The Roadhouse

by Kerry McGinnis

We heard nothing more from Tom Cleary that day. There was no reason why he should tell us the dead woman’s identity if it wasn’t Annabelle. And the cotton bud sample of saliva and cheek cells he’d taken from me would take days, if not weeks, I supposed hazily, to process. In the TV shows DNA results seemed to come back overnight, but that was a highly unrealistic time frame for anything out here. Meanwhile, another mystery confronted me: consulting the calendar, I noticed a large black B had been written across the coming Saturday.

  I showed Bob. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Christ! I forgot all about that.’ He scratched his cheek where stubby white whiskers rasped against his fingers. He must’ve skipped a shave that morning. ‘It’s benefit night for the flying doctor. Molly holds ’em once a month. The community’s raising money for a clinic buildin’ at the Range. Next to the cop shop and handy to the airstrip. Jeez, I wonder whose turn it is to donate the meat for June? Molly knew all that stuff – where the rota was at. I suppose you’d better ring somebody and ask.’

  ‘We put on a barbecue, you mean, and donate whatever it raises?’

  ‘Yeah. There’s a bit of bring-and-buy too. Cakes and jam an’ stuff – the women fix it. It’s the CWA behind it. Ring one of them.’

  Every woman in the district would be a member of the Country Women’s Association so I called Penny Hills to speak to Rose Pennon.

  ‘Oh, hi Charlie,’ she said when I gave my name. ‘How’re things? How’s Molly doing?’

  ‘Quite well, thanks. Getting a bit tired of hospital, I think.’ We talked for a few moments before I got down to the business of whose turn it was.

  ‘Let me see … The week’s come round so quickly. Sue Damson from Kharko brought the meat last time so that means it’s Red Tank’s turn now. We all agreed a roster, you see. Saves time and duck-shuffling.’ She laughed.

  ‘I guess it does. Okay, thanks. I’ll ring Kathleen, make sure she’s on board. What time does the barbie usually kick off?

  ‘Oh, soon as the meat gets there, more or less. Say six, half past? Look, I’ve heaps of tomatoes at present. You want me to bring you a bucketful?’

  ‘Thanks, that’d be lovely.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see you Saturday, then.’ She broke the connection and, sighing, I braced myself for a conversation with Kathleen.

  Ute, informed about the Saturday evening menu, nodded. ‘So, the meat with the salads. Okay. And the bread rolls, and much of the deadorse, yes?’

  ‘Sorry? Dead what?’

  She looked surprised. ‘Is what Bob says – pass the deadorse – this is not correct?’

  ‘Oh, dead horse! Tomato sauce, Ute. Yes, that too, but it’ll have to be bread, not rolls.’

  ‘No. You will order the yeast, Charlie, and I will make the rolls. The mail arrives in the morning, so there is time. You have heard more from the policeman about the woman who is dead?’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Is very sad,’ she observed, ‘but life is moving still.’

  ‘It goes on, yes. With the road camp and the barbecue, Saturday’s likely to have more than its share of it.’

  ‘And your Mike will come too?’

  I felt myself flush; I’d deliberately not let myself think that he might. ‘He’s not mine, Ute. I’ve only just met him.’

  ‘So? Is plain he likes you.’ She studied me thoughtfully. ‘Seventeen is time for pretence, for sighs and tears, but you are not a silly girl now. You decide for yourself – you are the boss, yes?’

  ‘I’ll try and remember that,’ I muttered, adding more loudly, ‘How much yeast do you want?’

  I rang the hospital early the following day, but it was Mum’s nurse Cathy who picked up. Mrs Carver wasn’t available at the moment, she told me. She was down in radiography.

  My pulse quickened. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ In the stillness as I waited I could almost feel the nurse’s hesitation before she spoke.

  ‘Doctor’s a little concerned. He thinks there’s some fluid on her lungs, and wanted a picture,’ she said then, picking her words carefully. ‘There’s no need to be alarmed, Charlie. It’s all right for me to call you that? Your mother’s spoken of you so often I almost feel I know you.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said impatiently. ‘Why has this happened? And what’s being done about it? Should I come down?’

