FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR

by Di Morrissey

  ’Act in haste, repent at leisure,’ said the big man with a slow smile.

  Kev hurried in with a length of clothesline and handed it to Ritchie, who wrenched Queenie’s other hand behind her back and began winding the rope around her wrists. She lashed out and kicked him with her leg and he scuffled with her for a second.

  ‘Jesus, give me a hand,’ he panted.

  The older man leaned the rifle against the wall and grabbed Queenie’s hair, pulling her head back. She slid to the floor and Ritchie put a booted foot in the small of her back as he continued binding the rope around her wrists. ‘Grab her feet.’ The rope was then flung around her ankles and knotted in place. ‘There, trussed up like a chook.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this!’ yelled Queenie.

  ‘Shaddup. Gimme that tea towel.’ Swiftly they tied the smelly damp cloth over her mouth.

  ‘Okay, pick up her feet.’ With one carrying her by the shoulders, the other by the feet, they half carried, half dragged Queenie to the first bedroom, tossed her onto the bed and left, slamming the door.

  Queenie began to shake with shock and fright. Tears poured down her cheeks and she wondered how on earth she was going to get out of this. How she wished she’d brought along Maud and the kids. It was her own stupid fault for being so stubborn, thinking she could handle any situation herself.

  She lay there for some time curled into a foetal position, trying to get control of herself. Gradually her tears subsided and she rolled onto her back to ease her discomfort. It was then that Queenie felt the bulge of the penknife in her back pocket. She wiggled her fingers and eventually managed to slip them into the pocket and grasp the knife. Slowly she eased the pocketknife out. With her fingers she was able to open out the blade but she had no leverage to slice through the rope. She looked about the room and sat up. She looked at the bed. There was a gap between the frame and the bed base. Working with her hands behind her, she jammed the handle of the knife into this slot where it lodged, the blade protruding. Kneeling down on the floor she lifted her wrists above the blade and began a sawing motion across the knife.

  The blade was sharp and she quickly sliced through the first loop of rope. She placed the next loop on the blade and cut through that too. She was then able to wiggle her hands free and in seconds she’d loosened the rope from round her feet and pulled off her gag. She rubbed her chafed ankles and wrists with relief and glanced about the room. There was a window, which was nailed shut, the glass panes painted cream. However, she knew the hallway led to the back door. She quietly opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hall. The three men were arguing. They sounded drunk and aggressive.

  She got to the back door and slowly turned the knob. It was locked. Damn it, she thought. In the darkness she couldn’t see the key so she crept back down the hall, just as she heard the bigger, older man declare, ‘Shit, we might as well enjoy ourselves. I haven’t had a woman since bloody Holdsworth. You blokes draw straws, I’ll go warm ’er up.’ There was a burst of laughter, a chair scraping and the clink of glasses.

  Queenie went cold with fear. Oh God, she hadn’t bargained on this. She rushed back into the bedroom, closing the door as the man came into the hallway, stumbling against the wall. He pushed open the door and went to where Queenie was lying on the bed, her feet and hands behind her, the tea towel draped over her mouth.

  ‘Surprise, little lady.’ He unbuckled his belt, slipped his braces off his shoulders and dropped his pants, falling on top of her. His breath was beery, his face rough with stubble. He groped at her breasts, trying to pull open her shirt.

  In a split second Queenie pulled her hands out from beneath her. She was clutching a solid glass ashtray, which she raised in the air then slammed down on the back of the man’s head. With a grunt he rolled to one side. She gave him a shove and slid from under him. Stunned, the man was bleeding and struggling to get up, but his pants were still around his ankles. Queenie grabbed the heavy china lamp base from beside the bed and smashed it over his head, surprised at how little noise it made. The man slumped onto the mattress. She stood staring down at his unconscious shape, drawing deep shuddering breaths.

  Slowly and silently, trying to control her trembling, she crept down the hall and listened. The two men were arguing over the cards. She glanced swiftly into the room, remembering that the man had leaned her rifle against the wall right beside the hallway entrance. If it was still there it was a mere arm’s length away.

