Time passed but sleep would not come. Willy tried to think about Barbara, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Marjorie. That made him all horny and hot again, but also scared and ashamed. He was doubly ashamed; for first having succumbed to the temptation, and then for being a coward and not going through with it.
Willy lay there with his thoughts and emotions in a whirl. He realised he was also listening for sounds of Marjorie coming out to get him. In another spasm of self-castigation he realised he was dreading that. He nerved himself to be strong if she did.
In the distance Willy heard a noise. ‘Was that a shout?’ he thought. He raised his head to listen. No. Nothing. Must be imagination. He lay back.
‘Forget Marjorie. Think of Barbara. No. Go to sleep!’ Willy told himself. Frustrated he rolled on his side and adjusted his pillow.
‘That sound- a trail bike? No. A chain saw. Off down the creek somewhere. Perhaps it is a water pump. Nobody would be using a chain saw in the middle of the night.’ The sound stopped. Willy relaxed. More hot memories of Marjorie crept in. He tried to block them out, but in vain.
‘Definitely a chain saw,’ Willy decided as the engine noise started again. It had that distinctive rise and fall of volume and speed. ‘Odd. Is it Uncle Ted? What on earth could he be cutting at this time of night?’ Willy decided the idea was silly and tried to relax.
A distant noise of splintering and crashing made Willy sit up.
There were footsteps in the corridor and Aunty Isabel appeared knotting her dressing gown around her. She saw Willy sitting up.
“Did you hear something Willy?”
“Yes Aunty. It.. It woke me up,” Willy replied- and instantly scorned himself for being a weakling and a liar.
Aunty Isabel stared out into the darkness. “It sounded like a big tree falling.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought,” Willy agreed. “I thought I heard a chain saw.”
“So did I. Ah! Listen!”
The sound of a vehicle came faintly to their ears.
“Over on the Wilson’s place on the other side of the creek. Going away,” Aunty Isabel said.
Willy plainly detected worry in her voice. “What’s wrong Aunty?”
“I’m not sure. Ted heard a vehicle and he went out to have a look. But that was over half an hour ago. I hope he’s alright.”
“Where did he go?”
“Down to the bottom paddock he said.”
The sound of their talking roused Stephen. He rolled over and asked: “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t know. Uncle Ted went down to the bottom paddock to investigate a vehicle,” Willy replied.
Aunty Isabel twisted her dressing gown cord in her hands. “I hope he’s alright.”
The sound of the vehicle died away. Willy got out of his sleeping bag and stood up. “What sort of trouble might it be?” he asked.
“We’ve had some nasty types creeping about recently- people taking orchids from the World Heritage Area; and ‘Druggies’ growing marijuana up in the State Forest along Davies Creek. There’s a track across to there from here.”
“But not at night surely?”
“No. Not at night. Oh! I’m so worried.”
Stephen got up and Stick stirred and sat up. There were footsteps and Marjorie joined them. Willy barely noticed her. He was too concerned about Uncle Ted.
“Do you want us to go and have a look?” he asked.
“Yes please, but be careful.”
“Get dressed,” Willy said to Stephen and Stick. “Not you Marjorie. Stick! Get up and get dressed.”
Willy grabbed his clothes and went through to the bathroom. When he came out he found his mother and father were also awake. His father said: “Wait. I will come with you.”
“Catch us up Dad,” Willy said as he pulled on sandshoes. “Have you got a torch Aunty?”
There was a bustle of preparations for a few minutes. The three boys set off along the vehicle track behind the house, Willy leading. Each had a torch which they directed at the ground a few metres in front of them, out of fear of snakes.
Behind the house were a barn, garage and machinery shed. They looked around and in each of them but there was no sign of Uncle Ted.
“The chain saw was down at the creek beyond the bottom paddock. Come on,” Willy said. He set off again. As he walked he noted that there was no moon. It was quite dark and there were a million stars overhead. The loom of the lights of Cairns paled the sky on their left and outlined the jungle covered peaks of the Lamb Range. There was no wind and it was cold enough for Willy to wish that he had worn his pullover.