  ‘No, not at this stage. If it’s pneumonia she’s already been started on antibiotics. But whatever the cause it’ll probably clear up in a day or two. Sadly, secondary infections aren’t that uncommon following surgery. She has rather a high fever at present but I’d expect that to fall when the dose kicks in. The best thing you can do is to try not to worry. Why don’t you give her a ring tonight? She’ll be feeling much better by then. I’ll tell her you called, shall I?’

  ‘Please,’ I said numbly, ‘and give her my love.’ Probably, the word repeated itself in my head, sinister enough to be deeply worrying.

  It was hard to think of anything else after that. I didn’t tell Bob – no point in both of us fretting – but the moment I got back to the house that evening I rang again. Mum, however, sounded so doped up and vague that hearing her voice did little to dispel my fears. We spoke only briefly for her breathing sounded laboured, and I hung up more concerned than when I’d called. I spent an hour or so staring at some television program wondering if I shouldn’t just head for the Alice first thing in the morning and get a flight south. The phone ringing jerked me from my worries, which only intensified as the caller introduced himself as Mum’s doctor.

  He was calling he said, to reassure me, as my mother’s nurse had mentioned my concern. Yes, there was a small hitch in her recovery, a minor infection in the wound and the X-ray he’d ordered had confirmed there was some fluid on the lungs, but they’d almost ruled out pneumonia. They were moving her into the ICU for the next twenty-four hours but he was confident that she would be okay. ‘The antibiotics will suppress the infection, Miss Carver’ – his voice was crisp, a man in control of events – ‘and we’ll also drain the fluid. That will improve her breathing so she’ll be feeling much more comfortable by the morning.’

  ‘Should I come down? I mean, intensive care …’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that,’ he soothed. ‘ICU sounds scary I know, but really it just means she’s being constantly monitored.’

  ‘But why did it happen?’

  ‘Oh, bad luck, that’s all. Hospitals are the germiest places going. It’s inevitable, despite all our care, that the odd bug gets through. Don’t worry, we’re keeping a close eye on things …’

  I thanked him for the call, then sat on still clutching the phone, my thoughts far away with Mum, warmed by the thought that she had spoken of me so frequently to the staff, but aghast that, for all the doctor’s assurances, she was back in the ICU. I sighed then, thinking of Bob. It was only fair that he should be told.

  Breakfast was my first opportunity. I watched the shock settle on his face but all he said was, ‘An’ the quack reckons she’ll be okay?’

  ‘He seemed very positive, Bob. A hitch, he called it, that’s all.’

  ‘Yeah, well, easy for him to bloody say. You goin’ down?’

  I’d thought hard about it overnight and shook my head. ‘I’ll give it a day to see if there’s any improvement. If her temperature’s still high tomorrow morning, then I’m off.’ I looked across at Ute, listening attentively as she ate. ‘You’ll be able to handle Saturday night’s do without me, won’t you, if it comes to that?’

  She frowned. ‘What is “do”?’

  ‘The barbecue.’

  ‘Yes, this is so, Charlie. Do,’ she murmured reflectively. I could see her tucking the word away. ‘You speak the most strange English, you and Bob. What is the quack?’

  ‘What?’ The phone rang and I rose to get it. ‘It means doctor, only – oh, never mind. Hello?’

  ‘Morning, Charlie. Everything okay? Only you sound a bit …’

  ‘Mike!’ I heard the plea
sure in my tone and was instantly flustered. ‘How are you? I suppose I am a bit fraught. I’ve had some worrying news from the hospital.’

  ‘Your mother? What’s happened?’

  ‘Seems she’s caught some sort of an infection. The doctor reckons she’ll be fine but it’s made us a bit anxious.’

  ‘It would,’ he agreed. ‘Will you go down there? I’m happy to drive you into town if you need transport.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said gratefully, ‘but I’m giving it another day before I decide. Enough about my troubles. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Oh, the boys were wondering about the barbecue this Saturday. Molly’s been running them regularly as fundraisers. Third Saturday of every month. I didn’t know if you —?’

  ‘Yes, we are. Red Tank’s bringing the meat and there’ll be homemade rolls to go with it.’

  ‘Can’t wait.’ There was a smile in his tone. ‘And not just for the tucker. Thanks, Charlie. See ya.’

