‘So, what do you plan to do about it?’
‘How do you mean, Sarge?’
‘Well, you wouldn’t have come this far without thinking about what comes next. Go on.’
The sergeant’s interest seemed real.
‘I thought I’d talk to the Ds again,’ said Arbor. ‘Explain to them what I’ve got. See if they’ll stick around. Delve a bit more.’
‘Yeah, well. Good luck with that.’
‘And if that doesn’t work,’ Arbor continued. He felt he had little to lose. ‘I want to talk to the Blairs. To old Matilda. I reckon I might be able to sort out some answers myself.’
Arbor could see O’Reilly thinking.
‘Yeah, okay,’ said the sergeant. He seemed almost caring. ‘I doubt you’ll get anywhere with the Ds, but keep digging. I had a sense those bastards were taking the easy road. Do you need a hand? Those Blairs can be a handful.’
The offer knocked Arbor for six.
‘N … No. Not yet, Sarge,’ he said. ‘But I might later.’
‘Well, just let me know,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Okay? I mean it. I’m not quite the useless old sod you think I am.’
He laughed.
‘It’d be worth it to see the Ds’ faces,’ he continued. ‘When you stick it up ’em.’
He laughed again and, without apparent thought, resumed his game.
‘Go on. Bugger off, then,’ he said. ‘Just keep me in the loop.’
It would have taken Nathan ten minutes to walk home. In the paddy wagon, it took them less than two. It took even less time for Arbor to give Nathan the heads-up.
‘I’m fairly certain it’s the Blairs,’ he said. ‘Given this NPL connection. And together with everything Amira told me, I reckon they’re up to their necks in it.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Arbor. ‘I’ll run it all past Burke and Cole. But I’m not holding my breath. I reckon they’re already packing up.’
‘You won’t be able to arrest the Blairs by yourself, Danny,’ said Nathan. ‘They’re a mean bunch. Is O’Reilly going to help you?’
‘He said he would,’ said Arbor. ‘But … Hell, I still don’t have enough to point the finger at anyone, yet, let alone charge them. All I’ve got is a pile of suppositions and some pretty vague circumstantial evidence.’
‘Keep digging, then,’ said Nathan.
‘Yeah, that’s what everybody says.’
‘And Jenny, eh?’ said Nathan. ‘How’s that going?’ He was hiding a smile.
‘Yeah, well enough,’ said Arbor. ‘Here you are.’
Mandy was standing at the front door.
‘There’s trouble,’ said Nathan.
‘Do you want me to have a word with her?’ said Arbor. ‘Clear the air for you?’
‘No. I can do my own dirty work,’ said Nathan. ‘Listen, brother, if you need anything, give us a bell. Okay? If you need some backup? I’m only a little bloke, but I pack a punch.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Arbor. ‘I’ll do that.’
It was just as Arbor had predicted. By the time he returned to the hotel, the detectives were packing up the Commodore. As he cruised along Palm Street, he could see Cole forcing the whiteboard into the boot. Burke was standing on the pavement, smoking. Arbor pulled in behind them.
‘Hi, Constable,’ said Burke. ‘Come to give me a fond farewell?’
‘No,’ said Arbor. ‘Listen, there’s something you should know. I found the Rashid girl. Amira.’
‘Yeah? And where is she?’ asked Burke.
‘She’s out with Jenny Martin.’
‘She’s not much good to us out there, Constable, is she?’ said Burke. ‘Why didn’t you bring her in?’
‘I didn’t think she was well enough,’ said Arbor.
‘It’s not your job to think,’ said Burke. ‘Anyway, she’s no good to us now. We’ve got it all settled. Pakistani police will be making their arrests in …’
She looked at her watch.
‘… In about five hours.’
‘But that’s it,’ said Arbor. ‘I reckon you’ve got it wrong. She was there. Amira. She heard voices. And they were Aussie voices.’
‘That doesn’t mean shit, Constable,’ said Burke. ‘Just because it was locals who did the deed doesn’t mean it wasn’t Pakis pulling the strings. It’s case closed. We’re having some brekky, then we’re heading off back to the city. It’s been nice knowing you, Constable. It’s not often I have a league footballer by the balls.’
