Through a Camel's Eye

by Dorothy Johnston

  The Murray had acted according to its elemental character in freeing Margaret Benton’s body. There was a kind of symmetry to it, and yes, if he was honest, a mockery as well. Policemen came along with their equipment, made pronouncements and pontificated; but the release, the revelation and the mystery that remained unsolved had been the river’s doing.

  This time, Chris drove in through the gates of Wallington stud and pulled up on a paved area in front of a building labelled both office and reception. To the right was a painted sign offering ‘Horse Poo $2 a bag’, above a tin with a slit in the top. If all you wanted was manure, there was no need to trouble the staff. You could drop your coins in the tin and be on your way.

  Chris hesitated over leaving the folder he’d been given in the car, but he didn’t want to take it inside. He put it on the floor and covered it with a rug that he kept on the back seat.

  The office was smaller than he’d expected, judging by the building’s exterior, and dominated by a large sign advising visitors: ‘Go Broke, Buy A Horse’.

  Chris asked to see whoever was in charge.

  His first and strong impression was that the stud manager had nothing to hide. Very tall, a good seven centimetres taller than Chris, with long loose limbs and light-brown hair tied back in a pony tail, he asked Chris to take a seat with the easy confidence of a man whom it was almost impossible to catch off guard. It crossed Chris’s mind that he might have been forewarned.

  They introduced themselves and Chris asked about the camels.

  They were a fairly recent addition, the manager said. When Chris raised the subject of Riza’s disappearance, he looked mildly surprised that the theft of a camel should have brought a policeman all the way from the Bellarine Peninsula. He confirmed that Julie had phoned him. There’d been nothing he could tell her, and he was afraid he had nothing to add now. Riza had left the property in good health and condition. He had no idea why anyone would want to steal him.

  ‘How well do you know Jack Benton?’

  If the manager was surprised by the change of subject, then he didn’t show it. ‘Jack buys manure from us, for his orchard.’

  Chris blinked, moistening his lips, and said he’d noted their honour system.

  ‘We practically give it away. And our receptionist can see the money tin from her desk in the office.’

  ‘I also noticed the security camera.’

  The camera was clearly visible, if you knew where to look and what to look for, but the sign warning visitors that they were being filmed was tiny.

  ‘Last year someone broke into the stables,’ the manager said, with a suspicious upward glance. ‘Stable doors were left open, valuable equipment was stolen. None of our horses escaped from the property, thank goodness, but it gave us a fright.’

  ‘No one sleeps here, then?’

  ‘The house is half a kilometre away. It’s the original farmhouse, over a hundred years old. I live there with my wife and daughter.’

  ‘What about the owner?’

  ‘Mr Ling visits four or five times a year.’

  ‘And the rest of your staff?’

  ‘They live in town.’

  ‘Is there one person in charge of the camels?’

  ‘Not exclusively. It’s interesting you should ask, because it came up just the other day. Mr Ling wants us to expand our breeding program.’

  ‘The camels are a particular interest of Mr Ling’s?’

  ‘Becoming so. Not that he’s losing interest in horses. That will never happen.’

  ‘What’s he like to work for?’

  ‘Mr Ling is an excellent judge of horseflesh.’

  ‘From Hong Kong is he, originally?’

  The manager nodded as though this was none of Chris’s business. ‘Will that be all? You’ll appreciate that I’ve got a few jobs waiting for me.’

  ‘Did Margaret Benton ever come here?’

  ‘I couldn’t answer that.’

  ‘If Margaret had come inside and spoken to you, or the receptionist, you’d remember?’

  ‘What are you getting at, constable?’

  ‘Did you ever see Margaret Benton waiting at the gates?’

  ‘You mean our gates? No.’

  ‘Did any of your staff?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Chris decided to let it drop. Even if Margaret had been running away, or trying to, the day Julie had seen her, what did it prove? He had much stronger evidence that she had been running away from her husband in Queenscliff, but apparently it wasn’t enough.