  I smiled despite myself as I replaced the handpiece in its cradle, reflecting that Ute was right. He really was keen.

  At mid-morning the police vehicle came speeding up the well-watered road. Tom Cleary slammed the driver’s door, settling his hat as he strode towards the roadhouse verandah. Watching him approach, I felt Bob move up to stand beside me.

  ‘What’s the bastard want now?’

  ‘No doubt he’ll tell us,’ I murmured. I raised my voice. ‘Morning, Tom.’

  ‘Good morning.’ He nodded to us both, unsmiling, and I felt my heart jump. ‘I’m here to let you know that we’ve identified the body. And I’m sorry to have to tell you that the dead woman is Annabelle Carver. I’m afraid there can be no doubt about it.’

  I’d thought I was prepared but hearing the words still came as a shock. ‘Then the DNA results are back?’

  ‘We didn’t need them. Molly’s description of the clothes and the X-rays of the healed fractures in her toes were sufficient without them. The tests will go ahead but they’ll merely confirm what we already know.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said blankly. Bob drew in an audible breath and my knees felt suddenly weak. ‘Let’s sit down for a bit,’ I said and when we had done so, on the hard verandah seat, I stared helplessly at the constable. ‘I can’t get my head round it. Who could have done this? The man she was travelling with?’ I knew that Bob had given the police chapter and verse on him. ‘Why would he kill her? And if not him, then who?’

  ‘We think we know that, too,’ Tom said. ‘That diamond ring I showed you? It was found on the body. It’s been identified by the insurers as a part of the haul taken in the big jewellery robbery in the Alice back in early May. We suspect that Carver was involved, and the man with her. He must’ve missed it when he dumped her body.’

  I gasped; his suddenly hard official voice using her surname like that turned her from Annabelle into an instant criminal. Beside me, Bob’s reaction was equally shocked.

  ‘Jesus! You sayin’ she robbed —’ His mouth dropped open. ‘Hang about, wasn’t there a bloke killed in that business? Bashed to death, the papers said.’

  Face hard, Tom nodded. ‘There was. It’s a double murder case now. Detectives will be flying down this afternoon to interview Molly. She’s the last known person to have spoken to Annabelle.’

  I said numbly, ‘The doctor won’t let them. She’s in intensive care.’

  ‘It’s murder, Charlie,’ he said. ‘That makes it urgent.’

  ‘And you don’t think the fact that it is murder, with Annabelle as the victim, won’t upset her?’

  He said coolly, ‘I daresay the dead man’s family is upset too. For which your sister is partly or wholly responsible.’

  And to that I could make no answer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of indecisiveness that had me losing track of simple tasks I was performing: I washed the same dishes twice, and could make no sense of the store inventory I was trying to conduct. If Mum was fit enough to understand what was going on, should I forewarn her? There was no way the police would sugarcoat the pill. While her instinct would be to protect the child she had raised, they would use the shock of the news to jar from her any crumb of knowledge she might have. That she knew nothing would be beside the point, but could I really stop them interviewing her?

  Bob was caught between worry about the effect the news would have on Molly, and a sort of savage satisfaction that his own long-held reading of Annabelle’s character had been justified. ‘Trouble-makin’ little bitch shoulda been drowned at birth. Nothin’ but grief to Molly – I said it all along.’ And much more of the same.

  I made the call at seven p.m. and was put through to one of the nurses, who offered to take a message. ‘I can’t speak to her, then?’

  ‘She’s asleep at the moment. But she’s much improved, Miss Carver – off the oxygen and the infection’s responding to the medication. She’ll be going back to the ward tomorrow or the next day. Was there some particular message I can pass on?’

  Impossible to compress all that I needed to tell her into a couple of sentences, I sighed, silently admitting defeat. ‘No, just that I rang. And Bob and I send our love. Thank you.’

  Later the phone rang again. This time it was Mike. ‘Just wondered how Molly was doing? And to ask if you’ve decided whether to go down to see her?’

  ‘Oh, Mike, thanks for calling. She seems to be much improved, thank God, so I think I won’t. They’re talking about shifting her back to the ward soon, which is a big relief.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, ‘I don’t actually want to miss seeing you Saturday. How’s it going there?’

