Fresh Blood

by Calder Garret

  ‘He eats more than the two of us put together. Loves his grub, does Chopps.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a big bloke. Have you had him long?’

  ‘A couple of years. He’s still a pup, really. Come. Sit. Do you want a drink? A cuppa?’

  ‘No, I’m just … Yeah, all right, then. That’d be nice. Coffee. White. Two sugars.’

  ‘Done.’

  Mandy headed for the kitchen. Arbor and Webb sat in silence.

  ‘Nathan.’

  ‘Yes, Danny.’

  ‘You remember yesterday when you said that you might be able to help me out? Looking for Amira? The Rashid girl? Well, I might take you up on it. I … How well do you know that creek? The one that runs under Melton Creek Bridge.’

  ‘You mean Melton Creek? Yeah, fairly well, I reckon. My brother and I used to do a bit of roo shooting out that way.’

  ‘Well, I reckon she might be out there somewhere. And I reckon she might be in a bit of trouble.’

  ‘If she is out there, she will be,’ said Nathan. ‘How long has she been gone for?’

  ‘I’m not sure, said Arbor. ‘For anything up to three or four days.’

  ‘She’ll be lucky,’ said Nathan. ‘There’s bugger all water in that creek this time of year.’

  ‘Yeah. I saw that today.’

  ‘Who were you with?’ asked Nathan. ‘Was it Jenny Martin? The schoolteacher?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Nathan smiled.

  ‘Yeah, she could give me lessons any time,’ he said. ‘She’s lovely, that one.’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘Who’s lovely?’ asked Mandy, returning with a tray of mugs.

  ‘No one you’d know,’ said Nathan.

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Mandy, placing the tray on the coffee table. ‘I know everybody.’

  ‘Hey, Mandy,’ said Arbor. ‘How well did you know Salim?’

  ‘Well enough,’ said Mandy, sliding him his mug and a plate of biscuits. ‘I’d chat with him just about every day. I got my Lotto from him. Of course, I had to. His was the only game in town.’

  ‘You don’t know any reason why someone would want to hurt him, do you? What they did to him was … I dunno. It just seemed so over the top.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. But I’ve no idea. Not for sure, anyway. Of course, just him being Pakistani pissed off quite a few of the locals. That was enough for some. Even after him living here for ten years. Not so Amira. She’d just about blended in. But Salim … And it didn’t help with him being such a devout Muslim. You know? Right up to the end, I reckon. That got up a lot of people’s noses.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Anything else?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There were rumours, I guess. The usual.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Mandy laughed.

  ‘There was one,’ she said. ‘You don’t know what to believe. This one was the best. He was supposed to be a big wheeler dealer. Up to his elbows in some shady property shit. You know, farmland. I don’t know if it was true or not, but, if it was … Well, I reckon there’d be nothing like an outsider buying up land to piss off the locals.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Arbor. ‘And thanks, Mandy. It’s a nice cuppa. I needed it after the day I had.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Mandy. ‘Any time.’

  ‘So, Nathan,’ Arbor continued. ‘I was wondering. If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, would you mind coming out with me? To see if we can find Amira? I had Jenny with me today, but … Hell, I’d hate for her to find what I’m dreading.’

  ‘The weaker sex, eh?’ said Nathan.

  Mandy gave her husband’s arm a sharp jab.

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Weak, are we?’ she said.

  Nathan reached for his arm, rubbing.

  ‘Don’t worry, Danny,’ said Mandy. ‘He’s just being clever. He understands fine where you’re coming from.’

  ‘So, what’ll you pay me?’ said Nathan, still rubbing, grinning through the pain.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘What’ll you pay me? I don’t mean to sound callous, Danny, but … A day in the bush. I mean, you’re not doing it for free, are you?’

  ‘No. I suppose not.’

  ‘Well, then?’

  Arbor reached for his wallet.

  ‘A hundred and twenty,’ he said. ‘That’s about all I’ve got.’

  ‘That’ll do fine,’ said Nathan, taking the notes. He passed them to Mandy. ‘You’ll be able to claim it, won’t you? On expenses or something?’

