The Lost Man

by Jane Harper

  He thought he heard a movement in the hall, and they both looked over at the empty doorway. No one appeared. Ilse looked back, a slightly odd expression on her face.

  “Why not?” she said. “Thanks. It’s in the small garage.”

  “No worries.” Nathan stepped back from the table. Ask her. “Where did you drive to today?”

  Ilse’s gaze flicked once more to the doorway. It was still empty. “Don’t tell the others.”

  “Okay.”

  “I went out to the stockman’s grave. I wanted some time alone to think about Cameron. With the funeral tomorrow, everyone’s going to be talking about him—” She looked down. “I feel like Cam—the Cameron that I knew—could get lost in all this. Do you know what I mean?”

  Nathan nodded. They might be burying Cameron tomorrow, but he realized part of him still half-expected his brother to appear around the corner. It was almost unbelievable that the man he had grown up with and fought with and loved in his own way wasn’t there anymore. That the deep hole outside could be for Cameron.

  “Yeah,” he said finally. He looked at Ilse, with her eyes heavy above her dust-stained collar. “I know what you mean.”

  27

  Xander’s bedroom door was shut.

  Nathan knocked. “Can I come in?”

  No response. He waited, then opened the door anyway. His son was lying on the bed, reading. Xander barely looked up.

  “You’re back.”

  Nathan sat on the end of the bed. “Sorry I was so long.”

  Xander stared at the page, his eyes unmoving, then dropped his book on his chest. “Did you do your test?” His voice was not friendly.

  “Yes.”

  “And could you see the flags from the road?”

  Two out of three. “Not every time.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Xander flopped back and picked up his book again.

  “Grandma said you were worried.”

  No answer.

  “I really am sorry, mate.”

  Xander stared at the page. Nathan waited as long as he could, but this time he broke the silence himself.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s fine.” Xander turned a page.

  “It’s not, though, is it? Not if you’re unhappy.”

  No response.

  “Xand—”

  Xander made a frustrated noise. “What do you want me to say? I’m trying to read.”

  “I want to—”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Fix things.”

  Xander turned another page. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no point arguing with you. Mum was right. You’re always like this.”

  “Like what?”

  Xander shook his head. “Forget it.”

  “Mate, you can tell me—”

  “No.” Xander’s face was hidden behind the book. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.”

  Nathan waited. Long minutes ticked by. Finally, Xander turned another page, and Nathan got up and left the room.

  * * *

  Ilse’s four-wheel drive was covered in the requisite layer of dust. It was the only vehicle parked in the small garage, and someone had dumped a load of empty crates in front of it. They looked like they’d been there for some time. How long had the car been out of action? Nathan wondered as he fished the keys out of the footwell.

  He had to adjust the driver’s seat as he climbed in, and was again reminded of doing the same in Cameron’s abandoned car. No clearer what to make of that, he pushed the thought to one side and tried the engine. It stuttered a little from lack of use, but turned over and came to life. Nathan listened to the hum. It was strong and steady.

  He switched on a lamp so he could see better in the evening gloom, and opened the hood. He leaned inside and began checking it over, starting with the typical trouble spots and moving through to the less obvious problem areas. An hour later, he was on his back under the chassis, a torch in his hand and none the wiser.

  As he worked, his mind drifted to Xander. Specifically, to a faded memory from years earlier, when his son had been about eight. They’d been camping out during one of his first solo visits, and Nathan had woken up in the back of his Land Cruiser to find Xander’s sleeping bag empty beside him. He had lain there, listening for the sound of urine hitting the hard ground outside or the rustle of a cereal packet. When he hadn’t heard either of those things, or anything, in fact, he’d called out. There had been no answer.

  Nathan had sat up, the air already stifling, and his clothes sticking to him with sweat. He’d called again, this time hearing the alarm in his own voice. No reply.

