The problem was that one of the ingredients, a preserving agent, was banned in most countries but in its form was allowed in Australia. Naiyana had been instrumental in working through the charity to organize boycotts and virulent online campaigns disparaging the new product. The bad publicity and national outcry had succeeded in getting it forced off the shelves. Much like in Lorcan’s case, however, the company’s other products took a collateral hit as well and had resulted in Brightside Foods coming close to folding and the layoff of a significant number of workers from their main plant just outside Perth.
The matter had even come to the attention of Chester Grant, the local MP and Labor party darling, who was getting gip from all sides, from the workers for loss of jobs, from the business for loss of earnings and angered campaigners for the threat to the public. The file noted that there were also some barely veiled threats on social media, calling Naiyana another snowflake campaigner with nothing better to do than ruin the lives of others. The whole mess had upset a whole lot of people.
Naiyana had even found a poisoned cat on their front step in the weeks after. At the time it was considered a threat against her but from what Emmaline knew it might have even been a threat against the husband. Though given what Lorcan swiped, a rat might have been more appropriate.
This had been a few weeks before the family had moved. Lorcan’s redundancy and her sudden claim to fame. They were a family that on the surface were nothing out of the normal but yet they had managed to cause massive upheaval on two fronts and then disappear. That was not normal. A run-of-the-mill suburban family with a lot of enemies.
30 Lorcan
Lorcan wasn’t sure which version of his wife he preferred. The complainer or the tyrant. As the complainer he could ignore her grievances and go off and do his own thing in his own time. As the tyrant, however, she was on him constantly, demanding an increase to the pace of the repairs, insisting he turn the dive into the bloody Taj Mahal overnight.
The tyrant was also changing her mind constantly and expecting him to acquiesce. She knew she was in the position of power as he was desperate for this move to work. He was the instigator; she was the whip. But the redundancy money was quickly running out, his trips to Hurton and further afield more frequent, Dylan tagging along at her request. Getting him out of her way so she could dabble with the house.
He had repaired the gable wall. Amateurish but not bad for a first attempt. Then she had demanded the roof be sorted. So he did. Again it was no Dome of the Taj Mahal but it should keep out any rain. He had followed the manuals to the letter. Next, he would tackle the windows. An expensive and delicate job.
He was just clearing away the remaining cement into a temporary shed he had constructed out the back when Nee appeared at the door.
‘The living room. When are we getting cupboards? And a sofa?’
‘Any particular style?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Pine would be nice.’
She had ignored his sarcasm. ‘Is that necessary for—?’
‘It would be nice.’
He knew what that meant. That meant, yes it was necessary. Make it happen. He wondered if she was being deliberately obtuse. That this was her ultimate revenge for him staying out drinking all night. More punishing than mere silence. As his grandfather had often said, there was a thin line between being the perfectionist who liked things done right, and being the gobshite who forced everyone to adhere to that impossible standard.
‘I meant to tell you when you were in town, but you had the ute and there was no signal.’
‘I’ll have to go to Kalgoorlie.’
‘Take Dylan with you. Make it a road trip.’
‘I don’t want to babysit him while I figure out what I need. I’m not a DIY expert, remember?’
‘That’s obvious,’ she replied.
Quick and painful. He tried to come up with a snappy reply but was thwarted.
‘Look, I want to do this but if I’m going to live in the desert, then I want to live like Priscilla.’
‘Priscilla wasn’t a complete bitch though, was she?’ Lorcan was smart enough not to say this out loud.
‘Make it an overnighter. Down in the afternoon, back the next afternoon. Maybe you can even take yourselves fishing or something.’
‘And leave you here?’
‘At least I’ll get some sleep. And maybe he will too.’
31 Emmaline
Emmaline had just landed in Leonora and got into her car for the drive back to her lonely caravan when she got a call from MCS HQ. It was Zhao with two pieces of news. Firstly, that the blood types found in Kallayee didn’t match. This meant two separate victims, or at least two injured parties, and secondly, that they had received information from the Maguires’ credit card company and bank. Lorcan’s phone was still being worked on.
Lorcan’s card had last been used in Hurton on 28 December, at Mallon’s hardware store. Naiyana’s last expenditure was earlier than this, on 25 December in Hurton. Grocery store. Last minute items for Christmas dinner, guessed Emmaline.
The bulk of the card expenditure didn’t raise any questions. Hardware products and groceries. The things necessary for survival; food, water and shelter. Heat wasn’t as much of an issue during the summer.
The overnight stay in Kalgoorlie on 19 December was different. It was about a five-hour round trip and according to the records, a load of DIY furniture and some other bits and pieces – including a harness – were purchased then and the day after, Monday 20 December. Five hours was a long day trip but for a family on a budget – both were in overdraft by the time of their last recorded expenditure – it made more sense to come back. Unless the overnight stay was a cover for something else.
A call to the motel – a bottom-of-the-range one on the Red Line north of the city – confirmed that a Lorcan Maguire had stayed there on the nineteenth. And not alone. Emmaline’s interest peaked. Was he meeting someone about the stolen information? Selling it to a rival or back to INK Tech? But if so, INK Tech would have called off the lawyers threatening the other companies. Unless Nikos was trying to cover his tracks. He was a man with experience in that field.
