(2005) A Certain Malice

by Felicity Young

  “Grab some tissues while you’re at it, Sarge,” Leanne suggested.

  Grateful to escape, Cam walked over to the caravan. A freshly poured concrete slab upon which someone had scrawled the words Herb loves Gay 4 ever fronted it.

  He pushed open the door. Hot and airless, it had the unique old caravan smell of flypaper and mould, though it was a lot more orderly than he’d expected. The double bed in the end alcove was made with fresh clean linen, a vase of flowers sat on the pullout table, clean dishes dried on a rack near the miniature sink.

  When he opened the kitchen drawer for a teaspoon, he noticed all the utensils were engraved with Herb’s initials, HCB. The plates were named in permanent marker, so was the radio by the sink and the tiny television near the bed; every possession, it seemed, was marked by its owner. It takes one to know one, Cam thought with a cynical smile.

  While waiting for the kettle to boil, he wandered back outside. A red cloud kelpie, as old as time, looked up from the marron claw it was munching and stared at him through misty eyes. It wagged its tail when Cam bent to give it a pat, its coat as rich and red as earth, glossy with health. People who looked after their animals well can’t be all bad, he thought, until he saw the evil-jawed rabbit and fox traps hanging from hooks off the caravan wall.

  Drop nets and scoop nets leaned against the back of the van. A strong fishy smell alerted him to a pile of marron remains nearby, on the fringe of a small wood. A marron poacher: funny how that was no surprise; the succulent freshwater lobster was going for about twenty-five dollars a kilo in the markets at the moment.

  Stacks of neatly piled beer bottles reinforced the exterior rear caravan wall. Clean and without labels, they looked as if they were ready for a major home brew bottling operation. His assumption proved correct: the bottles lining the other wall were already full.

  The car was parked around the other side of the caravan. She’d carefully covered the windows with newspaper and had been slapping on the yellow exterior flat when they’d pulled up earlier. Then he’d wanted to laugh; now he looked at the industry of her day and felt depressed. He gingerly touched the new paintwork. It was almost dry and spotted with the bodies of trapped flies.

  She seemed to have taken an instant dislike to him, because of his authority or his sex, he wasn’t sure. When he handed her a mug of tea, she thanked him with a sharp nod. Leanne occupied the only other chair so he squatted on his haunches next to the old woman. He scooped up a gumnut, breathed in its medicinal scent, waiting for one of them to say something.

  Leanne was the first to speak. “Sarge, Gay says she last saw Herb here on Saturday evening.”

  Cam looked from the gumnut to Leanne then to Gay, expecting some elaboration. When none was forthcoming, he said, “Gay, it’s really important for us to trace Herb’s final movements so we can find out what happened to him. Did Leanne mention that the evidence so far suggests he was murdered?”

  The woman’s bottom lip trembled despite Cam’s gentle tone. Leanne put a hand upon her arm and scowled at Cam, as if grief was some sort of secret women’s business. If they were to progress at the speed Leanne was instigating, he thought, they’d be here all night.

  “Did you bring the tissues?” Leanne asked him.

  He slapped his hands on his thighs and went back to the caravan, allowing several minutes to elapse before returning with a long ribbon of toilet paper.

  “Gay was saying Herb always wanted to have his ashes scattered off the Abrolhos Islands,” Leanne said, taking the toilet paper from Cam and handing it to the grieving woman.

  “He liked fishing, did he?” Cam asked.

  Gay nodded, trumpeting into the paper.

  “I see he also liked the odd marron or two.”

  She looked up from her nose blowing long enough to shoot him a poisonous look.

  “That’s not what’s bothering me, Mrs Cronin,” Cam said. “I don’t give a hoot about his poaching, or his social security fraud, or any of his other sins, unless they can help us solve the mystery of his death.” Cam took a breath, trying to hide his impatience. “We need your help, Mrs Cronin - I’m presuming you want the character who did this caught, don’t you?”

  Sparks ignited in her muddy eyes.“Too right I want him caught, and when you catch him, I’m gonna scratch out his eyes and cut off his balls for what he done to me.”