  ‘How’s Jack Benton taking his wife’s death?’

  Anger made the manager’s face white, his lips hard and flat. ‘Jack’s personal feelings are none of my business, but I will say this. The discovery of Margaret’s body has shocked and distressed the whole community.’

  Well, I know which side you’re on, Chris told himself as he drove away. Another headache was beginning. He longed for the clarity and wellbeing of the early morning.

  The folder of statements waited for him in his motel room, while his feet took him back to the Murray. He remembered a story a cousin of his had once told him, about the Mekong River at night, how alive it was with people and activity. This cousin had been what was called a seasoned traveller, as though moving about the world had something to do with adding flavour to a cooking pot. Chris recalled both the stories and his attitude to them, which had been one of detached interest. He realised that he could no longer claim detachment from people who moved about from country to country, as if by right, and spent the intervening dull times entertaining stay-at-homes with their adventures.

  His recollections and his former, outdated responses came back to him as though carried gently and without fuss by the river current. He felt a vague kind of nostalgia, which was overtaken by an immense and deep frustration.

  The cousin had begun his travels early. His father, Chris’s paternal uncle, had sent him to an expensive boarding school when he was eleven. Chris wondered what effect this had had on his adult life. He never came to Queenscliff. He’d sent Chris a card when his mother died.

  It was funny how moving just a few hundred kilometres could bring back a cousin he hadn’t thought about for years. It really did have something to do with the forward-moving water, and his slow and steady progress along the embankment.

  When he’d sorted out the business with the camel - if Riza was alive, he was going to find him, and, if dead, find proof of that - he thought he might take extended leave, perhaps even resign from the police. The prospect of resigning caused him a moment’s shudder, as though he’d slipped and plunged his leg into cold water. Then it seemed a possibility that had been inside him so long he was amazed he hadn’t paid attention to it before.

  But within half a minute, he was cudgelling his wits for a way to catch Jack Benton out. He was tired now, and his brain felt sodden. He was glad that Sergeant Fowler hadn’t said anything about his illness. Condescending sympathy would have been more than he could bear. He shivered at the vision of a kelp forest underneath the sea, its branches thick as pythons, reaching out to trap a man and hold him down. Fish would eat his flesh. His bones would glitter in the dimness of the forest.

  He realised that he felt bound to Benton, this widower whom he had never met. He understood that he might have left the real man behind, replacing Benton with a creature born of his imagination, a creature in whom ordinary compassion and constraint had been replaced by vindictiveness and hate. As an antidote to this, Chris clung to the facts as he knew them, the aggression and the arguments, the discarded clothes.

  He woke feeling feverish, and decided to take it easy on the drive back to Queenscliff. He stopped at the gold-mining town of Bendigo, which he’d visited as a child, but never returned to as an adult.

  Anthea rang while Chris was eating lunch. She said that everything was fine, and reminded him of the address of Zorba’s brother’s farm. He’d practically be driving past it.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

>   The farmhouse Theo Kostandis’ parents had bought for him was built of pale gold brick, no later than the 1960s, Chris thought, and lasting well. Trees hid it from the highway, where there was a sign offering horse agistment and horse trailers for rent.

  Chris parked and walked towards the front door. An unseen dog began to bark. He quickly looked around, wondering where the stables were. An open shed, containing a tractor and an assortment of machinery, faced the house. The barking came from what Chris assumed were kennels behind it. He thought the shed housing the rental trailers might be there as well. There was only one road in from the highway.

  The man who answered his knock was an older Zorba, with black hair and self-confident black eyes.

  Chris introduced himself. Theo shook his hand with a superior smile which, Chris guessed, seldom left his face.

  He was shown into a small office adjacent to the living-room, and was pleased to see that, although the room had only one small window, it looked out over the driveway.

  Without explanation or preamble, he pulled out his photograph of Jack Benton and asked Theo if he’d ever seen him.

  Theo studied the photo for a long moment, then raised his eyes and asked why Chris wanted to know.

