Chapter 11- A Clue
It was now almost six weeks since Susan had vanished. Time had drifted by, out of March, through April and into May. The weather was getting cold at night. Charlie had decided to go and camp on a waterhole on the Mary River for a night, with a plan to fish once there was some warmth in the sun in the morning. Now it was “Yegge”, the season after the knock-down late wet season storms had gone and when the coolness came, with a dry south-easterly wind during the day. However by night when the wind dropped there was still wetness in the air as the land gave up its moisture.
Since he had found the man’s head he had avoided his favourite billabong on the Mary, the big croc had spooked him. But he missed his fishing, this Mary country was like a link to his father who was gone now. Now Rosie wanted a big catfish for another curry, and this river was still his best place. So he had decided to go to a different place on the same billabong, maybe a mile further along. It connected to where he had gone last time but he felt it held a different crocodile spirit and would be safe. It was another place his father had shown him and this time it was outside the locked gate place so more people came here. But it should be quiet on a Thursday morning, the weekend warriors would not be here until before tomorrow afternoon so he should have the place to himself.
It was more than hour after dark when he arrived. Already the night was chill. He parked at the opposite side of the cleared area from the water and took out a big torch to have a look around.
As he walked across the open camping area towards the water he saw a plastic bag lying on the ground. It annoyed him when people came to these place and did not take their rubbish away. There was obviously something in it or it would have blown away.
Oh well, he supposed he should do the right thing and pick it up before it ended up in some dugong or turtle’s guts. He had seen on TV how turtles mixed up plastic bags and jelly fish and then their guts got all blocked up and they died. It was bad not to care for the land and sea by leaving rubbish lying around.
He lifted it up. It was surprisingly heavy. He looked inside. It had a pair of shoes, woman sandals, and there was something else at the bottom, sort of dark and stripy. He put in his hand and the thing jolted him, like an electric shock. He pulled back his hand; it felt like he had been bitten.
God, I hope it’s not a snake sheltering there which fanged me.
His heart skipped a beat, he felt panicked, stupid fucker that he was for putting his hand into something like that without looking better. It was one of the first lessons of being a blackfella –always look real good before you poke around in holes in the ground or other hidey places that you can’t see into properly.
He looked at his hand, no sign of punctures, Calm down old fella, he said to himself, your imagination is getting the better of you.
He set the bag back on the ground and picked up a forked stick. One by one he lifted the sandals out of the way with this, setting them on the ground alongside the bag. He looked into the bag again with the torch.
As he did he said, “Oh Fuck”. He had seen this object before, Alan had showed it to him when he had first found it. It was that bloody crocodile totem, the Baru one from those Yolgnu tribes, the one Alan said belonged to the man of the head. He had felt freaked by it when he was last shown it, knowing it had crocodile spirit magic inside it. It was not his totem and, as an initiated man of another tribe, it was dangerous for him to touch it. No wonder it had bitten him. It was its way of saying “hands off”.
He looked again at the sandals. They looked sort of familiar. The sort of thing a young balanda woman would wear; someone like Sandy or her red haired friend, Anne.
The thought struck him. These had not arrived here by accident. Someone had brought them and left them here. It screamed out to him of the missing girl, Susan. The one Alan was searching for, the one some people said had run away, and others said had returned to Crocodile Man. He had not paid all the rubbish in the papers much mind, but he knew it was tearing up Alan and Sandy the way she had vanished. They were blaming themselves, as were the other friends.
There was that sighting of her getting into the white Toyota. Maybe she had come out here with a fisherman who had offered her a lift. It was all maybe, maybe; too many maybes.
Well he did not know much about police stuff, but last time he had taken something away and, while he did not really get into trouble, he knew it could have been a problem if Alan was not his friend.
So today he would do the right thing. He would leave this stuff right where he had found it. He would drive back to Darwin. He knew where Alan lived and he had his private telephone number. He would call him from the Bark Hut; it would only be about ten pm when he got there. If he could not get onto him he would drive right up to his house and bang on the door until he woke him up.
On second thoughts, he would skip the Bark Hut, he might as well go home and sleep in his own warm bed, nothing would happen until the morning. But he would at least let Alan know tonight. Then in the morning he could come back and show them what he had found. He was sure it was important though he had no idea what it meant.
Lost Girl Diary Page 13