You don’t, thought Arbor. But, then again, maybe you did.
‘So you’re not going to do anything?’ he asked.
‘I told you, Danny. It is Danny, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I’m a bugger with names. I’m off to have my breakfast – some bacon, eggs and a hash brown or two – then I’m heading out of this hick town as fast as I fucking can.’
And that would be the end of it, thought Arbor, as the two detectives re-entered the hotel. If there were any more inquiries to be done, any arrests to be made, it would be up to him to make them. He headed back towards the paddy wagon, the easterly at his back, and gave it some thought. The wagon was pointed towards the city, he noticed, and towards Melton. Towards the Blairs. He was being guided by the wind, he decided. He could put it off no longer.
If anyone had told Arbor that Matilda Blair would become his last best hope, he would have laughed at them. But she had. He was travelling along the road to Melton once again, to question a woman he had never seen, let alone met. All he knew was that the Blair family was dangerous and that Matilda was the glue that held the clan together. She was their matriarch, their pilot light. Good luck, Danny, he said to himself. Good luck quizzing her about murder, conspiracy and white supremacy. But Jenny had convinced him that the trip would be worthwhile, and he trusted her judgement. At least, he had to. There was no other option.
He turned onto the Blair property, ever vigilant for the Land Rover. It was nowhere to be seen. The brothers, he hoped, were out somewhere, doing whatever it was that the brothers did together. He drew up near the house and alighted, standing for a moment listening. All he heard was a TV playing somewhere inside the house. He knocked.
The door opened. It was Gertie. Her face changed immediately, from complacency to chagrin.
‘Not you again,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Mum! That fucking cop’s back.’
‘Tell him to bugger off back to where he came from,’ Arbor heard from inside. ‘I’m watching Dr. Phil.’
‘It’s official business!’ Arbor shouted, in the toughest voice he could manage. ‘Either you talk to me now or I come back with a warrant.’
He hoped the bluff would work.
‘Ah, let him in,’ he heard the old woman say.
Gertie swung open the screen door. Her eyes offered even more contempt as Arbor passed.
The first thing he noticed was the haze of cigarette smoke. Overfilled ashtrays lay scattered throughout the room. Matilda had a fag in one hand and her packet held tightly in the other. Nothing about her broke the matriarch mould. Solid-featured and of a certain greying age, she betrayed no hint of frailty. Arbor could feel the menace and authority in her glare.
‘So what do you want?’ she asked. ‘And make it quick. If you make me miss Judge Judy, I’ll …’
‘It’s about Salim Rashid,’ said Arbor.
‘Yeah? What about him? What’s he got to do with us?’
Not a good start, thought Arbor.
‘Nothing. No. Nothing. I’m not saying …’
But he was saying. At least he was trying to. But he didn’t know what. Why had Jenny told him to come here? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember.
‘If you think it’s got anything to do with my boys,’ offered Matilda, ‘you can think again. I can tell you now, they wouldn’t flick a flea from a dog’s arse without me telling them to.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Arbor.
‘But you were thinking it. And
just because they used our shed to do him in doesn’t mean shit. We haven’t used those sheds in years. Have we, Gertie? We told the other cops that.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Arbor. ‘Look, it’s not your boys. Not necessarily. It’s …’
He looked at Gertie. Maybe a gentle reminder of her dirty little tryst by the creek might get her talking. But then, Arbor thought, maybe Matilda already knew. And didn’t care. He decided, instead, on a frontal assault.
‘Gertie,’ he said. ‘I have to ask you. I found a photo of you. Online. You were at a meeting … of a crowd called the National Purity League. Do you know what I’m talking about? I need to know, Gertie. Are you involved with them? How? And who else is?’
He could see he had touched a nerve. But no words came. Gertie seemed too scared to speak. Arbor turned to Matilda.
‘Mrs Blair? This couldn’t be any more serious. What is it? Are you all involved? Is that what it is?’
‘Jesus wept,’ said Matilda, coughing like the Devil. She knocked back her drink. ‘Gertie, get me another sherry,’ she said.
Gertie stood still. She seemed frozen in position.