  Queenie lay down on her stomach, wiggled slowly to the doorway and reached around into the lighted room. The men were still arguing about the cards and although one was almost facing the hallway, so long as she didn’t stand up, she didn’t think he’d notice. Slowly she slid her hand along the skirting board and with a flood of relief she felt the wooden butt. She slid her hand up to the magazine and tilted the rifle, grabbing the barrel and pulling it to her. She moved back into the darkness of the hallway, stood and checked that the rifle was still cocked.

  ‘You’re cheatin’ you bastard,’ shouted Ritchie.

  ‘Balls I am! You . . .’ The words stopped in shock as Kev looked up and caught sight of Queenie standing in the doorway, the rifle aimed at him. Stupidly the two men sat speechless as she edged around the room towards the front door.

  ‘Where do ya think you’re going?’ Ritchie rose drunkenly to his feet.

  ‘Make one move and I’ll shoot you in the balls,’ said Queenie steadily, lowering the sights of the rifle to aim at Ritchie, who instinctively crossed his hands over his genitals and sat down with a thud.

  Queenie got to the door and opened it, still facing the two men. ‘Now tell me, where are my bulls?’

  ‘Fuck off, lady.’ Kev rose to his feet, still holding a pair of cards, but as he made a move, a shot rang out and he looked down to see there was a round hole through the ace of diamonds.

  Ritchie made a lunge towards her and Queenie shot the toe off his boot. He recoiled, staring in shock at the ripped leather, wondering how it missed his foot. Queenie was out of the door, slamming it behind her and running into the night before either man had realised what had happened. As she ran she whistled and was relieved to see Honey loom out of nowhere. The men rushed down to the bedroom and it was another minute or so before they wrenched open the front door and raced outside. By then Queenie had flung herself onto the horse and was charging down the yard, clearing the moonlit fence in a wide high jump to gallop out of sight.

  ‘Get in the bloody ute, there’s a gun in there, quick.’ The doors slammed, the engine started then the truck slewed on its four flat tyres as it tried to take off.

  ‘Oh shit!’ exclaimed Ritchie, hitting the steering wheel. ‘We’ll never catch ’er now.’

  Queenie’s heart was pounding, but she didn’t slacken Honey’s pace until she was sure the men hadn’t found a means of chasing her. Then she slowed Honey, took some deep breaths to calm herself down. After a minute or two she felt better but was still shaking. ‘No one’s going to believe this!’ she shouted to the bush a little hysterically. Well, she’d have a good story to tell the constable in Noondale. She wondered if the cattle duffers would hang around for their money. She just prayed they would be too interested in looking out for themselves to harm her bulls. It would be tragic if they shot them after all this. Queenie glanced up at the moonlit sky. She’d probably be in Noondale by breakfast time.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Noondale constable shook his head and handed Queenie another cup of instant coffee. ‘If it was anybody else but you I wouldn’t have believed it. I’ll get on the blower and we’ll be off. Times like this I wish we had access to a chopper at the drop of a hat. Leave your horse in the yard, she’ll be right.’ He eyed the weary Queenie. ‘You up to another trip back there?’

  ‘My oath! I want to make sure my bulls are all right. How soon can we get a truck in to pick them up?’

  ‘There’s a fella out that way. I’ll put him on standby. We’ll call him when we get ther
e.’

  ‘You mean when you actually set eyes on my stolen stock,’ countered Queenie, managing a tired smile.

  ‘Ah, it’s not that I don’t believe you, Queenie — if you don’t mind me calling you by your first name, I sorta feel I know you — but there’s always the chance they could’ve done something vindictive like, or taken off with them. You said there was a cattle truck there.’

  ‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Queenie reached in her pocket and dropped the keys to the truck on the desk.

  The constable picked up the keys and put them in his shirt pocket with a grin. He drained his coffee mug and reached for his official hat. ‘Ready?’ They were settled in the police four-wheel drive before Queenie thought she should have called Tingulla and passed on the news.