But no, Lorcan had been accompanied by a small boy. The owner confirmed Dylan’s description. This seemed to blow a hole in her theory. Maybe the overnighter was because Lorcan didn’t want to do a five-hour round trip with the kid in tow. Maybe there was nothing sinister about the overnight stay at all.
But it did mean that Naiyana had been left alone in town. Had father and son fled to Kalgoorlie after a fight? Seamus Maguire had noted that there had been some tension. And there would certainly be tension without a functioning house to live in.
32 Naiyana
Complete silence.
But inside she was a melange of noise, fear and anticipation, her guts churning and occasionally being unable to resist a yelp from the build-up. The butterflies made her feel light-headed as she swayed from her perch on the camping bed. This was anticipation she hadn’t felt in ages. The same anticipation that she felt when they’d taken BS Foods to court. She hoped to feel the same sense of accomplishment at the end.
For the first time in six years, she was spending the night alone. No Lorcan and no Dylan. And though there were nerves there was excitement too. For which she felt a little guilty. But only a little. There was only a little harm in wanting them gone. It was only natural to want a break, to want something different. Maybe that was cold and callous but when life was difficult you had to adapt and change. That was natural. This might be the start of a new dawn, the precipice so close. What lay ahead was unknown and that was exhilarating. She had never done anything like this before. These feelings – this – wasn’t something she could vlog about. Not ever.
From the silence came a faint scratching sound, like something was tearing at the picture she had constructed of herself over the years. The vigilante housewife, the outback mother, the loving parent and wife. The scratching ripped a corner from the perf
ectly embossed photo. It was perfect no more. It was time to see what was underneath.
33 Emmaline
The caravan was as she left it. Infused with nicotine and sadness. Holding onto the last few days of a sick old man, and parked close to a dilapidated house infused with the last few days of a strong-willed family. She had again refused to take a hotel room in Leonora. She would slum it here until she got some answers. Stay close to the beating heart of the mystery. Build and maintain a bond with it.
She was as alone as Naiyana Maguire had been on 19 December when her husband and son had been in Kalgoorlie. Had it been Lorcan’s decision to stay over, or her decision to have some space? She’d never been married so Emmaline felt she was grasping a little, but marriages were like long-term relationships made formal. With a kid as the rubber stamp.
She had always feared being confined by a baby. Her social life was vibrant – as much as being in the force allowed anyway. She had a litter of friends, she went to pubs and clubs and bars but as time went on she had found herself unable to switch off, her police radar constantly scanning for signs of trouble. She had seen what trouble could do, so her mind was attuned to ascertaining where it may occur. It was a problem to which she had found only one solution. An alcoholic solution that dulled her senses but which often led to overconsumption. The window was slender. Too little and the thoughts persisted, too much and she had a tendency to lose control. It had happened before and she’d regretted it. Not in having slept with someone she shouldn’t have – but that alcohol was involved in the decision.
The glow of the computer screen waited for her. Sleep waited too but the couch/bed wasn’t comfortable enough to make it anything other than a necessity. The only other option was Hurton. Maybe she could have a few and hook up with Matty. It was the one advantage of working around the state, a ‘no-tie fly-by’. There was no need to have a loved one, if love was at the tip of her fingers. There when she wanted it and gone when she didn’t.
From somewhere far away the sound of dingoes baying rose, disrupting her consciousness. When had they started? Had they been howling for a while and she had only just noticed? The plaintive howls reminded her of a lot of things – drinking, sex, loneliness. She hadn’t heard them last night but being north of the dingo fence they were to be expected. They would go where they sensed food. Which she might count as for a hungry pack of animals.
The howling continued, rising and falling, almost echoing around the bare caravan, a hollow wail of loneliness. Were they catching her scent and slowly approaching? Was this what Naiyana had experienced? If so, it hadn’t scared her off. She had stuck around. Until after Christmas at least.
Emmaline decided to get to work. Bury herself in the notes and ignore everything else. The sooner the case was solved, the sooner she could get back to bright lights, clubs and opportunities.
These pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a scratch at the door. One single scratch. The dogs were on the hunt, looking for prey.
Drawing her gun she approached the door. She didn’t need them scratching on the caravan all night. She would go out and warn them off. Fire a shot. If she needed to.
As she reached for the scooped handle, she felt a sudden stab of paranoia. Her sense of unease grew. Firing a warning shot was stupid. An overreaction. All she needed to do was make some noise and they would back off. She was the one in control. Outside, the baying continued, as if the animals were calling to each other. Calling her to join them. Tempting her to come out and play.
The handle felt cold as she turned it. Taking a deep breath she shoved it open.
The night air flooded in, fresh and clean compared to the stale, rancid caravan. There was no dog at her door. A quick glance either way confirmed that none were waiting to pounce.
Now unhindered by the aluminium shell, the baying seemed to increase in intensity. Like there was an orchestra in progress somewhere beyond Kallayee, one dog seeming to conduct the rest. Something was happening. Emmaline needed to know what.