  Cam didn’t doubt it for a minute.“Our evidence suggests Herb drowned in a dam. Did he go marroning Saturday night?”

  She looked at the deepening sky, giving the matter thought. She ignored him and turned to Leanne.“Yeah, he left about eight and never come back.”

  “You didn’t report him missing, Mrs Cronin. May I ask why?” Cam said.

  “We had a tiff, that’s why. I thought he’d just gone walkabout. He does that sometimes. He’ll go on a bender and not come home for days.”

  “Apart from your blue, then, had he been acting strangely? Did he seem scared or worried about anything or anyone?” Leanne asked.

  “Nah, no more than normal. He was always figuring someone was out to get him, and that’s hardly surprising, seeing as how everyone was. He seemed to piss people off wherever he went.” She made a wheezy noise that sounded almost like a laugh.

  Cam attempted a smile. “Do you have any idea which dam he might have gone to?”

  “There’s a few. Any he could walk to that had the marron. Sometimes he went to the creeks looking for koonacks.”

  Leanne said, “There must be about four dams within walking distance from this place, Sarge, not to mention the little creeks and ponds.”

  “Shit,” Cam said under his breath. He got to his feet and walked away from the women, treading carefully to avoid the gumnuts strewn across the ground like ball bearings. He gazed out across the hills with his hands on his hips. It was that magic moment, just before dusk when the light was the colour of melted butter, the gum trees under the spell of an almost supernatural stillness. The humpback silhouettes of grazing kangaroos stood out among the dotted sheep on the hillside. Birds squeaked, chattered and squawked as if making one last effort to drive off the silence of the encroaching night.

  The caravan site was on ground equal in height to the tallest of the surrounding hills, allowing an unhindered view across miles of rolling farmland. Small clusters of dusty gums rose from the wheat stubble. Bare paddocks of dry earth, sliced by eroded gullies, or terraced by perfectly contoured sheep paths, curved down the muscled hills to valleys forming natural water-holding cups. The fading sun reflected off two dams he could see, making them shine like sequins in the setting sun. Just how many more were down there, hidden from the naked eye?

  Leanne picked her way across the gumnuts to stand at his side.

  “Does she have an alibi?” he asked, still gazing at the view.

  “She said she was alone that night, just her and the telly.”

  “That’s not going to do her much good.”

  “She knew what was on, but,” Leanne said, brushing away a persistent fly.

  “That’s easy: TV guide.”

  “Yeah, but she watched the same programmes as me. We discussed the shows. She knew all the cliff-hangers, who was caught in bed with who, who stole the jewels, everything.”

  “I see,” Cam said, arching his brow.

  “Well, there’s nothing else to do,” Leanne said defensively. “Besides, do you really think that poor old bat would be able to make it all the way down the hill, do her old man in, then stagger all the way back up again? She’d have a heart attack. It’s not like they have a four-wheel drive either. That old bomb’s all they’ve got and it has less chance of making the climb than she does.”

  “Why was she painting it? What’s she covering up?”

  “Jeez, Sarge,” Leanne said, slapping her palms on to her thighs.“Maybe she thought it just seemed like a good idea at the time? People don’t have to have motives for everything, you know.”

  The lilting cadences of Slim Dusty reached them
through the menthol-scented air. Gay Cronin took a swig from a long neck and gave him a wave, his sins now diluted by alcohol. She warbled out the chorus with Slim, the hills sucking down her voice and throwing it back as an empty echo.

  Leanne’s face clouded with a look he thought he understood.

  “There but for the grace of God,” she said, shaking her head. She took off her peaked cap and smoothed back her thin hair, drawing in a deep breath as if it might restore some of her usual bounce. “Cripes. How the hell are we going to find the right dam? The Blayney property must be at least two thousand acres. As far as I know the State Emergency Service hasn’t even touched it yet.”

  Cam paused for thought, rubbed his chin and stared through a cone of gnats swarming in a shaft of fading sunlight.

  “I think I have an idea.”