Ten minutes walking brought them to the tree line at the far end of the farm. The vehicle track plunged into a gloomy tunnel in a wall of trees. It looked like jungle in the darkness but Willy knew it was more open; a mixture of huge river gums with their huge white trunks, and rainforest hardwoods. Uncle Ted was always keen to point out things like Blackbean trees there.
“Do we go in there?” Stephen asked, shining his torch amongst the trees.
“Well Uncle Ted is not here so we must,” Willy replied. “The track goes down across the creek and up to the next farm.”
He wasn’t keen as it was very dark and the track was overgrown. It was just two wheel tracks in the long grass and weeds- ideal for snakes. But he nerved himself to do so and opened the wire gate and led them through. Twenty paces on, knee deep in grass, Willy paused and took a deep breath, then called out: “Uncle Ted! Uncle Ted! Where are you?”
They listened. Nothing.
A torch came bobbing along the track from behind them, but it was Willy’s dad.
“No luck then?” he asked. Willy saw in the glow of the torches that his face was creased with worry.
“I’ll look down along the track,” Willy offered. He began walking gingerly along one of the wheel ruts. The others followed. A minute of walking brought them down a steep bank into the bed of the creek. Here they were among very tall trees and head-high guinea grass and lantana.
Willy’s torch picked out some crushed grass. He swung the beam around to check. Yes, somebody had pushed their way through the long grass and quite recently. He shone the torch along the rough track and saw masses of leaves and branches. It puzzled him and took him a moment to realize he was looking at the top of a tree which was now lying on the ground.
“There’s something here,” he called. Forgetful of snakes he pushed his way through the long grass.
It was a tree alright. It had been cut down, and very recently. There were splintered branches all over the place and he could smell the sap and crushed leaves. Willy felt an awful sense of dread clutch at his heart.
“Uncle Ted! Uncle Ted, are you there?” Willy called, his voice a rasping croak. He pushed on through the grass and lantana, barely noticing the scratches and prickles on his arms and bare legs. It was a huge tree, a bloodwood. Sap oozed from its torn limbs.
Willy walked up along one of its thick branches to the massive trunk. This was so big he would have had trouble climbing onto it any other way. He shone his torch along the trunk and was amazed at the length. The beam of the torch barely picked out the other end some twenty five or thirty metres away.
Then he saw the boot.
Willy let out a sob and ran along the tree trunk. No! It couldn’t be true! Please God, don’t let it be true!
But it was.
A leg stuck out from under the trunk just near the massive stump. Willy swung his torch to the other side of the log and cried in anguish: “No!”
It was Uncle Ted.
For a moment Willy stared down, paralyzed by the horror revealed in his torch beam. Then he heard Stephen calling.
“What is it?”
“It.. It’s Uncle Ted,” Willy croaked. He just stood on the log and stared, appalled beyond belief.
Uncle Ted lay half under the log. His eyes were open and he was not moving. Willy was sure he was dead because most of his intestines were spilled out in a grisly red
tangle and his right leg lay a metre away, completely severed. Dried blood was spattered everywhere. A blood-soaked yellow chain saw was loosely gripped in his right hand.
Stephen ran along the log to join Willy. He cried out in horror and turned away to be violently sick. Stick and Dr Williams came crashing through the grass to halt beside the body.
Dr Williams knelt down to feel for a pulse in his brother’s neck.
Willy stared in horror. “He’s dead isn’t he Dad?” he sobbed.
His father straightened up, his face grim and strained. “Yes. Yes he is.”
“This isn’t an accident is it Dad? Uncle Ted didn’t come down here in the middle of the night to cut this tree down.”
“No. Someone has tried to make it look like an accident but it’s not. It is murder.”
CHAPTER 4
MURDER
Murder!
Willy’s mind raced; even as it recoiled from acceptance of the terrible tragedy before his eyes. Stephen and Stick stood as though mesmerized, their expressions ghastly in the reflected torchlight.