  The fear had been immediate and absolute. Nathan had clambered to his feet and stood by his car, his pulse pounding as he scanned the surroundings, almost blinded by terror. It would be over forty degrees by noon. A child Xander’s size might last half a day, depending on water and luck. How long had he been gone? Nathan didn’t know. Kids far younger than Xander, toddlers even, had been known to walk for kilometers. Some had been found miles from their home. Some were lucky, for some it was too late.

  Nathan had felt the sun beating down. When he was sure there was no sign of his son in any direction, he’d had to fight the overwhelming urge to pick one at random and start running. Instead, he had made himself get into the car and drive in increasing circles.

  He had found Xander within fifteen minutes, over a slight rise, and looking bewildered after following a cow and her calf too far. He was fine, if bemused by his dad’s flush-faced panic. But it had been the worst fifteen minutes of Nathan’s life. He had hugged Xander hard and then, shaking with relief, yelled at him in a way he never had before or since.

  Nathan lay staring at the underside of Ilse’s four-wheel drive now. He frowned, then clicked off his torch. He’d started to slide out when he heard the soft tread of footsteps outside the garage. He sat up and looked at the door, blinking into the night. Harry appeared.

  “Here you are. Your mum was looking for you.” He looked past Nathan at the dusty vehicle. “What are you doing?”

  “Ilse said the car was playing up.”

  “Again?”

  “Apparently.” Nathan stood up and wiped the grease off his hands.

  Harry stepped into the light. A wire hook swung from his hand, its point threaded through two bloodied dingo scalps. He peered beneath the open hood for so long Nathan began to get irritated. It was late, and he was getting tired.

  “What did Mum want?” he said.

  “Wanted to make sure you were okay.” Harry was standing at an awkward angle, almost blocking the way. “You’re feeling all right about tomorrow?”

  “I suppose.” Outside, the fresh grave was well hidden from sight. “Who dug the hole for Cam?”

  “Me and Bub, mainly. Xander and Simon helped as well.”

  The thought of the backpacker taking Nathan’s place on a job like that riled him. “I should have been here to help.”

  “Yeah. You should have.” The thin streaks of blood on the scalps looked black in the dim light. “He was still your brother, whatever problems you two had.”

  It was the note of judgment that made Nathan turn.

  “Me? What about you? I hear you were arguing with Cam not long before he died.”

  Harry looked at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”

  “Simon heard you. One night when you were turning the generator off.”

  Harry’s features creased more deeply into a frown. “I wouldn’t call it an argument.” His thumb ran over the end of the wire hook. “Cam and I exchanged words from time to time. Same as you two did. You know that.”

  “What was it about?”

  “Same as always. Running this place.” Harry looked down, his features lost in shadow. “I told you something was up with Cam, and it had been affecting his work. His concentration had gone to shit, and I was having to chase after him,
double-checking everything.”

  “Simon thought you sounded angry.”

  “That’s a bit strong. It was late. I was probably just a bit pissed off.”

  “And you were saying something about knowing what was going on around here.”

  “Yeah.” Harry flashed a humorless grin. “Well, that’s fair enough, isn’t it? Don’t think anyone would argue with that.”

  They wouldn’t, Nathan knew. Harry probably understood this property better than he or his brothers ever had. But despite that, and whatever went right or wrong with the place, it was their names on the title. Harry’s was a strangely insecure existence, Nathan realized, now that he thought about it. This might be his home, and he might seem like family, but Sergeant Ludlow had been right, Harry was an employee. And Cameron—or Ilse now—just had to say the word and an employee would be gone.

  “Harry,” Nathan said, “did Cam threaten to get rid of you?”

  “No, mate.”

  It had been a shot in the dark, but the answer was so breezily dismissive that Nathan felt a seed of doubt form. He thought about Cameron, who ran this place so efficiently. Kept a tight ship, as Harry had said himself. Would Cameron let himself be challenged by a worker, even if that worker was Harry?

