‘What are they up to?’ Dave wondered aloud as he rubbed his shoulder. The driving and constantly having his arms outstretched on the steering wheel was aggravating the ache.
‘Looks like they’re tagging ’em. See, they’ve got their heads in the crush and the tagging pliers on the drum there.’
‘Yeah, but why? They’ve been marked. No nuts anywhere.’
‘Maybe they didn’t have the tags when they marked them. Who knows? That’s a question for you to ask, son.’
Dave frowned. He was beginning to hate the word ‘son’ and what it implied.
They pulled up next to the yards and watched the two men and two women working like clockwork. One of the men was in the round yard, herding the calves into the race, one at a time, while the two women pushed them up and trapped their head in the crush and then the other bloke quickly and deftly used the tagging pliers and put a large tag with a number in the calf’s ear. All of them wore large hats and brightly coloured shirts, their jeans dusty. The man at the front looked up as they stopped and gave a smile and wave.
‘Friendly type,’ Bob muttered as he reached for his hat and got out of the car.
Dave slammed the door behind him and glanced around. The others were looking at them curiously, but the man who seemed to be in charge was heading towards them, one hand outstretched, the other pulling off the hankie that was covering his face.
‘G’day, I’m Kit Redman,’ he said. ‘Sorry, probably look like I’ve been playing in the dust bowl.’ He gestured to the outline of dirt around his sunglasses.
Bob introduced them both and asked if he could have a word.
‘I’m all yours,’ he answered. ‘Gemma, you take over.’ Kit spoke above the noise of the bellowing cattle and indicated the men should follow him inside the donga, which was off to the side of the yards.
Kit pulled opened the door and took off his hat as he went inside, giving a loud sigh. ‘Glad for the break, to be honest with you. I’ve been on the go since 4 a.m. Had to do a bore run over to the other side of the place before we started this job.’ He sat down on a plastic chair. ‘Sit down, sit down. I’d offer you a cup of tea but I haven’t got any here. All the gear to make it’—he indicated the kettle and cups sitting on the bench—‘but I left the teabags at home, along with my lunch!’
‘We’re fine, thanks,’ Bob said, sitting opposite Kit. Dave got out his notebook and balanced it on his knee, waiting to see what Bob would ask first. He glanced around the room. The fridge at one end was old and the door had a few dents in it. The carton of beer sitting next to it was empty, so he assumed all the cans were already getting cold. On the far wall there was a whiteboard with instructions and numbers of cattle written in black texta.
His eyes fell on some different handwriting right in the bottom corner.
1JMF-014. Dave frowned. That looked like a numberplate and for some reason it was familiar. He jotted it down, holding his notebook so no one could see what he’d written.
‘Busy time of the year?’ Bob asked, leaning back in the chair. ‘Cattle look in good nick.’
‘Yeah, we’re waiting for the Wet to start, but the country is hanging in there. Looks drier than it is, I reckon. I’ve been saving the northern part of the station to shift these calves and cows onto, so there’s fresh feed out there. Well, not fresh as in green, but fresh as in it hasn’t had any stock on it for a few months.’
‘How are the prices holding up?’
‘Not bad, considering. I should be selling the weaners I’ve got over on the next paddock, but I just want to see if the exporters might have a bit more coin in a few weeks. You know, right towards the end of the season when cattle are getting short.’
‘Bit like Russian roulette, isn’t it?’
‘We’re gamblers, that’s for sure,’ Kit agreed. He spread his hands out and smiled. ‘Anyway, what can I do for you fellas? I guess you’re here about the cattle. Not every day the stockies are in town. Got to say, we’re glad to have you. Bad business all of this, that’s for sure.’ He frowned as he spoke.
‘Yeah, look, we’re just here to have a chat about the things you’ve seen and experienced. Fact gathering,’ Bob said.