  They arrived at the Mitchell property in the afternoon and debated on the strategy of approaching the house. ‘Why not bowl straight up to the front door? I’ll keep out of sight, you take your hat off, the car’s unmarked,’ suggested Queenie.

  ‘Good idea. Though if I was them blokes I wouldn’t be hanging around.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take off on foot either,’ commented Queenie. ‘Though they’ve probably caught the horses by now. Or fixed the vehicles.’

  ‘I doubt they’d have had four spare tyres for each one though,’ grinned the burly constable.

  As they approached the first buildings Queenie slid down in her seat. Constable Higgins parked outside the manager’s house where Queenie had been held and went to the door. He rapped loudly and called out, but there was no response. Dogs chained further down the yard began to bark and howl. The constable tried the door which opened. He went inside then got swiftly back into his vehicle. ‘Nobody there. Looks like they left in a hurry. Let’s try the big house.’

  That too was locked and empty. ‘I don’t see the cattle truck you mentioned,’ said Constable Higgins. ‘Though the others are here. You did a fair old job on the tyres.’

  Queenie looked about the sheds. ‘The truck was parked over there. My guess is they hotwired that and took off. Let’s go find my bulls.’

  They drove about the property heading west and when they passed a paddock with a group of horses, the constable stopped and watched them for a minute then reached over and took his binoculars from the glove box. He studied them briefly then wound the leather strap around the glasses and handed them to Queenie. ‘They’re missing bloodstock from down south,’ he said grimly. ‘If your cattle are here too then Mitchell is in deep shit. ’Scuse the language.’ Constable Higgins looked quite satisfied. They came over a rise and spread before them were the missing stud bulls and calves from Cricklewood.

  ‘You little beauty!’ cried Queenie. ‘They look okay too.’

  ‘God, I see why they duffed them. They’d be worth a bob or two,’ commented the constable.

  They pulled up to the barbed-wire fence and Queenie leapt out, followed by Constable Higgins who held up strands of the wire for Queenie to slip through. She strode towards the group of bulls but the constable hung back cautiously. Suddenly a massive bull broke away from the group and began loping straight towards Queenie at a fast and determined run. The constable looked from Queenie — who kept walking calmly forward — to the rapidly approaching thousand kilos of muscle, and opted for discretion over valour, sprinting back to the fence. When he turned around he was astounded to see the massive bull lumber straight to Queenie, who stood still, talking quietly to it. The bull lowered its head, went to Queenie and began rubbing his heavy head against her body, licking the bare skin of her arms. Laughing, she held onto its ears to keep her balance and fondled the beast. She went back to the fence and the bull followed her like a dog.

  ‘This is Dinky,’ laughed Queenie as the constable helped her back through the wire. ‘He’s an old sook, more of a pet now. Though he does do his duty now and then when he fancies a lady.’

  ‘Phew, you had me going there for a bit,’ said the constable sheepishly.

  Queenie gave Dinky a hefty pat through the fence. ‘Let’s call that trucker. I want to get my animals home.’

  They made the call on the police two-way radio and notified the stock inspector at Longreach that Queenie’s stock had been found. Constable Higgins made notes and then they turned back towards the homestead.

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea to celebrate,’ sighed Queenie. ‘Is it trespassing if we went in and brewed ourselves a pot in the manager’s place?’

  “Fraid so. But don’t panic. I always carry the makings with me. The missus always throws in some cake or biscuits too. Soon as we’re out on the road we’ll find a spot to put the billy on.’

  ‘Now that’s what I call a fully equipped police vehicle,’ said Queenie with a grin.

  But as they bounced over the scrubby ground the first thing they saw as the home buildings came into view was a station wagon parked outside the main homestead.

  ‘Hello, somebody’s home. I guess we’ll just have to front them as planned.’

  By the time the constable had parked and stepped from the car, leaving Queenie and his hat in the front seat, a man in a shirt and tie was waiting in the front yard. Constable Higgins strolled towards him with an affable smile. ‘Are you Barney Mitchell?’

  ‘Why? Who wants to know?’ snapped the man, loosening his tie.

  ‘Constable Higgins from Noondale. I’m following up a line of inquiry, Mr Mitchell.’