  Nathan looked at him now. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Harry said. “Look, he reminded me who was in charge when I needed reminding. And he liked me to mind my own business. But when he takes his eye off the ball, and that means more work around here, it becomes my business, whether I like it or not. There’s nothing I can do but bring it up, so that’s what I did.”

  “Is that why you didn’t say anything to us?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Harry said, “because I felt bad—I still feel bad—about it. I thought Cam needed to hear what I had to say, but I dunno. Maybe I should have been listening more. I didn’t know that Jenna woman had tried to get in touch, or how bloody stressed he was about it. I wish he’d said.”

  Nathan was quiet for a minute. “Why do you think he was so worried about her?”

  “I don’t know. Cam said at the time he’d done nothing wrong, and I believed him.” He looked at Nathan. “Believed you when you said the same.”

  “She’s not in England. Hasn’t been for a couple of weeks. Bali, apparently.”

  Harry was very still. “Is that right?”

  The silence stretched out.

  “Look,” Harry said. His voice was gentle now. “This whole thing with Cam. It feels complicated, but when it comes down to it, I think it’s actually pretty bloody simple.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah. He was not a happy man, mate. Not at all. And I’m starting to think that had been the case for a long time.” Harry sighed. “We need to get this funeral out of the way. Everything will look better after that.”

  “I suppose.”

  “It will. Always the way. Trust me.” Harry frowned at Ilse’s car. “You planning to stay out here much longer? I’ll leave the generator on, if you want.”

  Nathan shook his head. “I’ll stop now.”

  “You worked out what’s wrong with it?”

  “No.” Nathan had done everything he could think of. It seemed to be in good shape to him.

  “Yeah, I always had trouble finding the problem too.” Harry stared again at the exposed engine. “I had one idea, though.”

  “I’m all ears, mate.”

  Harry hesitated as, out in the blackness, they heard footsteps on the veranda and Liz’s voice called out, “Harry?”

  “Never mind.” He tapped the car. “I should take another look myself first. There’ll be no rush anyway. Ilse hates driving that thing, she’s not going anywhere in that.”

  “Harry?” Liz’s voice again.

  “I’ll tell her you’re fine.” Harry nodded at the bloodied scalps at the end of the hook in his hand. “Better do something with these as well.”

  “You got them, then?”

  “Yeah. Wanted to get it done before everyone arrives tomorrow. They were getting too comfortable.”

  “I thought Bub was going to do it.”

  A look flitted across Harry’s face that suggested Bub might also be getting a little too comfortable.

  “I had the chance, got it done,” he said. “If you’re finished out here, generator’s going off in ten. I need to get some sleep.” He swung the hook gently. The matted fur and skin were already curling at the edges. “Big day tomorrow.”

  28

  Nathan awoke to the ache of dehydration pulsing in his temples. He squinted into the early-morning light and reached for his water glass beside the couch. It was empty. He must have drunk it during the night, but he couldn’t remember doing so. It felt like a hangover, with none of the fun. He tried to remember how much water he’d drunk yesterday. Not enough, clearly.

  He stood up too fast, and had to steady himself briefly against the wall as his head spun. He waited, blinking slowly, until the sensation passed. He looked around. Something felt off.

  Nathan frowned as his gaze was dragged once more to Cameron’s painting. It hung there in front of him, looking the same as ever. Not quite, though, somehow. He stepped closer, his head still pounding. The scene was fully familiar, with the same colors and shapes. The dark grave and bright sky swam in front of his eyes. The translucent smudge was still there, as unclear as ever. What was different? Was the horizon slightly tilted? He wasn’t sure, and reached out, instantly making things worse as the frame slid at an alarming angle too far the other way. He corrected it hastily, trying to judge a straight line.

  “Be careful.” Liz was at the doorway. She was entirely in black, except her eyes, which were bloodshot red. “Cameron loved that.”

  “Maybe we should take it down for today? I can put it somewhere.”

  “What? No. Why would we?” She came over, gently reaching out and straightening the frame. Much better, Nathan could tell immediately.

  “Stop it getting damaged,” he said.