‘Well, we appreciate you coming all the way up here to do that. It’s been a long time since we’ve had any trouble around here. Taking cleanskins and mustering wide isn’t the done thing anymore. We trust our neighbours these days. After all, we’ve got to live in the same community, so it’s just better if we have faith no one is going to rip anyone off.’ Kit crossed his ankle over his knee as he talked, and Dave watched his body language. He was being very open.
‘Noble thoughts,’ Bob said, ‘but does it really happen like that?’
Kit nodded. ‘It absolutely has been. That’s why these slaughtered beasts are so strange, as are the cattle tracks on my place.’
‘Yeah, tell me about the slaughtered cattle,’ Bob invited.
‘I’ve found five now. More since I reported the first one to Glenn. Just off the track. Looks like it’s a professional butchering job. Of course, the blokes from Spinifex Downs were known for doing this, years back, but Kev’s got all that sorted now. I’m sure it wasn’t them. But whoever it is must have some type of local knowledge. Especially to be able to get in and out of my place without being seen. I’ve got people here all the time, employees and contractors. Especially this time of year.’
Dave made a note that Kit had called the Senior Sergeant by his first name. Perhaps they were mates?
‘Did you take any photos of these butchered animals?’
‘Nah, didn’t have my camera with me. I just told Glenn about them.’
‘Where there any tyre tracks near these beasts?’
Cocking his head to one side, Kit tapped his knee. ‘I don’t rightly remember,’ he said slowly. ‘The dirt was all scuffed and I remember seeing boot marks around the carcass.’
‘And how had it been killed?’
‘Shot.’
Dave saw Bob make a note on his pad and wondered what Kit had just said that was noteworthy.
‘How many people do you employ?’
‘Eight plus the contract musterers.’
‘And they’re all on the place now?’
‘Contractors have gone. We finished mustering about a month ago.’
‘Who’s your contractor?’ Dave asked.
‘Simon Grundy. I’ll give you his details if you like.’
‘That’d be great,’ Dave said, thinking how helpful Kit was being.
‘So, you get along with your neighbours well, then?’ Bob asked.
Kit nodded. ‘Best way to have good neighbours is to have good boundary fences. I’ve got them and I get along with everyone on the adjoining properties. Dylan Jeffries’s place borders one side and Kev and his community the other.’
‘No bad blood between any of you? Not even from a long time ago?’
Kit leaned forwards and looked Bob directly in the eyes. ‘Like I said, the boys from Spinifex Downs were known for poddy-dodging many, many years ago. They also didn’t hesitate to take a few killers.’ He paused. ‘I reckon that was about ten or so years back. Might’ve been longer. Kev, since he’s come home from down south, he’s done a great job of getting that place back in line. Got a beautiful mob of cattle—all the same breed and conformation.’ He gave a bit of a laugh and inclined his head towards his cattle yards. ‘Unlike mine. I’ve got different lots of different sorts and colours. Nothing uniform like Kev has over on his place. My old man always believed that having different breeds mean you had access to more markets. I’m not sure if that’s right these days, or if it ever was, but it worked for him so I haven’t changed anything since he died.’
‘How long has Kev been back up here?’
‘Geez, I’m not sure,’ Kit rubbed his chin. ‘Got to be at least a couple of years.’
‘The relations have only been better since he came back?’
‘They were getting better before. I used
to be on the shire council. President actually.’ He gave a self-deprecating grin. ‘Part of what I wanted to achieve while I was there was good relations between pastoralists, both us whites and Aboriginal, the mining companies and the townsfolk. I guess you could say that I started the understanding process and Kev’s helped it along.’ Kit shrugged, as if this was just part of what he did, but Dave could see he was pleased with himself.
Bob asked a few more questions and then stood up. ‘Thanks for your time, Kit. We appreciate it.’ He held out his card, and Dave dug in his pocket for his and passed that over too. ‘If you think of anything else we should know about, give us a call.’
‘Like I said earlier, we pastoralists are grateful you’re here. I’d like to get this under control as soon as possible. I don’t want all my good work undone.’ He stood up and Bob and Dave followed.
‘We’ll certainly do our best.’
