Digger Field (9 page)

‘Just a school project,’ she said.

‘No worries, kid. I’m not your parents, yeah,’ he smiled.

You could see he had a gold tooth. He didn’t look like the kind of person who smiled often. It was the kind of smile that looked like he was going to vivisect you, and enjoy it.

‘You like it down here, yeah?’ he said to me. ‘I see you throwing pebbles sometimes.’

‘Yeah,’ I croaked, ‘we’re trying to break the world record for rock skimming.’

Mr Black’s eyes were so dark I couldn’t tell what part was the pupil and what part was the coloured bit surrounding it.

‘Cool,’ Mr Black said, but he didn’t look like the kind of person who said ‘cool’ often, unless he was holding you down in freezing water waiting for you to pass out.

‘I like it down here, too,’ Mr Black said. He ran his hand up his forehead and through his hair. There wasn’t much of it left.

‘I come here to think, yeah. To get away from the hustle and bustle of the city.’ He didn’t look like the kind of person who had a lot to think about, unless it was to work out which type of crowbar is best for smashing kneecaps.

‘It’s a nice place, yeah. Can I have a go?’ He picked up one of our rocks, and pegged it out across the water. It bounced eight times.

‘Not bad for a first timer, yeah?’ He smiled again. ‘Good luck with your world record. I’ll see you soon, yeah.’

At that moment Wrigs came tumbling down the pathway.

‘Hey, w’sup, Digger?’ he said. ‘You guys were only meant to be a couple of min——’ He trailed off when he saw Mr Black standing next to us.

Mr Black said to him, ‘Hey, kid, you’ve been to a fancy dress party, yeah? Nice outfit.’

Then he turned and walked off, back up the path.

‘How weird was that?’ I said when he was gone.

‘He didn’t seem too bad,’ said Tearley.

‘He’s a gangster,’ said Wrigs.

‘A gangster? Did you see his shoes?’ said Tearley. ‘He was wearing an old pair of black sandshoes. Gangsters don’t wear twenty-dollar sandshoes. He just looks like he wants to be a gangster.’

‘Did you see the hessian bag he was carrying?’ Wrigs said. ‘It was moving.’

‘No way,’ said Tearley.

‘Shut up, Wrigs. You’re imagining things again,’ I said. ‘And by the way, you were meant to be the lookout. Why didn’t you warn us Mr Black was coming?’

‘I … I … I …’ stammered Wrigs.

He looked at his wrist. ‘Is that the time? I gotta go.’

He ran off.

We knew he was lying because he didn’t have a watch on.

That night, about eight o’clock, Tearley knocked on my front door.

She marched into the lounge room with her laptop under her arm.

‘Hi, Mrs Field, Mr Field, is Dribbler home?’

Mum didn’t look surprised that:

(a) Tearley had come around to talk to me, or

(b) she called me Dribbler.

We went outside to the front verandah and Tearley turned on her computer.

‘We didn’t see the rest of the photos,’ she said.

‘There’s more?’ I said.

Tearley opened up the file with the photos taken by the camera. There were no more pictures of me, but there were some with Mr Black in them. The first photo showed him walking into the kitchen of the deserted house, with a torch in one hand and the hessian bag in the other. The bottom corner of the photo showed the time it was taken: 04.42.14.

‘That’s like three minutes after I left,’ I said. ‘If I hadn’t bolted up View Street so fast, I would have run into him.’

The next photo showed Mr Black opening the manhole. He pulled up the trapdoor and, at 04.42.45, lowered himself in. Then there was a break when he was in the hole and the camera mustn’t have been able to see any movement. Then, at 05.06.55, he came out again, still holding the bag. Now it looked floppy. The last photo showed him leaving the kitchen.

‘What’s he got down there?’ Tearley said. ‘See the bag … it’s full when he goes down the manhole but empty when he comes out.’

‘Maybe he’s a kidnapper and he’s got people down there and he’s delivering food to them.’

Tearley thought for a moment. Then she said, ‘You heard a scraping sound, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah. Someone was trying to get out.’

‘People wouldn’t scrape, they’d shout out or knock on the manhole or move around.’

‘Maybe they’re tied up,’ I said.

‘Then how would they scrape?’ Tearley said. ‘Besides, Mr Black would have to be taking them water and fresh food all the time to keep them alive. We put the camera in on Monday, and it didn’t take a picture of him until this morning. So we know he hasn’t been to the house for three days, at least. And he couldn’t have had much water or food in that bag.’

