“More like afternoon tea if you ask me,” grumbled Graham. “It’s nearly two o’clock. We’ve lost nearly four hours.”
Peter was the last to be interviewed and he had just joined them when two more police vehicles arrived; a car and a Landcruiser.
Three men in suits, obviously detectives, emerged from the car. The police photographer and fingerprint man emerged from the Landcruiser. An ambulance arrived and stopped. More tourist cars began stopping but were moved on.
The boys sat on a rock and watched while Sergeant Grey explained things to the leader of the Detectives. He was a thin man of medium height with a hatchet nose, bristly moustache and close cropped black hair. Sergeant Grey pointed at the boys and Roger saw all the faces turned to look. That made him feel as though he wanted to hide.
They were called down and introduced.
“This is Detective Inspector Sharpe. He will be in charge of the investigation,” said Sergeant Grey. Inspector Sharpe looked at each in turn and had each state their name. When Roger’s turn came he stuttered from concern.
Inspector Sharpe frowned irritably. “What’s that? Speak up boy!” he snapped. Roger looked into two hard black eyes which seemed to reach inside his skull and he shivered. With an effort he swallowed and cleared his throat. “Roger Dunning Sir,” he said.
“You swam out and pulled the body ashore?” Inspector Sharpe asked.
“Yes Sir.”
“That was a brave thing to do. I think these boys have done a very good job, don’t you Bob?” He turned to a burly Detective Sergeant beside him, who grunted assent.
Raised voices on the road attracted their attention. Roger looked and saw that Captain Conkey, still in civilian clothes, had arrived. The constable allowed him to park his car and then join them. As he walked down Captain Conkey looked at them with a mildly annoyed expression.
“I didn’t even have time to get home before I hear you are in trouble,” he said.
“Oh sir!” Roger expostulated.
Captain Conkey introduced himself. He obviously already knew Silver Wolf and Roger thought he detected a degree of reserve between the two men. That made Roger feel even more uneasy. Over the last year or so his own interest in Scouts had declined as he had risen in rank in the army cadets and that bothered his sense of loyalty.
Twenty minutes went by while the situation was again explained and Captain Conkey decided if they could go on with their hike. He asked Inspector Sharpe, who agreed.
“Can we go now Sir?” Graham asked.
“If Sergeant Grey and DS Crowe have all the details, yes. Where are you boys off to?”
“Platypus Lookout to look for a clue,” Graham answered, glancing at Captain Conkey as he did.
Inspector Sharpe raised his right eyebrow. “Clue?”
Captain Conkey explained their hike, then concluded: “So they have to go there to search for a clue which tells them where to go next.” He looked at his watch and added, “And if you don’t mind, I will fly. I have to go to a dinner tonight in Mareeba and before that I will need to phone and incident report to the army HQ in Townsville; and I’ve now driven here twice today.”
“By all means Captain. We will be in touch if we need you,” Inspector Sharpe agreed.
Captain Conkey looked at the boys. “Now you lot stay out of trouble and I will see you on Friday. Good luck and take care.”
“Yes sir,” they chorused as he waved farewell and hurried up the track to his car.
Graham looked at the sky and said. “We should make it to Platypus Lookout before dark if we go fast.”
Inspector Sharpe nodded and asked, “Would you like a lift?”
Graham and Peter shook their heads. “No thanks Sir,” replied Graham. “We have to walk the distance.”
“Where will you be camping, in case we need to ask you something?” Inspector Sharpe asked.
“At one of the campsites. We’ve got a permit,” Graham replied, tapping his map pocket.
Silver Wolf then interrupted. “You just reminded me. I’m sure I saw this man at Platypus Lookout yesterday morning.” He described what he had seen.
Inspector Sharpe listened intently while the Detective Sergeant jotted notes. “We will have a look there later. If you boys see anything there don’t disturb it and let us know,” Inspector Sharpe cautioned. Then he turned back to Silver Wolf. “Do you want a lift Sir?”