  I blurted my news. ‘The body Len found, Mike. It’s Annabelle. So I was right all along and she didn’t drown.’

  ‘You’re kidding me!’ He whistled. ‘God! How awful for you, Charlie. I’m sorry. So when was she killed?’

  ‘The coppers think it happened after she left the Garnet.’ I went on to tell him the whole appalling business – how the stolen ring linked her to the robbery, and the killing of the jeweller, ending grimly, ‘Perhaps it’s just as well she is dead – at least she won’t be charged with murder. If she didn’t kill the man, it seems that she was certainly an accomplice.’

  ‘Holy shit!’ The surprised exclamation was followed by an apology. ‘Sorry. That makes it aggravated assault or something – not that it matters now, I suppose. So your guess about the clothes was spot on. Any word on who her partner was yet?’

  ‘No. His name’s Paul something, that’s all Mum knew. Bob’s given the police a description, for what it’s worth. I mean, big, dark, nasty-looking – what good is that? He’d certainly know him if he saw him again, but it’s not likely, is it?’ I hesitated. ‘I think Bob was scared by him. He’s a tough old fellow, you know – nobody’s pushover. He’ll wade in if he’s needed. He’s always stood by Mum when there was trouble, like when somebody tried to hold the Garnet up once, years ago. It was really scary – the bloke came in yelling and waving a wheel wrench and Bob tackled him, no hesitation. Almost got his head smashed in too. But I think he had the wind-up about this guy with Annabelle. Told me he didn’t like the look of him from the outset and that he’d brought his dog over as back-up in case it should be needed. I suppose he is getting old – older,’ I amended.

  ‘And maybe he can recognise a bad ’un when he sees him,’ Mike said soberly. ‘Some blokes you just don’t take chances with. Okay, Charlie. The camp’s going out tomorrow, back home Saturday arvo. I’ll see you after that. Take care.’

  ‘You too, Mike. Bye.’

  The following day Annabelle’s picture appeared on television in connection with the robbery. The police wanted to learn where she’d been living and were asking for public assistance. Anyone who knew the murdered woman, where she’d been working and/or staying prior to the first week in May was asked to contact Crime Stoppers. They were also very interested in speaking to the man who had been travelling with her. I field
ed calls from curious neighbours expressing disbelief and condolences, or simply wanting further details. Old Spider just about summed up the local attitude with his opening remark.

  ‘I thought your cousin killed herself, Charlie. You telling me some other bugger done it for her?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Spider. It was a shock to us too.’

  ‘Christ on a bike!’ he marvelled. ‘What the hell’s the world coming to?’

  Rose Pennon asked how Annabelle had come to be where her body was found, in what the media was describing as ‘a lonely desert valley, thirty kilometres from her childhood home’.

  ‘She came home for a visit,’ I explained. ‘It was before I got back. She was only here for an hour or two tops. The police seem to think she was killed when they moved on – that’s why they’re looking for the man who was with her.’

  ‘You mean her murderer was right there? At the Garnet? Dear Lord! If I was you, Charlie, I couldn’t sleep at night. Aren’t you scared?’

  ‘Well, he’s not here now,’ I said. ‘And he’s hardly likely to return – if he killed her, which we don’t know, do we?’ I was certain in my own mind that he had, and said it only because Rose’s histrionics exasperated me.

  ‘Well, who else could’ve?’ she answered inarguably.

  Kathleen Mallory was next, husky smoker’s voice urgent with concern. ‘I saw it on the news, Charlie. Horrible! And to think we thought she’d done it herself! You shouldn’t be there alone – it’s dangerous. One of the boys can come and stay till the police catch this killer …’

  ‘Whoa, Kathleen, let’s just backtrack a bit.’ I knew quite well which of the boys would turn up and was having none of it. ‘First off, I’m not alone. I —’

  ‘Be sensible, Charlie. What sort of protection is one old man and a foreign girl? You could be murdered in your bed! You need a man there to —’

  ‘I have a man – ten of them, in fact, camped on my doorstep. The Main Roads lot are here and will be for weeks, so I’m knee-deep in muscle should I need help. Which I won’t. It’s kind of you to concern yourself, Kathleen, but I’m fine, thank you.’