‘Do as you’re told, girl,’ snapped the old woman.
The girl moved. She took her mother’s glass and entered the kitchen. Matilda took a final drag on her cigarette, crushed it deep into her ashtray and lit another. She blew smoke at Arbor.
‘Look, Constable. I can’t say I abide foreigners any more than the next bloke,’ she said. ‘But if you ask me, I find it a bloody insult you coming here and accusing us.’
‘It’s my job,’ said Arbor. ‘I’ve got to ask.’
‘Yeah, well, we don’t have to tell you bugger all. Us Blairs, we’re God-fearing folk, we are. Enough said.’
‘But Gertie,’ said Arbor. ‘The photo … I’m afraid the facts speak for themselves, Mrs Blair. They need some explaining.’
The old woman laughed. She squeezed the cigarette tight between her fingers and sucked. The hiss filled the room. Arbor waited.
‘You’re a bit like a dog with a T-bone, aren’t you, Constable?’ she said. ‘You’re not letting this go.’
‘No, I’m not,’ said Arbor.
‘Yeah, well, if that’s the case …’
Matilda’s eyes darted towards the kitchen and Gertie.
‘Hell’s bells. I might as well tell you,’ she said. ‘I can tell we’ll never see the back of you, otherwise.’
She gave him a look that seemed designed to invite him in. Instead, it made him shudder.
‘If I were you,’ she said. ‘If I were you, I’d be looking a bit closer to home. If you’re looking for funny business, for this National Purity League, then you should be back there in Chatton.’
‘How?’ said Arbor. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m just saying,’ said Matilda. ‘That Purity League mob. I reckon if you’d bothered looking, you would have found a whole bunch of them jolly jumbucks right back there on Palm Street. Right under your nose.’
‘Really?’ said Arbor. ‘Who? Tell me who?’
‘Steady on,’ said Matilda, laughing again. ‘I’m not doing your job for you. I’m not naming any names. But it might be any of them. It might be your butcher. Or your baker. Or your fucking candlestick maker. Who’s to tell? Hell, it might even be your boss. But I’m not naming names. No, not me. That’s not my job.’
He thought about it. It might be anyone. But it wasn’t O’Reilly. No way. The sergeant was entirely too lazy.
Matilda sat back, smug in the troubles she had caused him, and smoked some more. Arbor cursed to himself. If there was one, he thought, she was it. The queen of the bush pigs.
Gertie came to the doorway, glass of sherry in hand. She waited. Her mother beckoned her sharply.
‘Here, girl,’ she said.
Gertie crossed the room. Arbor could see her struggling to stop the glass from spilling. She failed. Several drops fell onto her mother’s apron.
‘Damn you, girl,’ said Matilda, seizing the glass. ‘You’re worse than bloody useless.’
She set the glass down and then slapped Gertie. Gertie wore it.
Matilda thought.
‘All right, then, Constable,’ she continued. She gave Gertie a piercing glare. ‘If you want a name, I’ll give you a bloody name.’
Gertie let out a moan. It seemed almost subhuman.
‘No, Mum. Please,’ she whined. ‘Don’t. You promised.’
‘Yeah, well, promises are made to be broken, my girl,’ said Matilda. ‘Do unto others, that’s my motto. And I’m about to do unto you.’
Arbor felt sure that her laugh this time was a cackle.
‘If you’re looking for a place to start, Constable,’ Matilda said, ‘then I’d try that rat’s arse of a publican of yours. Piper. He’s only your Purity League’s local Grand bloody Doodah, or whatever they call it. He’s a bad apple, that man. I’m telling you. There’s more than one reason I go to Melton for my grog. Piper gets far too much pleasure from sticking his nose, and his fingers, and his doodah, into places where they don’t belong. If you get my drift.’
‘Mum! Please.’
Gertie was in tears now. Matilda laughed again.