Outside, the station hands had made quick work of tagging the rest of the cattle; there were only a few stragglers left in the back pen. Dave walked over to the yards and leaned against them, looking in.
Bob came and stood next to him.
‘Did you see the numberplate written on the whiteboard?’ Dave asked him quietly as they watched a girl hunt two calves up the race.
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s our numberplate. Didn’t realise until just now.’
Without looking at their car, Bob said, ‘I know.’
‘But how could …’ Dave stopped and frowned. ‘How could they have known what our plate number was before we even got here? We spent all of an hour, tops, in town and we were only at the police station, and the servo when we refuelled. Our vehicle is unmarked.’
Bob turned to him. ‘Bush telegraph,’ he answered simply. ‘That’s why you’ve got to play your cards close to your chest. Someone put two and two together. Especially if word is out about the missing cattle, which it seems to be. We’re not towing a caravan, so we don’t look like tourists. There’re a few big aerials on the troopy. And Glenn said most people knew we were coming. Someone, somewhere, spoke out of school.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t have to be a detective to work it out.’
‘Suppose it could’ve been the copper,’ Dave said. ‘Kit called him by his first name. They could be mates.’
Clapping him on the shoulder, Bob gave a grin, before starting to walk back to the car. ‘Now you’re cottoning on. Although I’d like to say, just because you found a dirty copper in Queensland doesn’t mean we’re all that way, son!’
Dave laughed and followed him, giving a final wave to the crew in the yards.
‘Tell me what you thought about Kit,’ Bob said as they drove over the grid leading to the main road.
‘I thought everything he said sounded reasonable. He’s obviously done a lot of work to make sure everyone gets along. I’d reckon he’d be fairly well liked and respected by everyone around here, would you?’
Bob was silent and Dave glanced over at him.
‘You don’t agree?’
‘Not really.’
‘It was good to see he thinks the Aboriginal station is doing well.’
‘If that’s really what he thinks.’
Dave thought back over the discussion, trying to pressure test everything he’d heard Kit say. What was Bob seeing that he wasn’t? He couldn’t find anything. ‘What am I missing?’ he finally asked.
‘Don’t judge a book by its cover, son,’ Bob said quietly.
Dave wanted to roll his eyes. Sometimes he thought Bob was a walking cliché.
‘He’s too nice,’ Bob continued.
Dave let out a disbelieving laugh. ‘Come on! He’s the one who first went to the cops. He’s not going to do that if he was the one who took the cattle.’
‘I’ll keep my thoughts to myself for the moment. But I want you to look at the facts, not personalities.’
‘The fact is, he went to the cops first.’
‘What better way for a criminal to hide other than in broad daylight? If a crim thinks someone will point the finger at him, diverting suspicion by being the one who goes to the police first is genius, wouldn’t you say?’ He nodded as if he was putting a full stop on the end of a sentence.
‘Suspicious sort, aren’t you?’ Dave said.
‘Guess that’s what I’m paid for.’
Chapter 13
Driving onto Cassia Plains was like taking a step back in time, Dave thought as he looked at the decrepit buildings and old machinery lying around.
The homestead was small but had a beautiful green garden around it—the only thing looking as if someone cared. The sheds were made of old corrugated iron that looked like it had been rescued from the tip—some were different sizes and all had some kind of stain or rust on them, which made the sheds look older than they probably were. An old wooden horse-drawn wagon was alongside the shed and further on were the yards, which again looked as though they had been made from recycled tin.
A man stood blocking the front gate, his arms crossed and hat pulled down low over his eyes.
‘Real welcoming committee here,’ Bob said as he watched the man’s unfriendly stance.
‘Wonder how he knew we were coming.’
‘I reckon the phones are ringing pretty hot. Everyone will be talking to everyone. All the stockmen in Kit’s yards would know who we are by now.’ He got out. ‘G’day, mate.’
‘What do you want?’ the man asked. His eyes shifted from Dave to Bob and away as he spoke.
Dave got out the other side, notebook in hand, and walked around to stand next to his partner.