  29

  SATURDAY

  Early the next morning after a good night’s sleep, Cam, Cecelia and Leanne were back at the caravan site, poring over the map spread across the bonnet of the police ute. A gentle snoring emanated from the caravan; they’d been careful not to disturb Mrs Cronin who was still sleeping off last night’s bender.

  “So what do you reckon, Cecelia?” Cam said. “Can she do it?”

  Cecelia patted the slobbering Prudence who strained at the leash, trying to reach the geriatric kelpie. The bloodhound seemed to have the concentration of a fruit fly and Cam was beginning to doubt the wisdom of his idea.

  “We’ve been in a lot rougher country with the State Emergency Service. The problem as I see it is not so much the country as the freshness of the scent,” Cecelia said.

  “But I thought bloodhounds were supposed to be the Rolls Royce of tracker dogs? They can find a body underwater, follow someone in a car, track scents that are weeks old.”

  She’d said this earlier and Cam was quoting her word for word. Deep in thought, she missed his sarcasm.

  “Yes.” She hesitated. “Some can, but the scent is old. Prudence has found people before, but never after this long. One thing in our favour though, is the early morning dew. Damp always heightens the scent.”

  “They’ve forecast thunderstorms for later,” Leanne said looking up. Cam followed her gaze. The sky was the colour of old tin, the atmosphere so muggy he could almost see it. He pulled at his clinging shirt, trying to invite a phantom breeze.

  “Rain will destroy evidence. We’ve got to find that primary crime scene ASAP,” he said.

  “And heavy rain will wipe out any remaining scent,” Cecelia added.

  “Let’s get to it, then. You’re the boss, Cecelia, what do you want us to do?”

  “It’s important to keep distraction to a minimum. You follow me, never get ahead and talk only when you have to.”

  Cam nodded and turned to Leanne.“You follow behind us in the ute, OK?”

  Leanne’s relief showed through her grin. “And what about you, Sarge? Do you think you can keep up? My CPR’s a bit rusty.”

  “Enough of your cheek. Get in the ute and stand by.” He turned to Cecelia. “You ready?”

  Cecelia nodded, indicating for Cam to stand behind the dog. She sat Prudence down and adjusted the harness. Putting Herb’s old bush hat under the dog’s nose she said, “Seek, Prudence, seek!” And the dog was off, like a greyhound from the barrier.

  He bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. When he looked up again Cecelia and the dog were even further ahead, running towards a mob of sheep moving away from them like a flowing body of water.

  Cam marvelled at Cecelia’s ability to keep on going, though he expected the dog straining wildly on its leash gave her little choice.

  Suddenly Prudence charged towards a clump of weeds on the edge of a small pond. This is it, he thought with excitement, sprinting to catch up. The dog dived into the water, dragging Cecelia behind her.

  With an indignant quack and a slap of wings, a pair of wood ducks took flight.

  “Shit!” Cam exclaimed, sinking on to the gravelly dirt, giving Cecelia a pointed glare. “I thought you said…”

  “Cam, bring the hat over,” she said. “That was just a minor distraction.”

  Cam had forgotten he was still carrying Herb’s old bush hat. He could see Leanne smirking from the ute, window up, enjoying the air conditioning. After another sniff of the hat, the dog began to turn in tight circles.

  “She seems to think he was here,” Cecelia said. “Maybe he stopped at this pond first?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Cam said without much faith. Prudence dragged her owner around the edge of the pond, jumping and swerving to stay untangled from the lead. Then, with a noise like a foghorn, she took off again. Now they were charging down the hill, heading for the next hollow at a full run. Cam had trouble keeping up. Kamikaze locusts sprang up from the prickly stubble, flicking against his legs and face. They came to a barbed wire fence with no gate in sight. The dog seemed to think Herb had crawled through it. Gasping for breath, Cam caught up and trod down the lower strand for Cecelia and Prudence. Cecelia turned, taking the lead from him. He ran his arm across his forehead, letting out a breath.

  She gave him a cheeky grin. “C’mon Cam, you know you’re loving this.” Then she was dragged off once more by the baying hound.