‘Have a go at it, Constable,’ she said. ‘The silly little moll practically gives it away. She lets Piper ride her whenever he wants, wherever he wants. Just so long as he keeps her in grog. She follows the man everywhere, Constable. Gets herself tangled up in all his bloody nonsense. That’ll be where that photo would have been taken. Eh, Gertie? Did our dim-witted darling take part in one of his crazy little cross burnings? … What do you reckon, Constable? You’d reckon she’d just learn to pay for her grog like the rest of us. Oh, and there’s more yet. There’s lots more. He’s only been filling her up with all sorts of nonsense. Not just his spoof. Isn’t that right, Gertie? Listen to this, Constable. She comes home Sunday morning saying she actually knows who done in the old Paki. Well, if it wasn’t Piper she was talking about, then I’ll get on my knees and suck your bloody doodah.’
‘Fuck.’
How did he miss it?
‘Language, Constable,’ said Matilda. ‘We mind our p’s and q’s around here.’
Arbor set his sights on the door. If all this were true, then he had what he needed. Maybe more.
‘Hold on, Constable,’ said Matilda, grabbing the leg of his pants. ‘There’s more. I can tell you more about the little bag if you want to listen. I’ll bet you she’ll even give you a ride if you want one. Right here. Right now. Go on. Ask her.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Arbor, pulling himself free of her grasp. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
He didn’t want to hang around. He’d seen enough family drama for one day. Pushing away the laughs of Matilda and the wails of Gertie Blair, he headed for the front door.
He emerged from the house just in time to see the Land Rover stop and the Blair brothers alight. He could see the menace on their faces. He reached for the closest tool, an axe handle. He was in just the right mood. But the brothers kept their distance. Arbor reached the paddy wagon and tossed the wood into the scrub. Another time, perhaps, he decided. For the moment, he had other tasks at hand.
The public bar had some permanent features, not least the three old cockies who sat motionless in the corner. Every time, thought Arbor. It seemed they were gathering dust. And every time, they barely acknowledged his presence.
‘Where is he?’ he asked. Then he heard it, the familiar hiss of a keg. Piper appeared from the back room.
‘I need a word with you,’ said Arbor.
‘Can’t it wait?’ said the publican. ‘Can’t you see I’ve got customers?’
‘Now.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Piper. ‘Through here, then.’
Arbor lifted the dividing panel and followed Piper into the lounge bar. But for Burke and Cole, still at their breakfast, it was empty.
‘You’re making a bloody habit of this, aren’t you, Constable?’ said Burke.
‘You always are.’
‘You,’ Arbor said to Piper. ‘You’re in the National Purity League, aren’t you?’
The publican thought for a moment. Burke paused, fork in hand, as if interested.
‘There’s no getting around it,’ said Arbor. ‘You are, aren’t you?’
‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,’ said Piper. ‘I’ve never denied it. Anyway, it’s not against the law. We’re not in fucking Russia.’
‘So … Salim Rashid,’ said Arbor. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’
The publican laughed.
‘You what?’ he said. ‘You are joking, aren’t you? No, it wasn’t me. I didn’t go near the old prick. Who told you that crap?’
‘Matilda Blair.’
Piper laughed again.
‘Yeah, and I’d believe just about fuck all of what that old crone says,’ he said. ‘Anyway, how the hell would she know?’
‘She said Gertie told her,’ said Arbor. ‘She said Gertie said you admitted it.’
The publican turned his back and started polishing glasses.
‘Yeah, well, that little bitch is talking out of her arse as well.’
‘Then who did?’ said Arbor, moving closer. ‘Someone was in here the other night bragging they killed Salim Rashid.’
Piper backed himself against a fridge.
‘Well, I don’t fucking know, do I?’ he said. ‘Jesus. All I know is, it wasn’t me.’
‘Give it away, Constable,’ said Burke. ‘You’re only embarrassing yourself. You’re here, there and everywhere. Unless you’ve got something solid, you just can’t go around challenging members of the public like that.’
‘No, you can’t,’ sneered Piper.
‘It’s you,’ said Arbor. ‘I know it’s you.’
‘Bullshit,’ said Piper. ‘You don’t know shit, Constable. I’m telling you, you wouldn’t know if your arse was on fire.’
But it all made sense, thought Arbor. Or at least it all seemed to. Matilda’s story, white supremacists, Rashid’s ethnicity, the vile nature of the crime. What was he missing?
‘Who, then?’ he asked. ‘Who was here? Who else is in this League?’
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