  ‘In connection with a homicide inquiry. The man I’m interested in would probably have been driving a Toyota Landcruiser, registration YLB 371.’

  ‘I - ’ Theo began, then shut his mouth again.

  ‘Did this man rent a horse trailer from you?’

  Theo rubbed his chin vigorously with his right forefinger. ‘I take rego details,’ he said. ‘Just give me a moment to check.’

  Chris thought he heard Theo speaking on a phone.

  He came back looking more relaxed. ‘Here you are. On the first of January.’

  Chris swallowed his excitement. ‘I’d like a copy of that, please. When Mr Benton arrived to rent the trailer, was he on his own?’

  ‘When I saw him, he was. We weren’t really open for business, it being New Years Day.’

  Chris asked the time and Theo said, ‘I don’t recall exactly. In the afternoon, I think.’

  ‘When did Benton return the trailer?’

  ‘The next day.’

  ‘Why did he need it? Did you ask him?’

  ‘Presumably to transport a horse.’ Theo allowed himself another small, ironic smile. ‘Isn’t that the usual reason?’

  ‘Did you ask him?’ Chris repeated.

  ‘No.’

  The noise of wheels on gravel made Chris swing round to face the window. A ute was heading towards the highway, with a small horse float attached.

  ‘Stop the driver,’ Chris said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop the driver now.’ Chris was half way out the door. He ran to his own car, accelerated quickly and caught up with the ute.

  The boy looked barely old enough to have a licence and was clearly scared. He made no protest when Chris pulled him over.

  Chris opened the trailer doors, and there, at last, was Riza.

  An hour later, he had the story pretty well sorted out. Theo was apologetic. Neither he nor his kid brother had meant to cause trouble. Zorba had been going to take Riza back after a couple of days. He’d just wanted to prove to his mates that he could get away with it.

  ‘You mean they knew?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Guessed, more like it. I’ve taken good care of the animal. You can see how well he’s looking.’

  ‘Tell me what happened. From the beginning, please.’

  Zorba had rung his brother to see if he could borrow a trailer. ‘I asked him what he wanted it for. He’s too young to drive, of course. When he told me, I tried to talk him out of it.’

  I bet you did, thought Chris.

  ‘When I could see he was determined, I thought I’d better make sure the camel came to no harm.’

  ‘So you took a trailer down to Queenscliff. How did you catch Riza?’

  ‘Zorba did. It wasn’t any problem.’

  ‘And after you brought him back here?’

  ‘He’s been in a paddock with the horses. Perfectly happy. He’s enjoyed the company.’

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘They know nothing.’ Theo looked surprised that Chris would ask.

  ‘How will your parents react to you and your brother being charged with theft?’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit harsh? We were going to take him back. As a matter of fact, your arrival’s a coincidence. He was on his way back today.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll be charged all right,’ Chris said. ‘I can understand stupidity in a lad of fourteen, but I expect more from a man of your age, who’s had your start in life.’

  While Riza’s transport home was being arranged - Chris didn’t have a tow bar on his car, and was reluctant to entrust the camel to Theo or any of his employees - Chris rang Julie, who sounded drunk or drugged, then, when she realised what was being said, cried with relief. Next he spoke to Anthea, whose praise went down a treat, and whose questions about Jack Benton reminded him that he still had a lot to do.

  Anthea agreed to pick up Zorba and take him to the station. His parents would no doubt insist on being present too. The main interviews could wait until Chris got back, but he didn’t want Zorba getting any brilliant ideas about hopping on a ferry, or performing some other kind of disappearing act. He knew that, as soon as he was gone, Theo would phone his brother.

  Theo’s amusement vanished, and was replaced by barely contained anger. He tried bribery, and, when this failed, became sullen and uncooperative, answering in monosyllables, and only when forced to.

  Chris asked to be shown the trailer Jack Benton had rented. Theo first of all claimed he couldn’t remember, but with a little persuasion, and a few examples of extra charges that could be added to theft, his memory improved.

