Murderer's Thumb (7 page)

‘I've brought your key back,' Adam said.

‘Was it any use?'

‘No.'

Matt shrugged and struggled to get his words out. ‘Maybe you should pick the lock,' he finally said. He put the key around his neck and sighed.

‘I might,' Adam said.

‘I reckon our cows will do well at the end of the month,' Matt stuttered. ‘I like herd testing.'

Adam stood dumbfounded. What was he talking about? He tried to direct the conversation back to the key. ‘Why do you wear it around your neck?'

He blushed and stared at the floor. ‘She told me to.'

‘Who? Who gave it to you?'

Matt smiled. ‘She was special, like a wild bird. They both were. But I think she's dead now,' he said wistfully.

‘Do you mean Emma?' Adam began.

‘N…no.'

A voice from the hallway interrupted. It was Mrs Thackeray. ‘I think it's time your friend went home now, Matthew,' she ordered.

Matt worked his mouth furiously, ‘Y…You better go,' he said, forcing the door open and pushing Adam out.

Dusk was falling. Adam hurried home, puzzled at Matt's behaviour. How could a grown man be controlled by his mother like that? And by his sister, for that matter? It was as if Matt was still a kid, not someone in his early twenties. And the strange things he said sometimes, stuff about droughts, herd tests and butterfat, straight out of left field. Something wasn't quite right with Matt, but he couldn't work out what.

Snake had warned Adam that the Thackerays were a bunch of weirdos. How true. Even Mrs Thackeray was kind of strange: vague or preoccupied or something.

As Adam marched up the dusty road, Colin drove towards him in the ute, a Toyota with a metal tray. Adam waved. The farmer lifted a finger from the steering wheel in reply, but didn't smile.

The ute rattled past, followed by a stream of dust. Adam coughed it down and resisted turning to swear after his boss. He could cope with the dust because he was so keen to pull the piano apart and find the missing key.

Back at the house his mum had set up her potter's wheel on the verandah outside the lounge room. A power cord snaked out the open window. What the hell was she doing? Couldn't she contain it to one room?

The light globe on the porch attracted small moths and beetles that fluttered drunkenly against the wall and ceiling. Rosemary was tying the strings of a plastic apron around her back.

‘You and your pots taking over the whole house now?' Adam said in a sour voice.

‘It's like a furnace in the spare room. I'm sure this place isn't insulated.'

Adam didn't want to talk. He was in too much of a hurry.

‘Don't forget it's your turn to wash up,' she said.

‘Yeah, I'll do it later,' he said and went inside, making straight for the piano. He counted the keys, two by two, white first, then black. Yes! Eighty-eight. He felt a rush of satisfaction. Now he was on the right track. He made a thorough inspection of the instrument, feeling each panel, peering underneath. He lifted the lid on top. The smell of dust was overpowering. He looked inside. Nothing but shadows. He let the lid drop with a thud.

‘What are you doing? Smashing the furniture?' Rosemary called from outside.

‘It's OK, just checking out the piano.'

‘Don't be rough with it. They're supposed to be delicate.'

‘Sure, Mum,' Adam said as he left the room to get a torch.

When he returned he tilted the lid back again and shone the torch. Rows of wooden arms, covered with felting and a thick coat of dust filled the guts of it. But there, just below him at the edge of the moving parts lay a key, small and rusted. He scooped it up.

Adam gave a strangled yelp when the key fitted perfectly into the lock. He took a deep breath and turned it. The drawer opened. Old newspaper lined the base. The only thing in the drawer was a black plastic cylinder, the type used to package photographic film. That was what had made the noise, rolling around. Adam levered the lid off with his thumbnail. Paper was stuffed inside. He pulled it out and examined the writing on it, the same loopy style as the note on the key board. He read the message, enthralled.

Em's gone. They say she's run away. Bullshit. I reckon she's dead but it's all been covered up. I've hidden my diary because it's evidence. If I don't survive, hopefully it will. So if you find this, search for the diary, search for the truth, search for me.

M.T.