“No thanks. I’m only going to Camp Barrabadeen.” He pointed across the arm of the lake to a timber clad headland. “I’ll walk with the boys. It’s only a couple of kilometres to the turnoff.”
The boys moved off up the track, Stephen leading. Roger came last. Graham took off his pullover and packed it while the others pulled on their basic webbing and packs. Silver Wolf joined them. At a call from Inspector Sharpe the ambulanceman went down with a stretcher.
“The body looks more spooky under that blanket than it did just lying on the beach,” Roger commented.
Graham and Peter both looked but Stephen kept his face averted. “Shut up Roger!” he hissed.
“Let’s go!” Graham ordered emphatically.
CHAPTER 3
PLATYPUS LOOKOUT
It was just after 2:30pm when the four boys and the scoutmaster started walking. To Roger’s annoyance cars went past every couple of minutes, raising clouds of dust. The boys began to perspire and the dust stuck to them.
For the first ten minutes they walked in silence, still oppressed by thoughts of the murdered man but as they rounded each bend in the road and saw new sights they began to cheer up. Roger made a conscious effort to push the horror into the back of his mind by noting the different types of trees.
At the turnoff to the Scout Camp Silver Wolf bade them good hiking and turned off. The boys walked on along the main road, down across the end of a backwater full of dead trees and water lilies, then up over a low ridge.
Roger soon forgot the body in the effort of trying to keep pace with the others. He had to push himself to keep up on the uphill climbs and was ruefully aware that his shoulder muscles were already hurting under the weight of his gear. He tried to ignore the bodily discomfort but that just seemed to make him even more aware of a dozen niggling little irritations:- his webbing digging into his hips, a boot rubbing his left heel, a sore little toe on his right foot, his trousers rubbing the soft insides of his thighs.
The boys went down and around the end of another swampy backwater which gave a view out onto the lake but on the next upslope this was cut off by a belt of quite thick rainforest. Graham kept checking the map he carried in his hand and Peter took his out from time to time. Roger couldn’t be bothered. It was hard enough just keeping up. ‘They can navigate,’ he thought. ‘They are better at it than me anyway.’
The road wound around the lower slopes of jungle clad ridges, keeping just above the level of the lake. Every few hundred metres it crossed creeklines emptying into gloomy backwaters. The day was fine but in under the overhanging trees there were patches of damp which made the road soft.
Graham pointed to one of these. “There must have been rain recently to make it as wet as this,” he observed.
“How much further?” Roger asked.
“About two kilometres,” Graham replied.
“Can we stop for a bit?”
“No.”
They walked on. Roger began to feel miserable. Hiking hurt. He wondered why he did it. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what it would be like. He’d been on a dozen other hikes. He looked at the three packs ahead of him and felt a tinge of jealousy. How could Graham and Peter just wander along looking around them and talking as though they didn’t have a care in the world? They didn’t seem to even notice the weight of their gear. At least Stephen seemed to be bent forward a bit, head down. Roger then rebuked himself for feeling such malicious pleasure.
‘It’s all very well for them,’ he thought gloomily. ‘They have just done their ATA Course and have toughened up.’ He had also been on the exerci
se but because he was only a ‘Second Year’, and the ATA Course was for ‘Third Years’, he had not done all the activities.
They passed through more rain forest. A whole line of four-wheel drive vehicles roared past; ten of them, each with one or two people in it, some reading maps and others talking on CB radios. The boys stood in weeds beside the road and waited. Dust billowed, causing Roger to cough and scowl in annoyance. Then they continued on.
Roger suddenly cannoned into Stephen’s pack. Stephen had stopped suddenly. “Look out Roger! You nearly knocked me over,” he snapped.
“Sorry, what? What?”
Roger’s gaze followed Graham’s outstretched finger. He and Peter had also stopped.
A red-bellied black snake had appeared out of the weeds a few metres in front of them and was sliding across the road. Roger felt a shiver of fright as he watched it. The snake was at least two metres long and so thick he couldn’t have put his finger and thumb around it (not that he would ever want to, even if it was dead!). The reptile was so black and shiny it looked as though it had been polished and the underside was a surprisingly bright red. It moved with what was, to Roger’s eyes, appalling speed.