  Arbor could see O’Reilly’s face as he tried to explain.

  ‘Yeah, pig’s arse,’ he said.

  FRIDAY

  Nathan was waiting for him when he opened the front door. The sun had barely risen and Arbor’s eyes were still thick with sleep. The air was surprisingly fresh, given the time of year.

  ‘Morning, Sunshine,’ said Nathan, an orthodox greeting in a very unorthodox situation. ‘Don’t let that breeze fool you. It’s going to be a stinker. Glad to see you’re not wearing that stupid uniform. I got us some oranges.’

  ‘What?’

  Nathan held up a bag of oranges, about a dozen.

  ‘We’ll pick up some water somewhere along the line, no doubt. But these’ll come in handy if we get parched. Which we will. We can stuff them in our pockets. They could be a lifesaver.’

  Up there for thinking, thought Arbor.

  ‘Where’d you get them?’ he asked. ‘At this time of day?’

  ‘I know someone who knows someone,’ said Nathan. ‘No, joking. I know Belle Carter who works in the co-op. She let me in. I charged them to your account.’

  ‘I don’t have one,’ said Arbor.

  ‘You do now,’ said Nathan. ‘What about your boss? Have you cleared it all with him?’

  ‘I’ll call him from the farm,’ said Arbor. He thought about it. By then, he hoped, he would be a little more awake and a lot more persuasive.

  ‘So you’re not a local, then?’ asked Arbor. ‘Originally?’

  They were heading out of town and had just turned onto the Melton road.

  ‘No,’ said Nathan. ‘I’m from down Albany way. I came here when I was, what, eleven or twelve?’

  ‘Do you know the Blairs? They live next door to Jenny Martin.’

  ‘I wish I didn’t,’ said Nathan. ‘Trouble all round, I reckon.’

  ‘I was going to drop in and see them,’ said Arbor. ‘On the way.’

  ‘I’ll stay in the wagon, then, if you don’t mind,’ Nathan said.

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘That bad. Fucking trouble. Fucking racist pricks, if you ask me.’

  ‘What about Harry Hogg?’ said Arbor. ‘Hoggy. Do you know him? He’s a bit younger than us.’

  ‘Yeah, I know him,’ said Nathan. ‘He’s a wanker, too. Of the highest order. He got hit in the head by a cricket ball a few years back. It did him some good, I reckon.’

  ‘He reckoned he was in with Amira,’ said Arbor.

  ‘Yeah, in his dreams.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what Jacinta Wallis said.’

  ‘She’s another waste of space.’

  ‘Jeez, you don’t mince your words, do you?’

  Nathan didn’t reply. At least not immediately.

  ‘I just tell it like I see it,’ he said. ‘There’s no harm in that.’

  ‘No, I guess there’s not.’

  Nathan laughed.

  ‘Are you the Arbor that played for the Eagles?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, that’s me,’ said Arbor. Wait for it, he thought.

  ‘Yeah, I’d reckoned so,’ said Nathan. ‘You were an accident waiting to happen. I said that to Mandy the first time I saw you. That bloke runs like a chook, I said. Legs like one, too.’

  ‘Thanks a bundle.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Arbor followed the trail of broken vehicles from the Melton road to the Blair farmhouse, stopping next to the heavily dented Land Rover that was obviously the farm
runabout. As promised, Nathan stayed in the paddy wagon. Arbor alighted and made his way towards the front door.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  The voice was female, but deep and husky. The owner appeared from behind a small shed. Arbor had a sense she had been there to urinate.

  ‘I’m Danny Arbor,’ he began. ‘Constable at—’

  ‘I don’t care who you are,’ she said. Closer, Arbor could see she was lost in her twenties somewhere, craggy and mean looking, carrying not a scrap of fat. She had a face like vinegar.

  ‘You’ve got no right to be here,’ she continued. ‘You’ve got no fucking right.’

  As if on cue, two men appeared from the other side of the house. To Arbor, they looked like a WWE tag team. Big, bald and tattooed to the max. Arbor could smell them from where he stood.

  Both picked up lengths of pipe.

  ‘Are you all right there, Gertie?’ the larger man said.