‘Bob Holden and Dave Burrows from the stock squad,’ Bob said, holding out his card.
The man ignored it.
‘Looking for Dylan Jeffries. You him?’
‘Maybe.’ He changed his posture and cocked his head to the side, waiting.
‘We’re here to ask a few questions about some cattle that have gone missing from Spinifex Downs.’
‘Accusing me, are you?’
‘Nope. Just here to have a chat.’
‘You should be talking to those bastards over at Spinifex Downs. Reckon they’ll have more information than good upstanding citizens like me.’ He took a step towards them.
‘Steady on there, mate,’ Bob said, holding out his hands in a peaceful gesture. ‘We’ve got to talk to you all so we can build a picture of what’s going on in the district.’
‘Not interested in talking to you about anything to do with cattle or thefts or whatever you’re here for. What I’m gonna do is give you a free piece of advice. Those fellas over on Spinifex Downs are the ones you should be talking to.’
Dave frowned at the man’s aggression. Where the hell was that all coming from?
A movement from the house caught his eye and he looked over as Bob started to speak. A little girl holding a teddy bear was walking down the path.
‘The fellas over at Spinifex Downs know something about all of this, you reckon?’ Bob asked. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘I know the history of the area. It’s always been—’
‘Dad?’
Dylan turned and saw the girl looking up at him.
‘Get inside. I’ll be back in a minute,’ he said.
‘Hello, what’s your name?’ Dave squatted down to look her in the eye, but she put the teddy bear in front of her face and didn’t answer.
‘Dad?’ Her voice was muffled.
‘Get inside, Maria! Now!’ Dylan yelled and the little girl turned and ran down the path, her bare feet crossing the cement with a soft thwadding sound.
Dave stood up, arranging his face into a neutral expression.
‘As I was saying,’ Dylan continued, ‘my thoughts are that it couldn’t have happened to nicer people. If the cattle have actually gone missing. Which I doubt. More likely they’ve pinched them from a neighbour and trucked them back to their place. I didn’t make the complaint, so I don’t want to be dragged into this. So how about you get
the fuck off my property!’
‘Hold your horses there, mate,’ Bob said calmly. ‘What’s the problem here?’
‘I don’t like anyone on my land. Black, white or brindle. I’ve told you everything I know about the cattle—I didn’t do it. And if they have really been taken, I’m glad it happened to the oversubsidised bastards out there. Now you can leave.’
Dave was stunned into silence this time and he looked at Bob.
‘Okay, sure,’ Bob said. ‘You’ve made it clear. We’ll get off your property, but if you do need any assistance, here’s my card.’ He waved it towards Dylan, who looked at the card as if it were covered in cattle shit, before snatching it and turning away to stomp down the path.
Bob was just about to open the door to the vehicle when he called out to Dylan’s retreating back, ‘Dylan, if I hear a snippet from anyone that you’ve been taking your anger out on that little girl of yours, I’ll be back to arrest you.’ He hopped in the car and slammed the car door shut, telling Dave to drive.
Dave turned the troopy around and headed down the drive, trying to avoid the potholes. He glanced in the rear-view mirror to see what Dylan was doing. He’d disappeared into the house. ‘Jesus, what the hell was that about? That poor little girl.’
Bob didn’t answer.
‘Anyway, like you said, the welcoming committee,’ Dave continued. ‘You’d have to think he had something to hide, wouldn’t you? The way he wouldn’t let us past the front gate.’
‘Don’t forget what Glenn said to us: there’s a lot of history between the people up here. Some of them just can’t let it go. Looking around the place, it looked to me like a living museum. His views and thoughts match that,’ Bob said quietly. ‘I bet he’s got a wife in the house who doesn’t get out past the garden and that’s probably the way his dad and grandfather treated their wives. They will have drummed their opinion of the station communities into Dylan and, if that drumming’s been long and hard enough, it’s near impossible to change someone’s opinions. I mean, look at the place. He’s living back in the 1940s, with attitudes to match.
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