“Isn’t it beautiful!” Peter cried. “So shiny.”
“Beautiful be buggered!” Graham replied. He hated all snakes.
“We should kill it,” Stephen added.
“Against the law, except in self-defence,” Peter reminded.
“What with anyway?” added Graham as the snake slithered into the undergrowth. “We’d better watch where we put our feet when we step off the road.”
The boys continued on. Roger now found his eyes scanning the weeds along the edge of the road. He walked with his head down, his hands grasping the pack straps to help ease the burden.
They came to another large backwater studded with the grey trunks of dead trees and fringed by reeds and lilies.
Peter pointed at it. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t have been so keen to swim out and fish a body out if you saw it in there Roger,” he called.
Roger looked at the murky backwater and went cold. The sunshine seemed to darken as though a filter had been placed over it. He did not reply.
“Shut up about bodies!” Stephen shouted. Peter looked back at him in astonishment. Stephen yelled again, “Shut up about it! I don’t want to hear anymore. Just forget it can’t you?”
“Sorry,” Peter replied. He shrugged, then turned and kept on walking. Roger got a glimpse of Stephen’s face. He looked very pale.
They walked in silence up into another area of rainforest. It was like a gloomy tunnel with the trees meeting overhead. More cars went past in both directions, distracting them.
After a few more minutes of marching they came to a clearing on their right. Beyond it was a hill covered with pine trees. A gravel road branched off to the right and vanished up among the pines.
“Here’s the turn-off to Platypus Lookout,” Graham called.
“Can we stop?” Roger called. He was now ten metres behind Stephen.
“Stop on top. It’s only a couple of hundred metres. We will just waste time if we keep on stopping,” Graham replied.
Roger grumbled but said nothing. As soon as he reached the bottom of the hill he slowed down. The track seemed to go up at a very steep angle. After less than fifty paces he stopped, his heart pounding from the effort. The others had slowed down but they did not stop.
Roger swore quietly and began to plod up on loose gravel. After another fifty paces he stopped again. He looked up and wiped sweat from his brow. Graham and Peter were vanishing around the next bend already. After resting for a minute Roger pushed himself on up. Fifty paces. Stop. ‘Heart - slow down,’ he told himself. Another fifty paces. The gradient began to level out and curve to the right. He paused again, then plodded on. The next section of road was level and he managed to keep going, though puffing badly. There was a gravel pit on the left. Beyond it a road turned off to the left and went down a steep slope. The road to the lookout went straight ahead up another steep pinch.
By the time Roger reached the top the others had dumped their gear and were having a drink. He plodded across a gravel car park to join them, feeling light-headed and with slightly blurred vision. On reaching the others he unclipped his pack and let it fall with a thump.
“Ah! That’s better,” he sighed. He rubbed his shoulders and flexed his muscles. His webbing was also discarded. “I feel I want to float away,” he said.
Stephen curled his lip. “You’ll need to lose another fifty kilograms before that’ll happen,” he replied.
Roger said nothing, but the jibe stung. He bent to take out a water bottle.
“Let’s find this clue,” Graham said. He set off at a run, followed by Peter. The hilltop was crowned by a massive granite boulder the size of a house. Smaller boulders lay studded around it and a track with steps led up to a lookout on top. The clearing was ringed by pine trees. The two boys raced up the path, followed by Stephen.
Roger had a long drink and felt a bit better. He put his water bottle back and walked up the track. It was only a short distance but he was puffing by the time he reached the top. A safety rail surrounded the flat top of the huge rock. The other three were standing looking out to the south.
“Find it?” Roger asked as he joined them.
Peter shook his head. “Nothing up here. Must be hidden somewhere else,” he replied.
Graham was busy orientating his map. “Not much of a lookout,” he grumbled, indicating the tall pine trees which almost blocked the view. Roger looked. He could see glimpses of Lake Tinaroo, also the small conical volcanic hills called the Seven Sisters, and a few other landmarks he recognized. The view to the north and east was grander but closer; the jungle covered ridges of the Lamb Range. Just looking up at them made him shudder. Memories of that terrifying ride over those mountains in Willy Williams’ home-made airship the previous year flooded into his mind. He shook his head and looked away.
