by Sue Williams
What, now? What type of emergency required him this very minute?
A marital bloody emergency.
‘Course,’ I stood, buttoned my shirt, tied on my apron, as if nothing had nearly happened. I breathed deeply in and out.
‘Thanks for the rumballs,’ he paused by the door. ‘Best I’ve ever had.’
I knew it. No wedding band, but there’s a wife. Or an STD. Or bloody both.
A disturbed night with dreams of blood and multi-killing. Grantley shot Brad, then Terry. Dean chased Grantley; Mona, eyeless, managed to stab them both. She ran off hand-in-hand with Aurora, throwing the briefcase through Ernie’s window. Glass shattered everywhere.
I woke with a start, lay awake, listening. Nothing. I switched on the light, started reading Death of a Lake. My attention wandered. Arthur Upfield never had female characters I liked. Misogynistic times, perhaps.
My thoughts drifted to Terry. Was he just pretending he was interested? He’d been amazingly convincing.
I woke just before dawn, as Brad was getting home. Groaning, I decided to get up. I found him hunched over the kitchen table.
‘Might call in on Dean before we open,’ I said. ‘You want to come?’
‘No.’ He played with his toast.
‘Pleasant evening at Madison’s? How’d the flea dipping go?’
His shoulders slumped.
‘Ferrets OK? Not depressed? They didn’t bite you, did they?’ I searched his hands for signs of bites. ‘Dangerous little animals.’
He sighed. ‘I’m not really a ferret person, but I try. You know that, don’t you, Mum? That I try?’ His eyes were a bit too shiny.
I patted his arm. ‘Course.’
‘Madison said she needs someone the ferrets can look up to. She’s decided to go to the Christmas Fringe Festival with Logan.’
‘I thought she’d split up with him.’
Brad shook his head. ‘Not exactly. He’s out of jail.’
‘And into Christmas fringe festivals now?’
Brad shrugged. ‘Apparently he’s interested in all the heads on sticks.’
‘Oh.’ What Madison thinks she’s doing with Logan ‘Skull’ Mathieson is beyond me. Drugs, theft, jail time, Logan’s done it all. He was a nice little kid, way back. A maths whiz. Helped out after school in his auntie’s clothes boutique in Hustle. Until she discovered he was a bit too good with the credit card machine. He’s muscular though, maybe that’s what appeals to Madison. And it’s possible they share an interest in animals. After all, he’s got that giant squid tattoo covering the whole of his right arm.
‘Well, never mind,’ I said. ‘Plenty more girls out there for you. That Claire, she seems nice. And Aurora. If she didn’t kill her nanna. You sent that email to Noel yet?’
Brad shook his head.
‘Want me to send it? I’ll need his address.’
He stood up, hurled his toast into the bin. ‘Leave off about the bloody email, Mum. I can’t concentrate. My life’s in crisis.’
Crisis? ‘Listen. I’ll call in on Logan, point out some facts.’
‘You stay away from Logan.’
‘I’m just trying to help get your life on track.’ I poured some cornflakes into a bowl.
‘You lied to me. Dean didn’t ask us to meet Noel.’
‘Course he did.’
‘He did not. I texted him last night.’
I scowled. ‘Checking up on me, are you?’
‘I asked him when I should pick up the disguise. Thanks to you, Dean now has new evidence that I’m not only a waster, but a gullible one as well. Listen, Mum. Just leave this alone. If not for your own sake, for Dean’s. Monaghan’s got the power to close Dean’s station.’
‘He’s hardly going to close Dean down for solving a big murder case.’
‘He could if he knows Dean’s family is interfering in the investigation.’
‘There isn’t any investigation to interfere in. That’s the bloody point.’
‘If Monaghan wants Dean’s station closed, he’ll make it happen. Loads of one-man stations have been closed.’
I pushed away the bowl. ‘Well, let him! It could be Dean’s chance to be promoted. The change he needs, so he can move up into Homicide.’
‘Mum.’ He sighed. ‘Dean doesn’t want to go to Homicide, even if they’d take him. He’ll be made redundant. And you know how hard it is to find work around here.’
