing into his lap.

  Her heart squeezed at what might be going through the little girl’s mind. Not long ago her mum had gone missing too. Now Harry was gone and soon the long, sometimes cold and unfair, arm of the law might steal away the only man who came close to being the father she needed because of a mean, bullying, possibly murderous arsehole.

  Heather squashed down the anger that fired up in her belly at the thought. Somewhere between now and tomorrow, she had a report to write—before Elliott came crashing into their world to tear them apart. Now when their whole world had tilted again, life had thrown another curve ball into the park and ripped open all their wounds.

  And amidst all that was the letter in her purse, the reminder of the death sentence that hung over her own head that begged for an action she couldn’t bear to face. The one that might put a limit on the time she had left to love the man who sat before her, already devastated by loss.

  Chapter 15

  A sea of orange jackets spread out in the back paddock as the SES volunteers grouped together for a briefing, tested communication and call signs, distributed ration packs, first aid kits and area maps. A surreal sense of urgency had descended on the farm.

  In the shade of the veranda, the ladies of the CWA set up tables filled with bottled water, sandwiches and energy snacks. Across the fence in Harry’s daisy field, tents and shelters were raised to give the rescuers a shady resting place on their breaks, their bright orange canvas adding a touch of contrast to the yellow flowers.

  Heather sat at the table to write up her report and tried not to think about Travis, out there in the blazing sun, injured and hurting. Doc Benson had tried to talk him out of going, but he’d swallowed two painkillers, slapped on his hat and ignored the good doctor’s advice.

  In the chair next to her, Casey sat colouring in her book with her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on keeping within the lines.

  Heather rubbed a hand over the little girl’s head and received a wan smile in return. ‘Okay there, honey?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. Will Harry be okay?’

  ‘Of course he will, you’ll see.’

  Casey picked out a purple crayon and shaded the princess’ dress with the uneven strokes of a child still growing into her motor skills. ‘And Uncle Trav?’

  Heather sighed. The pain etched into Travis’ face when he’d left had been clear. The best she could hope for was that Doc Benson would keep a close eye on him and send him back if he looked like collapsing. Right now he was driven by a stubborn streak and sheer willpower.

  ‘He’ll be fine too, sweetheart. Doc Benson will take good care of them both.’

  ‘I’m scared. What if they don’t come back?’ The little girl didn’t look up from her scratching on the paper. The crayon jerked over the lines, the only indication of her distress.

  Heather covered Casey’s tiny little hand with hers. ‘They will. You have to believe that.’

  She turned her gaze on Heather. ‘Will you stay with me if they don’t? I’m afraid of the man.’

  A cold fist clamped down on Heather’s heart as she saw the raw fear in the little girl’s eyes. There was more to it than just being afraid that Travis and Harry wouldn’t come back.

  ‘Are you afraid they won’t come back like your mum?’ Abandoning her report, she pushed her chair out from the table and turned the little girl’s around to face her.

  ‘Yes, and I’m afraid of the man.’

  ‘What man, darling?’

  ‘The man from the shop, the one who hurt Uncle Trav.’

  The chill that gripped her heart spread to her bloodstream, raising goosebumps on her skin. ‘Why are you afraid of him?’

  The child scampered off her chair and scrambled up on Heather’s lap. She wrapped her arms around Heather’s waist and hugged her close. ‘He took my mum. I don’t want him to take Uncle Trav and Harry too.’

  Black spots danced in front of Heather’s eyes as the bitter taste of fear snagged her stomach. Holy Mother Mary. ‘What do you mean he took your mum, sweetheart?’

  ‘He said I’d get into trouble if I told. He said he’d come and get me.’

  Her senses on high alert, she held the child close. ‘You won’t get into trouble if you tell me, I promise. You haven’t done anything wrong. Only naughty people get in trouble.’

  ‘He said I was naughty that’s why he took my mummy and he said he’d throw me down a dark hole and throw sand on top of me if I told anyone.’

  Oh dear God, could this be a horrible figment of Casey’s imagination or was there some truth in it? It certainly seemed like something Zac Bannister was capable of. ‘When did he say that?’

  ‘The day he came to the house. Nanna and Pop were out working. Uncle Trav went away to the place where they do the rodeo championships. It was just me and Mum.’

  No, oh please, no. Her heart didn’t want to hear what happened next, but she knew if she stopped the child from talking now, she might never talk about it again.

  ‘He hurt Mummy. I saw him. She told me to go so I ran away and hid under Nanna’s bed. I heard Mummy crying then he shouted those things to me.’ She buried her teary face against Heather’s shirt, her body shaking.

  Heather soothed her for a while, alternately wanting her to finish telling the story and not wanting to hear how it ended. After a moment, she asked, ‘What happened then?’

  Casey looked up, those eyes as beautiful as her mother’s and uncle’s, even greener with the sheen of tears. ‘He took her away. It was quiet. I waited forever then I came out to look for her,
but she was gone forever.’

  The child couldn’t have been more than four years old at the time, for God’s sake. What kind of monster did that to a baby? And too often she’d seen police dismiss statements from children in cases of domestic violence as insufficient evidence, when a child’s story was likely more truthful in its innocence than an adult’s. Would Sergeant Riggs prove the same?

  ‘Did you tell your Uncle Travis?’

  ‘No. I’m only telling you cos I’m scared.’ She pushed her face into Heather’s shoulder. ‘He said if I told anyone, he’d come back for me. Please, Heather, please don’t let him take me. I don’t want him to take any more people away.’

  ‘I won’t, sweetheart.’ She cradled the little girl against her as she leaned back in the chair and prayed for Travis to come home.

  How could she tell him his niece had witnessed his sister’s abduction? That the murder theory was now even more likely to be a reality? How could they possibly protect her against the monster that was Zac Bannister? They had to find a way to prove him guilty, but was the evidence of an almost six-year-old witness enough to stand up in court?

  As Elliott Crawford’s tall, broad-shouldered frame appeared in the doorway a day earlier than promised, Heather realised she’d run out of time.

  Chapter 16

  Frustration tanked through Travis as the sun headed west to bed. With the light fading fast in the bush, they’d soon call off the search. The SES volunteers had split into teams and combed every inch of both properties on foot before crossing the creek into the dense bushland that meandered up the hills. Twelve long, fruitless hours of searching with no sign of Harry or Robbie. He wanted to howl at the injustice of it, except that would make his headache worse.

  Doc Benson eyed him warily. He wondered if the doctor saw what he was feeling. Stars danced in front of his eyes and he tried to blink them away. A cold sweat followed the shivers he fought to control. The pounding in his head and nausea in his stomach reminded him of the bruise on his face and the cut next to his eye.