Part One lies at the Mount of Venus…
Hymn it ice guinea pig mix (7, 6)
Too bold concealed (3, 4)

Another cryptic clue! Adam was certain. ‘Too bold' had to be ‘old boot', the number of letters fitted exactly. But the second line puzzled him. He rubbed at his wonky eye. And what was the Mount of Venus? He'd heard the expression before, but only to do with girls' anatomy.

The paragraph before the cryptic message bothered him. Was it Lina, desperate for help? But no, the initials were wrong. And who was threatening her? Adam kicked off his sneakers and lay back on the bed, holding the note. Of course, it could be a hoax. Just an elaborate joke. But why go to such trouble to hide everything, unless the writer was in danger?

And why didn't she go to the police? He considered Barry Timothy and his smarmy attitude. There was something revolting about him that made you want to tell him to shove it. Perhaps MT didn't trust him either. Was he part of the ‘cover up'? It was possible. Cops went crooked from time to time. He'd heard snippets on the news: ‘officers stood down…corruption allegations…pending further enquiries,' blah, blah, blah. He never took it all in. But it didn't surprise him. Police officers were like everyone else, capable of the best and the worst of human behaviour. Only they were supposed to fight crime like his grandfather Witold did, not become part of it.

EIGHT

On Tuesday some of the boys in Adam's class invited him to have a hit of cricket on the oval at lunchtime. He had to decline because he could never pick up the flight of a cricket ball. It meant that he had only Snake for company, whom no serious cricketer would invite on their team. Five minutes into lunch and Adam had heard enough of Snake's running commentary on the history of the Falcon Ridge-Redvale Football Club.

‘Will you shut up about football!' Adam snarled.

Snake wasn't bothered. ‘Well you haven't been your usual “Mr Inquisitive”. I thought I'd fill in the gaps.'

‘Look, I'm pissed off, right,' Adam said darkly. ‘I don't appreciate it when I ask people to keep their mouths shut and they don't listen.'

‘What do you mean?'

Adam scowled at him. ‘I mean about what I told you on the bus yesterday.'

‘Yeah, so? I didn't say anything—'

‘Well how come Mongrel knew all about it at footy training?' Adam said.

‘How do I know? Loody probably told him.'

‘Loody?'

‘Yeah. They go shooting together.'

Adam glared at Snake. ‘And you haven't said a word to anyone?'

Snake was finishing off a round of ham sandwiches. ‘Dying to, but I won't,' he said, spraying bits of half-chewed bread into the air.

Adam shook his head and sighed. Why did he jump to conclusions like that? He should have trusted Snake. Even so, his reasoning was sound. Rosemary and Snake were the only people he'd told and as he'd only known Snake for a bit over a week, he was right to be cautious. ‘Sorry,' he said, looking at the floor. ‘I'm paranoid about mates not keeping secrets.'

‘Well don't tell them any then.'

‘You make it sound easy,' Adam laughed.

Snake clapped him on the back. ‘It
is
easy. But you've got to realise that everyone knows your business in Falcon Ridge. You only have to scratch your arse and the whole district knows.'

‘Nosy bastards. Come on. Let's go to the library. I need to check something out on the internet.'

‘Nosy bastard yourself.'

Adam and Snake pushed through the glass doors of the library. A hot day stink, the smell of old socks greeted him. Adam shivered in the air-conditioned atmosphere. He was suddenly aware of how sweaty he was; the back of his neck felt clammy.

They walked over to the computers. One was free. Adam brought up Google and began to type. ‘What do you know about the Mount of Venus?' he said to Snake.

His friend looked stunned. ‘Excuse me?'

‘Never heard of it?'

‘I dunno,' Snake said, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘Sounds like porn to me.'

‘That's what I thought,' Adam said, ‘but I bet it's something else. Anyway the porn'll be blocked.'

A list of websites appeared on screen. Some of them were to do with anatomy, but several esoteric sites popped up: fortune telling, palmistry, new age philosophy.

Adam clicked on Madam Firebrand's Forecasts.

Madam Firebrand had extensive notes on reading palms, including a diagram of where on the hand the Mount of Venus could be found. It was the base of the thumb. There were other Mounts: Apollo, Saturn, Mercury. It all read like a complex map of Roman mythology.

‘So what's this all about?' Snake said.