‘There’s always the shop to tide you boys over.’ Although Dean has his fish allergy, unfortunately. ‘Well, I’ll have a chat with the people up at headquarters. Don’t you worry, I’ll sort this out.’
Brad sank into a chair. ‘Jesus, Mum. That’s just it, isn’t it? You’re so sure you can sort everything out. All you do is make things worse.’ His voice was low. ‘Will you ever let Dean grow up?’ He whacked the table, dishes clattering. ‘Or me?’
‘A mother knows what’s good for her child.’ I took a dignified sip of tea.
Brad stood. ‘Good for us? You don’t know the first bloody thing about either of us. You ever listen to Dean? His incessant rants about the technicolour Mallee sunsets, terrific neighbours, mates you can count on, blah blah? He’d hate living in the city. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You never listen.’ Stamping out, he slammed the door.
Oh, for God’s sake. Twenty-two and still slamming doors like a teenager.
‘Vern. Come to pick up my drycleaning.’
Vern rolled himself out of his hammock and walked inside, clutching his notebook. ‘Where’d you go yesterday? Gone all day. Bloody outrageous.’
‘Had to go to Muddy Soak. Dim sim emergency.’
He brought in my dress from the back room. ‘Someone came by your place while you were out. That scraggy-haired fella with the white van.’
Noel? Out in broad daylight, while Dean was looking for him?
‘He was peering in your windows, tried your door. Thought he might intend breaking in, so I strolled over.’
Brad hadn’t mentioned any of this. ‘Where was Brad while this was happening?’
Vern shrugged. ‘Musta had to duck out. Probably helping out with those ferrets. Hell of a lot of work, those animals.’
Great. Thanks for your reliability, Brad.
‘Noel say what he wanted?’
‘Nah. Asked me where you were. Gave me a shifty look. You been up to something not quite right with him?’ Vern’s eyes narrowed.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I don’t know what you get up to in your private life, Cass Tuplin. Widow like you could be up to anything.’
‘I’m not up to anything. His dog bit me.’ I pointed at my leg.
He glanced at the bandages. ‘Probably had its reasons. Anyway. He had a young girl with him.’ Vern laughed, a sound like a tractor firing up. ‘Reckon you mighta missed your chance there.’
I didn’t laugh. ‘What kind of young girl?’
‘Blonde hair, scruffy-looking.’
‘Orange dress?’
‘Maybe.’
‘She say anything? Her name?’
‘Thing is, she did. Weird type of name. Fella jumped quick-smart into the van, started her up. The girl sidled up to me and said, hush-hush voice, she needed to see you. Urgent, she said. Course, if I’d known where you were, I could have pointed her in the right direction. Shame when people decide to act all secretive.’ He made a minor adjustment to the crotch of his shorts.
‘What she want to see me for?’
He shrugged.
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Told her to wait, you’d be back eventually. “Can’t wait,” she said, “got to get it now.”’
‘Got to get what now?’
He smoothed out a non-existent crease in my drycleaned dress. ‘Didn’t say. She pushed a bit of paper into my hand. Then the fella yanked her into the van. Sped off.’
‘Jesus, Vern. Why didn’t you call last night and tell me?’
He scowled. ‘I could see you had
a visitor. I’m not a person that pries into other people’s business.’
‘What was on the paper?’
‘Got it filed somewhere.’ He bent down. Paper rustled as he searched through the shelves below his counter. He pulled out a heap of invoices, scrappy handwritten notes, a pile of dog-eared Tattslotto tickets, three postcards of bronzed topless women lying on beaches.
Vern might not be intact but he’s fully functional.
He put all the bits of paper on the floor while he searched.
His phone rang from out the back. He stood up. ‘Gotta get that. Waiting on a call.’
‘What was on the paper, Vern?’
But he’d lumbered out to his back room. The curtain of blue and white fly strips swished behind him.
I stood and waited. What was Aurora doing with Noel? Why did she want to talk to me? To murder me? My hands went cold.
Or was Aurora some kind of hostage?
Vern took ages, his voice murmuring from the other side of his flystrips. It’d be quicker to search for the note myself. I knelt and rummaged through the pile of papers.