I hate the way Tearley can be so logical.

‘So what’s he taking down? It’s not like he could fit much stolen stuff in the bag either.’

‘There’s lots of small things that can be worth a lot of money, Digger. Jewellery. Guns. Drugs.’

‘Drugs?’ I said. ‘Do you really think he’s a drug dealer?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Tearley. ‘But I don’t know how a load of drugs would make a scratching noise on the trapdoor.’

Just then Mum came out and said, ‘Hey, Cindy, you probably should go home. Your mum’ll be getting worried about you, and it’s time Dribbler went to bed.’

Dribbler?

When I got to my room, Dean was lounging on his bed, reading a surfing magazine.

‘Got a girlfriend, have you?’

Dean is such a dumbnut. He’s got no idea how much pressure I’m under, trying to catch a criminal, buy a tinnie
and
break a world record. Why would I waste time with a girlfriend?

CHAPTER 23

DAY 21: Friday

My skims: 25

Wriggler’s skims: 0

Tearley’s skims: 9

25 skims! Bring on the record.

Money made for tinnie or Tearley: $0 ($825 to go. As if.)

Tearley and Wrigs came over to my place really early.

I was still angry with Wrigs.

‘Why didn’t you warn us Mr Black was coming down to the house?’ I asked him.

‘I didn’t see him,’ said Wrigs.

‘You have one simple job and you stuff it up,’ Tearley said.

‘I was, kind of, indiposted.’

‘Indiposted?’ said Tearley. ‘Do you mean “indisposed”, idiot?’

‘Don’t call me an idiot,’ said Wrigs. ‘I wasn’t there. Well I was there … but I wasn’t looking.’

‘What were you doing then?’ I said.

Wrigs’ face went bright red. ‘It’s just that I was busting, so I went into the bushes. He must have walked past me then.’

‘Wrigs, you’re an idiot,’ said Tearley. ‘Lookouts can’t leave their posts because they want to pee.’

‘I’m not an idiot,’ said Wrigs. He was glaring at Tearley. He looked like he was heading for a Wrig-out. If there is one thing Wrigs hates, it’s being called an idiot.

I changed the subject. ‘We’ve got to show the photos of Mr Black to the police.’

‘But they don’t prove anything,’ said Tearley. ‘What do we say to the police? “Officer, we don’t know who this man is but we think he is up to something bad. And he’s got a hessian sack.”’

‘I’ll go to the police on my own then,’ I said.

‘I’ll come, too,’ said Wrigs. He was trying to make up for being such a bad lookout.

‘Well, okay then. So will I,’ said Tearley. ‘But I bet they don’t believe anything we say.’

As we walked through town to the police station Tearley said, ‘Why do you reckon Mr Black came and talked to us yesterday? That was freaky.’

Wrigs said, ‘I thought you said he seemed all right.’

‘Well, he did when he spoke to us,’ said Tearley. ‘But now I reckon he was trying to find something out from us.’

‘Maybe he wanted to know why we’re always hanging around down by the river,’ I said.

‘Or maybe he wanted to find out if we were suspicious of him,’ said Tearley.

‘Do you still think he’s a ghost?’ I asked Wrigs.

‘Well, I don’t know how he got past me.’

‘’Cause you’re an idiot,’ said Tearley.

We arrived at the police station just before 9.00 am. We had to wait for an hour before a cop even turned up.

Then he made us sit on a bench near the counter for another twenty minutes while he made himself coffee, checked his emails and had a long conversation on the phone with someone about how much it had cost to get his car serviced.

Finally the policeman called us into his office. He said his name was Sergeant Tranh. He looked like the kind of policeman that they put on TV ads. He was tall and looked like he could run a hundred metres in under twelve seconds. You could imagine him jumping fences and chasing down bad guys. His uniform was perfect. When he sat down he pulled the bottom of his jacket down so that it wouldn’t crumple up.

We showed Sergeant Tranh the photos of Mr Black in the deserted house.

‘Whose camera is it?’ he asked.

‘Ours,’ I said.

‘What were you doing putting a camera in someone’s house? That’s an invasion of privacy.’

‘Nobody owns that house. It’s the deserted one down by the river,’ Tearley said.

We could hear the front door of the police station swinging open.

‘Stevens?’ Tranh yelled out.

A female constable came in looking out of breath and carrying an enormous handbag.

‘Sorry I’m late, sir,’ she said and gave Tranh a crooked smile.

Stevens was short and freckly and a bit nervy. She looked like she was just out of police school.