Stick licked his lips. “What will we do?” he asked in a strangled whisper. “Shouldn’t we get a doctor?”
“I am a doctor,” Willy’s father replied quietly. He seemed to slump and shrivel as the enormity of it hit him. “This is a job for the police.”
“How do you know it wasn’t an accident?” Stephen asked.
“Too much damage. Even if Ted had been holding the chain saw it wouldn’t have been able to cut his leg off, then rip his stomach open. Besides, to cut his leg off at that angle would have been impossible. Someone else did it.”
“But why?” Stick asked.
“My guess is he saw something or someone he shouldn’t have, so they killed him to keep him from talking,” Dr Williams replied grimly.
Willy agreed: “That’s what Aunty said. She thought Uncle Ted heard something and he came down to investigate. I know I heard something.”
“What?”
“I heard a vehicle. Then, about ten minutes later I heard a motor, a chain saw. Then I .. saw Uncle Ted go out. About half an hour later I heard another noise. I thought it was a shout. Soon after that the chain saw started again. Then I heard the tree fall.”
Dr Williams nodded. “Yes, I heard that. It woke me. Are you sure about what time Ted went out?”
Willy broke into a sweat. He felt nauseous. He did not want to lie, but nor did he want to drag Marjorie’s reputation into the picture. “Yes. Definite. I was awake. I couldn’t sleep. But the actual time is only an estimate.”
Stephen shone his torch around. “What if the murderer is still here?”
Willy shook his head. “I heard a vehicle drive off, that way.” He pointed across the creek.
“So did I,” Dr Williams agreed.
“Let’s look,” Stick suggested.
“No. You could spoil the crime scene, confuse the tracks and boot prints and things. Go back up to the field,” Dr Williams ordered.
“Shouldn’t we do something for Uncle Ted?” Willy asked, his voice trembling with emotion. To his distress he could see ants walking on Uncle Ted’s face.
“No. Don’t touch anything. Leave it for the detectives. Come on, back to the track,” his father answered firmly.
They made their way back through the long grass. Willy’s vision blurred from tears. He began sobbing and just blundered along. Out on the track Dr Williams sighed and put his arm around Willy’s shoulders. He drew the sobbing boy into his embrace, then spoke to Stephen and Stick, his voice flat and distressed: “Can I ask you two boys to wait here, just at the gate? If a vehicle or people come from across the creek run back to the farm. I want you to wait until the police arrive. It will be an hour or more I should think.”
“Yes sir. We will stay,” Stick replied. Stephen nodded but he looked very scared and sickly.
“I’ll stay too Dad,” Willy sobbed.
“No you won’t. Your mother will need you. Come on son. I have to tell Aunty Isabel.”
Dr Williams kept his arm around his son’s shoulders and started him walking up the track. Willy did not resist. He trembled violently and burst into tears again. His father kept squeezing his shoulder and patting him.
“Cry it son. Cry it out,” he said. Then he also sobbed: “It never gets any easier you know. Being a doctor I see this sort of thing almost every day sometimes. But it never gets any easier. What a way to die! What a senseless act! Ted was the nicest man who ever lived. Just wait till I get my hands on the murderous scum who did it!”
His father was silent for a time after that, but Willy could tell he was very upset. They trudged in miserable silence along the track past the bottom paddock. As they walked Willy was torn by a double misery. He was worried that when the police questioned him he would let slip that he had been with Marjorie. ‘If I was the last person to have “seen” Uncle Ted alive they are sure to question me in detail,’ he conjectured unhappily.
As he walked along the side of the paddock Willy silently cursed himself for being a weakling and a liar. He wrestled with whether to admit the lie to his father now, to get it over with. Sadly he realized he did not even have that as an honourable option. If he did he would harm Marjorie. Much as he resented her he could not bring himself to do that. The lie would have to stand. Besides, it was not something it would be fair to unload onto his father at this point in time.
