A Certain Malice (23 page)

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 droopy 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.”

Cecelia tore her gaze from the water. “What?”

“The scars; you know, on his neck and arm. When he took his shirt off I noticed he had some down his side, too.”

“Oh,” Cecelia said, quickly turning back to the dam, “I didn’t notice.”

Leanne stood up and flicked a small flat stone across the water’s skin. One, two, three skips and it sank.

“Sure you didn’t.”

Cam’s head bobbed up as he took a breath then dived down again. After a few more such explorations, he struck back to shore with an adrenalin-charged crawl.

As he stumbled through the grey goo at the dam’s edge, he seemed to be panting with excitement more than exertion.

“It’s an old car,” he said to Leanne, “resting on an underwater rock pile, its roof just tickling the surface of the water. The recent hot spell has caused the dam level to drop. A few weeks ago it would’ve been fully submerged.”

“Did you get a look inside?” Leanne asked.

“It was pretty murky down there. Goggles would have aided visibility.”

“What? The goggles we found?”

“This is definitely our primary crime scene, Leanne. Bell obviously saw something when he was here on one of his poaching expeditions. He decided to do some of his own investigating, bringing goggles so he could check it out properly, but he was caught at it. I poked my hand through the missing windows and groped around. Both door panels have been prised away. I’m guessing something, drugs or money, was hidden in the doors. We’ll have to get the car out.”

Cecelia handed Cam his dry shirt and he wiped his face with it. She was bursting with questions, but held herself back, suddenly feeling very much the outsider.

Cam sat down and tried to dry his feet, fighting off the flies. He fumbled with his shoes and socks and said, “Run back to the ute, Leanne, organise a tow truck ASAP.”

Leanne started back across the dam wall.

“Oh, and…” He gave Cecelia a quick glance. “Not Cliff Donovan, OK? Get someone from Toorrup if you can.”

Leanne acknowledged his instructions with a wave.

Cam turned back. He seemed awkward now.“Uh, this is police business. I would appreciate it if…”

“I kept this to myself?”

He nodded.“Not even your mate Ruth, OK?”

She put her hand on his wet arm, feeling the goose bumps prick under her fingertips. “Of course not.”

He met her gaze before breaking away to button his damp shirt.

Cecelia cleared her throat.“So, what’s Ruby doing today?”

“I can tell you what I hope she’s doing. Whether she is, is another matter.”

“Look, I’ve not got much on. How about I pick her up so she can spend the day with me? You’re obviously going to be flat out for quite a while.”

He was in the middle of a grateful acceptance when they heard a shout and saw Leanne running towards them at a mad pelt. She pulled up puffing and red in the face.

“Did you get the tow truck?” Cam asked.

“Yeah, but it’s not that. Derek just radioed.” She took a breath. “There’s been an accident in town.”

Cam paled. Cecelia’s heart lurched for him.

“Car versus pedestrian in the back lane behind Foodland. Hit and run. Pete’s at the scene now and wants you there,” Leanne said.

“Who, who’s the victim?” Cam stammered.

“The old lady who was going to housekeep for you: Mrs Wilmot.”

30

“That’s Johnny Walker,” Pete said through semi-closed lips, the disapproval evident in his eyes.

“You’re shittin’ me,” Cam said.

“Dinkum, Sarge. He’s best mates with Jack Daniels.”

Cam closed his eyes for a moment.“Go on, tell me what happened.”

“Johnny’s mum was doing her shopping and he was killing time riding his BMX up and down the back lane. He was doing circuits from the street into the lane when he found himself behind an old white ute, burning rubber, he said. He couldn’t see what was in front because of the narrowness of the lane and the dust, but at one stage the ute sped up even more and he heard a thump. Next thing he knew he was having to swerve around a body in the road. Mrs Wilmot.”

“What else did you get?”

“Not much. Kid said it was an older model white ute…”

“Like every other vehicle in Glenroyd.” Cam rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.

“And he didn’t get the licence plates, but he did say it was a male driver.”

“And no one saw the ute leave the lane?”

“Nope.”

Cam sighed and looked at the still figure on the dirt.

“The woman with her is Mrs Ira Mason. She’s a retired nurse,” Pete said.

“How long ago did you call the ambulance?”

“Over twenty minutes ago.”

“Jesus. Call again.”

Pete started heading for the Commodore. “They’re all volunteers,” he called over his shoulder, as if feeling the need to explain the tardiness of his townsmen.

Cam moved over to Mrs Wilmot, lying rigid among the potholes. Mrs Mason had covered her with a picnic blanket. A string bag lay on the ground nearby, its contents spilling on to the dirt: a can of baked beans, broken eggs. An oozing carton of milk was already souring the air.