  He felt his breath catch. He let go of the wire and listened to it hum in the stillness. She was right: he was enjoying himself. Out here it was almost possible to forget fire, murder, grief and guilt. As he watched the girl and dog running down the next hillside, he thought, maybe if things had been different…

  “And how am I supposed to get through, Sarge? You going to lift the fence up for me too?” Leanne said, leaning out of the window of the ute.

  “This fence has to end somewhere. Follow it down until you find the gate,” Cam said over his shoulder, setting off at a run to catch up with Cecelia.

  “This is it, Cam, I know it. Prudence knows it too,” Cecelia said, sinking on to the large dam wall. She pulled a bottle of water from her belt, took some gulps and handed it to Cam who drank it down gratefully. They had plenty of water in the ute but Leanne hadn’t shown up yet.

  Cam patted the dog. She’d obeyed Cecelia’s command to sit, but still whined and whimpered with excitement. Cecelia kept a hand on her collar, holding her back. “I’ll give her a small breather, then we’ll walk the edge of the dam,” she said.

  Cam nodded, looking across the silky expanse of water. A slip in the dam wall had caused an indentation in the middle, turning it from oval to kidney shaped, with a fringe of tall reeds in the hollow.

  Leanne pulled up in the ute, parking at a safe distance from the dam wall. She climbed out, leaving the door open. The radio static slashed through the thick still of the air.

  She looked as cool as an ice pack in an esky and her smug expression made Cam scowl. “Time to do some work, constable,” he said.

  Cecelia climbed to her feet, once more sticking Herb’s hat under the dog’s nose. Cam and Leanne followed them along the baked dirt of the dam wall until they came to the patch of reeds where the dog bayed and pulled Cecelia into the muddy water.

  “Watch out for snakes,” Leanne said, hesitating at the water’s edge. She looked at Cam, already knee-deep, shrugged and waded in after him.

  He whirled at her shout, to find her pointing at a blue object nestled among the reeds. He grabbed a stick and prised out a set of goggles with HCB written upon them in permanent marker. Another flash of blue and he retrieved a pair of similarly initialled flippers.

  “Grab some evidence bags, Leanne,” he said, slogging back through the reeds with his catch to join Cecelia on the dam wall.

  “You look like the cat that got the cream,” she said.

  Cam smiled, fighting a sudden urge to reach out to her.

  Leanne reappeared to bag the flippers and mask. “What now, Sarge?” she asked.

  He gazed out at the smooth expanse of water. “We sit and think.”

  The silence stretched. The dog’s head moved; its dro
opy jowls quivered as it followed the flight of a startled heron.

  Finally, Leanne said, “I’ve never known anyone to go marroning with flippers and goggles. Where’s his nets?”

  “Maybe he wasn’t marroning.” Cam pointed to the middle of the dam. “You’ve got better eyes than me. See the break in the water’s surface – what do you reckon it is?”

  She squinted. “Can’t tell for sure.”

  Cam climbed to his feet. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

  “Sarge, you’re not going—” Leanne turned to Cecelia, giving her friend an incredulous shrug. “Jeez, I think he is. Boy oh boy. Now we’re getting a strip show.”

  He tossed his utility belt to the ground, then his shirt.

  “You want the glory?” he asked her.

  “No way!”

  Cecelia smiled into her hand.

  “Maybe we should test your theory that bloodhounds can smell under water?” Cam deadpanned.

  “No. I think I’ll leave this to the experts,” Cecelia said.

  Cam picked his way across the gravelly clay to the water’s edge. From the top of a dead gum, a kookaburra started to laugh. He waded in; the water between his toes felt like warm tomato soup. When he launched himself away from the shallows, it became a glorious blanket of cool.

  The women on the dam wall watched as Cam swam effortlessly towards the submerged object, tiny darting fish flashing silver in his wake.

  He reached his destination, let out a yell and gave them the thumbs up.

  Cecelia drew a sharp breath. “There must be something there!” she said, scrambling to her feet.

  Leanne shaded her eyes with her hand and looked on.

  “Have you any idea what it could be?” Cecelia asked.

  Leanne shrugged.“Who knows?” They saw him circle the object, then duck below the dam’s surface.

  After some thought, Leanne said, “It’s funny how quickly you get used to them.”