Father and son walked slowly, both crying quietly, both dreading the moment when the women must be told. The arrival at the farmhouse and the subsequent distress of the women Willy found nearly as upsetting as the horrific discovery earlier. Aunty Isabel and his mother retired weeping to a bedroom. His father went to telephone the police, leaving Willy alone with a shocked Marjorie.
She was crying too. Willy just wanted to slump down and howl but found himself on the sofa comforting her. She lay in his arms and sobbed until his shirt front was soaked. After a time Willy temporarily cried himself out. He felt utterly exhausted and drained. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Instead he patted Marjorie and stroked her hair.
“I’ve told my dad I saw Uncle Ted go out,” Willy said. “I didn’t say anything about us. So you can say you were asleep.” He hated himself as he said this. Self-loathing made the bile rise in his throat.
Marjorie sat up and looked at him, wet eyelashes blinking. “Oh thank you Willy. You are wonderful.” She leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth, her arms around his neck. Willy tasted the salt of her tears and felt physically sick. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up. He felt a real heel and could not respond to her affection. After a minute he gently eased her arms away and made his way to the bathroom.
When the police arrived Willy was made to stay at the farmhouse with the women while his father took them down to the murder scene. Willy sat beside Marjorie, utterly wretched and exhausted. Eventually she dropped off to sleep. His mother came and moved him, then made Marjorie comfortable and covered her with a blanket. Half an hour later, just on daylight, Stephen and Stick returned, both very subdued. Willy barely noticed. He kept re-living the night:- first the passion with Marjorie; then the horror of discovering Uncle Ted’s mutilated body; and his own unworthiness as a liar.
His mother made him force some breakfast down and was then sent to lie down. Still he could not sleep and tossed and turned in misery and torment.
More police arrived, four car loads. They searched the whole area. At last the moment came that Willy had been dreading. His father called him into the lounge room and he found himself seated, facing a plain-clothes Detective Sergeant of intimidating size and intimidating manner. The man fixed hard eyes on him and listened to his halting recital of events. Then he asked: “So, when your uncle came out of the door onto the veranda which way did he go?”
Willy licked his lips. “I don’t know. I didn’t really see him.”
“Oh? You said earlier that you did.”
“No. I.. I meant I heard him
,” Willy answered. He could feel sweat breaking out on his upper lip. “I was lying facing the wall but I heard his footsteps and knew it was Uncle Ted.”
“You heard his footsteps but didn’t hear which way he went?”
“No. I was half asleep,” Willy replied. He wiped sweaty palms and tried to meet the man’s sceptical stare.
“You were half asleep, yet you remember all those other details of vehicles and noises?”
“They woke me up. Just as I was drifting off to sleep again another noise would wake me up,” Willy replied.
The detective made a face and said: “So a vehicle over a kilometre away first woke you up.” He said it as a flat statement.
Willy’s mind raced. ‘He doesn’t believe me. What can I say?’ His eyes flickered up to meet his father’s and then towards Marjorie who sat on the far side of the room. He wrenched them back and looked the policeman full in the eye. “Yes,” he said, but inside he felt rotten.
They let him go at that and his mother took him outside onto the side veranda for a cup of tea. Marjorie came and sat beside him but he would not look at her. It was a thoroughly miserable morning.
The police discovered a place where a 4 Wheel Drive vehicle had been turned around. They said there were footprints showing at least two people. They showed the chain saw to Aunty Isabel; in a plastic bag but still covered in blood and bits of... bits of Uncle Ted. She nearly fainted but confirmed she had never seen it before in her life. The only chain saw they owned was a red one. It was still in the tool shed. She took them to see it, looking pale and haggard. Willy was revolted, feeling for her intensely.
Throughout all of it Willy felt he was in some sort of a dream. His mind went over and over the terrible events of the night. He listened to the conversations but took no part in them. Ideas and theories about why Uncle Ted was murdered were tossed around, particularly when friends and neighbours arrived to comfort Aunty Isabel; but none made any sense to Willy.
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