  Backing onto the shed with the tractor was another one. Theo pointed out a horse float at the far end.

  ‘Has it been rented since?’

  ‘I’d have to check.’

  ‘Do that please. I’m making arrangements for it to be fetched.’

  Theo went pale then, as if the full import of what Chris was saying had only just found its way underneath his skin.

  Chris was glad he wasn’t towing Riza. His hands shook on the wheel. He recalled the way the young camel had turned to look at him when he’d thrown open the trailer doors. Riza had been securely tied so he wouldn’t fall and hurt himself if the driver had to brake suddenly. He’d looked back over his shoulder at the sudden burst of light and noise, not fearfully or apprehensively, but rather with the curiosity of a creature whose fears have been short-lived. It was a look such as a human child might have given him, a child whose courage has already been put to the test.

  Chris pulled over and shut his eyes for fifteen minutes, then phoned Anthea again. She’d done everything he’d asked. He left a message for Camilla at the hospital. He wasn’t sure when he’d find the time to get in to see her; but he knew that, of all the people concerned, after Julie she was the one who would most welcome the news.

  There was quite a gathering waiting for Chris at the station - Anthea, with Mr and Mrs Kostandis either side of Zorba, who tried to look cool and succeeded only in looking scared - Ian Lawrey standing with his head down while Mrs Kostandis threw him furious glances. If she was going to blame Ian for any of her son’s fooleries, Chris thought, he’d have something to say about that.

  Julie Beshervase was there, and Frank Erwin. Chris guessed that Anthea had had a hard time keeping the opposing sides from attacking each other.

  He told Julie and Frank to go to the farmhouse and wait there. They left to pick up his neighbours the Ramseys, who, it seemed, Frank had invited to have a look around the farm.

  Though exhaustion was beginning to drag at all his cells, Chris was determined to get through this first and most difficult of interviews with the Kostandises. He knew that, in spite of their older son’s confession, they’d continue making trouble, loudl
y throwing blame around and hoping that it stuck to someone else’s children. Maybe that had been part of Zorba’s problem: that, and having far more money than his mates. He flashed Ian Lawrey a swift, sympathetic look, and saw, by an easing in the boy’s clenched forehead, that it had been noted.

  Ushering them in and finding places for everyone to sit, Chris wondered why the bet had been so important to Zorba in the first place, and why Ian hadn’t picked Zorba as a boy who would go to great lengths in order not to lose.

  Zorba sat on the edge of his chair, staring at Chris out of black eyes half defiant, half afraid. Chris told Ian to go home and that he’d call for him when he was ready.

  When Ian looked particularly glum at this, Chris amended it to, ‘Come back here in an hour.’

  He wondered why the Kostandises hadn’t brought a solicitor. They’d had time to arrange it. Perhaps they wanted to keep their sons’ little felony personal, involve no one outside the family.

  Zorba’s mother began speaking, offering a version of events so absurd, flying in the face of everything Theo had told him, and that he’d worked out for himself, that for a moment Chris felt like laughing. Theo hadn’t known who the camel belonged to, much less that he was stolen. Her older son had been looking after a stray camel, feeding him, and this was the thanks he got. How did the police know it was the same camel the girl claimed was missing, and where was the animal anyway? Until it was positively identified, no one could be sure. And she didn’t look the type of girl to be able to afford to keep a pet like that. How did they know she was telling the truth? And why blame Zorba? He’d never been near that paddock. He didn’t even know of its existence.

  Chris glanced across at Zorba, who was looking smug. He was glad he’d taken an extra twenty minutes to type out a statement and that Theo, worried about having rented a horse float to a suspect in a murder inquiry, had signed it.

  Chris handed the statement across. Husband and wife read it together. Mrs Kostandis’ voice rose again, in high, resistant argument; but this time her husband put his hand over hers, gently at first, then pressing down more firmly. She frowned, staring at the hands and drawing in her breath, then, without missing more than half a beat, turned her invective on her younger son.