  ‘Answer her question,’ the smaller man aimed at Arbor. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘I tried to say,’ said Arbor. ‘I’m Constable Arbor. From Chatton. I wanted to ask you … Yesterday, we found what seems like a murder scene. In one of those sheds out beside Jenny Martin’s place.’

  ‘Yeah, well, like we told those other cops. It’s got nothing to do with us.’

  So the detectives had been. And received the same answer.

  ‘That creek. It runs on your property a bit,’ said Arbor. ‘Do you mind if we …?’

  The smaller man squinted towards the wagon.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he said. ‘What’s that arsehole doing here? What gives you the right? You can’t just bring anyone you like out here without asking. This is private property. Go on. Fuck off.’

  This, thought Arbor, was clearly the end of the conversation. They turned their backs on him, entered the house and slammed the door. But Arbor had a creeping suspicion there were eyes on him still. He could see a curtain flutter.

  ‘I told you,’ Nathan called from the paddy wagon. ‘And you haven’t met old Matilda yet.’

  Arbor grinned.

  ‘I’ve a feeling she’s watching us now’ he said.

  He took the few large strides back towards the wagon and then ducked behind the Land Rover.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Nathan.

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Arbor.

  He peered inside the Land Rover. But there was nothing to see. The dust on the windows had long since caked into a dark red impenetrable film.

  He had all but given up when a splash of colour on the rear window drew him back. It was a sticker. He rubbed away the dust.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Nathan.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Arbor, rubbing harder.

  As the dust broke away, he could see. Facing him was an emblem, in the centre of which, in pride of place, was a blood-red sickle.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said.

  His first thought was that it might be something cultish, something Wiccan or Satanic. Then, perhaps, something political, the remnant of a time when left was left and right was … wrong. But he was wrong. The redness of the sickle, he soon discovered, was just the effect of years of ground-in dirt.

  Laid bare, the emblem was just a coat of arms. Not unlike the Australian one. But, in this case, the kangaroo and emu were missing and had been replaced by a jumble of farming tools – the sickle, an axe, a plough and what appeared to be a simple hook. Behind the implements, functioning as a kind of border, was a red cross of St George. And atop the image, in all its majesty, was a royal crown.

  It said something, Arbor decided, but he wasn’t quite sure what. Was the sickle just a coincidence? Or was it something more? It was a common farming tool, he knew, but given its choice as the murder weapon, he could not escape the parallel.

  Was he thinking too much? Reading too much into it? Perhaps he was. But, just in case, he took out his phone and took several snaps. He would chase it up first chance he got. He climbed into the paddy wagon.

  ‘What was it?’ asked Nathan again.

  ‘Ah, probably nothing,’ said Arbor.

  But, then again, he had nothing to begin with. Nothing ventured, he thought. He started the engine.

  He phoned ahead and, by the time they arrived, Jenny had cuppas and a stack of pikelets waiting. Arbor devoured them. Although it had been a while since his last drink, he felt remarkably hungover – a sure sign he had had too much sun and not enough water the day before.

  ‘I packed a couple of knapsacks for you,’ said Jenny. ‘Some lunch, plenty of water … and some fruit. It always comes in handy.’

  Nathan showed her the oranges.

  ‘Great minds,’ he said.

  They filled their pockets and donned the knapsacks.

  ‘You’ll be taking the quads?’ asked Jenny.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Nathan. ‘Where did it all happen?’

  ‘Do you know those old sheds? Over near the Blair’s place? Between the shed and the creek.’

  ‘We’ll ride to there, then,’ said Nathan. ‘We can explore the creek on foot after that. If that’s okay with you, Danny?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Arbor. He would happily follow Nathan’s lead.

  ‘Shit,’ he added. ‘I nearly forgot. I’d better call the sarge. If I don’t turn up at the station, he’ll send out his own search party.’

  It would be easiest, he decided, if he just rang the residence. He was certain O’Reilly would be still in bed, or, at best, at his toast and jam. He put the phone on speaker as he fumbled with his pikelet.

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘Sarge, it’s Arbor.’

  ‘What do you want? I’m still in my fucking PJs.’