  “But everyone will want to see it. It belongs here on the wall. Cameron would have wanted that.”

  “I suppose. I just thought, you know, with the subject matter.”

  “It’s still a beautiful painting.” Liz wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Nathan hadn’t even realized she was crying. “And whatever was wrong with Cameron, he was always a beautiful painter. It reminds me of all the best things about him. I don’t want to hide that away.”

  “Yeah, all right.” Nathan shrugged. “It was only a thought.”

  Liz looked over. “How’s Xander coping?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him since last night. He’s still pissed off with me for being gone so long yesterday.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  Nathan considered. He was, actually, a little. It wasn’t like Xander to hold a grudge. Or get pissed off in the first place, for that matter. “There was nothing for him to panic about. When I’m back at my place, I’m out on my own all the time.”

  “That’s exactly part of the problem, Nathan.” Liz turned to him. “Listen, I want you to have a chat with Steve today. Get him to make you an appointment at the clinic.”

  “Why? What for?”

  “See if he can give you something to get your head straight.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You do. Because if you think it’s all right to disappear like that, to the point where your son is scared about what you might be up to, then there’s something seriously wrong.” Liz lifted her head to look at him properly. “Please, Nathan. Losing one of you is bad enough. Today is going to be the worst day of my life. I can’t go through this twice.”

  He couldn’t bear the look in her eyes, so he nodded. “All right.”

  There was a noise in the hall, and they both turned to see Bub in the doorway. He had a slightly unstable air that made Nathan suspect he’d already started drinking. Or perhaps not long stopped from the night before.

  “What are
we doing?” Bub leaned a supporting hand against the doorjamb. “Admiring Cam’s masterpiece?”

  Liz flinched at the sarcasm. Definitely been drinking, Nathan thought.

  “We were talking about whether to take it down or not,” he said.

  “Shit, no. You don’t mess with Cam’s picture. He’d bloody come back and haunt you for that.” Bub almost laughed, and Nathan felt Liz tense.

  “What do you want, Bub?” he said.

  “Oh, yeah. Funeral guy just called.”

  “And?”

  “Body’s on its way.”

  * * *

  Nathan had to wear his dad’s old suit. Liz had dragged it out from somewhere and handed it to him without a word. It was twenty-five years old but had the stiffness of rarely worn fabric. It was black and fit well. Nathan put his hand in the jacket pocket and found a faded supply list written in his dad’s handwriting. He crumpled the paper without reading it and fought the urge to rip off the jacket.

  Bub walked into the living room and dropped his beer when he saw Nathan.

  “Shit. I thought for a second—” Bub took a step back before recovering. He bent down and picked up his bottle, swiping at the floor with a dirty tissue while he avoided looking at Nathan. “You seen yourself, mate? You look just like him.”

  Nathan turned and stared at his dark and distorted reflection in the TV screen. He didn’t recognize himself. Carl Bright’s jacket was suddenly too tight, and Nathan couldn’t breathe properly. He pulled it off and kicked it under the couch.

  Xander wandered in, dressed in Cameron’s only suit, then stalled in the doorway as Nathan and Bub both stared at him. The suit fit like it had been made to measure, and Xander looked taller and broader and older than Nathan had ever seen him.

  “Grandma told me to wear it,” Xander said, looking down. “But maybe—”

  “It’s fine,” Nathan said. “Looks good, mate.”

  Xander helped first Bub, then Nathan, fix their ties properly. Nathan stood face to face with his son, watching him looping the fabric around. Nathan could hear him breathe and see a tiny patch of dark stubble where he’d missed a spot shaving. He could see the small scar on his hairline where he had fallen off a horse when he was five. He watched the slight narrowing of eyes that had been blue like Jacqui’s when he was born, but had turned brown like Nathan’s within a year. Nathan suddenly wanted Xander to be small enough again that he could pick him up and hold him. Instead, he stood there, feeling uncomfortable in his borrowed suit.