  ‘What right have you got to be on my property? You got a search warrant?’ Mitchell was belligerent. Small beads of perspiration were shining on his forehead.

  ‘Why should I need a search warrant? I just want to ask a few questions. There wasn’t anybody about so I thought I’d look for the owner on his property,’ said Higgins easily.

  At this point Queenie got out of the car and went and stood by the constable, glaring at Mitchell in disgust.

  ‘Er, this is Mrs Hamilton. She would like to know how her missing stock came to be on your property.’

  ‘So you were snooping. Look, I’ve been away, I don’t know anything about any missing bulls or how they could’ve got here. I spend a lot of time away from this place. People come and go,’ blustered Mitchell.

  ‘Who said my missing stock were bulls, Mr Mitchell?’ said Queenie in a deadly quiet voice.

  ‘You get off my property. I’m calling my solicitor,’ barked Mitchell.

  ‘You do that Mr Mitchell,’ answered the constable.

  Ripping his tie off and loosening his collar, Barney Mitchell stormed inside the house.

  ‘What now?’ whispered Queenie.

  ‘Not much he can do. He’s got stolen property on his premises whether he put it there or not.’

  They turned back to the police car when Queenie nudged the constable. Lying on top of the bonnet of the station wagon was Mitchell’s jacket and a briefcase. The jacket was open, revealing the inside pocket which bulged with several fat white envelopes.

  ‘What do you want to bet there’s cash in those meant for the three blokes who were waiting here to be paid for delivering my stock, and whatever else they’ve done for Mitchell,’ hissed Queenie.

  Constable Higgins took her firmly by the elbow and led her to the car, opening the door for her. ‘Hop in. Don’t worry, we have enough on this bloke. What with the description of the three fellows who held you and the cattle truck that left here, I reckon they’ve probably already been picked up.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Colin waited till Dina had left the pink palazzo, as he called the unit she and Fisher had almost finished decorating. He lifted the phone and called Saskia at her flat.

  ‘How’re things going, Saskia?’

  ‘So so. I’ve just got back from Tingulla. TR is back at home.’

  ‘How’s school? Have you had any thoughts about your future plans?’ Colin’s voice dripped solicitous concern.

  ‘Well . . . sort of. I’ve taken a year off; I’m just here packing up. So I’m seeking opportunities, as they say.’

&nb
sp; ‘Maybe I can help there.’ Colin was being the kindly uncle, but he had his own reasons for helping Saskia. By luring her to Harmony Hill he would be able to keep tabs on her and the family. Besides, it would be fun just to upset Queenie — he knew she’d be furious if her daughter had anything to do with him.

  ‘Oh?’ Saskia was curious.

  ‘Look, Saskia. I told you a bit about Harmony Hill but it’s now progressing well and I’d like you to come out and have a look at the place.’

  ‘Uncle Colin, is there a job in the offing here? Or is this a social trip?’ asked Saskia bluntly.

  Colin laughed easily. ‘Well, I’d like you to see what we’re all about before I offer you a job.’

  Saskia agreed to visit Harmony Hill with him the next day.

  In the morning Colin tooted outside her apartment and Saskia dashed downstairs and threw her battered leather shoulder bag into the back seat of the Audi.

  ‘All set?’ asked Colin.

  ‘Yep. What’s new?’

  ‘Well, the conference cum convention centre is finished, we’re just doing the little individual yurts. Have to start looking for another therapist soon. Ria will do acupuncture and naturopath health stuff plus she’s a dietician so will advise the clients on nutrition and health, that kind of thing.’

  ‘What’s her husband do?’

  ‘Bruce can do anything it seems. He’s worked out an advertising and marketing strategy plus he’s been overseeing the building and the landscaping. He’s set up a pretty good couple of walking tours through the rainforest. Throws in environmental awareness chats. He’s also found a bat colony and a bowerbird’s nest, so they’ve been included too.’

  ‘Sounds good. Is this place going to make money?’

  ‘It’ll depend on marketing and promotion. It doesn’t have to make a profit right away.’