Graham looked at his watch. “Nearly four o’clock. We’d better find this clue.”
The boys filed back down the stairs. A dirt foot track went left around the rock.
Graham pointed along it. “You go that way Roger. Stephen, you look around the front of the rock. Pete, you and I will search amongst these trees.” He indicated the nearest pine trees. Smaller boulders studded the ground which had a thick tangle of lantana and other undergrowth on the edge of the forest. Several distinct foot tracks led into the trees.
Roger began looking around each boulder and each tree. He even peered up into the branches. There were a few pieces of litter discarded by tourists; film packets and chocolate wrappers, but nothing that looked like a clue.
Stephen yelled from the front of the rock, “Here it is. I’ve found it!”
Roger hurried around to the edge of the clearing. Stephen had scrambled up a steep little mound overgrown with bushes to look behind a large broken slab of rock half way up the side of the big boulder. As Roger arrived Stephen slithered down, holding the clue in his hand.
It was an oblong of bright yellow cardboard in a plastic bag. On it were printed, in black felt pen, the words:
MOUNT BALDY
THE CHIMNEYS
Graham and Peter came running to join them. They all looked at the clue.
“What does it mean?” Graham asked.
Stephen shrugged. “We go to those places I suppose,” he replied.
“But which one?” Peter asked.
“The closest one first, then the other,” Roger suggested.
Graham agreed. “Yes, but where are they? Let’s look on the maps.” He pulled out two maps and spread them on the grass; the ATHERTON 1:50 000 and BARTLE FRERE 1:100 000.
“Look at this one Roger,” Graham said, passing him the TINAROO 1:50 000 he had been using.
The boys knelt over the maps and began to pore over them. “Be systematic,” Graham ordered. “Go up and down the columns of grid lines.”
Roger
began to do this, starting on the left of the map. As his finger tip ran up and down his eyes skimmed the names. He found it wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Much of the map was dark green for jungle with hardly any words printed on it. The Tinaroo Dam took up a large area as well. When he found Platypus Lookout he changed his pattern. He began to follow the main Danbulla Forestry Road eastwards. The words slid past his eyes: Kauri Creek, Pine, Tower, Robsons Creek, numerous small tracks, Coi Creek, Lake Euramo, The Chimneys.
“Here it is. The Chimneys!” Roger cried. He pointed to show the others.
“Over in the Danbulla State Forest near Lake Euramo,” Graham noted. “That’s a fair way. Let’s see. It’s...hmm..” He roughly measured the distance. “Seven grid squares in a straight line. Be more than twice that along the road. We won’t make that tonight.”
“What about Mt Baldy?” Peter asked.
“Don’t know. It’s not between here and there so it must be further out,” Graham said.
Roger looked up. “There’s a Mt Baldy near Atherton. My aunt’s house is near the bottom of it.”
“Atherton Map,” Graham called, snatching it from Peter.
“Yes, there it is, right near Atherton,” Stephen jabbed his finger down.
Graham fitted the two 1:50 000 maps together. “Gosh! That’s a long way.”
“So we obviously go to The Chimneys first,” Roger said. “Otherwise the shortest way to Mt Baldy is to backtrack through Tinaroo.”
“Hope you are right,” Peter said. “It’s a long way round the lake.”
Graham snorted. “Not that far. We’ve done it before, on that Senior Exercise with the Navy Cadets last year.”
Roger had been on that 8 day exercise and had found it equally enjoyable but painful. During it the army cadets had done a night route march from near Lake Euramo to Camp Barrabadeen- 16 kilometres in darkness so black they had trouble staying on the road. The others exchanged stories about it and Graham’s enthusiasm annoyed Roger.
Stephen chuckled, “That was when you had your sights on that female navy cadet, Tina,” he said to Graham.
Behind Mt. Baldy Page 3