Following the sound, she quickly found herself outside the confines of town, scrambling her way over many sand dunes and the gibber plains, past the lonely clumps of eucalyptus and mulga shrubs. She kept walking, the dingoes drawing her closer like Sirens on the desert sea, her gun raised, anticipating an attack. Right now she didn’t feel like a predator at the top of the food chain. She knew she should have turned back for the safety of the caravan but they kept calling to her, feeding into her weakness, the lure of the unknown, speaking to her obsessive nature. Maybe Naiyana had been lured by the same thing but without a gun to protect her. Surely she wouldn’t have been that stupid.
As the moon dipped behind one of the few clouds in the sky, the outback suddenly grew dark. Emmaline froze. More stupidity. She had left her torch behind. Was something in town turning her stupid, some malevolent force luring her to her death? It certainly felt like it, the air noticeably cooler out here in the bush, no brick, no tarmac, no tin roofs to trap the heat. Her breath lightly misted the air in front of her.
The cloud and the darkness passed as she inched over an open and sandy crest. In the near distance she saw them, their eyes glaring in the moonlight, almond-shaped with an almost blue-green reflection, their gathered breath like a fog. The pack of ten dingoes were all sandy yellow, their coat colour determined by the desert they lived in, their ears pricked and furtive, aware of the stranger in their midst.
The pack had surrounded something, some guarding, some eating. The baying grew louder, evolving into short, harsh barks. She had never heard a dingo bark before and though she wasn’t scared of dogs, these wild animals were something different altogether. She held no qualms over shooting them if they attacked. From this distance across the sandy scrub she was confident that she could hit a person. But a dog? They would move faster. In a straight line maybe but fast. A fast, narrow target to aim at.
She moved closer. The dingoes began to part, the barks turning into decrying howls of unfairness. Akin to a gaggle of monosyllabled teenagers having to give up something they had fought for. Emmaline wondered if she was putting herself at risk over some poor kangaroo or camel, but sensed that she wasn’t.
The ground shifted beneath her feet as she descended the bank, burying into the cool sand. She got close enough to see that she was right. The dingoes weren’t protecting a kangaroo or camel. The body had been torn apart, the soft belly and thighs targeted, the skull savaged to get to any available flesh. A bloodied rag that looked like a shirt and something grey lay against the golden sand. A bone. Possibly a forearm. Detached from the main body.
Emmaline held her eyes on the body and held her guts tight. Instinct told her that she had found Lorcan Maguire.
34 Emmaline
Emmaline had seen dead bodies before. But never one ripped apart by wild animals. In her head, in the space where there should have been logic and planning there was nothing, neither the inclination to throw up, nor the capacity to determine what to do next. Even the howls and cries had faded into inconsequence. Finally a thought emerged from the morass. A callous thought but a thought nonetheless. Would the animal’s interference affect the assessment of how the victim died?
That thought allowed others to charge forward. Slowly her wits returned. She raised her guard again, the dingoes keeping their distance but not retreating further than the skiff of trees surrounding the dune she was at the bottom of. She reached for the phone in her pocket. As she assumed, there was no signal. She would have to leave the body to get help but didn’t want to in case any remaining evidence was further destroyed.
Aiming into the sky she fired off a shot. The silence of the night exploded with a sharp crack. The dingoes scattered. Hopefully it would bring someone to investigate, and she could get them to guard the body, or better yet raise the alarm.
The report from the gunshot died away. There was a return to guarded silence. From the shelter of the trees the glowing eyes watched her, awaiting her next move. If no one came she wou
ld have to wait it out until daylight when maybe the dogs would leave her alone.
Needing to stay awake and with nothing else to do she made a quick study of the scene. Along with the once off-white shirt were a pair of ripped khaki knee-length shorts, the crotch a mass of blood, the victim no doubt savagely emasculated. The clothing told her that he had tried to escape during daylight. A small, scuffed backpack covered in cartoon dragons lay ripped open near the body with no food inside. Unless the contents had been scavenged by the dingoes. It suggested he – and Dylan, whose body was unaccounted for – were fleeing from something. And that Lorcan didn’t make it far, only a couple of kilometres from Kallayee.
The arm bone lay apart from the body, gnawed at given the rough edges. It was broken too, a nasty fracture, the marrow licked clean. She wondered if the dingoes’ teeth could do this but she doubted it. It certainly wasn’t the cause of death. The neat round bullet hole in the shirt proved that. Near the middle of the chest, the fibres singed at the edges.
It took ten minutes of close study for the stench of decaying flesh to cause her to step away from the scene as a cloud swept over and covered both dead and alive in an eerie darkness.
She would be blamed for not finding the body sooner but the area was vast and they’d had no leads. She had to both thank and curse the dingoes for leading her here. She’d been lucky to find the body at all. She could only hope that Forensics could make something of it.
Taking a seat on the side of the dune, she commenced her cold and lonely vigil. Someone would have heard the gunshot. They would be rushing to investigate. Surely.
The dingoes stayed too, holding their own vigil, stalking around the edge of the trees, waiting to see what the interloper was going to do, waiting to see if she would leave and let them scavenge what remained.
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