Nothing. I stood up. Waited some more. How long can a man talk on the phone, anyway? He’d left his notebook on the counter. Maybe Aurora’s note was in there. I opened it, had a quick little rootle through.
‘What you think you’re doing?’
I jumped.
Vern can truly slither when he wants. He doesn’t make a single sound.
‘That’s bloody personal property.’
‘Just looking for that girl’s…’
He snatched the notebook from me. A photo of a naked woman fell out.
‘Get out.’ Vern’s face was hot red.
‘Vern, I don’t care about your photos. That girl could be in mortal…’
‘Bloody industrial espionage.’ He flung his arm towards his front door. ‘Get out!’
Yeah, right. As if there’d be anything in Vern’s shop any self-respecting espionage person would care to expose. I picked up my drycleaning and sailed out.
I tried the official approach first, calling Dean, filling him in on Noel and Aurora’s unexpected visit.
‘Right,’ his voice was grim. ‘I’ll cruise around again today. I’ve told everyone to watch out for the dog. Vern should have called me.’
‘Aurora could be Noel’s hostage.’
‘Mum. I know you’re worried about that dog. But try to keep your imagination in control. Put your leg up. Brad can run the shop today.’
Terrific. I hung up.
I checked my watch. There was time to call in on Logan before opening the shop, if I made it quick. I’d set Logan straight on a few facts, and possibly a few small unimportant fictions. A brief update on Madison’s sexual health status, since Logan had been away in jail, and Brad’s path to bliss would be swept clear.
A blissful Brad would be calmer, more pleasant and more accepting of our need to email Noel.
I rapped on Brad’s door. ‘Mind the shop, Bradley.’ He poked his head out. ‘And really mind it this time.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘It means stay here, unlike yesterday.’
He turned red, mumbled something.
‘What?’ I said.
‘I said, yes. After all, I don’t have anywhere else to bloody go, do I?’ He slammed his bedroom door.
Logan lives in the old shearer’s hut at the Ryan place, sixteen k’s out of Rusty Bore. Passing the row of silos, I found my thoughts drifting back to Terry. The way he’d rushed off. Taylah would be able to update me on any wife-de-facto-infection situation, she knows everything about everyone.
Or was he somehow embarrassed? Why? The state of his assets? He had his own business. His ute. And there he was, helping out his brother, Sergeant Monaghan. A decent family man.
Discarded plastic bottles on the roadside rolled in the breeze. My phone rang. Terry! I pulled over, tyres skidding on the gravel.
‘Cass. Where are you? I want to apologise. Any chance we can start again?’
‘Look, are you married?’ I might as well come straight out and ask.
‘What? Ah…I can see how it might have seemed. Nah, it’s just…work. It’s complicated. Can I tell you about it over dinner? Tomorrow night?’
I hesitated.
‘They do a decent roast at the Hustle RSL.’
It’s never easy to resist a good roast. ‘Terry?’
‘Yes?’ His voice was soft, eager.
‘You know anything about the Hocking-Lees?’
‘Not really,’ he said.
‘Aurora? She in trouble with the law?’
‘Nah, Aurora’s a good kid. Helped me with some tree planting.’
I pulled in outside Logan’s place, behind a white car. An array of gas cylinders lay strewn across the yard, broken glassware in a glittering pile. I stepped out of my car. This place smelled seriously of cat pee.
I limped up the front steps of the house, pausing outside the door. A lot of shouting and banging was going on inside. I suddenly went off the idea of calling in on Logan. Brad could find his own solution to his love life. I started quick smart back down the steps.
The door behind me opened. A voice: ‘I suggest you give it some careful thought, Logan. You don’t really have a choice. Since no one will believe you.’ A voice I recognised.
I turned around. A tall man stood in the doorway staring at me. A very tall man in a long leather coat. Monaghan.
He strode over and grabbed me by the arm. ‘What are you doing here?’
He marched me to my car and stood, coat flapping in the wind. Smiled, a strained type of smile like he was working hard to be polite. Ravi must have reported Mona missing, surely. Was Logan involved? And maybe Monaghan was going to be a whole lot more polite to me, now he knew. ‘Let’s get you home. It isn’t safe here.’