  ‘Sarge, I was wondering. I’m out at Jenny Martin’s place. I thought I might have a look about. See if I can find the Rashid girl. You don’t need me in the station, do you? I mean, you don’t want me piss-farting around while you’re watching the cricket. And those city Ds have made it pretty plain they don’t want my help. I thought I’d do the most good out here.’

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t do too much thinking, boy,’ drawled the sergeant. ‘You might think you’ll get ahead, but in the end they’ll cut you down. Yeah, all right. Just keep in touch, eh? I don’t want you wasting your time out there. And if I find out you’re just out there rooting the Martin woman, I’ll knock your block off. You hear me?’

  ‘Right, Sarge.’

  He hung up and offered Jenny an embarrassed smile.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have known better.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Jenny. She smiled back.

  ‘He’s all class, our O’Reilly, isn’t he?’ said Nathan. ‘All class. Come on. I can feel the sun on my back. Let’s get a wriggle on.’

  He’s spent a decent amount of time on one of these, thought Arbor. Nathan was rocking his quad from side to side, leaning into every turn, backing off at any sign of trouble, but then gunning it again whenever he could. Arbor had trouble keeping up. In truth, he had trouble staying on. For some reason, today, with less weight and extra speed, he had lost all stability and poise.

  With the tempo Nathan set, it didn’t take them long to reach the sheds. By the time Arbor pulled up behind him, Nathan had already alighted and was eating an apple.

  ‘Where’d you find the shoe?’ Nathan asked.

  ‘Just in there.’

  Nathan looked around, thinking. He eyed where the creek bed narrowed as it ran under the fence and then widened again as it snaked westward.

  ‘If she’s alive and on her own,’ he said, ‘I reckon she’ll have stuck to the creek. Anyone with any sense would. It’s the only place they’d get water. I reckon we should keep going. Follow it a few Ks. See what’s up there.’

  ‘Do we just leave these things here?’ asked Arbor, meaning the quads.

  ‘Sure,’ said Nathan, climbing the fence. ‘Who’s going to steal them?’

  The morning passed slowly, as they inched their
way along the stony creek, following the small trickle that was the summertime flood. Each held a stick, using it to brush away the grass on the creek’s banks. Arbor could feel his shirt clinging to his back and arms. He welcomed the moments when the big gums arched over him. He welcomed, too, the light breeze that blew from time to time along the creek bed. It didn’t cool him, he thought, but it did stir the air.

  Finally, at about eleven, he saw Nathan stop, find a spot on the bank and open his knapsack. Arbor joined him.

  ‘Hard yakka,’ he offered.

  ‘You reckon?’ Nathan replied, waving the flies from his sandwich.

  They sat there, for the longest time, enjoying the rest. Arbor took a bite of his sandwich and then listened to the silence.

  ‘Hey, Nathan?’ he asked, finally.

  ‘What’s that, Danny?’

  It was another difficult question, but he felt a need to ask it.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he said. ‘There’s something that’s been bugging me since I got here. In Chatton. You know, that bar you drink in? You know the one. Well, it seems to me … I mean, why is it you don’t just go into one of the others? You know? Just ask for a beer in there? At the end of the day, Piper can’t really stop you, can he?’

  ‘Yeah? And why would I do that, Danny?’ said Nathan.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Arbor. ‘I mean, you have rights, after all, don’t you?’

  Nathan laughed.

  ‘I have rights, do I?’ he said. ‘Well, that settles it, then. Thanks for that, Danny. That makes it easy. But did you ever think it might be the other way around? That we don’t want to drink with you whadjulla, you whitefellas?’

  Arbor was silent.

  ‘Yeah, fair enough,’ he said, eventually. ‘Anyway. Nice sandwiches, these, aren’t they?’

  Nathan grinned.

  ‘Yeah, I think she makes her own pickles,’ he said. ‘Just the lady for you, Danny, if you’ve a mind to settle in our little town.’

  I’d rather settle in hell, thought Arbor. I’d rather settle in hell.

  By mid-afternoon, Arbor was in hell. His face and neck were burning bright, he had drunk most of his water and he had just a couple of oranges left in his pockets.