Tranh whispered something to her and she disappeared into the back of the station.

‘So what were you doing at this house in the first place?’ Tranh asked us.

‘We skim,’ I said.

‘What, credit cards?’

‘No, rocks,’ I said.

‘And why did you set up a camera?’

‘Because this guy was hanging around that house and acting all weird,’ I said. ‘We thought he was up to something, so we set up the camera.’

‘And do you always set up cameras to watch people?’

Stevens walked back in and gave Tranh a piece of paper.

‘Told you,’ Tearley whispered to me. ‘They don’t believe us.’

‘Constable Stevens just looked up the Land Titles Office records for the derelict house in question,’ said Tranh. ‘It says the land is owned by a Mr Bayoumi.’

‘Then why is the house falling down?’ asked Wrigs.

‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Mr Bayoumi,’ said Sergeant Tranh, holding up the piece of paper. ‘Constable Stevens is an expert on the Google-web and she has found this proof of land ownership. So, kids, I’m afraid to say, it’s you who are trespassing.’

‘What about the guy in the photos?’ said Wrigs, pointing at Tearley’s laptop.

‘How do you know he’s not Mr Bayoumi?’ said Tranh.

‘Why would he slink around the place like a gangster if he owned it?’ I said.

‘People are complicated, kid,’ said Sergeant Tranh. ‘Maybe that man doesn’t want anyone to know he owns the house.’

Then he looked at Constable Stevens and said, ‘Or maybe he’s just getting away from his kids.’

Stevens laughed.

I looked at Tearley and she flicked her eyeballs towards me without turning her head, which was her way of saying she was very, very annoyed.

Tranh turned to us again. ‘Look, we’re busy. We have important stuff to do.’

‘Yeah, there’s a lot happening in Pensdale,’ said Tearley. ‘Like speeding tickets, lost cats. You must be run off your feet.’

Constable Stevens let out a sharp giggle. Tranh shot a glance at her and she blushed.

Tranh turned to Tearley. ‘Well, young lady,’ he said, ‘we’re not too busy to investigate reports of some minors trespassing near the river.’

He sat back in his chair and didn’t say anything more. The silence said, ‘This-conversation-is-over-now-it’s-time-to-go-away.’

So we did.

As we left, I took some more rocks from the garden at the front of the cop station.

When we were back on Queen Street I said, ‘Hey, Tearley, I thought you were about to have a Wrig-out in there.’

‘I hate it that they don’t take us seriously just’ cause we’re kids,’ she said.

‘Do you reckon we’ll really get in trouble for trespassing at the house?’ said Wrigs.

‘No, they just wanted us to stop hassling them,’ I said.

‘Or maybe they’re involved,’ said Wrigs. ‘Maybe Mr Black is paying them off so they don’t arrest him.’

‘Yeah, as if,’ said Tearley. ‘Maybe the cops are right and we should just forget about Mr Black.’

‘What, and waste a hundred bucks?’ I said. ‘No way. We have to go down to the house and put the memory card back in the camera.’

‘Why bother?’ said Tearley. ‘Even if we can prove something, it’s not like the cops will listen to us.’

‘But if we don’t do anything, there’s no way we’ll be able to get any reward money,’ I told her. ‘And then there’s no way we’ll be able to pay you back the seventy-five dollars we owe you.’

It was true. The only chance we had of getting our money back for the camera, or to buy the tinnie, was to find out what Mr Black was up to, and hope for a reward.

Tearley thought about it for a moment then said, ‘Okay, let’s go.’

We went back to the river and put the card back in the camera. Wrigs acted as lookout like usual. But now he was looking out for the police as well as for Mr Black. We made him swear not to go for a pee, even if he had to wet himself.

I thought we should at least try one of the rocks from the police station. I got the most skims ever … twenty-five. The first bounce wasn’t that big but then it bounced again, and again, and again—twenty-four more times to be exact. At least something good came out of the day.

CHAPTER 24

DAY 22: Saturday

My skims: 16

Wriggler’s skims: 1

Tearley’s skims: 16 (Her best ever.)

Disappointing but I put it down to muscle tiredness.

Money made for tinnie or Tearley: $0 ($825 to go.)

We could sell the plans for the EWS.

Getting twenty-five skims was epic. I woke up knowing I was still in with a chance for the world record attempt. I was dying to get some more practice in. But Wrigs didn’t want to go back to the river. He said he was sick of being the lookout.

Then a plan hit me like a seagull flying into a window. All we needed was an early warning system.