Adam wasn't ready to tell him about the note under the desk and the clues he'd found. He wanted to keep everything to himself until he was sure it wasn't a hoax and he could trust Snake. He shrugged him off. ‘It's just a clue I can't work out.'

Snake frowned at him.

‘From a crossword,' Adam said.

‘I didn't know you did crosswords.'

‘Every day in the paper. I don't think this is what I'm after though,' he said. He had assumed the Mount of Venus was a geographical place, a hill or highpoint around Falcon Ridge, not a bump on someone's hand. Snake took over the mouse and checked out an anatomy site. They highlighted the female pubic bone as the Mount of Venus, then detailed other parts of the pelvis.

‘Can't you boys keep your mind off it for half an hour,' came a girl's voice behind them. They twisted around to see a year eleven girl shaking her head and tut-tutting. It was the girl from the bus, the one with the beauty spot and the cold stare.

‘Piss off, Toot! It's only bones,' Snake said.

She bashed into him, hip and shoulder, forced him aside and closed down the site. ‘Sucked in, got you off the computer,' she said.

Snake turned and headed for the exit, leaving Adam babbling. ‘We were just mucking around…looking for stuff about Venus…'

‘Who gives a shit? You guys can get off now. It's my turn.'

He blushed. There was something about her mouth that made him stare. It was that mole so close to her lips and the way she tilted her jaw.

‘Got a problem?' she said.

He shook his head and made for the exit. Snake was at the door waiting. Adam looked over at the girl, now intent on the screen. ‘She's a pushy bitch,' he said.

‘I know,' Snake said. ‘She's my sister.'

Adam spent his free period trying to whittle down the guinea pig clue to thirteen letters. After ten minutes of frustration he decided to check the dictionary. Got it!
‘Guinea
pig, cavy, South American rodent.'

‘Cavy' gave him all the letters he needed. He set to work, thinking of a hiding spot. Cave...cavern…cavity? Yes! The word ‘chimney' materialised from the left-over letters. Adam punched the air.

‘Chimney cavity, old boot.' The chimney at home. He'd start looking there.

Adam ran his fingers over the fireplace, caressing every crack and bump. He only had a few minutes before his mum would be home from the abattoir, but it was enough to get an idea of where the mortar flaked away. The hearth and chimney were made of red bricks, some of which he found were loose. They looked ancient, smelled like cool chalk and were rough against his fingertips. A modern wood heater was recessed into the fireplace. There was a mantelpiece above, which housed the TV's remote control and an assortment of his mum's experimental pots. No old boots.

He inspected the heater, put his hands inside, felt the vent that led to the flue and poked around in the ash bed that lay above the brick floor. His hands were smeared black and grey. He wiped them against the sides of his school shorts, leaving dark streaks down the fabric.

Just then Rosemary walked into the lounge room, and flung her handbag over the side of the armchair.

‘What are you doing, Adam?'

‘Yeah, hi Mum. How's work?'

‘What's happened? You're covered in ash. What's going on?' she said shakily.

‘Nothing,' Adam said, gritting his teeth. Why did she always stress? God she was hopeless! ‘It's OK, Mum. I just thought I heard a bird in the flue,' he lied.

Rosemary sighed. ‘Could be, never know with these old houses. You might have to get on the roof and check the other end. See where they're getting in.'

She left him standing beside the fireplace, contemplating what to do next. There weren't any bricks that were especially loose. The mortar may have been cracked in spots, but it held everything in place. He'd have to check outside. He walked into the kitchen where Rosemary was making a coffee.

‘I met someone who knows you today,' she said.

‘Who?'

‘Said his name was Mongrel.'

‘Oh yeah, he plays footy in the seniors.'

‘He's a boner at work. Seems a nice guy.'

‘He's a wanker, Mum. But I'm going spotlighting with him on Friday.'

‘Even though he's a wanker?'

He shrugged. ‘What else am I supposed to do in this hole?'

She frowned at him. ‘What's spotlighting?'

‘Looking for possums, I think.' He opened the back door, eager to pull the chimney apart from the outside, but he hesitated. ‘Have you ever heard of the Mount of Venus?'

Rosemary gave him a quizzical look. ‘In today's crossword?'