He practically pushed me into my car.
I wound down my window. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Get out of here, for God’s sake,’ he shouted.
I looked in my mirror as I drove off. He stood at the roadside watching me.
When I got home, I realised what the ‘it’ must be that Aurora had said she needed. I charged into my lounge.
The briefcase wasn’t where I’d left it on the couch. ‘Brad?’ He shambled up the hall.
‘Did you move the case?’ I said.
‘No.’
The curtain flapped at the window. I looked at Brad, at the window, back at Brad. My windows are the ancient kind, not entirely lockable. ‘You hear anyone open the window?’
He shook his head.
‘You been here the whole time?’
‘Bloody yes, Mum.’
Who? When? I could have kicked myself. Why didn’t I just lock the damn thing away?
Well, I wasn’t going to let a stolen briefcase get to me. Investigative setbacks are a given for any criminologist. Dean would find that out when he transferred to Homicide. Maybe I could help him prepare for it emotionally.
‘It confirms the briefcase is important, Brad.’
‘You’d better open the shop, Mum. It’s already eleven.’
‘In a minute. Good thing I kept the key. Maybe they’ll come back for it once they see it’s missing. We could set a trap.’
Brad sighed. ‘You want me to open the shop?’
‘Could you, love? Now I think of it, the leg is hurting. I suppose I should rest it a bit.’ I gave him a valiant little smile. ‘I’ll join you in a tick.’
He scuffed off into the shop, the connecting door closing with a click. I leapt off the couch, crept down the hall, popped my head around the doorway of Brad’s room.
There was the laptop on his desk, up and running. I thought about my wording for a moment.
Noel. If you’re interested in nesting Major Mitchells, meet me 8 a.m. Monday at Perry Lake. And I’ve got something else you’re looking for.
I hit send, then headed into the shop.
After the lunchtime rush,
three customers, my phone rang. Dean.
‘Mum, Sergeant Dale Monaghan is here. Mrs Mona Hocking-Lee has been reported missing. We need you and Brad to come in and answer some questions.’
Finally.
Dean’s station is on the southern edge of Hustle, a weatherboard place with a metal fence framing the dusty yard. His house is out the back.
I opened Dean’s gate. ‘Now, don’t mention the briefcase. It won’t help Dean that you lost it.’
Brad scowled. ‘Who lost it?’
‘We haven’t got time to go into all that now.’
Dean met us at the counter. ‘Brad, you wait in the cell while we interview Mum.’
‘The cell?’ said Brad.
‘Don’t argue with me.’ Dean grabbed his arm and marched him down the corridor. I heard a key grate in a lock, then Dean was back.
‘The cell?’ I said.
‘No arguments from you either, Mum. I’ve had it up to here with you.’ He jostled me into the interview room. Not quite the way I’d expected to be treated, given that I’d been right all along and he’d been plain old wrong. Still, maybe it was procedure, locking up Brad, jostling me.
I sat down, gave Dean a deluxe star-witness beam. He didn’t smile, just sat next to Monaghan, facing me across the white table. White walls, white ceiling, fluorescent lights. Dean seriously needed to redecorate.
I got myself ready for Monaghan’s apology. That eye was still oozy. Nothing too transmissible, I hoped. He was sitting close by Dean and Dean needs both eyes operational.
‘We’re recording this interview,’ said Monaghan. ‘State your name and address please.’
I did.
Dean fiddled with a pen.
‘Interview conducted by Senior Sergeant Monaghan and Senior Constable Tuplin.’
‘Leading,’ I said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Leading Senior Constable Tuplin.’
‘Of course. Now, Mrs Tuplin, please describe your relationship with Mrs Mona Hocking-Lee.’
‘Relationship? I hardly knew her.’
‘Knew? Past tense?’
‘Like I said, I found her on Monday, dead, in Ernie’s shed. Then she disappeared.’ No need to mention I’d found her the day before as well, no need to embarrass Dean.
‘Senior Constable Tuplin…Leading,’ Monaghan corrected himself, ‘advised that you told him something similar on Sunday morning,’ he looked at a notepad, ‘at Perry Lake. Although there is no police report of that matter.’ His lips tightened.
